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yuujispinkhair · 2 years ago

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Death's Bride

Death visits your village to reap the souls of the dying, and you end up making a deal with him. If he spares your sister's life, you will join him in his dark kingdom and become the woman by his side.

Halloween Masterlist 2023

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Dark Romance, fluff, smut Word Count: 14k Warnings: 18+, smut, dark content, mentions of death, gore + blood. Reader has to take her own life so she can join Sukuna in the afterlife. Sukuna is described as a fallen angel who became the God of Death. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

You know this is no mortal man who is walking towards you with his white cloak billowing behind him as he strides through your village, carrying himself like a king, while you lie on the threshold of your small house, breathing weakly, clutching the bag with herbs to your chest. You know this is no man. You know that this is Death coming to your village to collect what's rightfully his: The souls of the dying.

It started two weeks ago. A strange sickness took root in your village and spread like wildfire. By now, almost everyone has been infected. For some, the sickness is easier to bear, and they are on the way to recovery by now. But others are at the end of their strength.

You are the only one out of your little family who is able to get up while your mother and younger sisters are still bedridden, trapped in fever dreams and violent shivers. You went out this morning to get more herbs, taking hours for the task because you were so shaky on your feet, weakened by almost two weeks of fever, your chest hurting from one coughing fit after the other. But you forced yourself to keep moving. You had to. Your family needed you. You had to prepare more tea to fight their fever.

You dragged yourself through the streets back to your small house, feeling dizzy and nauseous but driven by desperation. But you only came as far as the door before your legs finally gave out, and you broke down from exhaustion and ended up where you are now: Lying weakly on the threshold in the open doorway, staring in horror at the scene in front of you.

A tall, broad figure striding with large, strong steps through your village, dressed all in white with a long flowing cloak with a hood that covers the head of the man wearing it.

It sparks a memory inside you. Old tales whispered to you on long, cold winter nights when you huddled together with your little sisters to keep warm, and your grandmother, who was still alive then, told you those gruesome tales about him. The one who could walk freely between the realms of life and death. The Reaper of Souls. The Fallen. The merciless, cold-hearted God who ruled over the afterlife and held judgment over the souls of the dead.

Hysterical laughter bubbles out of your chest. You cannot look away as the huge man leans down over a crumbled body on the ground. The cobbler, who was always so nice as to accept homemade pie in exchange for a new pair of soles. He was one of the first who was infected. And now he broke down in front of his shop.

The white-cloaked figure extends a large hand and brushes over the head of the lifeless man on the ground. His touch has a frightening finality to it. As if you can see the life leaving the cobbler's body.

The figure in white straightens up again, and the wide hood of his cloak slips off and reveals reddish pink hair and a face more beautiful and otherwordly than anything you have ever seen.

You draw in a sharp breath as you stare at him. Now that you get a clear look, it is obvious that your mind wasn't playing tricks on you. This man really isn't human. You are looking at a creature beyond mortal limitations. You are looking at a God.

He turns his head at that moment, and a pair of glowing red eyes trap you in their intense gaze. Your eyes widen, and your breath comes out in short, panicky huffs. You know you wouldn't be able to move even if you tried as if his gaze alone holds enough power to shackle you to the ground.

He is here. The Fallen. The Grim Reaper. The God of Death.

And he starts walking in your direction with slow, sure steps. There is no hurry in his movements. He has all the time in the world because, after all, he is the end of all time for the ones he claims or a neverending cycle of the same suffering over and over again for the poor souls he decides to punish.

Behind him, bright red splotches appear, and you realize that those are flowers, blood-red spider lilies that grow out of the dirt, building a small path to mark where Death walked. It is a horrifyingly beautiful sight.

He carries himself like a King, walking through these dirty streets as if walking down a wide marble hallway in a castle. You suspect that even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to tear your gaze away from him.

His beautiful face is adorned with black lines. Intricate filigree patterns accentuate his angular features. The black symbols mark his otherwise flawless skin with a story of pain and sin. Your mind is suddenly flooded with the tales your grandmother told you on those winter nights long ago.

There once was a beautiful angel, the most powerful of them all. But he was too proud to abide by the rules, and so he was punished. His beautiful white wings got torn out of his flesh, and his skin was etched with the marks of the crimes he committed. He was cast out and cursed to become The Fallen. The one who claimed the throne of the afterlife, of the world beyond mortality. He took the reins, and from then on, his true name was forgotten, and everyone only called him by his new name, which was Death.

And now he is walking towards you. Strangely, you don't feel fear anymore, only fascination as you watch him approach.

He stops next to you, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. This close, you can see his face even more clearly, and your mouth opens in awe. He is devastatingly beautiful.

And so big. He is towering over you, tall and broad. From where you are lying on the floor, he looks like a mountain that is about to crush you.

"Are you here to collect souls?"

Your voice sounds weak and hoarse from coughing so much.

His glowing red eyes watch you intently for a long moment, and you think that he almost looks surprised for whatever reason. But then the moment is gone, and he nods. A slight smirk lifts one corner of his lips,

"Yes, but not yours, little one. It's not your time yet. Your body will heal again."

His voice is low and calm. He sounds soothing. Not at all how you imagined Death to sound. You were always scared of this mysterious figure you heard all those grim tales about. A terrifying, violent creature with blood-red eyes and monster-like fangs, a devil who brings pain and suffering.

But right now, you only feel calm. You feel strangely at peace with him here. His power emanates from him, so powerful that you can feel it on your skin and smell it in your nose. But it doesn't feel evil or threatening.

Instead, it feels comforting, like a warm bed with freshly washed sheets waiting for you to sink into and wrap yourself in its sweet comfort. Like the relief you feel after finally lying down after a hard day of physical labor, like the feeling of sinking into a hot bath that eases the tension in your limbs.

But that momentary feeling of peacefulness slips away again a second later when Death takes a large step past you. His feet stomp heavily on the wooden threshold next to your head, and with it, terror fills your senses.

"No!"

Your voice is a hoarse scream as you lunge forward despite your weakened state, your hand darting out to wrap around his ankle and cling desperately to it.

"Please don't go in there! Please don't!"

Your family is in there. Your younger sisters and your mother.

Your lips tremble, just like your hand, but you refuse to let go of the black leather boot that's slippery with mud. You cling to it, sobbing as you gaze up at Death through the hot tears clouding your vision.

He looks down at you, an elegant eyebrow lifted in a curious expression. He stares at your tiny hand wrapped around his ankle. You cannot tell if he is angry or amused about your pathetic attempt to stop him.

"Let go, little one. I told you, your time hasn't come yet. But I have to collect a soul from in there."

You are drowning in dread. And the words pour out of your lips, desperate and panicky,

"Please don't do it! Please take me instead! I am begging you, my Lord! Please spare them!"

Narrowed red eyes meet yours. He laughs softly and lifts his leg, effortlessly shaking your hand off. His low voice sounds amused as if you made a nice little joke.

"Look at you trying to negotiate with Death. You are a brave one. Foolish but brave."

Now you see how truly terrifying he is. Death knows no mercy. He doesn't just collect the souls of the old people who lived a long, fulfilled life. He claims anyone whose time has run out in the cruel hourglass that is life. He will go in there and take your mother or one of your sisters with him even though they still deserve so much more from life.

He looks at you with a cold, intimidating look in his red eyes. His mouth is set in a thin line, and his shoulders are pulled back, making him look even more massive. You cannot negotiate with Death. He is the God of the afterlife. There are forces at hand which every mortal is completely helpless against. Humans are all just little toy figures on the game board of the Gods. Or not even that. Just tiny, irrelevant grains of dust.

And yet, you cannot stop yourself from pleading with him.

"I don't care what you do to me! Take me with you! I am ready to die any death you see fit! Just please, please let my family live! My sisters are still so young. They deserve to see more of life! And they need my mother, she has to live too! But I am dispensable. Take me instead! Please! I will do anything you say!"

He watches you with amused eyes and a thoughtful expression.

"You're such an interesting one. You aren't dying, though. So I cannot take you to the other realm. But we could make a deal. I have to collect one soul from this house. I don't care whose it is. There is still time. I could still heal your sister. But only in exchange for another soul. You die, she lives. How does that sound to you? Are you still brave enough now?"

His red eyes watch you with an amused glint in them. Cruel excitement seems to fill him. You can't help but think that you are something like a strangely colored bug that he watches for his entertainment before he crushes it under the soles of his boots.

But you don't care. You refuse to avert your gaze, staring stubbornly into his otherwordly red eyes, your hands balled into fists as you nod.

"I agree. Please, my Lord. Please save her."

He chuckles softly, a low, amused sound, and his face lights up in a grin. He looks disgustingly delighted.

"I will, little one. But only if you seal a binding deal with me first. I spare your sister's life, and in exchange, you take your own life and let me take you with me. The moment you breathed your last breath, you belong to me, and I can decide what to do with your soul. I am in a good mood today, so I will be open about my plans for you. It would be a waste to send you back here as a curse that haunts your family. Instead, I want to keep you by my side. I could use someone who looks after my temple and warms my bed. I could use a bride. What do you say, little one?"

You can see that he is amused, that he expects you to decline after hearing his plan for you. But you don't. For a moment, you stare at him, horrified by what his words imply. But you shake yourself out of it, driven by a desperate conviction. You cannot let your little sister die today. You could never live with the guilt of knowing you had a chance to save her and let it pass. You will do what it takes. Even if it means following Death into his dark kingdom and giving your body to him. You swallow hard, lips trembling as you answer him,

"Alright. I will be your bride and look after your temple. I agree to your terms. Now, please hurry up and save her!"

More laughter falls from his lips. His red eyes glitter like two precious rubies. He sounds pleased when he says,

"You're a fearless one. I like that."

His red gaze never leaves yours as he reaches inside his cloak and pulls out a wicked-looking dagger.

"Here. Do it. End your life, and let me collect your soul. The moment your soul belongs to me, your sister will wake up from her fever dream and recover from the sickness that has befallen her."

You gulp hard, fear squeezing your heart tightly, as you stare at his large hand wrapped around the golden hilt of the dagger, his red eyes watching you challengingly, watching if you will really fulfill your part of the contract.

You are scared suddenly, your breath coming out in short huffs. You feel lightheaded, adrenaline pumping through your veins, making stars dance before your eyes.

Maybe this is how things are. No matter how prepared you are for Death, when he comes to really collect you, you feel fear after all. Fear of the finality of it all. There is no way back after you take this step.

But you don't hesitate. You press your lips together tightly and take the offered dagger out of Death's hand.

The moment you hold the heavy weapon in your grasp, Death's large hand wraps around your wrist, and he pulls you to your feet, making you stand before him.

He is so much taller than you, even now when you are standing. You have to tilt your head back to look into his eyes. He looks even more intimidating up close. Powerful, strong, unrelenting. A cunning business partner who is waiting for you to fulfill your side of the contract. A contract you pay for with your life.

You half expect him to taunt you, and it makes you clench your jaw and stare up at him defiantly. But to your surprise, there is no mockery in his low voice when he speaks up again.

"Have no fear. You won't feel any pain. I will make sure of that."

His words bring tears to your eyes, making them spill over with the hot salty liquid as your chest fills with comfort, finding solace in the fact that Death apparently knows mercy after all.

Your hand is trembling violently, but you bring the sharp blade of the dagger to your neck, gazing up at Death as you do so, looking deeply into his glowing red eyes as you slice your own throat.

The sharp metallic taste of blood fills your every sense. You taste it, you smell it, you feel it hot and wet running down your slit throat and your chest, you hear it gurgling in your mouth when you try to speak.

But Death leans down to take the bloodied dagger from your hand. His other hand cups your cheek. It's so large against your face. But his touch is gentle as if he is holding a thin, fragile porcelain cup,

"It's fine, little one. You did well. Brave until the end."

His voice is soothing. Low and calm, almost seductive. Like a lover luring you into his comforting embrace. You lean into his touch, smiling weakly when you feel his thumb caress your cheek soothingly.

Black spots dance before your eyes, and you feel so tired. You see his lips move, but you can't hear anymore. Your legs and hands feel numb. You fall forward, but strong arms catch you.

You feel yourself get swooped up into Death's strong arms and pressed safely against his broad chest. You feel him move as your head lols back weakly. The ghost of a smile tugs at your blood-stained lips. He carries you like a groom carrying his bride to the bedroom on their wedding night.

How fitting. After all, you are truly his bride now.

If you weren't so weak, you would laugh at the commentary your delirious mind provides.

By now, your vision has vanished completely. The only thing you are still aware of are his arms around you. It's peaceful and warm. As painless as he promised. You feel one last weak throb of your heart. And then it's only sweet, comforting darkness and the feeling of those strong arms carrying you safely across the border from mortal life into Death's dark kingdom.

You wake up feeling rested and comfortable. Your eyes are still closed, and you sigh contentedly, snuggling deeper into the soft and warm sensation of a silky pillow and blanket.

In the back of your mind, some strange warning tugs, but you are too wrapped in the luxurious feeling of being well-rested after a good night's sleep to pay it much attention. You can't remember the last time you felt rested like this. It was hard since your father died. You are the oldest daughter and had to help your mother raise your younger sisters. You were the one who had to do most physical labor, working on one of the farms day in and day out. Your body constantly ached somewhere.

But not today.

You sigh happily, stretching your limbs and marveling at how soft the bedsheets and the blanket feel against your naked skin and how large the bed is.

That's when the little voice in your head becomes too loud to ignore. You blink in confusion and open your eyes.

You are in a large room with marble walls decorated opulently with red and gold murals. Red candles are flickering in large lanterns. A fire is crackling in a beautifully decorated hearth. The bed you are lying in is huge and definitely not made for only one person.

You gasp and sit up, looking around hastily.

There are two red pillows and two red blankets, and everything is made of the finest silk. As if you are in a King's bed chambers.

And, suddenly, you remember everything.

The sickness haunting your village. Your dying sister. Death walking towards you. The deal you made with him. The dagger in your hands. The blood. Strong arms carrying you. You remember him. Death himself. Your bridegroom.

Instinctively, you grab the blanket and wrap it tightly around your body, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Your heart is beating wildly, and it makes you feel nauseous. You still remember the feeling of your heartbeat becoming slower and slower before it finally faded away completely. You remember dying.

And yet you are here now, breathing, feeling the silk on your skin, feeling the thrumming of your heart. So very alive, even though you know you can't be.

And so very naked in a man's bed. Or not a man's bed. In a God's bed. In Death's bed.

At that moment, the large door opposite the bed opens, and you wince in fear. You clutch the blanket tightly against your body, staring at the door with wide eyes.

He stands in the doorway, his pink hair almost brushing against the doorframe. Tall and massive. He looks intimidating even without the white cloak he wore when reaping souls. Even the way he is dressed right now, as if he just woke up too, with only a pair of black pants on his muscular body. His feet and chest are bare.

There are more tattoos on his body, matching the ones on his face. Black lines decorate the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, as well as his strong arms.

He could almost be a human man. Almost. But those glowing red eyes tell you otherwise. Those are the eyes of a mythical creature. The eyes of a God.

And you feel like a small animal trapped in that gaze as you sit there on his large bed, naked except for the silk blanket wrapped protectively around yourself, unable to move as you watch him walk into the room.

He moves gracefully like a big cat, even though he is so tall and muscular. A slight smirk lifts his lips as he approaches the bed. His red eyes never leave your small figure huddled in his blanket.

"Ah, I see you are awake."

"What... what did you do to me?"

The words have left your mouth before you can stop yourself. Confusion and fear make you blurt out mindlessly. You are distraught by the memories of slitting your own throat, by the feeling of dying. And you are terrified by the knowledge that you are naked in Death's bed. Terrified by what he might have done to you in your sleep. On the other hand, maybe it would be better for you not to have been awake for what he did.

He falters for a moment, his beautiful face shadowed by a frown as his red gaze bores searchingly into yours.

"We made a deal. Can you not remember? Your life in exchange for your sisters? You agreed to follow me here."

You nod firmly,

"Yes, yes, of course I remember."

"When what..." he starts, but then comprehension seems to dawn on his features, and he laughs, sounding mocking, his eyes glittering amusedly when he continues,

"Don't worry. I didn't touch you while you were unconscious. Where would be the fun in that?"

Oh.

You feel some of the worst tension leave your body, a long breath you had been holding finally finding its way out of your lips.

"But why am I... naked?"

"You were dirty. Do you think I would let you sleep in my bed like that, full of dirt and blood? My servant undressed you and cleaned you and put you in my bed."

So you were right. This is his bed.

"Why am I in your bed?"

He huffs at your question as if you asked something utterly stupid.

"Because you are my bride. Of course, you sleep in my bed. We have a deal. So if I say you sleep in my bed, you will sleep here. Is that clear?"

You lick your lips nervously, feeling fear tingle under your skin at his imperious tone and the intense gaze out of those unnervingly red eyes.

You quickly avert your gaze, bowing your head obediently,

"Yes, my Lord."

"Sukuna."

You blink and lift your head again to look at him questioningly.

"What?"

"That was my name before I became Death. Sukuna. I want you to call me that from now on."

He sighs, and the stern expression on his face becomes softer when he adds,

"It would be uncalled for my bride to address me with my title. I am Sukuna for you. Your betrothed."

He says his own name with a slight tilt in his voice as if he isn't used to saying it. Maybe he isn't. It must have been a very long time since he told someone his name. Maybe eons.

You gulp hard.

How strange it is to be here with him. To talk to him as if he is a regular mortal when he is so much more than that. He has never even been human. He is a being so ancient and so powerful, so crucial to every mortal's existence, that your head spins just from trying to imagine it.

But you force yourself to be brave and look at him.

He is right. You agreed to his terms. And he did his part. He spared your sister. Now, it's your turn to fulfill the rest of your side of the contract.

You are still trembling and hugging the blanket tightly to your naked form, but you look bravely into his eyes and give him a polite nod,

"Of course, Sukuna. Thank you for saving my sister. I will be a good bride for you."

A day ago, you were a mere mortal. One of millions who were caught in the hands of fate. Working day in and out to stay alive, always hoping, begging, praying to have more time and to see your loved ones live a long life too, while all of you were exposed to the threat of Death cutting your lifespan with his sword at any second.

Now, you are beyond that. You died, and you came back again. Brought back by Death himself, the Master over every soul who left the mortal world behind.

From this day on, you reside in the afterlife. From this day onwards, you will be Death's Bride and live your new life, or rather your afterlife, by Sukuna's side.

He tells you that you are free to move around in the temple. When you ask if you are also allowed to go outside, he lifts an elegant eyebrow and seems strangely amused, as if you asked something stupid.

"You can also go outside. But I don't think you will find anything interesting there, little one."

You don't know what he means, but accept it and take the fine clothes his loyal servant Uraume brings you. Everything is made out of the finest silk. A fabric so luxurious and soft that it feels like a caress when Uraume helps you get dressed. You gulp when the servant puts jewelry on your neck and wrists. Heavy gold and pretty jewels, red rubies that glitter in the same color as your groom's eyes.

Sukuna's temple is enormous and luxuriously furnished. Not at all like the tiny, shabby house you grew up in. But you cannot claim that this temple is better than your old home because, contrary to the vivacious atmosphere of your former home, Sukuna's house is eerily silent. A silence that feels haunting.

You don't dare walk too fast so as not to make any loud noise. You catch yourself whispering because your normal voice sounds too loud in these empty halls. It's a ghostly place. The silence feels too heavy, almost tangible. Something that can easily drive a person into madness.

You try to focus on the little noises that are there. The little signs of existence, like the sound of water flowing into the large bath. Or the sound of the doors sliding open and closed.

It takes a while to explore the whole place. To see all the large rooms with their rich tapestries and carpets. Gold and rubies shine and glitter everywhere. But a lot of the rooms look too clean, too perfect. There are no signs of someone actually living in them.

It is lonely here.

Maybe this is why Sukuna was willing to make a contract with you that would bind you to him and make you join him here. Maybe he was looking for a companion, or just a pet, to amuse him in this everlasting silence.

It is not like you are a servant here, as Sukuna made it sound at first. You assumed you would tend to him, clean his temple and clothes, wash and cook for him. But that isn't the case. His servant, Uraume, takes care of those tasks. They mostly remain invisible, like a ghost, taking care of everything for their Master, seemingly manifesting out of the shadows to bring you fresh clothes and oils and wine.

You ask them timidly what you are supposed to do, and they shake their head to inform you that you are just here for Master Sukuna's enjoyment.

A statement that makes a shudder run through you.

You have been here for three days, and so far, he hasn't laid a hand on you, maybe because he was away most of the time, apparently reaping souls on a battlefield.

But he demands your presence at dinner with him, where he sits across from you at a large table, and those gleaming red eyes never leave you. He is polite, asking questions about your day and how you like the jewelry.

And he joins you in the large bed every night, naked, with his tall and broad body full of solid muscles and black lines unashamedly on display for your terrified gaze.

You try to tell yourself it is the shock that makes you unable to look away from him when he undresses next to the bed and then slips in. But a little voice in the back of your mind whispers treacherously to you that maybe it is because Sukuna has an undeniably beautiful body.

"You're getting quite intimate with Death, my dear, aren't you?"

His amused low voice makes you hastily look away and hide your face in the silky pillow, heart racing nervously. His mocking laugh makes goosebumps creep over your skin. But he doesn't seem mad. He is just amused once again.

"Don't be shy, little one. Look all you want. You'll have all the time in the world to explore this body."

You bite your lip at his words, your body tensing up under the blanket when a large hand lands on the nape of your neck and slowly slides down your spine. Your heart is fluttering, and you don't dare breathe. But he pulls his hand away after a moment.

You slip to the edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, knees pulled up, curling into yourself, instinctively trying to protect yourself as if it would help anything against this God in your bed.

The more time you spend in Sukuna's Kingdom, the more you realize that this is really death. It is the absence of life, the absence of sound, and plant- and animal life. You begin to understand that the once graceful angel Sukuna really got punished. This here is his suffering, his punishment. The loneliness, the absence of life that so suffocatingly surrounds him at all times.

But he was cunning enough to cheat and take his chance when you offered it so beautifully to him. Now, it is the two of you here in this dead place.

It's truly a lonely place. Maybe that's the definition of hell. To be trapped in a beautiful temple that holds all the riches the world could offer but lacks life, lacks the connection to other beings.

You try to befriend Uraume, but they seem to vanish when they aren't busy with some task. Your attempts at chatting with them get declined with a polite but stern bow and a "Please forgive me, my Lady, but I must ask you to refrain from distracting me from serving Master Sukuna."

You meet no other being aside from Uraume and Sukuna.

The worst thing is the eerie silence. It almost drives you crazy. It makes you stomp your feet loudly just so you can reassure yourself you are still able to hear. It makes you slowly push open the large gate that leads outside in a desperate attempt to find anything living.

The rich opulence inside Sukuna's home is a stark contrast to what greets you when you finally step outside the temple.

A seemingly endless wasteland stretches before your eyes. There is no sky above you. It feels like you are in an enormous cave with a ceiling so high your vision cannot reach it. Eternal darkness lives in this place. Cold with icy winds and a rotten stench of iron and decay.

It's gruesome. Hopeless.

You press a hand over your nose and mouth and stand there wide-eyed, staring at the endless darkness in the distance. But as frightening as it is, the complete darkness in the distance is a blessing compared to what you see in the strange, dim, reddish light surrounding Sukuna's temple.

A vast crimson-red sea surrounds the island upon which the temple is built. The color and the stench make you ask yourself a question to which you already know the answer. Yes, this sea must be a sea of blood.

You shudder as you take a tentative step closer to the crimson-red liquid at your feet. You gulp hard as you lift your head to look straight ahead. There is a narrow path leading through the sea of blood, a path that is made of stones and other shapes. Shapes that look too similar to bones to be a coincidence.

But at the end of that path is something even more horrible. A massive pile of bones. It is so high that it seems like a small hill. And on its top is a large throne made out of skulls.

This must be the place from the tales you heard whispered.

Death's throne.

This must be where Sukuna holds court and decides on the fate of the newly deceased. Some will move on to eternal peace. Some will suffer forever in the fires of the afterlife. Some will be forced to return to the mortal world. But not as humans but as empty shells. As curses that were laid upon them by others.

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder, and you scream.

You whirl around wide-eyed, only to stare into the smirking face of your soon-to-be husband.

Sukuna's red eyes wander slowly from your face to his throne in the midst of the sea of blood and back again to your face, looking deeply into your eyes as he says in his low, velvety voice,

"I see, you found my throne. You can sit next to me up there if you wish while I pass judgment on the newly reaped souls."

You shake your head frantically.

"No! No, there will be no need for that!"

He raises an elegant eyebrow and huffs softly.

"Such a pity."

But he leaves it at that. His white coak billows behind him majestically as he strides back into the temple, and his soft laugh carries over to your ears, amused, maybe a bit mocking.

You follow him hastily, not wanting to be out here any second longer.

You plan to never set foot outside again after that. It's easier to pretend when you are inside the temple. It's easier to pretend that you are not in the middle of literal hell.

You aren't sure how many days or weeks have passed since you arrived in Sukuna's Kingdom. Time is nonexistent here. There are no seasons. There is no night and day. You have dinner at appointed times, and you go to bed where you still slide to the far end of the bed. But you have no idea if the days have the same hours as in the mortal world.

It might be a week, maybe since you were brought here when Uraume informs you while dressing you in the morning,

"Tonight, the wedding ceremony will be held. I will bathe you and dress you in your wedding dress later on."

And you feel like you are falling. Falling deeper and deeper into darkness so absolute it feels like velvet brushing over your skin as it swallows you wholly.

You knew this was coming. But it still shakes you to your deepest core. There is something so final about becoming Death's bride. You know you will be here forever. You will be Sukuna's forever. Bound to him by a promise, by a contract, by a union of bodies, maybe by blood too.

The wedding dress is the most beautiful dress you have ever seen. White silk, so delicate it looks like a mere spider's web. Your skin shimmers through it. The dress clings to your curves, showing your body almost as if you are naked. It looks like the dress of a Queen. Or a Goddess.

"Master Sukuna wanted the finest wedding dress ever made for his bride. You should be grateful and wear it with pride."

The disapproval in Uraume's voice is evident as they catch you crossing your arms timidly in front of your breasts, trying to hide your body.

When you walk towards your groom, you hold your head up high, clutching the wedding bouquet of spider lilies tightly in your hands, your gaze glued to Sukuna's glowing red eyes, trying your best to be brave.

You play along and do what Uraume instructed, extending a hand so Sukuna can take it and let him lead you to an altar. You are brave. You don't flinch when Sukuna takes the same dagger that you took your life with and touches it to your wrist, cutting your skin lightly.

No blood is welling up from the wound. Another mystery. What are you now? You feel a heart beating in your chest, but you don't bleed. Is anything you feel even real? Or is the beating of your heart just a phantom sensation you remember from being alive and refuse to let go of?

You feel lightheaded as you stare at the thin wound on your wrist, but only for a moment because then Uraume hands Sukuna a tray with a small pot with a black liquid in it.

You know what is to come. Your husband is marking you as his, filling your wound with the black liquid, giving you the same markings he bears.

He doesn't kiss you but stands in front of you, so close that you feel his warmth. One of his large hands cups your cheek, his thumb brushing slowly over your lower lip before it pushes into your mouth and feeds you some of the black liquid he marked you with.

"Take my sin into you and become mine for all eternity. Be my companion in this eternal darkness, like I will be yours."

There is something in his voice and about his choice of words that makes tears prick at your eyes, but you will them away and repeat his vow.

He takes you that night for the first time, consummating your marriage by pushing you onto the bed, one of his large hands pressing your face down into the silken pillow, as Sukuna settles over you.

You clutch the pillow tightly between your fingers when you feel his heavy weight pressing your body down. You tell yourself to be brave and obedient, but you cannot stop a muffled cry from falling from your lips when his huge cock splits you open and claims you for the first time.

He takes you with deep, thorough thrusts. The initial pain vanishes after the first few thrusts, and after that, your union isn't exactly painful anymore, but it feels frightening how full you feel, how stretched out. You have never lain with a man before, but even if you had, you know no mortal man would have been able to prepare you for your wedding night with a God like Sukuna.

He is so big, so strong, taking you unrelentingly while you tremble in his arms, knowing you could never run from him even if you chose to back out of your contract with him.

His large hands are placed on each side of your head, his lips trail over your neck, sharp teeth grazing over your skin, while he snaps his hips and makes you feel like you are getting crushed anytime his heavy weight presses you down onto the bed.

There is no love in this union of your bodies, but it's not like you were as naive as to ever imagine your wedding night to be filled with love or tenderness.

You always expected to marry out of convenience. A girl like you couldn't afford the luxury of love when picking a husband. You had a family to look after. Maybe it would have been one of the farmer's sons if you were lucky. You would have given birth to his children in exchange for a relatively comfortable life for yourself and your mother and sisters in one of the big farmhouses.

You never were so foolish as to believe you would have a loving marriage. So this wedding night with Sukuna isn't that much different from what you were expecting in your future anyway.

And so you grit your teeth and take his cock obediently, letting him use your body to satisfy his desire until you hear his low groans in your ear when he finds his release and fills you with his warm seed.

You are a good bride.

You know you aren't expected to work, but you find your way into the large kitchen anyway, standing behind Uraume as they prepare a meal.

Sukuna has been gone the whole day, and there is only so much staring at the ceiling while lying in your bed that you can do before you inevitably go insane. So you went in search of the only other living being down here, hoping they wouldn't send you away.

"Do you need help with the cooking? Can I maybe chop some ingredients or something?"

Sukuna's servant sends you a cold gaze over their shoulder, looking at you as if you offended them by the suggestion alone.

"I have spent eons preparing Master Sukuna's meals, my Lady. I don't need any help. And you aren't a servant here. You should do other things."

"But... but that's not what I meant. I am sorry if I offended you. The food you cook is always perfect. I just...I am looking for something to do and for some company maybe. Can I please assist you? There is nothing else to do here."

Uraume sighs, but they nod slightly, and you feel relief wash over you. They wave you over, hand you a knife, and point to a cutting board where a small pile of vegetables is waiting to get sliced into little pieces. You smile at Uraume and murmur a soft thanks, going to work immediately.

"Uraume? Can I ask you something? Does Sukuna even need to eat?"

It's something you have been curious about since the first time you sat across from him at the large dining table. You don't feel any hunger since you woke up here in the afterlife. Why would someone who is already dead need food? But you eat because you feel like it is required of you in your role as Sukuna's bride. It made you wonder, though. Why would a powerful being like Sukuna need to eat? Or does he just do it because he likes the sensation of eating?

Uraume watches you warily for a long moment, probably contemplating whether they should chat with you about Sukuna. In the end, they sigh softly and answer you,

"Master Sukuna doesn't need any food. But he wants to eat."

Uraume hesitates for a moment, their hand with the knife hovering over the meat they are currently chopping, but then they add softly,

"In the heavenly realms, they have big feasts all the time with as much food and wine as one can imagine. Even after The Fall, Master Sukuna didn't want to give up on that. He was supposed to have a life void of all those joys, but he evades that form of punishment by consuming the food I prepare for him with ingredients I collect from the mortal world. Of course, it's not quite the same taste as the foods prepared in the celestial realm, but for the ingredients I can obtain, it is the best food he can get."

It makes sense.

You can't help but chuckle softly as you realize that eating a four-course meal every night is Sukuna's little ongoing rebellion against the ones who turned him into The Fallen.

It somehow makes you see your husband in a different light. It makes him seem a little more human. A little more relatable. You have been there, too, several times, feeling the desire to do something out of spite when someone tries to forbid you something.

That evening, you watch him closely while he eats the meal Uraume and you prepared for him. For the first time, you take in how much he seems to treasure the food served to him. He takes his time eating it, letting it melt slowly on his tongue, taking in all the different flavors, and his eyes close in pleasure when he savors the taste.

It almost makes you feel sorry for him and for what he lost when he got cast out of heaven.

You never wanted to set foot outside the temple again after seeing the endless wasteland and the sea of blood. But your curiosity gets the better of you when Sukuna informs you he will be holding court today, and you watch him slip into his white cloak and walk through the huge doors of the temple towards the path that leads to his throne.

You follow him after a few minutes, unable to resist the lure his words have on you.

A horrifying sight greets you. The sea of blood is filled with a large crowd of shadowy figures. The bloody waters are shallow, only reaching up to the knees of those standing in it. But none of them look down. They all have their heads tilted back to look up at the imposing figure who thrones over them. Atop the gruesome pile of bones, sitting on his throne of skulls, is Death.

He looks bored. His long legs are crossed casually one over the other. His chin is resting on the back of one hand while his eyes trail slowly over the souls standing before him, awaiting his judgment.

Eyes that glow blood-red, vibrant like two lights in the dark, standing out frighteningly in the dim light of the afterlife.

He is beautiful and terrifying.

You can see the immeasurable extent of his power and can even feel it as if it is a physical thing that surrounds you, making the air thick and filling your senses with dread. A dread that comes with the absence of all hope.

Sukuna is the King of the Afterlife. The God of Death. There is no escape from him. Every living soul will one day end up here and stand before your husband.

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought. You instinctively hug yourself even as your gaze stays glued to the scene playing out in front of you.

As expected, Sukuna is unrelenting in his judgment. There is no mercy to be expected when he makes his decisions. He isn't swayed by the cruelty of the fates of the ones standing before him, no matter how tragic they are. His decisions are rational and brutal at times. And yet, after you stood there for several hours and watched him, you have to admit that his judgment is fair. Of course, he won't revive anyone. But he assigns an appropriate ending to their lives. He punishes the ones who did evil. He transforms the ones who got cursed. He leads the ones who are innocent to their eternal sleep.

When the last soul has vanished in a cloud of red smoke, Sukuna gets up from his throne and slowly walks back toward the temple. His movements are graceful, making you watch him with a feeling akin to admiration.

His red eyes land on you, and for a split second, a surprised expression crosses his beautiful features.

When he reaches you, he stops next to you with a content expression on his face and a small smirk lifting the corners of his lips,

"So my bride watched after all, hm? I am pleased."

You nod at him, and to your surprise, you see his smirk turn into a smile.

One of his large hands reaches out and lands on your head. Long fingers brush over your hair, petting you for a brief moment before he pulls away again and continues walking toward the temple.

You feel strangely light-hearted when you fall into step behind your husband.

When he takes you that night, he is gentler in the way he handles you. He doesn't press you face down into the pillow like he usually does, but instead rolls the two of you to the side, entering you from behind while you lay in his strong arms and his large hands trail down your body, cupping your breasts and rubbing circles over your belly.

His lips graze your earlobes while his low groans and murmurs fill the room,

"You're a good little bride."

You don't know whether it's his words or the way he snaps his hips that makes you clench around his thick cock and exhale a surprised moan, as for the first time, you feel thick syrupy pleasure explode inside you and spread through your whole body in warm crashing waves.

Your husband is often away. In the mortal world, reaping souls. You know that anywhere he goes, he brings devastation and fear. But when he comes home to you, he brings a certain comfort with him, as strange as it sounds.

You are almost glad when Sukuna's tall, broad figure walks into the wide double doors. It is very lonely here and scary at times when you become too aware of where you are, and the silence becomes too suffocating. Sukuna's presence brings comfort. His low, calm voice helps you drift away from that brink of madness you sometimes feel yourself drifting towards when you are alone with your thoughts for too long.

Your husband is Death, but to you, he is the only sign of life you meet down here, and that is enough to make you drift towards him when he is at home.

He is terrifying because of his role in this cycle of life and death. He is terrifying because he symbolizes the end. His position is terrifying. But the man Sukuna doesn't seem so bad.

He treats you well. He is polite. And as long as he looks at you and talks to you, you feel real. You still exist. You aren't gone. You aren't a ghost or a curse. You are very real and corporal.

You catch yourself following Sukuna around, watching him while he polishes his sword and the various daggers he carries. Watching him when he sits comfortably on the bed with books spread around him, reading and making notes.

His red eyes find yours and narrow in a frown.

"You've been staring at me for half an hour. Do you have nothing to entertain yourself with? What are you usually doing while I am away?"

The question catches you off guard. Is he mad at you? Is he accusing you of being lazy?

You look nervously at him,

"There isn't a lot to do here... I mostly just... wait? I sleep a lot, I take baths, and I help Uraume in the kitchen. Is there anything you want me to do?"

He blinks at you and shrugs.

"Why don't you find a past time? I showed you my library. Why don't you spend your days there and read?"

You feel shame wash over you. You get treated like a noble woman here by the King's side. But you have always been just a poor peasant from a dirty little village where the only thing that mattered was physical labor.

"I never learned how to read."

Sukuna's red eyes widen, and he stares at you for a long moment before he finally says firmly,

"Follow me."

He gets up and walks toward the door without bothering to check if you follow him. A man who is used to everyone obeying his commands.

You quickly scramble to your feet, bunch up your dress, and do as he says. You have to walk fast to keep up with Sukuna's large steps, probably looking pathetic as you hurry after him. But he doesn't comment on it. There is an amused smirk on his beautiful face, though, when he waits for you at the door that leads to his personal library.

It's a vast room with large shelves filled with so many books that you suspect he must own every book that has ever been written.

"Sit."

Sukuna's low voice is demanding, but you can hear the tint of amusement in it as he points one long finger to one of the large armchairs.

You nod and sit down, watching Death stride through his collection of books and pull several books from the various shelves, which he then places on the small table next to your armchair.

"I will teach you how to read. These are all books that contain very little text. We will start with those."

Your head snaps up, and you stare at him, caught off guard and astonished by his offer. Why does he care whether you have something to do in your time here or not? Why does he take some of his precious time to teach his bride, who he claimed is only here to warm his bed, how to read?

At the same time, you feel a shudder run through your body, feeling flustered suddenly as you realize that this means you will spend a lot of time with him.

Holed up in Death's personal library, where he sits so close to you that his large hand brushes against yours anytime he turns a page. So close that his breath caresses the skin of your neck anytime he tells you something in his low, velvety voice. You find it hard to focus on his words, too distracted by the warmth emanating from his tall, muscular body.

He takes you almost every night, but somehow, those hours spent with him in the library where he teaches you how to read feel much more intimate than the nights spent under his heavy body.

Sometimes, Sukuna returns home as immaculately looking as he left. His white cloak clean, his beautiful face flawless. But at other times, he comes home covered in dirt and blood from walking over a battlefield or through a slaughtered city.

On those days, you help him shrug out of his stained clothes and then lead him to the large bath, where you join him in the hot water to wash the blood and dirt off his muscles.

It is something he demanded from you.

"Why should I wash myself when I have a perfect little bride to do that. Isn't it your duty to serve me? Now take off your clothes and join me in the bath."

At first, it took all your bravery to slip out of your clothes in front of his wolfish gaze and smug grin. But now, it is no cause for shame or discomfort anymore. You are used to being naked in front of Sukuna. Used to getting claimed fully by him.

But it's not just that, you realize as you slip into the hot water and walk towards your husband.

By now, you feel a certain pride in this. Sukuna is Death. He is a God. A being that seems untouchable with all the power he holds. But you are allowed to touch him. You are allowed to invade his personal space.

There is something so intimate about straddling his lap here in the hot water, naked skin on skin, as you cup his beautiful face with one hand and use a washcloth to wipe the blood off his skin and wash his hair. A certain bond blossoms between the two of you when his muscular arms encircle you, and his red eyes watch you intently, glittering like two rubies in the flickering candlelight while he lets you take care of him. There is a certain softness in the way he thanks you for cleaning him despite his former claims that this was your duty to him.

It's during one of those shared baths when Sukuna kisses you for the first time.

He has claimed you almost every night, had you under him or in front of him, or made you be on top and sit on his large, heavy cock while he lifted you up and down and rolled his hips to thrust deeply into you. He made you bury your nose in his pink pubic hair while he used your mouth for his pleasure, made you choke on his copious amounts of seed, or sneered when he pulled out in time to shoot it all over your face and naked breasts.

He claimed you in every way a man can claim a woman. But he never kissed you.

In all the months you have been here by his side, Sukuna never kissed you until this afternoon here in the large bath where you sit on his lap and wash the blood off his face.

Your face is barely inches from his as you scrub at the dried blood on his right cheek when you feel one of his large hands trail up your back slowly. A caress that feels too gentle for a being like him. Your eyes flicker to his, and you see him watching you intently with an unreadable expression in those glowing red eyes.

Before you can go back to scrubbing at the blood on his cheeks, you feel his large hand cup the back of your head and pull you closer.

Your eyes widen when Sukuna's lips touch yours. They are surprisingly soft. His kiss is slow at first, lips barely moving against yours. But it grows more passionate quickly. His large hand tightens its hold on your hair, his mouth opens against yours, and his velvety tongue licks over your lips before pushing between them.

You shudder, not able to tell if it is from fear or pleasure. But your eyes fall shut, and your hand drops the washcloth. Your arms link behind Sukuna's broad neck. You open your mouth willingly for him, letting him in further, licking against his tongue experimentally, surprised at the heat that it makes throb in your core.

A soft growl is heard, and you can't tell if it's coming from you or Sukuna. But you know that his arms tighten around you and that you press your naked breasts against his muscular chest as you push your tongue eagerly against his, caressing it with a hunger that you didn't know you possessed.

You feel an all too familiar hardness growing beneath you, but instead of dreading it, you press against it eagerly, allowing yourself to fall into those hot, red feelings of desire and need. Allowing yourself to dive into those stormy waves of carnal pleasure, embracing the comfort and freedom it offers you.

This time you shudder in pleasure when Sukuna's thick cock pushes into you. This time, you gasp needily when his large hands knead your flesh, and his nails dig into your skin as he lifts you up and down on his throbbing hardness. This time, you meet the snaps of his hips eagerly, taking him deeper, making the act faster and more passionate as you ride him shamelessly until you are both grunting and gasping loudly, and the warm water splashes out of the large tub anytime your bodies connect in those passionate and frenzied moves. Both of you cry out loudly when your pleasure reaches its peak at the same time.

When Sukuna is at home, you can almost believe you are living a normal life in the mortal world. Of course, a life very different from your former one. A life as a princess, maybe, or a queen, who is living in a castle, wrapped in luxuries, with nothing to do except improve your newly acquired reading skills and help your loyal servant prepare decadent meals that you eat with your husband before he leads you to your opulent bed chamber where you both read and share the occasional laugh about an amusing passage in a book until your low moans fill the room while your lips and bodies meet in a passionate union.

You almost succeed in pretending that you are still alive.

Almost.

But then Sukuna leaves the temple to fulfill his duty as Death, and you become too aware again that the windows are only enchanted to show day and night and a blurry landscape instead of the eternal night and the nothingness surrounding Sukuna's temple.

And that's when you feel the unsettling presence of the complete silence choking you again. That's when you feel the absolute absence of life closing in on you again as if the temple walls are moving closer and closer to you.

You can only escape for so long into the fantasy world of the books you are able to read now. And Uraume isn't very helpful with how they seem to avoid you except when dressing you or cooking with you.

You catch yourself humming under your breath to comfort yourself. The humming turns into soft singing. At first, you feel a bit weird about how loud your voice sounds, but soon, you become braver and sing at an average volume, unafraid of how your voice fills the marble rooms of the temple with its clear sound. You are surprised by how many songs you remember. Songs from your childhood, folk songs from your village, popular songs from the big cities you heard performed at the harvest festival every ear.

You get so comfortable with it that you don't think twice about singing, even when Sukuna is at home. You only realize what you are doing when you hear him chuckle softly behind you, and you gasp and stop singing and turn around to see him standing in the open doorway, leaning against the door frame with his muscular arms crossed in front of his broad chest, his white cloak painted with the scarlet pattern of a soul claimed.

He smirks at you,

"Don't let me interrupt you. I am just unfamiliar with such sounds here in my domain. But it sounds lovely. Keep singing for me, my little bird."

You feel intimidated all of a sudden now that his red eyes are watching you, but you swallow down the nervousness and continue singing the song you were in the middle of before Sukuna entered the room. A song as old as your village, kept alive from generation to generation, speaking of the human longing for company, a home, a fire to keep you warm, and a love to comfort you.

Sukuna's gaze is glued to you, a strange emotion flickering over his god-like features. Something akin to longing, you think. Something akin to sadness even. But before you can wonder too much about it, he turns away from you and leaves the room without any further word.

When you wake up the next morning, you can't move. Your eyes fly open in panic, only to realize you are lying draped over your husband's broad, muscular body, your naked skin pressing against his, one thigh thrown over his hip, your head resting on his buff chest. And what made you unable to move are his strong arms that are wrapped tightly around you, holding you in their firm embrace while he is still fast asleep.

Your breathing calms again, and a small smile lifts your lips as you relax against Sukuna's warm body, letting his strong embrace pull you back to sleep.

"Sukuna, look!"

You are walking next to him on the path leading from his throne back to his temple when you spot it. A bright green patch of color in the otherwise dim and monotone landscape of greys and browns.

You hurriedly walk over to it, only to realize that, to your utter astonishment, it seems to be a cherry tree sprout growing bravely out of the seemingly dead ground of this Kingdom of Death.

You lift your head to look at Sukuna, only to find him staring at the tiny sprout bewilderedly.

Before you can ask him what's wrong, he stomps towards the small flower, yanks it out of the earth, and burns it with a swish of his hand, making you take a hurried step back and gasp,

"Why... why did you do this?"

His eyes glow viciously in the dim light when he turns to look at you.

"A flower like that doesn't belong here! This is the land of the dead!"

He stomps away, his white cloak billowing behind him as you can only stare after him with a confused frown.

Why does a little delicate flower bother him so much?

It is later during dinner when you dare ask him again. Sukuna's gaze is stern, his expression filled with a cold rage that makes you gulp fearfully.

"You don't know why I am upset? Then let me tell you, my little bride. Nothing grows here! No life exists here! That is how it always was! But now you are here with your singing and your liveliness, and suddenly, a symbol of renewal and hope grows in the middle of my kingdom! I disturbed the balance! By bringing you here, I disturbed it! You brought life into the realm of Death!"

"B... but that doesn't make sense. I died. I took my own life to follow you here!"

"And yet, you are still so ... so full of life. It's not right!"

You gulp hard, instinctively trying to hide the hurt you feel at his words. You bow to him, muttering,

"Forgive me, my Lord."

"I told you not to call me that."

You don't answer him but just get up from the table and hastily walk deeper inside the temple, fleeing from his words that cut deeper than the dagger that you used to slit your own throat with.

Tears are gathering in your eyes. You cannot bring yourself to care about whether you are allowed to leave the table before Sukuna or not. If he wants, he can punish you later, and you will endure whatever punishment he sees fit.

You wipe angrily at the tears that spill over as you stumble into the library and close the heavy door behind you. Why does it hurt so much? You came here because you agreed to his cruel conditions. You sacrificed yourself to save your sister. It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience. Come here, get wed to Death, and warm his bed. It was something you were supposed to hate. So why does it feel like you are being ripped apart upon feeling like your husband rejects your presence?

You huddle into one of the oversized armchairs, hiding your face behind a random book you grab from the table in a fruitless attempt to distract yourself.

That is where Sukuna finds you later that night.

You lift your head from the open book in your lap when you hear the door opening and see Sukuna's tall, broad figure looming in the open doorway. His red eyes glow devilishly in the dim light of the room.

"Don't run from me, brat."

A sad laugh escapes your lips, and you close the book you couldn't focus on anyway, lifting your head to glare at him.

"I thought you didn't want to have me around. So shouldn't you be glad if I run?"

"I never said that."

"But you think something is wrong with me and that it was a mistake to bring me here."

You hate the way your voice breaks at the end, turning into a teary sob as fresh tears spill over and slowly run down your cheeks. You don't understand yourself anymore. You don't understand why this bothers you so much, why you are so hurt by his words.

You should be glad if he doesn't want to spend time in your presence! You should be glad if he decides to let you go and fall into the nothingness of eternal sleep! You should even be glad if he decides to send you back to the mortal world as a curse that lives in your family's house!

Anything should be better than being forced to live here in his temple and be bound to him! But here you are with an aching heart and tears running down your cheeks because apparently, somehow, during the last months, you grew attached to Sukuna, and somehow, knowing he thinks you don't belong with him makes your heart break in ways you didn't know before.

Sukuna stares at you, a baffled expression on his beautiful face. The silence stretches on, deafening, suffocating, making you ball your hands helplessly into fists.

But then your husband moves. Sukuna marches towards you with large, sure steps, and before you know what is happening, he grabs you and pulls you up from your armchair and against his tall, broad body.

"That's not what I meant. I apologize for my careless words. There is nothing wrong with you. I am just... surprised by what you do to me."

His words make you lift your head to look up at him, blinking against the tears as his large hand cups your cheek.

"I don't understand, Sukuna. What do I do to you?"

His red eyes flicker with an array of emotions. Regret, pain, longing. He looks so strangely human right now. As if he isn't an almighty God who reigns over this Kingdom of Death and has the final say in the fate of every soul who comes here.

His voice is soft like a caress, low and velvety, but filled with a sadness that surprises you.

"Don't you see? You made a flower of life grow in the depths of the afterlife. When you sing and laugh and hug me with that warm, soft body, there is so much life everywhere around me. I am Death. I am used to being alone. I am used to numbness, to silence, to nothingness. It is part of my punishment. But now you are here, and you fill everything with colors and sounds and warmth. You are a source of light in this eternal darkness. And it... it unsettled me when I saw the extent of your power."

You blink at him in utter astonishment.

"But Sukuna... you are Death. How could you be unsettled by anything? What effect can someone like me even have on you? What power could I ever hold?"

He huffs softly, a sound that reverberates in his broad chest.

"I have existed as Death for eons. And it was always an existence in solitude. It's the irony of being me. Death belongs to life. It is inevitable. And yet, everyone who lives chooses to ignore it. They push it away, they demonize it, they make a taboo of it. I was always just a fearful whisper. I am something the mortals try to pretend doesn't exist until their last moments, when all hope is lost. Their delusion is so strong that I can walk through the middle of a crowded city filled with mortals, and no one will notice me. That's how much they banished me from their existence. I am invisible to them. They can see me only in the moments right before they die."

He stops momentarily as if to let his words sink in while his gleaming red eyes gaze deeply into yours. Something about what he said makes no sense. You frown.

"But... But I.."

"But you saw me. Yes, I know. You weren't supposed to be able to see me. But you did. Do you begin to see what I mean? You talked to me, and I was greatly amused by it but, at the same time, utterly fascinated. Do you think I go around randomly making deals with people? So many beg me in their last moments, but I always ignore their pleas. But you were different. You weren't standing on the threshold between life and death, but you still saw me. That's why I offered a deal to you. I was curious. But I wasn't prepared for what you would do to me. I wasn't prepared for what it would do with me when you talk to me and eat with me and bathe with me or when you kiss me and lay with me and find pleasure in it. I wasn't prepared for what it means to be seen by someone."

Sukuna's thumb brushes gently over your cheek, wiping your tears away while his red eyes gaze deeply into yours. He is a God, yet he is so human now. His words make your chest feel tight, and more tears well up in your eyes. But this time they aren't for you. Those tears are for him.

You realize that you are pressing your body tightly against him, wrapping your arms around him, and holding him. Hugging Death and looking at him with a gaze full of compassion.

"And I will keep seeing you, Sukuna. You aren't just a shadow. You are very real, and you aren't unspeakable or evil."

This makes him raise an eyebrow, his red gaze burning into yours.

"You don't think Death is evil? If you could, wouldn't you bring an end to it? Isn't that the ultimate goal mortals want to achieve? To defeat Death?"

You gulp hard but shake your head, refusing to avert your gaze but instead looking deeply into Sukuna's gleaming red eyes.

"No. You have a right to exist. Death belongs to this world just like life does. Why would anyone value their life if they knew it was everlasting? Many things are so much more special because of their fleeting nature. Your position brings a certain beauty to the world, a certain urgency, that wouldn't be there otherwise. Death can be cruel and unfair. But it belongs to this world. There could be no real value of life without you."

Surprise flickers over his face before it gives way to a pleased expression.

"I knew from the start that you are brave. And maybe fate sent you here to conquer Death after all. You definitely have conquered me."

A smile lifts his lips, so beautiful and flawless that it's not hard to believe that he once was an angel. Red eyes as beautiful as jewels glitter in the soft glow of the candlelight, making your heart flutter.

You look up at Sukuna, reaching out to touch his cheek too. He is so much bigger than you. Tall and broad. Death is standing in front of you, powerful and merciless, and yet you feel no fear anymore. His red eyes are soft when they look at you. His large hand is gentle when it cups your cheek. His voice is full of tenderness when he asks,

"Will you sing for me again?"

You smile at him and nod gently.

He picks you up and carries you to the bedroom, his lips finding yours several times on the way while your small hands cup his beautiful face, and you kiss him back eagerly.

You sing for him again when you are in bed, and he lies beside you, his hand playing with your hair. You sing even while he undresses you, parting your robe and exposing your naked breasts to him. Your chest heaves, and your voice flutters, but you keep singing even while Sukuna cups one of your breasts with his large hand and squeezes it gently, his thumb brushing over your sensitive nipple.

You keep singing, only interrupted by short, breathy gasps when his hand travels down further and slips between your naked legs. He is so loving tonight. His touch is tender, his large hands surprisingly gentle. Long, strong fingers caress you in a way that makes your whole body fill with heat. He isn't taking from you tonight. He is giving to you.

And you fall apart under his tender touch, spreading your legs for him shamelessly, lifting your hips to press your naked cunt against his hand, letting him feel how wet you are for him and how much you long for his touch.

You only stop singing when you can't form coherent words anymore, and your song turns into needy sobs and loud moans. Your hips buck, and you whine when Sukuna's fingers spread your creamy wetness over your folds and over your pulsing nub that he caresses slowly.

He keeps touching you, keeps caressing that little bundle of nerves that sends shocks of desire through your body, almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Loud gasps of Sukuna's name fall from your lips. The heat and pressure become so intense that you think you can't take it anymore. Your tiny hand's claw at his large one between your legs.

But Sukuna is unrelenting,

"No, let me. Let your husband take care of his beautiful bride."

A loud, raw scream falls from your lips as the pleasure crashes over you in hot, unrelenting waves, and your body arches up, thighs twitching as your swollen nub pulses hotly against Sukuna's large, firm fingers. He keeps rubbing it, slow but firm, and you feel hot wetness gush out of you and over his hand while you scream his name and twitch helplessly in his arms.

He is breathing heavily, his red eyes gleaming as he watches you intently.

"So beautiful for me, my sweet bride."

He pulls his hand away, but only to push your thighs wide apart, exposing your naked, wet heat to his hungry gaze. And his face gets pressed against your soppy cunt, mouth licking up your wet mess. Your hands tangle in his pink hair, tugging on it, crying out as your head falls back on the pillow when your husband pushes his tongue into you and licks and kisses you.

You fall apart for Sukuna that night on his fingers and on his tongue. And when he finally takes you with his cock, it is slow and intense. He faces you this time, kneeling between your spread legs and capturing your lips in a kiss when he sinks down on you and claims you with his thick cock.

He is everything you see and feel, tall and big, a mountain of muscles, and a cock that fills you so completely. He takes you with slow, strong thrusts that make you clutch his muscular back and moan his name while you chase peak after peak of blinding pleasure until you are so exhausted that you fall asleep right there in Sukuna's strong arms while his low voice whispers to you,

"You sing the most beautiful songs for me, my little bird."

"Mortals always say they will love each other until death do them part. What do you think that means for us?"

Sukuna's lips are lifted in an amused grin as he asks you the question.

He is lying next to you, his beautiful naked body laid out for your admiring gaze on top of the dark red silk sheets. His chin is probed up lazily on one large hand as he watches you, letting his gleaming red gaze trail slowly over your equally naked body.

You smile at him, reaching out to run a hand down his muscular arm, tracing his biceps and the black bands around them with your fingertips before they wander to his broad chest. You let your small hand rest there, fingers sprawling over his firm muscles, right where his heart would beat if he were a living being.

"I would say this means nothing and no one can do us part. It means our love will last until the end of time, just like Death will."

Sukuna's large hand lands on top of yours, covering your hand completely under his. He sounds pleased when he murmurs in his low voice,

"My bride is not only brave but also smart."

You laugh softly at his words before you lift your head to look deeply into his eyes.

"Sukuna?"

"Yes, my love?"

"You told me I could sit on a throne next to yours if I like."

His red eyes glitter in the firelight as he cocks his head curiously, a small smug grin lifting the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I did."

"Is that what you want?"

"It is your choice, but yes, I would like it if you sat next to me."

"Then I will do so."

There is respect in Sukuna's gaze when he gives you a nod to signal that he will set things in motion.

You know this is where you belong. By Sukuna's side.

One day, you will see your mother and your sisters standing in front of your husband's throne of skulls, but you don't fear for their souls. You will sit next to Sukuna when it happens and guide them to eternal peace, where they can finally rest free of all pain and worries.

You are Death's Bride.

You kiss him gently farewell before he leaves for the mortal world to reap the souls of the dying. You greet him with a smile when he returns, hugging him tightly and helping him out of his coat. You wash the blood off him, you kiss him, you talk to him. You fill his dark kingdom with light, just like he said.

And he lets you.

He even laughs softly when another little green sprout fights its way through the rotten soil next to the sea of blood.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! I didn't think this story would get so long, but once I started working on it, I got dragged into Sukuna's world and didn't want to leave again. The power he has over me!!

I hope you enjoyed this story!! Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!!

This is the last story for my Halloween Event 2023! I am so happy that I could write all the stories I wanted! Thank you so much to everyone who read a story (or maybe several) of this event!!

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sukuna fluff #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #tw dark content

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hoshigray · 1 year ago

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hey love can i request brothers bff cho and how he's just down bad for you 🤍🤍🤍

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg wait, i fucks with this baddd

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - masturbation (m!) - oral (m! receiving) - tit/breast fucking (m! receiving) - cowgirl position - pet names (baby, darling, honey, sweetie) - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - implied that reader is big chested - Choso crushing on you hard, lmao - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

Choso knew better than to be attracted to you, the sibling of his best friend ever.

Your brother and Choso have been buddies for a while, meeting during his part-time job at a burger joint as servers and finding out they have so much in common. Being older siblings, lovers of rock music, and relating to so much together, the two often hung out after work and became pretty good friends. Just two people vibing out in each others’ company, and there was nothing to make this relationship complicated!

“Hey, Choso, I’ve told you about my sister before, right?”

You greeted him with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Choso!”

Well, that is until you came and absolutely rocked Choso’s world.

You were the younger sibling of two; a college senior comes home biweekly to take care of laundry and then drives back up for your education. By your gorgeous face and alluring figure, Choso was struck by your image from the first time his eyes ever laid on you. You were such a kind spirit, always so sweet to him and others surrounding you — you’d want to hang with the boys whenever you had the chance while you were visiting, which was hellish for the brown-haired man.

You’d laugh along with the jokes, making Choso’s heart skip uncontrollably, and the way you’d lean to him when you’re sleepy watching a movie with them pushed the guy on the verge of shutting down. He could never get tired of how you’d say his name; it came out so dear from your lips as if he could be under your spell at any second. And it didn’t help that you’d walk around the house with shorts on, the lower fringes constantly threatening Choso on whether they’d creep up to see the mere crevice of your ass.

As said before, he knew better than siblings of best friends were off limits. However, you were becoming too much for him. It’s been half a year of seeing you, and there has never been a day or night where you haven’t popped up in his head one way or another, particularly when his mind would think of you in the most…lustful ways.

He throws his head back, reminiscing about you and your outfit from the pub. The way your breasts were tucked in nicely by the window of your bodycon dress, yet the cleavage was too tempting for his eyes not to notice. The dress sculpted your curves dangerously, Choso fighting the urge to put his hand on your hip to feel your clothed skin. And your lipgloss made your lips shine; every time you spoke to him was a test for him not to kiss you right there in front of your brother. It was so cruel how you looked so good for him!

He was spending the night at yours after a night out drinking with you and your brother, using the basement bedroom to sleep. Sleep evades him; however, he uses this space to deal with the erection he’s been dying to indulge in this entire night instead. His teeth pull the bottom of his shirt, dark jeans discarded to the floor, and his hand pumps his shaft that’s freed from his boxer briefs.

He grunts at the memory, teeth grinding while he strokes his long cock. Precum exuding from the urethra slides down to the base and wets his fingers. “Fuuck, Y/n,” your name is said in choked moans, the horny man fisting himself in a faster motion. Brown eyebrows are trenched, and his abdomen begins to flex. Shit, I’m so close, so cl—

“Choso?”

He never in his life froze still in an instant, and his heart goes to a complete stop, too. No way.

“Ca–…May I come in?”

No words are said from either side, so Choso’s heat immediately shifts to icy cold when he hears the door open, and your frame is all he sees. You’re still wearing the beautiful dress, yet your face is molded into an expression of utter anxiousness. Sweat goes down Choso’s forehead, oh fucking shit!

“I came down to see if you were okay and needed anything,” your eyes were downcast to the floor, chewing on your lips during this awkward situation. “But…I heard you say my name and…”

Oh, it was so over for him. All Choso could do was stare at you in dread, entirely shocked that you saw him masturbate at the thought of you! You were fidgeting with your dress, perplexed about how to handle this predicament, too. He was so done for; not only was he thinking of you, the sibling of his best friend, and using said thoughts of you, but now you are aware of how he pictures you in his fucked up head! Yup, he can never walk into this house again. “S–Sorry, Y/n! I’ll just go and—“

“Can I help?”

Again, his body goes rigid mid-stride of getting off the bed after pulling his underwear up. ….What?

“I mean, can I…help you with that?” You meekly walk into the room and close the door behind you. “I am the one who made you like this, so…I’m okay with it if you are…..”

Choso blinks, too alarmed to make any movements. “But, your brother…” You’re quiet for a few seconds before you spook him by taking steps in his direction. He gulps thickly when your figure crawls on the bed, too close for his brain to comprehend. You take his hand with your soft ones and bring his fingers to your lips to kiss, and his breath hitches when you suck and lick his digits. The boner stuffed in his briefs twitches at the sensation of your tongue running against the underside of his middle finger and sucking on it.

You peer at him, “What about him?” That is what you say before lifting your dress to remove your panties. And just when Choso thought his life was about to be thrown in the gutter, you flipped the script on him again.

In his head, Choso knew he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Mmm…Mmahh! Oh, Choso, you taste so good…”

But in his heart, he couldn’t help but give in to this situation.

You were situated between his legs, ripped him off his briefs for you to suck on his glans freely. Your tinge dances around his cockhead to prompt more come to ooze out of his urethra, and your hand slides up and down to stroke his member. Choso whimpers under your touch, and shivers crawl up his spine as you lick from the base to the tip before sucking hard.

“Fuuck, Y/n,” he grips the sheets, barely containing his hips to buck to your lips. “Your mouth, it’s—Hssshh…!”

“Mmm?” You blink before releasing the tip with a sound. “What about my mouth, Choso baby?” Fuck, the nickname made the pink of his ears creep down to his nape. “You feel good?” He nods at your question, and you giggle before sucking one of his balls, resulting in a sharp gasp from the brown-haired man. “I’m so happy you are…”

Hallow cheeks take in his cock, busying your throat with his length that has you humming blissfully. You massage his waist as you bob your face up and down, and shaky breaths leave his lips while his legs jolt with every swish of your tongue.

“—Shhiiit, oh shit, hnnn,” he can’t do it, you were driving him crazy. “Y/n, you’re gonna make me…Mmmm”

You pick up on his cue, withdrawing your lips from him to maneuver and pull down the top of your dress. Caramel eyes widen at the sight of your breast spilling out, forgetting how to breathe when you bring them to wrap around his long dick. You move them around to please him, taking the tip back into your mouth to slurp his leaking essence that trickles down to your chest.

“Mmaahh, go ahead, darling,” you place kisses on the tip, Choso looking at nothing but your mounds swallow him with every stroke. It takes mere seconds for his orgasm to sneak up on him, his jizz coming out to fall and trickle down in between the rifts of your tits. “There you go, let it out for me…” the way you looked at him with half-lidded eyes took his breath away, especially with the spit that connects your gloss-shining lips to his spit-and-come coated shaft.

And when he’s finally inside you? He’s too far gone to even think of being away from you.

“Ohhh, hoooh!! Chosooo, y’u feel soo good!”

Your dress was cast-off entirely, your nude body bouching up and down on Choso, his cock bullying the inside of your cunt. It’s been a solid fifteen minutes shared between the two of you exploring each other’s bodies, and sweaty skin exchanges heat from the constant motions. And come from rounds prior spill from your chasm as you ride on Choso’s dick with a rhythm.

He has his hands on your hips now, using you to keep him steady before he gets too lost in the feeling. Not that it hasn’t happened already; the man moans with every clamp of your walls around him, tightening around him with every graze of your g-spot. You wail for him up top, and your aroused sounds have to be the cutest things he’s ever heard. And the way your tits jump every time you plummet down to the base of him, it’s an image that will haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Tahhh, ughh, Jesus Christ…” He’s too sensitive right now; he just came not too long ago and is now being chased down for another one. “Y/n, sweetie, too fast, slow d—Ahh…!”

You hear him and titter, “Yeah? Want me to slow down, huh…” You bring your hips up excruciatingly slow, listening intently to the shaky sobs from the brunette as you get to the very top. And then you smack yourself down with haste, sharing a yelp at the rushed sensation. You do it again, “Think you’re about to cum again, huh, honey?”

His hands now come to your ass to grope with the flesh, and you twitch around his girth at the hunger. “Yeahhh…”

“You gonna be good and cum for me again, right?” Another snap of your ass crashing down on him.

“Yess, baby,” he throws his head back to the pillows, his head pounding so hard it could kill him. You can feel him pulsating within your slit. “Almost there…Ohh–ooo..!”

You bite your lip, relishing at the sight of him being desperate for release. You lean forward to him, your breasts meshing with his chest as you snake a hand around the back of his head. You place your lips on his, and he doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate.

The kiss gets hotter when you dial up the speed, tongues swirling and exchanging spit as the friction becomes a lot more pleasurable than before. Choso’s ears ring the deeper you bring him in to kiss, humming on his tongue as you suck on it with harsh rocks on his length from scraping places you couldn’t reach. He’s so fucking addicted to you; his composure long deteriorated the moment he first put his cock inside you.

Choso bucks himself to you in sync, his climax coming in just a few ruts. He howls into you, and you wail along as your hips don’t rest until you’re hit with a crescendo of your own. Contracting your vaginal walls milks him, exerting his load into you again to spill and flow down your sticky frames.

You two heave and pant in each other’s mouth before the kiss is broken, and the string of saliva is evidence of you being one with the other. Although the both of you are dazed, you smile at him before kissing his nose. “Glad I helped you out, huh?” He chuckles weakly as you lay kisses on his chin.

KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

And just like that, the two of you are frozen yet again. Wait…

Too late, the bedroom door busts open with a bang, and in comes your brother!

“Yooo, Choso, my guy—hic,” your brother stumbles inside the room, still a bit loopy and drunk. “Wanna go up and hit a quick blunt with— ah…”

The heat shared between you and the man below you switched to silent torture, awkwardness suffocating the three figures staring at each other. And this is the exact reason why Choso should’ve known better than to mingle around with you…

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yumeka-sxf · 1 month ago

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I knew from the chapter preview that this week was going to be a short mission featuring McMahon, but it was still interesting.

After the previous chapter, there was speculation that his wife could be Lady Tonitrus, but now we know that isn't true. We also know that his wife definitely doesn't know about his secret job working for Garden, which makes sense since he stated in the last chapter that she's just a normal civilian. One thing that's still a mystery though is whether he married her out of convenience or purely out of love, perhaps before he joined Garden? We can tell from this chapter that he obviously cares about her, so maybe a bit of both? I also suspect (though I'm not totally sure) that he went to Eden at the same time as Henderson since the guy with the glasses in the below panel resembles him. The two of them are a similar age as well, but it could just be coincidence.

At first I was wondering why he didn't bring Keekee with him on the cruise ship, but then I realized she would stand out way too much among all the people. Bringing her on a trek though a jungle with no other people around while searching for a rare species of deer makes more sense.

The scene of him cutting up the dead bird for Keekee's meal was a bit...jarring. Though it's typical of Endo's style where even in short, seemingly light chapters, he throws in a single disturbing panel - reminded me of short mission 13 about Bond and Penginman where we get that one horrifying panel of Bond's memories from the lab. It also reminded me of a brief time I worked at a pet store where we bred mice solely to feed the infants to the snakes (thinking back on it, that's definitely something I would not consider doing again 😑)

For some reason I never realized that Dominic works at City Hall. I thought he was just Camilla's boyfriend who worked somewhere else, maybe an organization that works with the SSS since he's friends with Yuri. But seeing both him and McMahon in what appears to be an office break room pretty much confirms that they work at the same place (unless I'm forgetting a minor scene, I think it was mentioned only in the fanbook/anime guidebook that he works at City Hall).

Lastly, it was nice to see a throwback to the cruise arc, particularly learning that McMahon desired to come home alive for his wife's sake - that in some way he values his life more than just being a mindless soldier for Garden.

Sometimes I wonder if Endo will kill off any of the reoccurring characters by the end of the series...it's hard to say in a series like SxF since, on the one hand it's a light comedy, but also isn't afraid to turn dark if the story calls for it. But if characters we know do end up dying, I always think that older, minor characters like McMahon are likely victims, especially if they have some sort of mentoring relationship with another character (he sort of does with Yor). Henderson is another suspect, though I think McMahon is more likely due to his dangerous line of work. Might not happen, but just something that comes to mind when I read chapters like this! 😅

Anyway, looking forward to getting back to the main arc next time!

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #sxf spoilers #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers #matthew mcmahon

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dontbesoweirdkira · 9 months ago

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What if batsib also dies and comes back? Would that get rid of their status as the comfort person and stability in Jason's life?

This anon is referencing this post!

Hmm. This is such an interesting question! Thank you for asking.

I think it really depends on how you view Jason in my writing. I'll give you a few possible answers and you can do it as you will. To be honest my headcanons are up for interpretation. There's no right or wrong answer in fiction. I want you all to be pleased.

If you want my personal answer then it's the second one. Happy imagining.

If you took it as that he only clings to Batsis because of their purity.

Well i think the answer would be yes. But this would also mean he's not really obsessed with you but what you have. Your innocence and optimism is something he can hyper focus on. It overrides the demons and memories in his mind, when he's in his worse state, he can fade back into the thoughts of you and feel better. You give him hope that maybe the world isn't as shitty as his mind makes it out to be.

If you can stay unscathed for so long then what happened to him was just an anomaly. You are the perfect example of how he wishes he was. Blissful and un-traumatized, he lives vicariously through you.

You dying completely shatters his mind. He allows all of the bad to overtake him, there's no hope for a better life. It's clear the world doesn't want good to exist so why try to fight his demons anymore? They already took you which was the last sweet thing left.

When you come back, you're so different. He can't bring himself to even look at you. It destroys him so much. You're a husk of your former self, you're too much like him now. He hates who he is and thus can't love you the same way as before. Even the pure vanilla scent on you has a hint of death mixed into it. He doesn't like it.

he keeps his distance as far away from you as possible and is rather hostile when you try to interact with him. He doesn't truly mean it but it's all too much.

If you took it as he clings to you purely out of love and your purity is just a bonus.

He could never even think to stop loving his sibling. If anything it brings him closer to you. Your death tore him to shreds...yet you even in the midst he still held onto parts of you he had left.

Your memory..your scent still lingers just enough to carry Jason through the months of your death. He remembered the promises he made to you about becoming better, becoming just like Dick. He still wants to carry that through so he can be someone you are proud of. It keeps him from slipping back into the depths of his mind again. Maybe he even leans on the support of his siblings as well. He doesn't completely shut everyone out.

When you come back, he might be slightly standoff-ish. He's confused and conflicted. He's happy to see his siblings once again but at what cost? He knows what going through the pit is like and what it does to your mind. It looms over you and tries to rip your mind apart. You see and hear things that aren't really there...or maybe it is but only to the un-dead. He's hurting for you. He never wanted someone as kind as you to suffer like this. He knows the pain will never stop.

After his initial aversion, he's even more protective of you. Sure you may not want it but you need it. You won't be getting through this alone, you may be a shell of yourself but soon you'll be back to normal. Just like him you can turn it around.

It's nice to have someone in the family who can directly relate to him. It's like you both are in your own little world together. The other siblings can't have access to you the same way he does. He loves it. He finally has his sibling all to himself and there's no more competition. The others are the strange ones to you now...not him! To Jason, you're still as perfect as before.

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discomfort-honey · 9 days ago

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hi Honeyy, could you write one where Law is hoooot hot, but he's actually a really nerdy virgin that gets turned on by fem!reader wearing a shirt of something he likes?

not au, if possible

thx a bunch!!

holllyyyyy shit this took forever. BUT i was super into it sooo

this is a long one lol. prolly wont write such long ones for every fic, thatd be absurd... unless..../hj

anywho i hope you enjoy, praying you like it mhmmhm

Limited Edition (Law x Fem!Reader)

warnings: virgin!law, inexperience, reader is a little selfish but still waits for consent, handjobs, law cums pretty quick, Honeyy dont make men pathetic challenge impossible, law has a crush on reader, spitting, 3rd POV (so written from everyones perspective but focuses on law) LEMME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING

law had always known he was fortunate in the looks department. he got stares, and sometimes people would come up and ask him on a date. some of the more bold people would loudly confess their love for him, leaving him in an awkward position.

but he would always turn them down. he would use the excuse that he's not interested in dating, which was true for the most part, but really he was just much too busy. he was busy studying to be a doctor, then training his devil fruit power to be useful to fight with, then he was preparing to be a pirate, and then he was out to sea. and he never stuck around anywhere long enough to form a connection like that.

enter you.

you hadn't exactly been shy about your attraction towards him. you had told him he was handsome the first night you met. he waved you off with a huff, hiding is reddening cheeks. but eventually you had joined his crew. his decision definitely was not swayed by how attracted he is to you. definitely. the way you began to call him 'captain', even with the occasional wink, had him clutching his chest, wondering if he was dying of a heart attack.

you would compliment him frequently, saying his shirt looks nice, or that you thought certain facial hair looked good on him.

one day, when you had first joined the crew, at dinner you had touched his arm, and ran your thumb over his gear tattoo.

"what're you doing?" he whipped his head towards you, surprised at the feeling.

"your tattoos are really well done" you complimented, smiling up at him.

"uh… thanks"

"do you have more?"

"yeah, on my chest and back"

"can i see?" he almost fainted when you winked at him. he cringes at the memory, thinking about how he had yanked his arm away with a harsh 'no'. truth be told, he was just incredibly shy. but you didn't seem to mind. just grinning at him with an amused giggle.

he knows he really likes you, but he has an issue he cant work past.

he's a virgin. a total, complete virgin. hes only kissed one person, and i mean it wasn't even a make-out.

all that is to say that his thought process has led him here, penguin and shachi's shared room.

"captain, you've got to be kidding me," shachi started to speak after his dear friend and captain explained the situation to them. "youre literally like, every girls 'bad boy' dream"

law gave them both a confused look "bad boy?"

"yeah!" penguin chimed in "youre a pirate, and you've got that hot "havent slept in five days" emo look"

law nodded along. he knew he was good looking, but he wasnt exactly privy to the fact that his lack of proper self care was attractive.

"just ask her out" they both said at the same time. it always confused law on how they could do that with no practice, but he was more focused on the content of their words.

"ask her?" he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. he felt comfortable enough with these two idiots. they were his greatest friends, so he didnt exactly mind letting his guard down.

"yeah!" penguin grinned at law "its easy, just say you wanna go out to dinner with 'em"

shachi interupted with "depending on her reaction, you can write it off as a friend thing, and be all like 'oh, i didnt mean a date'" ignoring shachis terrible impression of himself, law began to understand.

he hated to admit it, but they we're pretty smart sometimes.

he glanced at the clock. 12:37 am.

"i guess i'll ask her tomorrow" law said, standing up. he stretched, feeling the muscles in his back tense then relax. he could feel the tiredness washing over him. he hadn't really planned to ask you tomorrow. he said that to end the conversation, not wanting to deal with their complaints about why he wont. he sighs, and runs a hand through his messy hair "do you guys think she'd say yes?"

they both glanced at each other. he couldn't tell exactly what they were thinking.

"i dont know, captain, but i bet your odds are good" penguin patted him on the back and gave a hearty thumbs up.

so, law began to make his way back to his quarters. he began to do what he always does when he has a minute alone. overthink.

what if she says no? what if she says yes? im not good enough for her. i haven't even seen a girl with her shirt off. will she quit my crew?

he opens his door, and shuts it gently.

what if we go to dinner, and i say something stupid? what if i kiss her and she says i stink?

he sniffs his armpits. he still smells good from his shower earlier that evening. he nods to himself.

maybe not that one. what if she doesn't think im hot? what if-

the soft clinks of someone knocking on metal break through his brain fog. he turns to the door, and glances at the clock.

12:46 am.

he trudges to the door, not ready to deal with whatever problem the crew managed to have this time.

but he almost visibly lights up when he sees you standing on the other side.

"hey, captain!" you smile up at him. he has to force himself you frown so he doesn't groan at the sound of his title on your lips. "is.. this not a good time?"

he silently curses himself for frowning. bad choice.

"no, no its fine" good recovery. keep going…. "i was just about to get ready for bed." okay, good, maybe a little more- "but, if you need anything, i can help" stuck the landing!

and he can tell by your smile, he really did. he usually isn't willing to help his crew after a certain time, but honestly, you were a special case to him. he stepped aside to let you in his room.

"well, i was wondering about this," you hand him a print out of the schedule he made for the crew's yearly check-ups. "i wanted to know what this acronym meant"

honestly, he wasnt really paying attention. because as soon as you stepped into his room, he was completely mesmerized.

you were wearing your usual black sweatpants to sleep, and your cute bunny slippers. and your hair was put up, as opposed you how it was usually styled. he like it. he can see your nape clearly.

but he had only glanced at those things. no, his focus was entirely on something else.

your limited edition 'Sora, Warrior of the Sea' t-shirt. he knew it was the limited edition version because it was the one with Poison Pink's color scheme, and her name branded across the back. he recognized it from the catalogue of Sora merchandise he had. he had studied that thing front to back, and searched every island for any piece of merch he could get his hands on.

and damn did he want to get his hands on that shirt.

"captain?" oh shit, he was zoning out.

"you like sora?" he asked almost on autopilot

you gave him a confused look, before following his eyeline

"OH! yeah, i used to read the comics. im not really caught up, but i was like, a huge fan. i got this-" you smoothed your hands over the shirt, giving him the perfect excuse to look at your chest- "from a convention around here a few years back"

he swallowed, his throat felt dry. too dry. he glanced quickly around his room (he curses himself for not having picked up the few messy things lying around) for some water. but his gaze was drawn back to the shirt.

you liked Sora? your favorite-he assumed by your 'girls girl' attitude and choice of limited edition merch- was poison pink? he loved poison pink! he loved sora! he felt his affection for you growing all at once. it felt almost too much for him.

scratch that. not almost. it was too much. he bit his lip, feeling the familiar stirring in his lower stomach. shit, not now-

"do you like it, captain?" you asked in a sickly sweet tone. he knew you were always sweet with him because you heard horror stories of his temper from the crew, but he didn't mind whe you were being a suck up. he wished youd su-

he blinks, remembering to respond

"yeah, uh" he clears his throat, "SWS is my favorite comic… uh, since i was little" he feels the warmth in his face. it was quickly turning into a burning sensation.

"really? thats awesome! we'll have to read them together some time!" you giggled.

fuck. his pants were getting tighter by the second. the heat from his face going south, and quickly. he turned on his heel, facing away from you.

"uh, sure- it, uhm, its late. you should go." fuck. now he's stuttering. he's never going to let himself live this down. him, the great Heart Pirates captain, the Surgeon of Death, the Trafalgar d. water law, getting horny over Sora merch?!?!?

"uhm, okay…" you sound confused, and a bit hurt. like you thought the conversation was going well until now. well, youre right, but he just couldn't tell you why the talk suddenly died. "but you still haven't answered my question about the sheet…" your sweet voice called out to him like a siren, beckoning him to turn around. you sounded apologetic, too. like you felt like it was your fault he was kicking you out. he knew it wasn't your fault, and he feels guilt start to build up.

"right, uhm," he swallowed the lump in his throat, still turned to you. he tried to subtly adjust his pants. "which acronym was it?"

you paused for a moment. fuck, did he do something?

"captain, why did you turn around?" fuck. your voice is still sweet. like youre genuinely worried. you probably are, honestly. he feels the guilt growing steadily.

dammit. he paused for too long. and he still cant think of anything to say.

"i- uh, fuck" he muttered under his breath. he glances down. his now prominent erection visible through his skinny jeans

"captain," he felt your warm hand touch his shoulder. he almost gasped at the feeling and resisted when you attempted to turn him. your voice turned a little firmer "if youre not feeling well, i can help" god, he wished you would "im not a doctor, but i know how to care for a sick person"

"im not sick" law half regrets blurting out the truth immediately. maybe it would've been easier to just lie and kick you out, claiming he doesn't want to get you sick

"well there's something wrong!" shit, she's getting irritated.

law weighs his options, and decides to just be harsh and kick her out. not his favorite option, but in the end, it would be best for the both of them.

yep. the best option….

law tugs his sweatshirt down as far as it will go and begins to turn towards the door.

the thing about law, though, is that while he's not a gross person, he is a bit messy. he takes a shower every day, brushes his teeth and washes his face twice a day. makes sure his office and the surgery room are scrubbed clean every day. he even deep cleans his bedroom once a month. but he is a busy man, always studying his medical textbooks, running around with his crew… so sometimes, he may toss a shirt on his floor and not worry about it! in his defense, he only comes into the small room to sleep (and read Sora).

so when law steps back, he feels the familiar feeling of thin fabric under his foot. probably a tank top if he had to guess. but he was more focused on the feeling of him center of gravity switching, his balance being completely rocked. he hissed in a breath when his ass slammed against the floor. he heard your worried gasp, expecting you to call for him, or to kneel down next to him, but you were silent.

he opens his eyes, and looks up at you.

but youre not looking in his eyes.

youre looking at his lap.

he registers that he fell against his bookshelf, his back pressed against the wooden shelves. and his front faces you. and instinctively, he legs parted to catch himself. so now hes sitting like an idiot in front of you on his floor, legs spread- raging hard-on and all.

"captain-" you began to speak, so he panicked

"dont, please," his voice was the smallest you'd ever heard it. you could tell he's embarrassed, the way hes now shamefully closing his legs, tugging his sweatshirt down and huching over. "please just go" he was practically shaking.

and its adorable. you always thought he was hot. scratch that, he's like a skypeian god carved out of the most expensive marble by the most skilled artist. those tattoos he was especially proud of, the way his lean arms moved as he used his devil fruit, oh god those hands… you felt your throat go dry whenever you thought about them. the way the bottom of his shirt would lift when he stretched his tired muscles, giving you a glimpse of his happy trail. sometimes if you paid him extra attention, you had the privilege of seeing the light blush that overtook his face, no matter how harshly he acted, you could tell how he really felt.

but here, now, you knew you had to play your cards right. one wrong move and this could all fall apart. he could kick you out, maybe even out of the crew. or worse, he would take emotional damage and never recover. you've heard stories of men who get laughed at and are unable to get 'it' up ever again. no way you'd let that happy to your dear captain.

and maybe this is also for you. what can you say? youre a pirate. pirates are selfish.

you kneel down in front of him. he looks at you between his fingers

"what are you doing?" he's trying to be harsh, but his shaky breathing gives him away

"captain…." you watch as his fingers twitch at your voice "there's nothing to be embarrassed about" you know it's a cliche line, but youre only getting started

"i told you to leave." okay, he's still closing himself off. thats okay, you just have to give it a little more power

you lightly touch his knee, his whole body tenses at the feeling.

"are you sure thats what you want, captain?" you made sure to ask in that sweet voice you knew he liked. he tried to hide it, but there was always that look in his eyes. and he always did what you asked when you used the voice

he gaped at you. he looked like a cute, breathtakingly handsome fish. his mouth opened once, then closed. then opened again

you decided to take him out of his misery and finish your thought

"because…" you scoot your body closer, your breasts now pressed against his knees. his folded legs tense against him "i think you really want me to stay"

his breath hitches. he lowers his hands from his face, and you can see just how red he is. his brows are worried as he looks at you with hesitant eyes.

"i do," his voice is quiet, and theres a hint of insecurity, "b-but i really think you should go"

damn. he's resistant. maybe he's really just not into this? thats fine, you'll respect his boundaries. i mean, youre selfish, but not evil.

after one more try, youll give up! perfect plan. youre so smart.

"do you think im pretty, captain?" your thumb on his knee begins to rub comforting circles

he blinks at you before answering "of course i do"

"then…" okay, one last shot, make it count! "why cant i stay? i mean, i dont mind…" you glance between the two of you "helping you out"

he gulps. fuck, he thinks, the most gorgeous girl in the whole world is in my room, on my floor, touching me, and i cant even speak? she wants to help- no, no, dont get ahead of yourself, law.

he knows he needs to tell you the truth.

he knows youre going to laugh at him, call him weird, and storm out,

but as he glances up, he sees the look in your eyes. the caring, soft look. and he suddenly finds it easier to breathe.

"im a virgin." he blurts out without thinking

its your turn to blink at him. he instintantly regrets his words, cringing at them.

"thats okay, we dont have to go all the way if youre not ready"

…

……….

………………………..?

WHAT!?!?

his mind, after buffering, starts to race a million miles a second

what do you mean? so you dont care? wait, not all the way? was he ready? of course he wanted to fuck you! fuck! he has to respond, why is he so bad at responding?

"s-so… you dont care?"

"why would i care?"

"im almost 30, im a total virgin freak who got horny seeing your limited-edition Sora merch- i thought that youd be mad at me-"

you giggled. that melodic sound he could never get enough of

"captain, i think its cute how worked up you get… and besides, no shame in not having done it yet. sex isn't the only thing in your life, i get it!" you smiled sweetly, and the comforting hand on his knee squeezed reassuringly

he appreciated your words. it made him feel like you actually cared. he realizes in this moment that thats what was missing. he was never interested in those other people because he knew they didn't care about him. but you, you made him feel safe. you made him feel like he belonged.

you made him feel loved.

and while he wanted to savor the cute moment, he felt his dick throb in his tight pants.

"seriously, captain," your hands parted his knees, and he can feel your body heat as you lean closer "i think youre hot" he felt your hand on his cheek. youre close. too close-no, he corrects himself, not close enough.

"me too-i- i think youre hot" he stumbles awkwardly through his compliment, but its endearing coming from the usually stoic man. he adjusts himself so hes sitting upright.

youre close. you have a hand on his cheek, youre leaning in-fuck, he flutters his eyes closed, and leans forward.

your lips are soft, and they soothe his chapped ones. he feels your lips moving against his. man, youre good at this. or, at least better than him, he thinks. he begins to think about how he regrets not 'practicing', how he wishes he could make you feel just as good as youre making him feel with this simple kiss, but as soon as your hand moves down and cups his dick through his jeans, he forgets all of his worries

he groans against your lips, and you feel pride bubble in your stomach. most men dont make any noises cause theyre insecure, but this fine specimen is unabashedly groaning and bucking his hips into you hand. it looks like he doesn't even realize. how cute.

you bite his bottom lip, and he parts them for you. you slip your tongue in, and you can feel his gasp, his breath becoming yours. you remind yourself that you should move your hands, too, so you slip your hands under his sweatshirt. hes not wearing anything under it, which causes you to smile a bit against his lips as your fingers lightly caress his bare skin.

you trace where you know his tattoos are, the slightly raised skin extra noticeable to you, having memorized the path of his intricate marks. he parts from your lips, taking in a breath. his lips are parted, slightly swollen, and glossy with spit. he gasps in some air, but quickly calms his breathing. must be practice from all the exercise he gets. a little disappointing, you think briefly, you want to see him struggling to catch his breath. maybe later….

his call of your name snaps you out of your thoughts, as he lifts his sweatshirt over his head, tossing it aside. you take a moment to admire the way his muscles stretched then relax, the softer skin over his stomach calling out to you.

"hm?" you hum at another call of your name, your hands preoccupied with his torso still, you rake your eyes up to look at him properly "something wrong, captain?"

he shakes his head "no-no, please dont stop-" he gasps when your fingers find his belt "i just… ive never felt so-" his shoulders jump at the sound of his belt hitting the ground

"its okay, captain, ill take care of you" the sound of his zipper punctuating your sentence. you lick your lips, pulling on his waist band to indicate you want his pants off

he bites his lip, and raises his hips so you can pull his skinny jeans off. you leave his briefs on for now, deciding youd go a little slower, as not to overwhelm him. but damn, seeing the outline of his dick…. you always thought he would be big, but you really underestimated him.

his strong hands grasp your waist, panting against your lips as he leans towards you. you can feel his gasps against your cheek as you reach beneath the waistband of his briefs and finally touch him.

he cant believe this is happening. honestly, he assumed it was was a dream since you walked in the door, and now he's for certain it cant be real. because the feeling of your hand on his is good. too good. he can hear himself moaning when you tug his underwear down, and he lets out a guttural groan at the feeling of your spit hitting his tip. he thinks briefly that you didn't have to do that, theres enough precum dribbling from his tip to lube your hand, but he certainly wasn't going to complain.

his back arches off the bookshelf, and his hands grip you tighter, pulling you towards him.

"does it feel good, captain?" you kiss his jaw, stroking him slowly.

"y-yes, fuck, dont stop-" he moans out, fingers tracing the hem of your shirt. oh, right, you'd almost forgotten what started all of this. but as he throws his head back when you squeeze the base, shutting his eyes tight, you feel something bubbling inside of you.

jealousy? maybe… after all, he'd never gotten a boner when it was just you… or maybe the shirt was just his breaking point… you decide to find out.

he whines when you remove your hand, opening his eyes only to find you lifting your shirt over your head, tossing it to the side. youre wearing your favorite bra, its simple and comfortable, but you almost think your wearing your special sexy bra with the way he's looking at you

"youre so pretty-uhm, fuck-" he looks embarrassed to give out such an earnest compliment, and it makes your cheeks heat up.

you return your hand to his dick, swiping the precum with your thumb, making him groan. he cant take his eyes off your tits now, the way they jiggle with the movements of your arm, especially now that you're going faster-

fuck, hes not gonna last.

he opens his mouth to warn you, but all that comes out is an embarrassingly high-pitched moan. he watches your cleavage intensely. he suddenly feels bold enough to tug your cups down, revealing your nipples. his chest heaves with his quickening breathe, and he can feel his dick twitch

"are you close?" youre so sweet, always worrying about him

he responds with a nod, unable to form words. your hand moves quicker, and he clutches your sides, eyes locked onto your body. he feels like volcano, ready to erupt at any second

as he feels his orgasm approaching, on the brink of ecstasy, he makes the bold decision to look up at you. youre looking at him so sweetly, so lovingly, he cant help his heart from feeling full. which only adds to his orgasm as it hits him like a train.

his head falls against your shoulder, his moans fill the room as he cums, shooting his load against your hand and his abdomen. he whines when you stroke him through it, milking out all of his cum.

when you finally let go of him, he has to take a few seconds, calming his breathing.

"how do you feel, captain?" you rub his shoulder

"good, i feel good." he says quietly against you "uh," he begins, leaning back to look at you "i want you to feel the same"

his bold statement makes your core heat up, and you give him a smile

"yeah? do you know how, captain?" he fight a giggle at his blush, and slight pout. you see the world around you go blue, and suddenly youre on his bed under him, his pillows on the floor where you just were

"teach me"

A/N: sorry this ends kinda abruptly....... hmmm,,,,,.... may revisit and add onto it who can really say

#one piece #smut #one piece smut #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law smut #fanfic

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boolger · 10 months ago

Text

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 2

<-former chapter ~ AO3 link ~ next chapter-> I will block any ageless blogs. Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 6181.

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

Author's note: reminder that reader is kinda a bitch at some points, thinking mean, unjustified things about our 141 once in a while. Unreliable narrators, my sinner. Apologies for any grammatical errors , the bad russian and such. So uh, this got waaay longer than intended so here you go. It will be a couple of days before the next chapter, so enjoy this snack for u all, my sinners.

chapter 2: Delivery from the Hybrid's Den!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“I have a friend coming over for a while,” John softly said next morning, hand resting on your head, fingers stroking your long ears now and again,, “to help us with getting the boys settled.”

You were on the floor, half way beneath the kitchen table, snuggled up against Price’s leg, feeling much more needy, knowing the ‘boys’ as your owner called them, would be delivered later today or tomorrow. They needed to be chipped and Price had asked for a full health check from his vet, as well as vaccinations and dental care. John was a caring owner; the mere fact that he did this from the get go was proof of that. He had done the same when getting you, made sure that any recent wounds or scarring were taken care of - getting your teeth fixed and your nails checked.

You didn’t have much of your fangs left when he got you; your earlier owners had taken those, the memories still haunting you once in a while. They had done it without anesthesia, not even by professionals. Same with your claws, that wasn’t beneath your nails anymore, thanks to former owners as well. Price had gotten the wounds cleaned and fixed up; they had almost grown closed by now. For most of the time that you lived with John, he had made sure your nails were always done nicely, however you wanted them.

John was a good master. You loved him, more than you knew you should, desperate for his attention, acknowledgment and praise. You didn’t want to share him, not with these hounds he had decided to get…

… not with this apparent friend.

You didn’t answer with anything but a displeased sound, tightening your grip on Price’s pants; when he offered you another piece of sausage you were quick to eat it, licking at his fingers while he chuckled. For a moment your tail wagged, eating the food and pressing against his hand.

He couldn’t be serious - abruptly changing so many things? and you were just supposed to accept it? Finally, you replied.

“Do I know your friend?” You didn’t bother to seem excited in any way, your skepticism seeping into your voice like poison. Price took another sip of his tea, not commenting on it.

“You’ve met him before but it’s been years. First year I had you, I reckon. Remember Nikolai?”

Nikolai. Nikolai. Different faces flashed for your eyes, trying to pinpoint who you had met that bore that name.

“No,” you finally admitted.

“Can’t blame you, lass. You were a little mess when you met him.”

You let out a huff at his words, embarrassment making your toes curl. It was true, your mind was muddled when it came to the first half year or so together with Price. You had been wary of every single person, desperately acting out and having to wear a muzzle, slowly getting used to the gentleness and rules of John. How he was fair and didn’t change his rules, didn’t punish you without reason.

You heard the front door open, ears peeking up a little, a small bark leaving you on instinct.

“‘Morning,” Laswell called out, making you settle again with a huff. While Laswell was strict and sometimes a meanie, she wasn’t a threat. Only to you and John’s private time.

“Good morning,” John called out, “I’ve made coffee.”

“Ugh if I wasn’t a lesbian I would marry you,” Kate groaned happily, by now so comfortable with John that she simply moved to take a cup in the cupboard, helping herself to the coffee and some food. They had known each other when younger, that was all you knew. Their stories always changed when you asked.

“Morning puppy,” she greeted, leaning over to give you a small pat that you leaned into, tail wagging once more, “are you going to misbehave again today?”

“Hopefully not,” John hummed, picking up his tea cup once more, “Nikolai is arriving in a couple of hours.”

“Ah, your old crush,” Laswell mused happily as she sat down across the table, once again making you wonder how long they had known each other, “going to pull yourself together this time?”

Wait. Crush… crush? Your head whipped up to look at your owner and oh fucking hell, John fucking Price was blushing. You huffed, clearly not pleased at all with this new knowledge.

Wonderful, wasn’t that just fucking wonderful? Now he was going to abandon you fully, to run around being a lovesick puppy and playing with the new hybrids.

“Don’t tease me,” John answered, clearly embarrassed, a rare sight indeed, “that’s none of your business.”

Kate just laughed. You let out a grumble, trying to snuggle even closer to Price, practically clinging to his leg by now. Price returned his hand to your head, petting you once more, looking down at you. You returned his gaze, doing your best puppy eyes, letting out a little whine. He smiled at you, his other hand scratching you beneath your chin.

“It’s been years,” he mused and you were pretty sure that he wasn’t even talking to you, “he had to return to Russia. His mother passed away.”

Russia? A memory appeared in your mind. A small party. Champagne, treats. Praise from Price’s friends and colleagues, attention and love that you had basked in. Other hybrids that sent you longing and lustful looks. A tall, broad man with a loud laugh and a strong accent. Wearing a gold chain. Long hair, rough hands when he scratched you. He would almost make your owner shy with his teasing but he would shower you in love.

“Did I meet him at a party once?” You asked, “big guy, strong accent ? Wearing a gold chain?”

John laughed, “yes, that would indeed be Nikolai.”

Huh. It was not much you could remember about him. You remembered liking him, but despite that, you weren’t really interested in him getting here.

“He is going to help with Soap, Ghost and Gaz,” John then said, almost as if to convince himself that was why he was here. You rolled your eyes at their names. Not that you had any say, you were usually just called different pet names, but you no longer bore the name your mother had once given you. It wasn’t unusual for pets to get their names changed with every new owner. Your legal hybrid name, with John, was Daisy, even though the man rarely ever called you that. He called you so many other names, Princess, Darling, Sweetheart, Birdie and so on. But apparently he had decided not to change these working dogs’ names.

“Sure,” Kate answered with amusement in her voice, taking another sip of the coffee before adding, “whatever you say.”

Price didn’t answer with anything but an annoyed grumble.

“Those are stupid names,” you muttered. A sharp tug on your ear made you yelp, one of your hands grabbing onto his wrist to get him to let go of your furry ear.

“Be nice, Princess. You’re going to behave, am I understood?” You didn’t meet his eyes, a little whine merely escaped from you.

“She just needs to be shown her place,” Laswell carefully said, John not letting go of your ear, much to your dismay, but he didn’t tug on it - just kept it there as a warning, “maybe they’re better at that.”

“Hopefully they’ll be better at it than me,” he muttered and you whined - the grip didn’t loosen and he didn’t look down at you.

“Nikolai is going to help with that too?”

“He had ideas, at least.”

Fucking wonderful.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nikolai was the first of the four men that you already hated, to arrive.

You stayed inside the house, watching John appear from one of the stables, almost lighting up at the sight of the man who exited the car.

He still looked like the old memory you had of him; big, long black hair and a grin on his face. He was taller than John but not by much, Almost seeming completely opposite to your owner. While John wore working clothes, a grey T-shirt beneath his blue flannel, dirt on his pants, Nikolai was wearing a pair of blue jeans, white T-shirt and leather jacket.

Even inside the house, you could hear the booming man that was Nikolai - he greeted your owner with a loud “John!”, before hugging him, even spinning him around. You couldn’t help but stare; John was far from small but the other man had swung him around like he had been a teenage girl.

John was blushing like one too. The sight made you curious - just like you wondered how he and Kate met, you wondered how this Nikolai met your owner.

You couldn’t help but wag your tail at how happy they looked. Despite how you hated the idea of the man staying here, even just for a little while, you liked seeing John happy like this.

Then two pairs of eyes suddenly looked directly into the window, both staring at you. It made your ears tip back a little. Your tail kept wagging, eating up the attention.

When they moved, you moved too - rushing towards the entrance, stopping in the doorframe to the living room.

“My my, if it isn’t the famous puppy,” Nikolai mused, his Russian accent strong, eyes almost twinkling as he looked you up and down, “up to trouble, da?”

You huffed, crossing your arms, though you felt your tail betray you by wagging a little, “I’m never up to trouble.”

Both of the men laughed, making you growl a little.

“Unruly - just like last time I met you!” Nikolai mused, looking over at John by his side, “you gave up on training?”

John shook his head, “don’t even get me started, mate.”

“You told enough over phone,” Nikolai answered, waving his hand at John while pushing his shoes off with his feet.

Ah. So he had talked about you with Nikolai already? The fact made you scrunch your nose a little. Maybe Nikolai was just as stupid as John when it came to realizing why you were upset.

Nikolai stepped into your personal sphere with no warning, almost backing you up against the door frame, making you panic and growl a little. Tail no longer wagging - you could see John tense up in the corner of your eye, but you were too distracted by the stranger.

“Nik—“

A part of you expected him to hit you - you had met plenty of strangers with your former owners, who didn’t even let you sniff their hand or anything. Some hurting you and —

He offered his hand. It didn’t hit you, but raised to your nose instead. You squinted at him, before taking a couple of sniffs, still not quite sure what to make of him.

“Don’t like you,” you growled in warning, showing your teeth a little, not even attempting to be polite.

“You don’t like farm life yet, puppy?” He asked, tipping his head to the side, voice demeaning, stupid smile still on his face. You wanted to slap it off his face. “Stupid little puppy.”

Instead you chomped down on his hand, Price instantly scolding out your name, moving to drag you away. But Nikolai didn’t even flinch - didn't move besides laughing again.

It made both you and John confused.

“If you want to hurt me, you would have to bite harder, Princess,” Nikolai crooned, “now let go.”

You wanted to piss in his shoes and rip his socks to pieces. Maybe scratch up that leather jacket of his. Yet you found yourself letting go of him, your teeth barely even having made a dent in his skin.

“Get your ass into your room,” John hissed, a redness in his skin that you weren’t sure came from embarrassment or anger from your action.

“No harm done, John,” Nikolai laughed; he scratched you behind your right ear, just a tad to the left and it was like your brain melted for a couple of seconds, your body reacted on its own, tail wagging and right leg moving as well, “she just attempt to be dangerous no?”

John let out a small sound that you weren’t sure what to make of before he grabbed you by the collar and dragged you away from Nikolai, “and that’s the kind of behaviour I don’t want.”

“He was being mean,” you whined in self defense, unable to not follow the hand dragging you into the living room, “he almost dared me to!”

Perhaps an overstatement, but you already knew what was going to happen the moment that Price pushed you over the armrest of the couch, “I bit him to defend myself!”

“You will not, and I repeat myself, not bite my guests,” he pulled up your skirt and down your panties with such a quick movement that you didn’t get to point out that you didn’t care, one hand grabbing your tail; his other hand collided with your ass cheeks, once, twice and then a third time, before he snapped out, “got it?”

A defiant bark left you, because while you knew it was bad behavior, you also wanted to prove that you weren’t afraid of this Nikolai. You twisted a little, knowing your ass and pussy was basically on display for both men.

The grip on your tail tightened making you cringe with pain, jaw tensing.

“Apologise.”

You shook your head in defiance, ears hitting your face. Price leant over you a little, hissing out, “I would advise you to apologize, princess. Now.”

A part of you knew he was upset because he liked Nikolai. If he actually had feelings for him, as Kate had pointed out and several things pointed towards, you knew he wouldn’t like being embarrassed too much. Your ass still stung a little.

You were the actual victim here, weren’t you? It wasn’t your fault he decided to change everything you loved and then accept that he had his lost love over, who immediately tried to push your buttons.

“‘m sorry,” you mumbled after two seconds.

“Louder.” John demanded, straightening up, so that you were no longer hidden.

"I'm sorry."

There was silence for a moment - then the sound of a lighter and as you dared to glance over at the bigger man, who was leaning against the door frame, you saw him staring right back at you, a lit cigarette now between his lips.

“Is okay, Lapochka.” He said, stupid smile still on his face.

With that John finally let go off your tail, pulling up your underwear and your skirt down, ignoring your whine. He didn’t even touch your pussy! Didn’t even give you some love!

You pouted as you looked over at them, sliding down from the armrest of the couch, hands going beneath your skirt to rest against your warm skin on your cheeks.

“Sorry Nik,” John once again apologized - as if it was him who John had just spanked! The audacity! You let out a little displeased bark.

“She usually doesn’t bite people,” he continued as he ushered Nikolai as if you weren’t right there, needing love and attention.

“Is okay,” Nikolai answered with a shrug, casting one last glance over at you, smirking for just a second, “some of it was my fault - wanted to see what she would do.”

Asshole.

“Room, princess - now.”

“But he literally ju—“

“I said now.”

“You’re being so fucking mea—“

“Crate then.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” You might have slammed the door to your room, growling as you plopped down on your big fuzzy dog bed.

It was about 30 minutes later than you dared to wander from the room to the kitchen again, standing in the doorway, watching the two men talk. Eyes moved to watch you again, as you whined and got on your knees. crawling to the two men, shamefully settling between Price’s legs on your knees - tail carefully wagging, sending your owner a pitiful glance.

“‘m sorry,” you whimpered, knowing John was easy to sweeten up, “‘m sorry, sir.”

A hand moved down to scratch you, though it wasn’t John’s- you carefully licked his hand, a pleased rumble leaving the guest.

“Smart one,” he muttered, giving your cheek a little pinch, “knows how to be sweet, da?”

“Always,” John answered, looking down at you with his usual loving eyes, “soft lass is hard to stay mad at.”

“Perhaps you need some more company,” Nikolai pointed out, “I worked with military pets before, they’re much different than you, milaya.”

“We don’t need them,” you whined, having no idea what Nikolai had just called you, “John will forget about me, will be too busy, he –”

John’s foot ever so gently pushed against your stomach, “don’t start that again.”

“Just insecure,” Nikolai suggested, making you huff.

“Am not,” you argued, but you still nuzzled closer to John, starting to move your hands to his inner thighs, moving to look up the best you could, looking from under the edge of the table, sweetening your voice a little, “It’s just a mistake, that’s all.”

“Spoiled, that’s what you are, darling,” John pointed out, but he still reached out to gently pat your head, “however, the boys will be here in a couple of hours and there is nothing you can do about it.”

You whined pitifully at his words, upset that your clear dissatisfaction with them joining the farm wasn’t clear. It was like John didn’t want to realize at all that he didn’t need to stay out on this farm. He needed to go back to the city, to the fancy penthouse apartment, to the parties that lasted out to the late hours of the night, where you could gossip with all the other hybrids.

“Milaya,” Nikolai repeated again, rustling with something in his jacket that hung over the back of the chair he was currently sitting on, pulling a little package from it. You watched curiously, though trying to seem disinterested. That was until he opened it and the most wonderful, mouthwatering scent you had smelled in a while appeared and you instantly moved from between John’s legs to Nikolai’s, making your owner chuckle.

The piece of jerky looking meat that Nikolai held in between his thumb and pointer finger, looked simple but oh the smell of it made it known that it was good.

“You behave and let us look through papers now, da?”

“Yes,” you said, unable to look away or stop your tail from wagging, “I’ll behave.”

The moment Nikolai offered you the piece, you were on it, barely missing his fingers with your teeth as you stole it from his grip. Nikolai was chuckling, putting the bag back into his jacket, while you chewed, a pleased moan leaving you as you settled beneath the table.

Hopefully these mutts would prove themselves too difficult - so that John would send them away again. You would happily wave goodbye to them.

With the sweet aftertaste of the meat in your mouth and their soft voices discussing fences, you closed your eyes.

You weren’t going to help with the pack settling in - that was for sure.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You barely got used to your owner’s crush, before there were once again new things happening. Kate appeared, greeting Nikolai like an old friend as well. You hadn’t figured out much about the man, other than he had worked with a lot of hybrids throughout the years. And with helicopters. However that all fit together, you didn’t know… didn’t really care.

The big truck that arrived a couple of hours later, stood out against the farm houses; a colorful logo was painted on the otherwise steel gray vehicle.

THE HYBRID’S DEN! helping owners find their perfect hybrid pet since 1960!

You remembered seeing their logos everywhere when you were sold to the auction, years ago. The auction houses and facilities had often felt like an intermission from your former life to your new; never knowing what was going to happen, treated with the minimal care, but kept healthy enough for the auctions.

The staff wore the colorful logo on their black uniforms, exciting the truck a few moments later. You almost wanted to tell them to ‘get the fuck back into that truck and drive off’ again, but you figured it wouldn’t result in them actually doing so.

You kept your distance, standing on the steps of the front door - strategically keeping Nikolai between you and the closed metal crates that were inside the truck. There were nothing more than a few air holes in the boxes, from where some different sounds appeared. Barks and a growl or two, though they all sounded a little slurred. Nikolai moved, giving you a better look at them, as he joined John who was nodding along to some of the information, while looking through and signing some papers. Though you were mostly distracted by the crates, you could hear some of their conversation, catching words like sedated, muzzles, stressed. Your own trip hadn’t been nice either but a part of you wanted to point out to your owner that this only proved your point of this being a bad idea.

Some of the auction workers helped move the crates to one of the bigger empty sheds that Price had apparently been renovating without your knowledge. So apparently not so empty any longer. Not that it had been hard to do that, you ignored most of the different renovating and building jobs that both John and the helpers did.

Still… he could have told you. God, did your master tell you nothing anymore? It didn’t really help your mood, your growing annoyance clearly amusing for Nikolai if his smiles back at you were anything to go by.

Despite your repeated frustration with this entire situation and these new hybrids’ mere existence, you followed along inside the shed. It was nice… Isolated, with a tiny bathroom, an area padded with mattresses, which was clearly for them to sleep together, pillows, blankets… you wanted that too. Sure, you had loads, but this only made you want more, want more from Price, so that he could prove he still loved you.

There was a radiator, several windows, lamps and electricity outlets. You scrunch your nose with displeasure. They didn’t deserve that. At least they weren’t inside the main house.

There was a little notch in the other corner opposite the bed area, almost like a tiny expansion, another door next to it; it was almost like a small horse stall - a deep layer of hay covered the floor. You didn’t even step into the place, but you knew the hay would itch.

You wanted it. Not the itching of the hay, but the entire place, simply for the sake of having it, so that they couldn’t. Speaking of them, you watched from the main entrance as the metal boxes were opened.

The Belgian malinois and German Shepherd mix was the first one to stumble out of the box; he fell two steps later, directly into the hay, a deep sigh leaving him, eyes darting around. You could barely see him from the amount of people inside the stall.

“It’s alright, Gaz,” Price comforted, while you stayed in the door, keeping his distance to the hybrid, “You’re okay, boy.”

Gaz didn’t answer, just panted a little, ears tipped backwards - his eyes looked a little blown from what you could see.

“When will the sedatives wear off?” Laswell asked one of the workers, but you didn’t look at them, eyes instead at the other hybrid.

When you had arrived, you had been scared and angry, drugged as well. But you had been alone. While you grew up with your parents, in a nice enough place, you hadn’t seen them for years - and while you had befriended a lot of other hybrids throughout the years, you had never been a part of a “pack”. You were alone — but this Gaz wasn’t and a part of you envied him, even for that.

“In an hour or two,” the worker replied, pulling you from your deeper thoughts, “they weren’t too happy to settle down before we left. It was necessary.”

A small bark left the man in the hay. It was answered by the two other hybrids, who still hadn’t come out of their respective boxes. Nikolai gently tapped on the top of one of the boxes with a knuckle.

“Come join your friend,” the Russian suggested, voice not as loud as earlier.

A moment later the border collie mix, Soap, crawled out of his box, eyes instantly on Gaz, letting himself lay halfway on top of the other. A little growl leaving him, muffled from behind the mask. Not even a second later, Ghost got out of the last crate. The Great Pyrenees almost got on his legs, growling despite the muzzle and swaying from the drugs.

You watched the staff pull back the metal boxes, letting the hybrids get some space. Ghost didn’t stay on his legs for too long, eventually sitting down next to his pack mates, the lower half of his face hidden from view as he looked around the shed.

His gaze stopped at you; you were unable to sense the reaction from seeing you again, if there even was any.

“We’ll let you have some minutes, okay? Then we’ll take the muzzles off.” John gently offered, pulling the giant from the moment, so that he looked away, giving Price a small nod. Your owner was at the edge of the hay filled area but he didn’t step into it.

You stepped back, letting the staff members from the auction pull away the boxes, Laswell and another farm worker helping them. Nikolai looked from the pack, then over his shoulder at you, barely even trying to hide a smile.

Then he winked. You sent him an unimpressed look back, tipping your chin up a little, looking away from the three hybrids in the hay, pretending you weren’t curious about them.

Some more rustling in the hay and then a half croaked, “mah held hurts,” left Soap, voice a little slurred - you couldn’t help but look over at him. His accent was weird. His ears were tipped down, some hay already stuck in his hair. With the pathetic look on his face you didn’t understand how he was supposed to be a big bad soldier.

You weren’t being petty at all.

“It’s the sedatives,” John calmly answered the hybrid, who let out a big breath from behind the muzzle.

“If I take the muzzle off, will you behave?”

“We have water for you,” Nikolai added, keeping his distance - you kept him in between you and the dogs, not risking anything. You trusted the men to be able to defend themselves. But with no claws or fangs, you weren’t a fighter - more a runner. Even if you didn’t like running.

The two muzzled ones, Soap and Ghost, sent each other a look - but it was Gaz, half hidden beneath Soap, who let out a tired “please.”

Ghost gave a small nod then. John stepped into the hay, unhurried as to not spook them, and it was Ghost who tipped his head down first to let Price open the lock with a small key. The moment he was free, he smacked his cracked and dry looking lips.

Clearly, the man had never heard of chapstick.

Though, much more apparent, where the colony of scars on his lower half of the face. Trailing from around the lips, one over the nose as well - cheeks and chin. As he smacked his lips, you saw he had lost a fang in the bottom of his mouth. It wasn’t just sanded down like yours, the tooth was fully missing.

Price repeated the action with Soap, the hybrid instantly opening his mouth wide with a yawn, his jaw even making a popping wound.

Nikolai appeared with three bottles of water from a little cooler in the shed - you didn’t have your own cooler, which meant you would be demanding one… not that you needed it but still — giving the hybrids each one, that was always immediately opened. Gaz pushed Soap away and sat up too, while John backed away.

“My name is John Price -we met shortly at the auction. I’m the owner of the farm and you will all answer to me. Got it?”

“Yes sir.” For a moment you were impressed with the three hybrids’ synchronized answers. Only a short moment however. They were probably just beasts trained to answer like that. Yeah, yeah, you could do that too, if you wanted. But you didn’t.

“This is Nikolai, my friend, he will stay with me for a while, helping you all to settle in properly. You will follow his orders too - as well as a mean looking woman, Kate Laswell, who will appear at some point.” Humour tipped into the last part making Soap snort and Gaz give out a half-slurred giggle, while Ghost just let out a grunt.

“And this,” Price suddenly turned over to you, looking a little amused from the distance you kept between all of them, “is my pet, Daisy.”

“Well hellooo, bonnie lass,” Soap said, his tail immediately wagging, grinning at you, as he slurred, “aren’t ye a sight for sore eyes.”

Nikolai and John dared to laugh at his words, his rather pathetic attempt at being charming, while you growled, watching Soap get an elbow in the side from Gaz, while Simon just stared, almost differently than the scot, like a hungry beast. If you were fully inside the shed, you might be able to smell if they were turned on. Disgusting.

“Come’ere, sweetheart,” John crooned, clearly pleased with the reactions from the men, while you scrunch your nose, tipping your chin up a little - giving it a shake to reject the command.

“Do not be like that, milaya,” Nikolai suggested, “thought you were going to behave, no?”

You just growled a little again, unable to help your tail go between your legs a little; you didn’t really want to be spanked again, but you didn’t really want to become acquainted with these hybrids either.

“My princess isn’t too pleased with you lot being here,” John calmly explained without taking his eyes off you - they were still all staring at you - as John raised a hand, making a ‘come-hither’ motion that had you swallowing some spit, “but she isn’t going to chase away any wolves, are ye, pet?”

You huffed, crossing your arms before stepping inside the shed. The scent in there was nice and clean, even with the vague scent of the newcomers, and you walked to John, stopping halfway hidden by him.

However, as John’s arm snaked around your soft waist in a strong grip, you whimpered as you were pulled forward a little, unable to hide behind him. Both Gaz and Soap were wagging their tails at you, while you tried ignoring the scent of the room the best you can.

“I’m expecting you all to get along - and not hurt each other too badly, understood?”

While the others answered in agreement you just hid your face in his shoulder, twisting a little in his grip.

“No playin’ too rough,” Nikolai added, “Puppy isn’t used to other hybrids.”

“I am!” you snapped, “Just not…”

The shed was quiet for a moment as you mulled over your next words. What to call them. Military dogs. Strays. Mutts, un –

“Not what?” Nikolai almost seemed entertained by your declaration and you looked away, before finally mumbling.

“... working dogs.”

Simon huffed. You shot him a sharp look that he didn’t really seem to be affected by, in any way.

“I’m sure you all will get along,” John just mused, before looking down at his watch, “A certain princess has become too bored now we’re no longer in the city -” he ignored your mutter of ‘have not’, “- and I can’t entertain her all the time. Mentally or sexually.”

You whined with embarrassment, a little angry growl seeping into it, but Price didn’t really react, barely moved as you twisted in his grip, ignoring the grin of the several males in the house.

“ - Now, I will leave you three to get acclimated a little. But, there are a couple of rules that I expect you all to follow, if not there will be punishments.”

Synchronized nods. You still twisted, digging your fingers into his arm to no avail - then a hand snagged onto your collar from behind, choking you shortly as you were pulled back, Nikolai pressing against your back. Now free, Price pointed to a little map over the area, that you hadn’t noticed on the wall.

“Your jobs will essentially be to help keep the place safe. We have had problems with wolves and foxes, and so has the neighbors, since there lives a bunch in the area. You three will help keeping them away and Soap will help around my sheeps and goats in particular, given you’re a herding dog–”

Soap nodded, tail wagging, all three dogs staring at the map intensely.

“- I will find other things for the two of you to help with as well, but your main focus will be on keeping the animals - and the rest of us - safe. One of the neighbors got some horses stolen not too long ago. I would like to avoid that as well.”

You didn’t even know that. What you did know, however, was the heat of Nikolai’s body behind you, keeping you close and tethered so that you couldn’t run off.

“Most of the wildlife will go away if intimidated, but at times you might need to attack them. I am not going to give you any firearms yet though,” John looked over at them, his voice firmer than you usually heard it, “That will come along the way, if needed. We can discuss other weapons later on.”

The mere idea of John giving them any kinds of weapon made you want to throw up - or throw a fit. Had he gone fuckin’ mad?? giving them guns? They were going to shoot everyone, going to kill John and you. You really didn’t want to die.

“My farm includes these - and these fields. You will not and I repeat not, leave my land without a valid reason. There will be punishments if you do - you will all be given collars like another certain puppy–” all eyes watched you for a moment and though, you wanted to hide your face in your hands, you didn’t, merely crossed your arms, ignoring the low laughter from Nikolai behind you, “that are fitted with trackers, so I will know if you do.”

Great. So hoping for them to run off wasn’t a possibility for now.

“Biting or attacking my staff in any way will result in severe punishments. You will lose privileges if you don’t do as told, without a valid reason. Is that understood?”

“Yessir.”

“Good boys. Now, these upcoming days you will most likely be following me or Laswell around, while we get you in on all these. All dinners will be eaten in the main house and you will be given keys once I get them made one of these upcoming days. I will give you a couple of hours now –” Price looked down at his wrist watch, “Then call you in, an hour or two before dinner, so that you all can shower. Any injuries, allergies or anything that the Hybrids’ Den didn’t write down, that I need to know?”

They all shook their heads, behaving like synchronized swimmers in your opinion.

“Good. You’re all free to relax here or explore the farm if you wish so, when the drugs wear off.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

As you entered the farm house, you shrugged off your jacket and abandoned your shoes in the entrance, not caring to clean up after you, ignoring John’s irked huff.

“Insane!” you declared, walking further into the house, “You’ve gone insane! You’re all going to forget about me and those horny knotted mutts will be all up in my business!”

You flopped down on the couch, face first, continuing your ranting into the fabric.

“I might as well barricade myself inside my room - Because I dont have a tiny house!! but guns! SURE ! give them guns!” Your voice was muffled, but you were, perhaps a tad dramatically, loud in your ranting. You could just make out whispering between the two men but you didn’t care… not until you were forced to, quite literally.

“Little puppy,” Nikolai’s accent was heavy - his body even heavier as he settled on the back of your thighs, a fist coming to rest next to your head, that kept his full body weight from you, “Throwing a fit again, da?”

You could feel the slight bulge against your fat ass, making you swallow - and tail wag, hitting Nikolai against the thighs, making the man chuckle. John as well, who settled down with a cigar in one of the arm chairs opposite the couch. You didn’t even need to look to know that he watched as Nikolai tugged at your skirt.

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lily-jaxk · 4 months ago

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MC TWIN AU - CALEB's Spitfire.

It took a lot of begging, a lot of pouting, and a lot of bribery, but eventually you agreed to follow MC to her grandma's house.

"My friend Caleb will be there with us today!" She said excitedly as you drove, following the instructions of the GPS and MC's memory.

You hands clenched on the steering wheel, but you force a grin to form on your lips. "Oh? Caleb hm? That's the uhh the pilot guy right?'

MC nods, her eyes flashing with excitement. "Yep, that's him. I don't see him often since he lives in Skyhaven now, so I really want you two to meet! I'm sure you'll love him."

Oh, you had no doubt in your mind that you'll love him. After all, he was the love interest you went after back on Earth!

Hours of grinding, hours of listening to secret times, hours of kitty cards and claw machines. Even when the whole fandom hated him for being MC's 'brother', you were his biggest fan.

Maybe it was because out of all the other love interests who saw their first love in MC, this MC was Caleb's first and only MC. That was what made him win among all the others.

So you gave your sister a gentle smile and reached over to ruffle her hair. "Hmm, I'm sure he's a great guy with all the stories you tell me." You hummed, laughing as she tried to hit you for messing with her hair. "Hey hey hey! Don't disturb the driver ok! Watch it!"

When the two of you arrived, MC bounced over to the door as you slowly trailed behind her, nervously fiddling with your hands. It's ok, it will be ok. You've been through worse! You've been through an entire pandemic! You shouldn't be this scared.

You watched as the door opened and a familiar boy, well, man would be the best word no? stepped out and pulled MC into a hug, and you quickly stomped on the green monster called jealousy that threatened to claw itself out, and continued to merely watch as the two childhood friends reunited. MC finally pushed him away and turned to look back at you. "Come on!" She gestured, making you let out a small sigh, steel your nerves, and walk up towards the house, ignoring the stare he placed on you. She grabbed your hands and smiled up at him. "Caleb, this is the girl I told you about. My twin! We did blood tests and everything! [Name], this annoying piece of sh-"

"Whoah now pipsqueak. Is that how you introduce me to your friends?" He interrupted, raising a brow and crossing his arms over his chest. He let out a sigh and tutted. "I'm hurt!"

MC poked her tongue out at him. "Bleh!'

'Bleh!"

You could only watch with a sweatdrop. "Um, hi?'

Purple eyes snapped towards you, and a gentle smile formed on his lips. "Hey there. The name's Caleb." He outstretched his hand for a handshake, and as you accepted it, it took every restraint you could muster up to not squeal with joy as you felt his tight grip. MC was one lucky girl! "It's nice to meet the infamous twin."

You raise a brow, and turn your gaze to stare at MC. "Infamous? You talking shit about me?"

MC huffed. "Of course I don- Ow ow OWW!" She yelped as you reach over to smack her head. "Nothing bad nothing bad honestly!"

You smack her again for good measure. With a huff, you focus on Caleb. "Everything negative she might have told you about me, it's all wrong."

A small chuckle leaves his lips. "So you don't threaten to stab someone whenever you're losing at Kitty Cards?"

You innocently bat your eyes up at him. "Little ole me? Threaten someone? I would never!"

"Liar! You threatened to push me into incoming traffic just last week!"

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did!"

"Nuh uh."

"Yah uh!"

Laughter interrupts you two, and you both turn your heads to see Caleb doubling over with laughter. "Oh! You two are a couple of riots!" He wheezes, wiping tears out of the corner of his eyes. "Oh my God! But you two should come inside now. Grandma has been dying to meet you."

MC's eyes lit up and she drags you in by your arm. "Come come! Let's go meet Grandma!"

The dinner was nice, and you realized that just like in game, Caleb could cook really well in reality as well. You tried your best to answer any questions sent your way or just simply talk, but your mind was mainly on the dishes before you as you gobbled them up. "Woah slow down, slow down spitfire!" The nickname makes you blink, and laughter makes you raise your head to stare at purple eyes. "The food isn't going anywhere. And if you like, I could pack some extras for you?"

You stare at Caleb, then turn your gaze to MC and point at him with your chopsticks. "See, it's not that hard to be nice."

"Why you little -"

Spitfire huh? Well, you could work with that.

I might do more on Caleb before doing anymore on the others tbh. I love Caleb sm

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Caleb | 18+

#love and deepspace #caleb lads #lads caleb #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #caleb #lnds #lads #caleb lnds

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synthetickitsune · 6 months ago

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Mingyu (SVT) | Bath bombs fluff | 0.7k | gn!reader

You believe in humor.

He believes in cuteness.

So that’s how you ended up facing a dilemma that you’d never think you’d have - whose bath bomb will get used first?

His, naturally, is honestly too pretty to be allowed to just fizz out into nothing. A little beige fluffy looking puppy. Adorable, beautiful, perfect. You’d feel like a monster pulling it under water.

And yours is a toaster.

It’s funny, okay? And cute too, just in a different way. Maybe you should’ve just gone bath bomb shopping to the store together instead of shopping online where the options were limitless.

Mingyu chuckles when he sees you pout looking at the two options. He hugs you from behind, leaning his head against yours. You know he finds it funny - and honestly it is. Every second standing in front of the two options you commit into your memory because you’re happy and life is good, and you get to have little breakdowns because of something as silly as a bath bomb.

“Let’s use yours when we’re having a bad day, hm?” he suggests and you laugh out loud, finally releasing the tension in your body, and nod.

“So you mean right after we finish this bath, right? Because my day’s about to get significantly worse if we’re sacrificing this beauty,” you sigh as you run a finger over the puppy’s snout. It fits so perfectly into your palm - how are you supposed to kill it?!

“It’s his fate, baby,” Mingyu reminds you, a smile in his voice, because he loves how deeply you appreciate the little details of everything. He hugs you tighter.

“He doesn’t deserve it. He’s a masterpiece,” you insist.

“No, you are,” he coos into your ear and chuckles when you roll your eyes and call him cringy. You sigh softly. If only you could stop time right now. With your boyfriend pressed against you, squeezing you like he can hold you together, come what may, little puppy in your palm, and the prospect of a long, hot bath in front of you.

“The water will get cold,” he nudges his nose into your cheek, “Let’s get in.”

You give Mingyu a stern look when you hand him the puppy to safely join him in the tub. He just watches with his dumb smile and lip between his teeth, his eyes basically heart shaped and never leaving your body. He does hold the bath bomb above the water though, so you let him get away with being cheesy despite the heat rising to your cheeks that has nothing to do with the hot water.

You stifle a moan when you let your shoulders dip below the surface and the warmth that envelops your tense muscles begins working its magic. All thoughts evacuate your mind. There’s just the feeling of your bones turning into jelly and your legs brushing against Mingyu’s. The only thing that could elevate this experience to perfection would be some nice, relaxing scent…

“Love? It’s time,” he says gently, chuckling at the frown tugging at your face upon your moment of peace being disrupted, “We need to let him go.”

You reluctantly straighten up and look at the puppy still resting in your boyfriend’s palm. Giving the bath bomb one last pat, you guide his hand down and watch as the puppy starts floating and slowly dissipating. It feels strangely like a funeral full of colors and bubbles, and the bathroom fills with a fresh scent. Are you a monster when you melt back into the warm bath again after sparing one last thought for the puppy?

“Better?” Mingyu asks, leaning back himself. You just give him a nod.

“I promise I’ll be less dramatic with the toaster one,” you hum. He gives you a sceptical look. “I’ll just throw it in. You’ll be dramatic and act like you’re getting electrocuted.”

“Hey!” he pouts, kicking you lightly under the water, “Why am I the one dying?”

“To make me laugh?” you flutter your eyelashes at him with the sweetest smile. He opens his mouth and closes it just as fast, the pout remains on his lips but his eyes soften. Victory.

You laugh and lean forward, easily catching his lips in a kiss. He sighs against your mouth, but as always he’s already thinking about the best way to execute the scene. Because he’s wrapped around your finger like that.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen imagines #mingyu x reader #svthub #mingyu fluff #mingyu scenarios #svt scenarios #svt fluff #drabble #fluff

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arabellasleopardcoat · 11 months ago

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Two ships (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Two people who do not understand each other, but keep coming back together. Familiar much? It’s the tale you share with your brother, Daemon.

Warnings: Crybaby! Reader. Medieval punishment for children. Canon character death (Alyssa and Baelor) Sexual thoughts. Prostitution. Mature language. Incest. Fluff.

A/N: In which we explore the complicated dynamics of the sister wife. Requested. We also suscribe to @just-some-random-blogger doctrine about Daemon being a scary unhinged man but soft for the reader.

THE FIRST TIME your brother makes you cry is when you are eight years old. It is, of course, not the first time you tear up because of him. But there is a difference between tearing up because he tugged too hard on your braid, or because he cut your favorite doll’s hair and what he did to you that day.

You shall never forget the reason for your mother’s death, not for the rest of your life. It’s one of those core memories, a truth of the universe. You cannot forget fire burns, you cannot forget water is wet, and you cannot forget your mother is dead because of you. Even if you do not know when you learned those facts, they are still there. Tucked into your mind.

As a child, you used to be quiet. You barely cried, or demanded things of anyone. As the youngest and only girl of the household, you often felt like there was an unbreachable gap between you and your family. And so, you filled your days with your lessons, and behaved well, eager for praise and attention.

Your relationship with your brothers was complicated. Your father was often far away, busy with his important position, so Viserys felt more like a parent than a sibling. The age difference didn’t help things along. While you were still learning how to walk, his betrothal was already negotiated.

Daemon, while much closer in age, is much more distant too. He is mercurial, playing the cruelest tricks on you, but also defending you from other children. Just last week, he had dyed your beloved white dog green, but he had also punched a steward’s son for mocking your braids.

He can never decide if he hates you or loves you. And today, it’s one of the days he hates you. You can’t do anything right, it seems. As you break your fast, with Viserys cutting up your food for you, he calls you a baby. When the Septa comes to get you for your lessons, you are a suck-up. His bad mood escalates during the day, and when your father arrives for lunch and dares ruffle your hair, Daemon doesn't hesitate to call you a cocksucker whore.

For his offense, his mouth is washed with soap. It is not a punishment you have ever endured, because everyone knows ladies don’t get physical punishments, but it looks unpleasant. Whatever cocksucker whore means mustn't be very nice.

By the time his punishment is over, your father is long gone again. He has disappeared into his chambers, and Viserys has been left with the bitter task of reconciling you.

“You will apologize to our sister.” He orders Daemon. “Now.”

“NO!” Daemon shrieks, face blotchy from the humiliation of his mouth being washed with soap. He has not shed a single tear, which you find admirable despite yourself. The taste alone would make you gag, and that is without including the humiliation of a servant holding you while Viserys does the deed.

You feel awkward at the thought. Something doesn’t sit right with the thought of such a thing being a punishment, but you do not dare voice it. You simply sit in the chair Viserys has pulled for you and kick your feet. It soothes you slightly.

“Take it back, Daemon or so help me the Seven…”

“I will not take it back!” Daemon screams, pushing at Viserys. “She is a little whore! She has you all wrapped around her little finger, and now you will send me away…”

“Daemon.” Viserys grabs his wrists, in warning. With several years and a growth spurt on his side, he manages to subdue him easily. You worry that will not be the case for much longer. Daemon looks very different from your peaceful Viserys, shoulders broader, hands a bit bigger. In a few years, he will become a fearsome warrior, and Viserys will still be your bookish older brother.

“Why do I have to go squire for some stupid lord, anyway? We are the blood of the dragon! We do not need those fools.” At this new information, you frown. You clutch your doll more tightly. No one had informed you Daemon had to go squire away from Viserys and you.

“Fostering is important. It helps us form bonds with other houses.” Viserys explains, with the patience of someone who has had this argument already. You tug on your doll, feeling sadder by the minute. Everyone knew but you?

“Why don’t we send her away?” Daemon points at you, and a sudden wave of fear hits you. Viserys can’t agree with him. You cannot leave. Your panic almost makes you miss his next words. “She is the reason mother is dead. I hate her.”

And the world stops for a second. The argument goes on, Viserys screaming at Daemon, but you are still stuck there. Your ears begin to ring, so you press your hands tightly to them and shake your head.

By the Seven, Daemon is right, you realize with growing horror. Your father and Septa always told you your mother had died the way you were born, from the difficult birth. Tears begin to fall down your face, but you barely notice them. It feels like you are choking.

In your childish mind, the death of your mother in childbirth, and your birth had never been connected. You never thought it had been your fault. But Daemon was right. She was dead because she had birthed you. It was your birth that killed her.

Her death was your fault. You killed her.

No. No. It can’t be right.

“That is not true.” You turn to Viserys, uncaring they have long since moved on with the argument. He has always protected you and reassured you. Even takes care to get rid of the monsters beneath your bed every night. He will fix it. “Brother, he is lying again!”

Viserys makes a strange face. A cross between a grimace and a frown. He doesn’t refute it, nor tries to comfort you.

“It’s the truth.” Daemon smiles, with the smugness of someone who has delivered a killing blow. He advances, his eleven-year-old body seeming larger than life to you, and pokes a finger in your sternum. “You killed her.”

It feels like a rug has been pulled from under your feet. You stumble back. It’s all your fault. Your mother is dead, and your father is never home, haunted by the memory of his wife, because of you. Daemon and Viserys lost their mother, because of you.

You killed her. You killed her. You killed her. The world looks the same around you, despite the revelation, and you wonder if it is so because everyone knew but you. Is it why Daemon doesn’t love you? Why father is never around?

A sob makes its way out of your throat, and then another. And another. Soon, you are bawling like a dying animal, and feel like it too. You cry so much, your little heart feels like it will jump out of your chest and you will die. You cannot breathe, choking in your own snot and tears, and panic makes you nauseous.

Never in your life had you ever cried so. A nervous fit, the Maester will call it later, after you puke your lunch and stop making heaving noises like you are lacking air. One caused by extreme distress. Daemon will be standing guard at the foot of your bed when you come to be again. They had ended up having to give you three drops of Milk of the Poppy to calm you down.

It doesn’t happen again, and you barely remember it when you grow up. But Daemon never forgets it.

CRYING IS A weakness that cannot be tolerated. The three of you had been born dragons, but sometimes Daemon doubted Viserys and you had as much fire in your veins as he did.

Said doubt intensifies when he finds you crying in the gardens. Daemon has never been fond of crying women. He is not an empathetic man, and has a tendency to think he is surrounded by fools. Such a character trait doesn’t lend itself to soothing crying maidens. At least, not sincerely.

If he wants to bed the chit, Daemon can pretend like the best mummer. It’s not hard at all to fool highborn maidens into thinking he shares something special with them, convincing them that the pain won’t last, that it will start to feel good soon. When it comes to you, though, the problems start.

You are not a common whore, like most women at court. As a daughter of House Targaryen, you are closer to a goddess than a woman. Fooling a goddess is no easy task, much less when the goddess knows you so well.

His usual tricks do not work. When Daemon tries to apply faux pity, and forced pleasantries, you see right through him. It’s not because you are particularly cunning, but rather the fact that you have a long memory.

Long enough to remember all the pranks and fun he had had at your expense when the two of you were children. With how much Daemon tortured you, it’s no wonder you prefer Viserys.

Daemon never meant to be as nasty to you as he had been. He coveted the attention Viserys paid you, as the youngest in the family. He disliked how everyone fawned over you, how his mother had died, and his father had left, and all they had gotten in exchange was you.

Another part of Daemon simply enjoyed mischief. Causing chaos for chaos’s sake. Like any young boy, he had fun playing tricks on others. The disdain he felt for you had made you into the ideal target.

When the years began to pass, Daemon had noticed you were flourishing into a beautiful maiden. Targaryen custom dictated you were meant to be his, since you were too young to be Viserys’. There was no point in fixing your relationship, or trying to win you over like he did with the other maidens. You were a given thing. No matter your shared past, you would have to marry him.

It’s only the fact that you are embarrassing the family name that prompts him to approach you in the gardens. He has no intention of comforting you. It’s not like he cares that you are crying. Really. How ridiculous.

“What happened to you?” Daemon asks, sitting next to you. “Princess shouldn’t cry.”

It is quite recent, of course. Viserys' ascension to the throne has not actually yet occurred, but the succession issue has been settled in their favor. Daemon had gathered a small force of loyal men that hadn’t been necessary in the end, but Viserys said his first act as King would be rewarding him from his loyalty.

He knows what he will ask for already. Marriage. His grandmother had tried to marry him to a Vale woman, but the idea had ended up being discarded because Viserys’ own match ensured the allegiance of that kingdom. Daemon wanted to have his Valyrian bride before anyone, especially the Hightower cunt, got any ideas.

“Nothing.” You wipe your tears away, angrily. You scoot your cute little rear towards the edge of the tree you are sitting under. As far as you can go without losing the spot of shade.

Daemon sighs. He is used to you being difficult, but it would soon change. You would be informed of your duty and behave in a manner befitting your position in life soon enough.

“Do I need to protect your honor?” The very thought unsettles him. Three years his younger, you are still barely a maiden in his eyes. A pure, unspoiled being. The idea of someone else corrupting your innocence, something that is meant to be his, is infuriating. Daemon hates when other people touch what is his.

If anyone will corrupt you, it’s him.

You laugh, bitterly.

“If only!”

“What do you mean?” Your statement has clarified nothing. He feels more confused than before. Perhaps, you have a secret lover who refuses to take your maidenhead? Or are you suffering from unrequited love? But when? With whom? You spend nearly all your time in the library, pouring over dusty books, or on dragonback. Not much time for entertaining suitors.

You stay quiet. There is a strange expression on your face, a mix of embarrassment and sadness.

“Hāedus.” Daemon prompts, gently tugging on your braid.

“Some ladies Aemma brought were talking about knights, and kissing…” You get a fit of hiccups and nearly choke, so Daemon is forced to wipe the snot from your nose so you don’t suffocate to death. Let it not be said he is a bad brother. “They laughed at me!”

“They laughed at you?” How dare them. Only Daemon was allowed the honor of your tears. You were too important.

“No one asked to dance with me at the feast! And no knight has ever kissed me.” You pout, about to go into hysterics again. “Ever.”

“Doña hāedus…” Daemon wipes your tears, fighting his smile. He has an inkling you wouldn’t think it funny. “You shouldn’t listen to them. You are a Princess, the blood of the dragon. They are just sheep.”

You pout more. Daemon hurries to comfort you. Oddly, he dislikes seeing tears on your face. It must be because you are in public. As a Princess and his future wife, your actions reflect on House Targaryen.

“Ugly sheep. In fact, the actual sheep in the Vale are prettier.”

“But knights have kissed them! And they get asked to dance, and to walk in the gardens, and…”

Daemon raises his hand.

“Knights would kiss you too if they could. But you are too superior to them. They wouldn’t dare.” Or they would meet Dark Sister. All your first should be his. “It’s excellent that you have not sullied yourself with just any knight who looks at you.”

“But I am getting old.”

You are about to cry again. Your female vanity must be hurt, thinking yourself unwanted. Daemon will never understand caring about what others think of him. Dragons shouldn’t concern themselves with the opinion of the sheep.

But there is something about you, the soft little Princess who crumbles up completely when someone is mean to her, that tugs at his heartstrings.

It is why he leans in and captures your mouth with his. You taste like innocence and salt, melting on his tongue. It’s not Daemon’s first kiss, but it feels like it. There is a tug deep inside of him, a strange yearning on his chest, that has not been present when he has kissed other women. Not even maidens.

Cloyingly sweet, dripping on his tongue like the most enticing potion. His. Never has he experienced this before. Daemon wants to drown on it, drown in you. But before he has a chance, you give him a shove and run as fast as you can.

And he stands there, as if struck by lighting, pinned down by the unmeasurable realization that this is love. Love, in its purest form, for his soon-to-be sister wife. It leaves him dazed, confused, rooted to the spot. Utterly out of control.

“DID YOU HEAR?” The serving girl whispers loudly, her voice carrying through the corridor. Night has fallen already, and you pour over a heavy tome on constellations while sitting in one of the windowsills of the Red Keep. It is the best time to put your new knowledge into practice, but the constant chattering of the maids interrupts you.

You close your book, hesitating between scolding them and sending them away, or waiting for them to leave on their own. Scolding them feels unkind. It’s late enough for them to no longer be on duty, and there is no harm in what they are doing. This corridor is a heavily transited one.

Perhaps you should move to your rooms. But you do not have a balcony, and the view from your windowsill it’s quite limited. As you ponder on it, something they say catches your attention.

“And they say the Prince asked for a blonde girl. A maiden.” The Prince. Daemon! You have not seen hide nor hair of your older brother since he stole your first kiss. In fact, you have been avoiding him.

As children, he had played plenty of nasty tricks on you. Once, in a fit of temper, he had beheaded all your dolls and hanged their little heads from a window. But adulthood had mellowed him out. Or so you thought.

The worst thing wasn’t that Daemon stole your first kiss. It was that you enjoyed it.

“No!” The other girl sounds scandalized.

“Yes. And that is not all. He took her roughly, and was kicked out before even…”

Took a whore roughly? You knew he whored around, but hurting whores was a new low. You weren’t too approving of his behavior, but whoring was normal for young lords. Everyone knew they did it, even the most pious ones. Hurting them, though? It was no better than being a rapist.

The other girl lets out a gasp, but she sounds more delighted by the gossip than anything else.

“Imagine how rough it had to be for them to kick him out.”

“I would say plenty. Poor girl.”

“He is out again, is he not?”

“Every night, like clockwork. Something has roused his appetite, it seems. He used to whore, but not…”

Their scandalized voices drift down the corridor, and you think the rumor must be wrong. Daemon wouldn’t hurt anyone. Sure, he whored around, and took plenty of maidenheads, but your brother wasn’t cruel.

Was he?

He had stolen your first kiss. Beyond the softness and the sweetness of the kiss, Daemon had ruined a moment that was meant to be special. Now, it was forever tainted with the memory of being made a mockery of. Not only by those girls, but him too.

There was a difference between stealing a kiss and hurting whores, though. Much more, when it came to hurting them seriously enough to be kicked out of the pleasure house.

Was it your fault? Had he discovered with you he enjoyed taking from women by force? Was he taking out his anger with you on them? The maid had said the girl was blonde. Perhaps Valyrian blonde.

You needed to know. You ran to your rooms and got your black cloak, set on finding him.

Finding Daemon was no easy task. You made it to the city on foot, but once there, you had trouble locating the pleasure houses. There was no sign outwardly pointing to them, but you managed to get to Flea Bottom without getting mugged. Or at least, this looked like what you thought Flea Bottom looked like.

The streets were dirtier, the crowd rougher and drunker. There were people sleeping on the floor, no Sept in sight. This was a place far away from the Gods. The few Goldcloaks patrolling seemed uninterested in actually preventing crime.

You made sure to walk with purpose, afraid of being stopped if you looked like you were out of place. The streets were badly lit, and you could barely tell apart one alley from another.

A sudden tune caught your attention. A woman was singing in a tongue you didn’t recognize. You decided to follow her voice, but before you could do so, someone blocked your path.

“… A dragon for half an hour.” It was a woman. Her hair was dark and hanging limp around her face. She swayed as she walked. “My prince, I will let you choke me.”

You made a face, realizing a strand of your silver hair was peeking on the edge of your hood. She thought you were Daemon, you realized. Both your brother and you kept your hair long, and in the darkness of the alley, with your hood up, you may have looked alike. Was she a whore?

“I’ll let you. A dragon, please, I need to feed my children.”

Children. She had babes. You imagined them, tucked in their beds, wondering where their mother had gone. What if something happened to her? If the children had a present father, he would provide for them, and she wouldn’t be here. It was how the world worked. She must be alone with the babes.

You reached inside your cloak, and pulled out a gold dragon. There was an odd sort of pity building inside you. You imagined yourself, offering up your body to strangers to feed your children, and your heart shattered into little pieces.

You had never questioned the role of whores. They were sullied women, but they served a purpose. Entertain the men so they didn’t hurt others. Tend to their baser needs. It didn’t feel so clear-cut as you avoided the woman, in fear she might attempt to service you.

The voice sounded louder, so you ducked into the next alleyway. It was then you saw them.

The woman singing was sitting at the entrance of a small house. She was scantily clad, as were the surrounding women. But there was only one of them who caught your attention.

She was tall and willowy, with long limbs. There was a haunting elegance to her that looked out of place in the Street of Silk. Her blonde hair was long, and in the right light, could be mistaken for silver. It cascaded down her shoulders. Her face was eerily similar to your own. She was tragically beautiful, stricken by some unseen grief.

Sitting down and clapping along to the song, she looked as if she was praying. There was a dark stain on her neck, cleverly hidden by her hair. The closer you looked, the more it seemed like a bite mark. Not just any bite. A vicious one.

You gasped, hands coming to your mouth to muffle the sound. Whores had never been of concern to you, but now you were seeing their reality, and it was heartbreaking. The thought of women in brothels, in cages, as pleasure slaves, made you want to weep.

Women like you. That she wore your face was even more jarring.

WHEN CARAXES HAD been born, he had not done so alone. Out of the ether, his sister had come, hands linked with his. Meraxes, goddess of the sky, an eternity doomed to hold to her sibling. Caraxes only reflected his twin’s colors, gazing up at her as the flowers did the sun.

It was said that they met only once a day, thanks to the mercy of Gaelithox, who allowed the twins to embrace every sunset. It was the reason Meraxes hated him. He held on to her too strong, and prevented her from embracing the one who she truly loved. He invaded even her reflection, seeking to make himself a part of her, even invading her sacred reflection in the waters of her twin.

The story was always one of your favorites. You begged Viserys every night to tell it to you, sickening Daemon with your romantic tales. He isn’t sure why he is reminded of it today, of all days.

Foreboding, he will think later, when the storm has passed. But now, he chooses to focus on the coronation taking place in front of him, and bask in their triumph.

“Kings reward loyalty.” Viserys says, after the crown is placed on his head by a proud Aemma. “And my first act will be rewarding those that stood by my side.”

Daemon and you are kneeling, the first among the crowd. The first to take a knee to their King. There is a strange feeling in his throat, and he fights the urge to cry. Daemon has always considered tears a weakness, but the moment is so perfect, so magical, he feels the urge to do so.

Men don’t cry. Instead, they take big breaths, and savor their victory. Viserys on the Iron Throne, and Daemon about to be given your hand. All they have ever wanted, now ripe for the taking.

“Brother, please rise.” Viserys' voice is clear and loud. Daemon does so, pleased by the honor of being the first to rise in front of the masses. They had talked about it, of putting up a show for their political enemies, but Daemon had never expected Viserys to grant him honors before any other of his advisors. “Your diplomatic and martial skills were essential to securing my claim. As a reward, I give to you our sister’s hand, and name you my heir. May the two of you have a fruitful union and make House Targaryen proud.”

And when he turns to you, with a smile on his face, he realizes why he remembered the story of Caraxes and Meraxes.

Your beautiful, purple eyes, are wet with tears. You remain on bent knee, frozen.

Daemon pulls you up with the utmost tenderness, one reserved for family alone. The hand on your elbow seems to shake you out of your stupor.

“Thank you, my King.” Your voice trembles, but you speak the words dutifully. You know as well as him that this is Viserys’ day. Everything has to go perfectly. There can’t be any hint of division between the three of you, not when the rallying cry for Viserys had been that he was bringing back the three heads of the dragon.

Three siblings. Three dragonriders. Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys.

“It is a great honor.” Daemon adds, tightening his grip on your arm. You look ready to bolt, and he is tasked with reminding you that you can’t.

A silent tear travels down your cheek. With your back to the crowd, no one but Viserys and Daemon can see it. Viserys gives him a long look, pleading him to do something. Neither of them had been expecting your reaction.

They had thought you would settle well into your duty. That marriage would give you a stable tether, a shield for your fragile soul. Viserys had chosen Daemon for the honor, had given you to him to care and protect.

But you seem even more scared that you were before. How wrong had they been.

“We are very excited.” Daemon hugs you to him, fighting to keep his composure. Your rejection stings, and he wants to rage, but he can’t. Because you are in public, and House Targaryen doesn’t air their dirty laundry in front of witnesses, but more importantly because your dam is breaking. You let out a little sob, and Daemon has to embrace you fully to prevent you from falling apart.

Fools that they are, the rest of the courtiers mistake it for a sound of joy. What else could you want? To marry the King’s heir, a Valyrian husband who can give you pure Valyrian babes.

“Good.” Viserys smiles, a bit strained. You take a shuddery breath, and straighten up under his arm. Daemon can practically feel the change, from scared girl, to experienced courtier. You know as well as he does the importance of presenting a united front.

You smile. It’s as fake as the silks whores wear, when pretending to be a Targaryen Princess. To the inexperienced masses, it tears all the same.

“How joyful days come ahead. Long live the King!”

You open your arms, the picture of the hopeful bride. The smile threatens to crack your face in two. The crowd cheers. A royal wedding is always something to admire, and there is no better way of celebrating a coronation than with one.

The hour is late when Daemon finally manages to catch Viserys alone. You have gone straight to your rooms after the feast, sulking. Aemma has been sat outside your door for hours by now, trying to coax you out like one would do to a skittish cat. Her talks of duty and royal wombs only got her a pillow to the face for her efforts.

Daemon and Viserys, much more used to your moods, hadn’t bothered. You were angry, but not hysterical. Both often manifested in tears in your case. Only one could prove lethal.

“I do not understand.” Viserys frowns. “What more can she want? The two of you will get Dragonstone, for a few years at least, and when I have an heir, you will not be kicked out. You are family.”

“I do not understand it either.” Underneath the simmering rage Daemon feels, there is only confusion. He is a knight, and has proven his skills sufficiently enough to be awarded Dark Sister. He is of an equal standing to you, a Prince to a Princess. He loves you so deeply it scares him.

The Seven know he has tried to get you out of his head through every means possible. He has deflowered more maidens that he can count this week alone, his cock is chafed raw, and yet, no matter how beautiful they are, your face still haunts him. It’s your name on his lips when he comes, and your body he pictures under him. The whores are never right. Their hair is the wrong shade, they are too thin or too fat, their tears taste of iron instead of your sweet salt.

You should not think it is a bad thing. Women love that sort of thing, leading men by their cocks, getting them so cuntstruck they cannot see straight. You should love it too because it is a weakness to him, but a power you can wield. And yet, you hate it. You had run.

“I cannot go back on my word now.” Viserys reaches for his cup of wine. He knows that his reign is still fragile, and if his lords see his sister defying him, they might get ideas. “She has to marry someone, and with her delicate constitution, I cannot in good conscience…”

“Handing her to a stranger is a bad idea.” Daemon agrees, not out of some selfish motivation, but because he knows it’s the truth. You have always been far more delicate than most ladies, with your books and silly ideas about the role women should play. Had you not been so closely tied to Viserys, you may have even supported Rhaenys.

If Viserys was Aegon, you were Rhaenys. The sensitive little sister, loved because of her innocence and kindness. You never tried to push your strange ideas, after all. You just looked like a kicked puppy when contradicted.

Any other man would crush you at the first hint of defiance. Daemon, used to you as he was, knew rage was futile. If you wouldn’t settle in your duties easily, he had to take action and ensure you did through other means.

Gentler means. Daemon still remembered the fits you used to have when little. Viserys did too. Neither wanted a repetition.

“I have thought about it, and you should forgo the bedding.”

“I agree. It might make her sick.” Sick is the euphemism they use for your fits when there are prying ears. Daemon gives a pointed glance at the guards. Viserys drops the topic after that.

Almost against his will, when the embers of the fire they sit in front of die, Daemon goes to your rooms. He isn’t really thinking, when he walks down the hallways that lead to your chambers instead of his. Nor is he thinking when he dismisses your guards, and opens your door.

You are laying on your side, a pillow held to your thighs. Your hands are made into fists over them, as if you had fallen asleep in your rage still. Despite it, your face is peaceful, with only dried tear tracks to disturb your childish expression.

Your body is curled into itself, tightly. You must be cold, Daemon thinks, and takes of his cloak to lay it over your form.

In dreams, you smile. And Daemon understands that he is no Gaelithox. There was a reason Caraxes and Meraxes were only allowed to embrace once a day, after all.

HORROR AND RAGE are not emotions that lend itself to permanence. At least, not in you. Not when it comes to him.

Not when he plays such strange game, and gets you strange prizes. Daemon has not asked for his cloak back. You have taken to sleeping wrapped up underneath it.

How can a man capable of such cruelty be capable of such tenderness? Confusion means ignorance, and ignorance breeds fear. You have known Daemon all your life, but you are still unable to understand him.

The only certainty you have is that when he is near, your rationality flies out of the window. It’s all instinctual. To fight, to fuck, to fucking fight.

The sleep of reason produces monsters. Monsters that take hold of your heart and squeeze it, until it is no more than liquid and pulp. Did he hurt that woman? Will he hurt you? Love you?

Daemon had stolen your first kiss. Daemon had gotten kicked out of a brothel. There was a girl in the Street of Silk with a bite mark on her neck. He had visited you the night of your betrothal and tucked you in.

It might mean nothing. It might mean everything. Whichever it is, you have no time to come to terms with it. Viserys wishes for the two of you to be married by the end of this moon. It makes you feel even more blindsided and betrayed.

None of them had thought to ask you before deciding. They had just done so.

The idea of marrying your brother wasn’t what came as a great shock. As a child, you had often daydreamed of honoring your ancestors and becoming your brother’s wife. It was the way things should be. But you had always thought you would marry Viserys.

When Viserys married Aemma, you thought you would marry someone outside your household. Daemon and you were clearly ill-suited, even before everything that had happened between the two of you.

Betrothing the two of you would be madness. You had never understood each other in the manner Viserys and him did. You were an outsider to their relationship, the other head of the dragon. Rhaenys to her conquerors.

But inexplicably, Viserys had done so. Being betrothed to him without even being asked about it stung. No one had thought to warn you, or ask for your opinion. They had simply announced it to court and hoped you would comply.

The feeling of betrayal had only mellowed out after asking Viserys his reasoning. He hadn’t been trying to blindside you, he had explained. He had thought you would be happy. Both Daemon and you yearned for Valyrian partners. It made sense to betroth the two of you, especially because Daemon had asked to marry soon.

Your brothers were just dumb. But their foolishness was a dangerous one, since they rode the two biggest dragons of your generation and sat on the Iron Throne. Common fools could undo the damage they caused.

But in your case, there was no way out but through. Viserys had begged you to give Daemon a chance, and so, you found yourself preparing for meeting him.

Viserys had chosen the place the two of you would meet. The Godswood was neutral territory, and far away from the castle that if you started shouting insults at each other, only the Kingsguard shadowing you would hear.

It only made you dread the encounter further. You had taken a liking to the Godswood, and were contemplating using it as a hideaway for when things at court got to be too much. If this went wrong, it would forever taint the place for you.

You decide to arrive early, to allow yourself some time to compose yourself. Daemon beats you to it, already waiting near a tree when you get there.

“Hāedus,” Daemon says, when he sees you. In a show of rebellion, you have decided to wear your more modest gown, with a neckline that nearly reaches your ears. Aemma had encouraged you to wear something more revealing, but you wanted to strangle the cow. “You look lovely.”

“Lēkia.” You press a kiss to his cheek, unsure if you should greet him like you always do, or the betrothal has changed the protocol. Kissing his cheek as you always do seems safer, but you regret it when his eyes flutter closed at your touch.

He is acting odder than usual. In an increasingly out-of-character charm offensive, he takes off his cloak and places it on the grass.

“So you may sit.” His tone is too formal. It makes you even more wary, but you sit. Daemon does the same, by your side. So close, you end up frowning more.

He leans in. His lips brush the shell of your ear.

“Despite my struggles, I have come to admire you.” Daemon noses along the hair right above your ear. “Rationality has left me, and no matter how hard I try, you haunt me at every corner, every hallway, every street of this damned city.”

“What am I supposed to say?” You complain, with a frown. You push him a little, to be able to meet his eyes.“I am well aware of your attempts at forgetting. Valyrian whores, Daemon? Really?”

“It was all in vain.” He pulls you back in, embracing you. His hands are warm around your stomach, his lips chafed against the skin of your neck. “Let me take down your hair.”

Your eyebrows raise. Out of all things he can ask for, this is the weirdest one. His petition is so simple and innocent, you almost think he is not Daemon.

“Let me take down your hair.” Daemon begs. The ardent tone in his voices surprises you. He sounds like a man possessed. As if he cannot survive if you deny him. “Hāedus...”

This devotion, this unexpected fit of love, surprises you. So much, you find yourself nodding.

You feel his chest contract with his sudden inhale. His hands are careful as they unmake your braid. His touch so tender, even the most delicate hairdresser would envy it. But when your hair falls down your back, in mussed tendrils, he shows himself to be Daemon.

His nose presses to your temple, breathing you in. His fingers run through your hair, and he presses feverish kisses to your scalp, your jaw, your ear. Licks the sweat behind it, samples your earlobe with his teeth.

Teeth. It makes you tense. You think of the girl in Flea Bottom, of the bite over her throat.

“I can’t stop thinking of you. You appear before me in the darkest corners, and in the brightest meadows.” Daemon inhales, hands grasping your waist tightly. “When I squired, away from home, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I didn’t know it was love then, but I have loved you since before I knew what the word meant. I fucked the tightest cunts of Westeros, sampled the prettiest maidens, and yet it is your face that I imagine when tugging at my cock.”

Something inside you snaps. Among the righteous indignation, a strange satisfaction takes place. You shove him off you.

“Don’t be crass!”

Daemon doesn’t attempt to embrace you again, but remains unbearably close. Your eyes drift to his lips. You would love him even if he were the one who mauled the whore. You would love him even if he did it to you. Because of it, perhaps.

“I want you to be mine. Put me out of my misery.” Daemon begs, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Marry me, and end my suffering.”

“You frighten me.” You whisper, without quite meaning to.

“Do you fear I will hurt you?” Daemon asks you, voice very gentle.

You avert your eyes. It’s not that what you fear. It’s how out of control you are when it comes to him.

“I would never.” He vows, leaning in. His lips brush against yours, before Daemon presses his forehead to yours. He looks into your eyes, and smiles. “Do you remember the last time we kissed?”

“Of course I do, you idiot.” You scowl at the memory. “You stole…”

“No. You were crying because no knight…” He gets up, and begins to tug you to your feet. You remain sitting. “Oh, get up, you stubborn thing.”

“Daemon!” You complain, but get up. He stands a few feet away from you. Curious about the point he intends to make, you cross your arms over your chest and glare.

He offers you his hand, as if to dance. You take it, eyes full of distrust.

“I have been a cunt. But you have to stop running.” Daemon circles you, pulling on your hand slightly. Is he…? Your confusion must show on your face because he gives you a mocking glance. “To dance from afar is not to dance.”

“What do you mean?”

“You might as well be in Essos.” Daemon keeps circling you. “Let us dance properly, for once.”

“Here? Dance?” There is no music. And your brother has never been one for bursting into spontaneous song and dance. At least, you don’t think so.

“Together. You wanted knights to ask you to.” Daemon pulls you close, into a hug, and the puzzle pieces finally fit. The day he had kissed you, you had been crying because no one had asked you to dance. That Daemon remembers the reason when you had nearly forgotten it yourself astonishes you. “Now a Prince asks you. Do not make me ask twice, please.”

“Let us try. To dance as if glued by fire. Let me prove I can be good to you. That I listen to you. ”

And it’s stupid. It’s silly, there is not even music. But you let him pull you in, this time, and realize Daemon has always been capable of tenderness. At least, when it comes to you.

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gay-dorito-dust · 10 months ago

Note

Uhhhh… may i request like.. Its like ordinary day The Stan’s and twins doing their thing at mystery shack until a portal opens infront of them and threw reader out as it close, how their reactions be like? (Reader is stranger btw/havent know them all too)

The pines family were all gathered in the living room, Stanley was sat in his recliner with Mabel nearby making arts and crafts with waddles, while Ford and Dipper were mulling over ideas for what they could do for their next campaign of Dungeons, Dungeons and more Dungeons.

Weirdmagedon had them all carving some form of normality and so anomaly hunting- as cool as it was- was put on hold while they spent time as a family and help Mabel complete her scrapbook of family memories that she had just started. It was slowly coming together with pictures of family fishing trips, camping trips with s’mores and even road trips with Candy, Grenda, Soos and Wendy tagging along.

However Mabel said that every scrapbook should be filled to the brim with memories and mementos, just so that everyone back home would be so jealous of the amounts of fun they had during their stay at Gravity Falls and might come to see what they hype is all about themselves; something that Stanley heavily agreed on for the sole purpose of making money off of the gullible masses.

Everything was nice and quiet for the pines family but everything changed the moment a portal opened in the middle of their living room, causing the lights to flicker and the television to static as it widened.

‘What’s happening?!’ Mable cried.

‘I thought we got rid of bill!’ Dipper exclaimed as he rushed over to his sisters side, keeping her as face away from the portal as he could while Stan and Ford stood protectively in front of them both, just as equally as confused as their grandniece and nephew as to why there was a portal in the middle of their living room.

‘I thought you said there wasn’t any possible way for anything to get into this dimension pointdexter!’ Stanley shouted over the shoulder of whooshing and humming from the portal as it had gotten big enough for a human to pass through, maybe two if they were feeling cheeky. ‘There isn’t! So I don’t know how this is even remotely possible!’ Stanford replied as just then you were thrown out of the portal and onto your ass before the Pines family as the portal closed.

‘I thought I had gotten better at that.’ You groaned as you picked yourself up from the floor before noticing the hostile family in the corner of the room and immediately straighten up. ‘Hi! I’m so sorry for scaring you all like that but, would you mind telling me what dimension I’m in exactly?’ You asked as you sheepishly rubbed the back of your head. You had been travelling across the multiverse from a very young age ever since your mad scientist parents attempted to prove the multiverse theory, unfortunately it resulted in their experiment going horribly wrong and you being sucked into the portal at a very young age and then dying due to the portals instability.

You also soon discovered that you had somehow absorbed the portals energy and had developed a mutation on the process, you could teleport from dimension to dimension in quick purple blips. This was something you had still yet to maintain control over but you were solely getting the basics down…at least you thought you were until you accidentally learned a new ability and opened a portal into some poor family’s living room.

‘Dimension?’ Ford murmured, skeptical of your reason for being here, even if it was accidentally. ‘You’re in Gravity Falls, how did you even summon that portal just now.’ He inquired his scientific brain going haywire as he didn’t see any weapon on you that could open up a portal, and even if you did he would be felt cheated if it was that simple then maybe he would’ve escaped the multiverse earlier. You shrugged ‘I have powers from a freak accident.’ You told him as though it was universally accepted for someone to being a mutant.

‘Powers? Yeah right-‘ Stan scoffed, not believing you for a single second until you closed your eyes and clenched your fist, you disappeared in a blink and reappeared before him in another blink of purple. ‘Hot Belgian waffles!’ Stanley cried as he was almost sent sprawling back into his recliner when your face was close to his own. Dipper and Mable saw this happen and were fascinated by the fact that someone actually had powers, almost like a superhero, while Ford was wondering how your dna must’ve been altered in due to this freak accident.

‘You can teleport!’ Mabel shouted.

‘I can teleport and apparently open portals into the multiverse and beyond it.’ You replied, still feeling a little awkward about appearing in their living room, ‘which is how I got here actually but I hope to one day get it under control so I don’t pull a…well this.’ You add but Mabel and Dipper were lost in just how cool your powers were as they began to bombard you with questions.

‘How far can you teleport?’ Dipper asked.

‘Like down a town street and back at worst but across dimensions at best? It’s still all very new to me kid, so maybe I can’t actually say how far I can teleport if I’m moving from one place to another like a ping pong ball.’ You said as you saw him write something down in a journal with a blue pine tree on the cover, muttering to himself.

‘Is there a dimension with puppies and unicorns and all other cute things!’ Mable was next to ask and you couldn’t help but laugh at her overwhelming excitement. ‘There’s multiple dimensions where they are the dominate species, it’s very…bright but there are some brightly coloured beach boys there too…for some reason or other.’ Mabel squeals about some dudes named Xyler and Craz? You shrugged it off as a teenage girl thing.

Ford, who had been watching you carefully the entire time, could tell that you were drained from using up most of your power to get here and put a hand on either of the twin’s shoulders in order to get their attention. ‘I think that’s enough questions for today children, they’ve spent themselves and I’m sure they’ll be more than ready to answer more questions tomorrow.’ The twins pouted but you gave Ford a thankful smile. You knew neither he nor Stan were fully accepting of you being here, not without an ulterior motive of course, and you didn’t blame them for thinking as such as you wouldn’t exactly trust yourself either with your unstable powers and all: and besides you didn’t want to put two innocent children in harms way because you couldn’t control where you teleported.

‘Aww.’ They groaned in union which made you smile as you watched Ford and Stanley usher the twins upstairs, wishing you could relive your childhood again, but knew you couldn’t due to the horrors you’ve witnessed in the multiverse at their age. It was such a shame because you knew you definitely stuck out in this dimension like a sore thumb as you weren’t sure you’d fit in like you once did a long time ago. Another thing you’ve noticed about this particular family is that they loved each other dearly and would always come to each other’s aid no matter what, even if they were annoyed at each other, which was what family should be about. Something that made you wish you could’ve had something similar instead of two mad unknown scientists for parents, who tried making a ripple in a large ocean and got a colossal and destructive wave instead for their greed and envy of not being recognised for their work.

Beggars can’t be choosers or so the saying goes…

Feeling that you had overstayed your welcome, you quickly write a note of apology and teleported out of the mystery shack just as Stan and Ford had came back into the living room in search of you. Ford noticed the note almost immediate and read it aloud for Stanley to hear.

‘Sorry for the scare, won’t bother you anymore as I don’t trust myself with my powers quite yet and don’t want any of you getting caught in the crossfire. You look like a well put together family.

-y/n, the person who opened a portal in your living room.’ Ford finished before putting the note back down on the table. He didn’t know much about you and was still a little skeptical, but he could relate to being stuck in the multiverse for so long that he felt a little odd in his own home at times, and the fact that you looked the way that you did told him all he needed to know. Whereas Stanley didn’t know what to make of you, you had powers and could open portals, someone whom he could exploit for money but knew he couldn’t as the sad kicked puppy look you had on your face only made him feel bad for thinking about it.

‘That kids alone Ford.’ Stanley told his brother.

‘I know and for so long too.’ Ford replied but neither bother knew how to handle this situation as much as they felt the need to help you, but after everything with Bill they weren’t exactly trusting of people who just randomly come out of portals in the middle of their living room; that and the fact that neither of them knew where to being with your powers situation either as neither of them had powers themselves.

As much as they might regret it later on, they could only wait for you to randomly pop into their living room once again to confront you about your origins, and make a plan of action based off of what they hear. They weren’t going to take risks but they knew someone in need when they see one and you were very much someone in desperate need of help.

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dr-solomon · 2 months ago

Text

DRAMA CLUB [2/2]

literature and dirt, snow and sweat, cigarettes and philosophy, rotten arts with cold urges and pure desire.

w: professor!yeonjun × f!reader, teacher-student relationship, smut*, angst, age gap, possessiveness, jealousy, manipulate, overthinking, smoking

*dom/sub, protected sex, face riding, choking, slapping, size kink, public fingering, mention of breeding kink, mention of birth control pills

- a long period of time was written in fragments and memories -

! be sure to read part 1 ! enjoy!!

Sleet fell on the city on a dry morning for the first time in a long time, and you watched it longingly for minutes, standing in front of your window. Close enough for them to float in the mirror of your eyes.

Fragile art is the strongest, he said. For it keeps with it what will one day kill it.

And so when that day comes, it will be the artist who dies, not the art.

Choi Yeonjun's essays on abstract immortal things seemed to be the most fitting detail of the morning. Understanding him, and sometimes just trying to understand him, felt different. It was as if there were tons of things on this planet that you didn't know, instilling an endless eagerness to learn them all.

And when the artist gets used to this chronic dying process, they will realize that their art is always there. With them.

You could feel the snow approaching.

But you already felt it on you before it wrapped the city like a white blanket. When the professor's fingerprints were all over your skin, when they turned into a tiny drop of water a few seconds after touching you.

For two days, wild frozen flowers kept coming to your lower body for you to thaw them.

Just two days.

A peaceful wind blew through all your worries about not being able to see and reach him again, and those two days became the shortest distance you have ever been away.

You felt another gust of wind when he told you outside the door of his office that you could do today's work at his house if you wanted.

There has always been something constant in his features. Like the fact that even when he invites you to his home he seems quite calm.

But he no longer hides his eyes.

“Qua...” You were looking at the dawn that Yeonjun's desk lamp made on your paper. “Qualia.”

The professor thought your sigh gave the word a second literary value. He lifted his chin upwards and let you slide a little over his mouth and hummed for you to continue.

Is that possible?

Only five minutes after you sat on his mouth, you started squeezing your pencil like you were going to break it. In fact, ever since he told you that whatever was going on in your head wanted you to do it while he tasted you.

The tip of his tongue was gently flicking your entrance and pulling flick in and out of your entrance. He was eating you as slowly as possible out of respect for your art.

“Yeonjun...” his upper lip moved down, poking your clit, and then up.

“Mhm?”

You swallowed, dropping the pen on the desk, too late for that. Your mind was empty, numbing your brain, which could normally trap you endlessly, and it was okay not to be able to write a word on paper in this chilling peace.

You flinched as you felt his tongue penetrate further into your hole, your hips lifted from his mouth in a momentary reflex, but this small distance was prevented by Yeonjun grabbing your hips and pressing you back into his mouth. You put your head in your hands and closed your eyes, his warm mouth moving left and right, settling nicely between your lips.

“Ah...” your stomach twisted with an intense sensation, his hands moving comfortably over your skin, grasping and releasing your legs.

Qualia.

To experience directly.

The thin paper slid under your elbow as Yeonjun rocked you a little, and the ornate cloud that descended on it didn't dissipate but kept recombining. At the same rate as the knot in your stomach.

A sweet tear dripped on its surface.

“Y-yeonjun, I can't...” you begged him needily as you tugged your hair a little between your fingers.

Yeonjun's hands traveled from the soft surface of your hips to your thighs and cupped them. Started to move you slowly over his mouth and encouraged you to openly ride his mouth.

His delicious rhythm made your hands weak, the small friction creating a cheeky pulse in your clit for more. With each movement you unconsciously began to make low, plaintive noises, making Yeonjun go a little harder.

He adored your sweet sounds.

Your hips lifted and a drop or two dripped down his chin and ran down his neck. You called his name with the same need, with different intensity.

He gripped your hips tightly and helped you down over his chest to his crotch. One hand went between the two of you to hold his cock for you. A sharp breath escaped his open mouth as you slowly took him inside you.

“Ahh...” Your hands instantly pressed against his chest. The intense sensation of taking him almost up to his balls forced you to stay still a little as your skin pressed together. The way he stretched your walls beautifully, the way he could easily touch every part of your little pussy... He let you feel everything.

But you saw his tongue pushing his lower teeth because as soon as he was inside you, you started to clench around him.

“I-I can't stop it...” your thighs trembled.

Yeonjun forced a smile despite his frown. “That's okay...” But you could feel how his fingers dug into your skin.

You started to move without accidentally teasing him any more.

Up and down nicely in his lap.

Go up to his head and press your hips hard into his lap just before he got out of you.

“Ah, yes...” Yeonjun murmured before his head fell backwards, you heard the 's' go on a little too long.

His cock was hitting different spots each time because of your messy riding. Not being able to find your pleasure spot as easily as he did encouraged you to go harder and turned you on a little.

Your hands became small fists on his chest, the sound of your skin hitting each other getting louder and louder.

“Ah-” he pressed his crotch against you with a growl. “Ah...”

Yeonjun rose slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, the sight of his bangs flying left you breathless.

His one hand reached out to brush back the hair from your face. “So pretty.” His warm touch scattered the field of beads on your forehead.

“A-” you felt a warm liquid sliding between you, coming from you right after the praise. His lips parted slightly and when he directed his gaze down you were sure you would definitely drip more.

He seemed pleased that he had tasted you first.

“You like to be praised, don't you?”

His deep, low voice made your arms weak. Your hips slowed a little to avoid falling into his face.

Your juices stained his crotch, you saw him licking his bottom lip as looked at this image.

He took your hands in his and leaned his head back on the bed and now let you bounce on his lap a little more comfortably as you squeezed his hands.

He was lifting his head to see your mess or to see how well your pussy was doing and there was always that thing in his eyes that made you shiver like the first time.

Then you saw him gritting his teeth for only a second.

He pulled you by the hands and laid you softly on his chest and his hands found your hips.

He pressed his feet into the bed and started to pound his hips against you.

You are gripped tightly by him, your open mouth touching his chest messily with the speed of his thrusts.

Yeonjun rode the last and most violent wave of pleasure hard inside you for minutes. You were absolutely sure that you didn't come only once.

You fucked so many times that you knew he was coming when his fingertips dug into the soft skin of your thighs and his tongue flicked a little in his mouth.

In just a few days. Maybe a week.

It felt warm, the way his palms rubbed up to your waist, wrapped tightly around it and didn't move until your sweet dizziness had passed.

Maybe it's just because he loves it when you breathe heavily.

And then to watch him with half-eyelids when he gets out of bed to tie a knot in the condom.

Once you had tasted it, it was a disappointment in your stomach that you could no longer feel him filling you up. But seeing that he was really strict about it made you often remember that intense moment in his office.

He later went and bought birth control pills for you.

You had an influence on him. You saw that. Shattered boundaries.

An effect that weakens a part of him.

The primal feeling of not being able to control your desires that day was the same for both of you.

Yeonjun took your hand.

This relief healed everything in your life so quickly that you were afraid of it. The energy was so strong no matter how close you were. It felt suspiciously heavy in your chest, yet it felt wonderful.

You were not thinking about it yet.

Not when Yeonjun kisses you from your elbow to your shoulder and nuzzles into your neck and murmurs that you smell so good.

Not when you find out how he likes coffee and try to explore his kitchen one morning.

Not even on his refrigerator when a few quotes pasted there make you admire him again and again.

Not when you are sitting on his lap, in one of his clothes, while he caresses your skin heavily as if he is the only person you have ever needed in your entire life.

In just a few days. Maybe a week.

"Ghostfires from heaven’s far verges faint illume,

Arches on soaring arches,

Night’s sindark nave."

Yeonjun murmured in a tired, hoarse voice, taking his time. The sweetness of the way you pressed your cheek against his chest and regulated your breathing opened optimistic doors in his dark philosophy.

His hand touched your face to caress your exposed cheek.

You raised your head slightly as you realized that these lines were the poem you had used in one of the first works you had given him.

“You...”

He nodded, running his fingers gently through your hair and watching what he was doing. “I keep everything you give me.”

Your lips parted slightly. He smiled slightly as your chest resting on his chest transmitted the rhythm of your heart directly to him.

He tilted his head to look into your eyes and this happened at the same time as you approached him. His hand in your hair cupped your cheek, gently brushing your noses together. “You are a very smart girl.”

His whisper touched your lips, your hands trembled for a second on his chest. You felt that you would believe everything he said blindly.

“Almost all of them were good enough to present to the jury.”

You had witnessed a couple of times that he was not happy with the choice being left to him, but at the time you didn't think it was out of admiration at all. Having the opportunity to talk about that cycle, where you often wondered what he thought, made you move a little bit on him. “So how did you choose?”

Yeonjun's hand finally touched your cheekbone before it was removed from your face and then turned into a pillow under his own head.

You saw what an organized and meticulous man he remains, even in his own home. A huge drawer reserved only for ties and watches. Five pots with the same kind of tulips on his small balcony. Paintings on the wall, arranged by width and height. Not even a dirty mug on the kitchen counter and everything else you missed.

But above all, there was now his messy hair, his sleepy voice, his tank tops, his shampoo, your lighting his cigarette and of course your hair clip on his desk.

You're starting to smell more and more like him and his house.

“You usually looked nervous around me.” Yeonjun murmured. “At least when you're giving me your work.”

He was silent for a while before he spoke, and then he took his eyes away from the window he was watching and looked at yours. “That's why the first time you smiled, I drew a star on the paper you gave me.”

His gaze returned to the sweet smile on your lips as your pupils tried to grow a little bigger for each of his words.

Just like that day.

“I took that smile to mean that you were somewhat confident and happy with your work.”

The fact that he presented to the jury the work that you liked and felt good about, not the work that he liked, took a bigger place in your mind than you expected.

Maybe it was his maturity.

All this confidence, all this sweet ache in your chest.

Even if the first time you saw his world was blurred by the time you were in his arms, you always knew there was something there that had no answer.

You sighed deeply as you rested your cheek against his chest again:

"Maybe I smiled so you could smile back too."

The snow decided that it liked to fight with the rain and continued to disappoint all its lovers.

Ever since you got into the habit of pressing your fingertips against the droplets on the professor's jacket, this stopped being a problem.

Winter was never calm here.

Instead of creating a brand new feeling, it magnified something that was already inside you.

That day you called your inner restlessness a paranoia and pushed it into the space in your head and just kept doing puzzles with him.

Yeonjun was so quick to know when something was wrong that you were hurting your face to keep the smile there.

Until a few weeks ago, sitting on his lap, you believed that you would never fall into any trap in your head. That your mind couldn't trap you.

Without taking into account that it is his lap that feeds everything good and bad in your head.

"Tree of the olive family."

"Ash."

"Mardi Gras City."

"New Orleons."

"Kimono Sash."

"Obi."

He was the same.

He gave answers in his usual calm voice. He commented like the professor of literature that he was and showed you that interest that you melted under.

Everything was the same.

And you wished maybe it wasn't a little bit like that.

Maybe a little more special.

As soon as you felt his warm palm on your knee, you lowered your head and quickly read the first question in the puzzle.

“Oden's crows in norse mythology.”

The first time Yeonjun was silent, you knew it was definitely not because he didn't know the answer to the question.

“They asked about Nyx last time, didn't they?”

His thumb moved on your knee, he looked directly at your face with the same expression when you were silent and now when you spoke.

You weren't sure if he noticed your nervousness and ignored it, or if it was a way of continuing the conversation to say that everything was fine.

You only thought of crows while he said something about how much the puzzle creators love mythology.

“Do you think it's because of winter?”

“Winter is nothing more than cinnamon.”

Yeonjun's mug touched the table, followed by your sweet chuckle. “Cinnamon is definitely better than the ice stalagmites.”

The not-so-old memory or memories created a small silence.

You could be really sweet together. Despite the age difference, you found that the conversations you had could be extremely enjoyable. It made you feel like you didn't need anyone else and it definitely made you more confident for the rest of the world.

There was no question of wanting the world and the rest of the world.

You saw the professor's lines, you crossed them, but there is more.

“How is the writing going?” he asked.

“I'm trying.” You replied without taking your eyes from where you were staring, unsure how sincere the small smile that was still on your mouth now seemed.

“Mm?” Yeonjun gripped the mug again but didn't bring it to his lips.

You felt uneasy as you realized that you had entered a phase where you were losing inspiration.

There was no big deal about the question, he always cared about your writing.

It's just a matter of not being in the same situation every time he asks.

“When was the last time you wrote?”

The gentle tone in his voice was there, but more serious.

You weren't sure how to explain to him the possibility that your hands had disappeared with the rest of the world.

“Actually... I didn't have any work to complete after the competition.”

Your lips closed as you finished your sentence. Your body filled with a foreign sensation on top of his, you could feel it in your blood.

The loosening and re-tightening of his grip on the cup.

After the competition.

And in telling him, you solved the problem.

Probably by getting him to figure it out too.

That evening, at his house, you cried, feeling that everything was coming together. He hugged you, you didn't have to make excuses for a few lessons. Combed your hair with his fingers as if you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

Without saying a word.

You didn't get off his lap until your already hoarse sobs subsided. And then when you try to laugh about how ridiculous things you cry about.

His lap was the safest place you've ever felt.

No kisses, no sex, no recounting of any detail you caught in the sky, no philosophical reminiscences of Yeonjun... That night ended somehow.

And tomorrow, you realize that night is not over in your mind.

A fear that has been there for a long time, long overdue for reflection.

Nothing has been the same since the overwhelming thing declared its freedom in your chest.

This time you couldn't push away the idea that all this nervousness was because of him.

Even though he is holding you in his arms more than ever before, it's getting worse and worse.

Yeonjun was always one step behind.

And it seemed that something was happening in his chest too.

But on the contrary, something was trapped in him, not liberated. You feared that more than anything else.

One by one, photos of all those desperate moments when he seemed to be in something that was going to end anyway appeared in your mind.

You wondered if he knew what he was doing.

The fact that you had never talked about it brought the idea that you were being paranoid into your mind relentlessly.

But you certainly didn't know how to silence that new voice in your head.

It was just another Thursday when a dry melancholy combined with sage and snowflakes and started to get a little wet. You didn't even look at the new NY Times. Only blank stares accompanied the brief but beautiful sight of snow on mountains whose names you don't know or have forgotten.

It was hard to tell who the ghost was.

It took a while to realize that the competition was doing something to your identity at school. It was sweet and felt good to have enthusiastic students you didn't know trying to get to know you and talk to you, but they also made you realize that there was something wrong with the current state of your passion.

You felt that it was still there, living with its own rhythm somewhere in your head, like another little heart. But was it more subtle? What was your philosophy behind it, or why were you writing?

Why couldn't you write?

On the day Choi Yeonjun's boys were added to the ranks of those eager students, it rained less than on other days. They called your name in the hallway to his office and pulled you into a conversation with lots of laughter.

After greetings and a few questions that felt like the interview you are used to, the conversation turned into a gossip about the professor when one of the boys said he was 'like a fucking Tim Burton character.'

Learning that he only made them read classics written by women gave you a smile, not a surprise. It was the moment when the conversation felt more alive, with the desire to know more about him.

You had heard several times that he had certain concepts and this was confirmed by his students who knew him best. It was nice to listen to the memory of a cozy atmosphere with a bottle of wine passing around the rows. You felt you wanted to do something like that with him. It was of course not new to hear how gently he insulted, and one sentence uttered by the tallest of them towards the end stood out above everything else in your mind.

“The more he interferes in the process, the worse you are.”

You needed a little silence to remember that the process you shared with him was very gentle and quiet. It was the same feeling you had felt when he told you that you were challenging him, but a little more intense.

And now that you knew a little more about him, it was even more exciting when he appeared at the beginning of the corridor in his familiar coat.

He was never late, but his steps were quick, bringing a cold wind in that direction.

As he pulled his scarf around his neck, he gestured to the boys to his office. You waited patiently in the corner for them to finish their 'Afternoon' conversation.

The relentless curiosity inside you, which was very difficult to silence, was feeding your shyness, but you hated being alone with your feelings and interest in him from the beginning. There was also the fact that your last days had not been the brightest. When his eyes found yours, you could find nothing of that in his face yet. He didn't smile until he was within two steps of you.

That feeling you always had in your stomach for him certainly didn't always feel good.

“Can I join in?”

The smile on his face grew at your question, and a little at yours. With a slight frown. “Why?”

Even after all that, your communication was not like normal people do. You never got any of those little words of welcome and kisses from him.

Your reaction was just to be okay with it and get used to it quickly.

“I'm curious.”

You hesitated a little about your answer and the slight change in Yeonjun's face made you bite the inside of your cheek. His smile turned into something smaller but his hand moved to cup your cheek. “Trust me, you don't need it.”

“Not that I need it...”

You stopped as quickly as you started the sentence and that was enough to create a silence between you.

You caught the slow change of expression on his face and it took your breath away. You were not used to his emotions being reflected in his facial expressions.

His thumb moved across your cheek, waiting for you to continue talking.

Something that suddenly climbed into his eyes made you tremble with such guilt that no words came to your tongue. When his grip on your cheek loosened, you grabbed his arm, not knowing what to do.

Corridor.

How long has he been there?

You saw his eyebrows slowly furrow, you squeezed the thick fabric of his coat. His hand slid slowly to your neck, making you breathe nervously through your lips.

A feeling overwhelmed you, as if he was pressing you against something, or as if his shadow was falling, darker than usual.

You blinked, asked him again in a weak voice. “Can I?”

As soon as he heard your voice, he looked at your lips. His gaze stayed there for a while. He seemed to be drifted away. With a silence that made your guilt even more intense and with his eyes that looked thoughtful.

Was it only a few seconds? What he did to your heart certainly didn't last that short.

Yeonjun's frown disappeared as his eyes found your eyes again, and so did the dozens of indecisive emotions you had just seen on his face.

He licked hid lips as gently withdrew his hand from your warm skin. When he took half a step back, you reflexively took a small step towards him.

But this time it was just before he uttered the sentence that would make dozens of emotions flash across your face and make you frown.

“If you have something under your skirt.”

“Not wanting to talk about serious things is not not thinking about serious things. You certainly have one head, but even the ugliest letter has a sandbox.

The most broken arm of love. It doesn't change that smoke can kill you when you can't smell it. On the other hand, there is seeing the smoke, realizing that your body continues to breathe freely because you cannot smell it, but knowing that you will die.

And why can't you smell?

Is it because your senses have already accepted to live under the yoke of your newfound celestial sensation? Is it because it is easy enough to extinguish and burn a few constellations there?

Common blindness comes into play here, but if the hands over your eyes were your own you would recognize them.

Are you going there or are you being led there?”

“We need to talk.”

Your letters were pushed by your pulse, half of the anger in your blood was at yourself. For still having tears in your eyes at his dry expression when it had been obvious for a long time that you were not in a healthy relationship.

But there was still, above all, only a very heavy love.

“I'm so beautiful, I'm so smart, but until someone else comes near me?”

And it's there even when you get angry.

“Are you going to start ignoring me? Like you always do?”

First Mr. Darcy and now his students.

Your words came out weak and hoarse in contrast to the strength of the emotion inside you. You didn't want to yell at him or fight with him anyway. The relationship always felt like a glass surface prone to breakage and you always walked on eggshells to avoid losing him.

You hadn't planned to get it out of your chest here today, and even talking about it was scary in itself.

Because the feeling that you could distance yourself from everyone if Yeonjun wanted you to, was there deep inside you in a way you didn't know how it got there.

Which should have been only one of the main problems.

“Y/n,” his voice was as low as yours. You hated how small the mature look in his eyes made you feel.

“I think I hurt you.”

“What?”

Your eyes widened slightly, you forced a smile to keep them from tearing up. “Are you going to be an asshole this time?”

One by one, the houses in your body, built by feelings you didn't even know you had, began to shake. You didn't know what came out of your mouth, but you didn't have time to regret it. Was he realizing this now? That he was hurting you?

Your head spun violently, either from anger or fear of losing him.

Yeonjun's hands moved in his pockets. Your words made no change in his facial expressions, so you wished that little swallow meant something. He lifted his chin up slightly and opened his mouth.

“No.” you interrupted him with a broken voice, almost whispering as you unconsciously took a step or two closer to him. You did it as if begging him not to tell you that. You knew what the slightest regret in his eyes could do to you.

Because just as you knew you would never find another one of him, he had already told you that he would never find another one of you.

And you believed it with all your heart.

“I didn't expect you to put a ring on my finger, I-”

“Didn't you?”

This time he interrupted you. In that lovely gentle voice you are used to now, with its different tones.

That thing in his eyes, directed towards your eyes, was exactly the opposite.

“I guess I can't make that sentence.”

Your lips remained open after the sentence you could not finish. You felt the key words echoing in your mind. Just as quickly as your blood boiled, it calmed down.

A sensation so intense that it made your ring finger itch.

You blinked as he pushed himself off the table. His confession stunned you and maybe even made you regret not being honest.

Or the possibility that he feels more than you think.

His hand rose to your neck, noble as always.

“You're-” Your heart clenched as your words was interrupted by him pushing your cheek to the right with two fingers.

“You-” you tried again but this time you were silenced by a slap, your face remained still in that direction for a while.

The sound of your shaky breathing hit the wall behind you, a terrific throbbing started between your legs. You turned slowly towards his face as he placed one hand on the wall next to your head. You felt your pupils flutter under his gaze. He saw how his brute force made your cheeks flush, but the steady dark look in his eyes didn't leave, not even for a sneer.

His hand rose again, this time slapping you near the mouth, more slowly, because he knew you liked it.

A few strands of your hair fell to the corners of your eyes. The thought that your cheek was flushed from his slaps made you feel weak.

He was doing it again. He was silencing everything again.

Your back was pulled away from the wall for a kiss but as soon as you got close to his face his warm fingers wrapped around your throat.

Your lips parted with the sound of a breath. He held you close to his face, close enough for your noses to brush. Enough to feel all your sweet breathing on his face.

“You didn't expect?” he asked, keeping this topic alive in his mind kept doing something to your heart.

“I... I lied.” you whispered, his grip on your neck tightened for a moment. “And,” he whispered while looking at your lips. “What did you just call me?”

Now as he brought you a little closer to his face, his eyes flashed with something sharp, as if he wanted you to say it again.

Your hands dropped to your sides and you looked at his lips for a second. He reminded you of your anger but took away the strength to sustain it.

“Asshole.”

Your sharp whisper hit his face and you watched his lips slowly open. Your heart was still pounding in your chest. Just like Yonjun's fingers, which he hadn't yet removed from your neck, pressed lightly against your pulse.

Seconds later your mouths collided harder than ever before. Your mouths fell victim to poorly constructed lust.

He kissed you as if he wanted to tear something from your taste, and he moved his hand to your cheek, sure that if he grasped your throat any longer he would leave you breathless.

You squeezed his wrist as he pushed his warm tongue into your mouth. Feeling your skin becoming more and more sensitive came with his hand sliding down your neck.

“A-” You added a desperate sound to the wet sound of your tongues parting. Yeonjun felt the need to pull back and look at that, your eyes and your red lips.

He narrowed his eyes, pulled his wrist out of your grip and grabbed your chin. He pressed your body against the wall and leaned into your mouth again.

And no, you've never kissed so hot before.

Not even when you completely undressed in front of him before sitting on his lap on the terrace of his house.

Was anger as glorious a feeling as he wrote, or did all these obstacles make you desperately want to touch his skin more?

“A bunch of boys,” he whispered breathlessly, your foreheads pressed together. “With the same interests as you.” his hand slid slowly under your shirt, sliding over the warm skin of your waist. “About your age.”

“No-” you groaned, eyes widen even more. His hand squeezed your waist in an almost possessive manner. “No?” he tilted his head slightly to the side and kept looking into your eyes, his hand stroking your stomach messily, his fingertips slipping under your underwear.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, you closed your eyes tightly. In his arms, out of the world.

“And it wouldn't be impossible, would it?” his warm lips brushed your ear. He arching your back as he gently pressed you against his desk then slid a finger inside you. “Wouldn't it have to be a secret?”

“Yeon-”

You really wanted to call him. You wanted to repeat his name a billion times for everything you couldn't say.

His lips brushed against your cheek, the feeling of how beautifully you wet his finger made him close his eyes for a second. You tried to find something in his quiet sigh and then it felt like he was talking to himself and not to you all along.

And it wouldn't be impossible, would it?

His second finger slid slowly inside you, your knees slightly bent. He rested his other hand on the table and caged you. You put one hand on his hand on the table, needing a little more contact, while your other hand grasped his wrist and accompanied his movement.

Your cheeks touched as he continued the slow rhythm of his middle and ring finger sliding in and out of you from behind. He listened to the small needy sounds between your breathing as he took his time stretching out your warm walls.

Cause of him.

Just for him.

His low moan added to the wet sounds coming from down there. On the table, he grabbed your hand and squeezed it.

His pushed fingers inside you again, stopped somewhere deep inside and pressed hard there.

“Ah...”

Your head fell back.

“Why did you want to join?” he whispered in your ear. His voice, thick with desire and anger, closed your eyes. He kept pressing his fingers against one of the sensitive spots inside. He kept his eyes on you for an answer as he continued to curl his fingers heavily.

You felt the desire overwhelming you.

“For you.” you barely said, in a breathless whisper.

You felt him swallow behind you. He pulled his hand off the table without leaving yours and put it on your stomach. He used it to glue you to his body.

“Are you sure?” His fingers moved again as he pressed you a little more against the table.

“Yes...” your head dropped a little, your face contorted with pleasure, but you were also flustered, feeling that you had to talk to him. “How did you lecture-”

You lost your voice as he began to pump his fingers hard inside you. You saw his hand on your stomach slide down as well, disappearing under your skirt, and you cried out as his fingers found your clit.

“Shit...” he whispered sharply, his brows furrowed, he went harder to hear more of your needy sounds. He continued to press his fingers hard against your walls without stopping as he quickly rubbed your clit.

“A- Ah- Please...”

The knot in your stomach hunched your back, making you lean forward even more. The hot drops running down your thighs made you moan with the need to hold on to something and you found his wrist again.

Yeonjun tilted his head and looked down at your hands, which were now swaying together. He bit his lip to keep from letting out a string of curses for what the realization that tears were glistening on your cheeks had done to his mind.

Your upper body touched the table with the hot liquid you felt on your thighs. His fingers made you dizzy, continuing to fuck you as you came. Your eyes rolled back.

Your whole body was overwhelmed by pleasure under his shadow, and for a second something like concern appeared in his eyes.

Not satisfied with cleaning you gently in his office, he said he wanted to take you home, and there, for the first time, when it took him a long time to get a response from you, you already knew.

That something in your chest had given up.

When the late afternoon sun decided to let the snowflakes have a little more time, it was another wonderful sight for the afternoon.

No matter how warm it was inside, if it was snowing outside, it was snowing everywhere.

Something they wrote on the wet roads, that you have less than a second to read. And they say poetry is more powerful when it contains the need for a person.

Maybe they were right.

Because his voice and his presence were comforting despite everything.

“I remember you had a life,” he murmured, his fingertips sliding slowly from your shoulder to your arm. “When I saw you with your peers.”

You heard the small sound of his hand entering the water to hold yours and you closed your eyes.

“I remember that I couldn't keep you to myself, that the whole world needed to hear you...” he leaned his head against yours, his voice lower now.

This was never the scenario you created in your mind when you realized there was a bathtub in his house.

Your legs between Yeonjun's legs were wiggling timidly and you kept sighing quietly. There were so many questions to ask, answers you really needed to get. You knew that every second you didn't speak would haunt you later. And how long it could take.

The cruel thought that you weren't about to lose him, that you never had him in the first place, made you want to just live in the moment.

You couldn't count the number of times he said you had a style that put you over the top. You didn't know if it mattered anymore.

Where was the passion in that?

“And you,” he kissed your temple, his warm lips spreading a small wave of sun on your face. “You can't ask me to be selfish.”

He interlaced your fingers, you squeezed his hand. You leaned into the kiss you felt on your head.

“I know what I feel.”

When his voice was at its lowest, it made you open your eyes slowly. His lips lingered on your hair.

You slowly turned your head back and found his eyes. He loosened his arm around you, making it easier for you to turn to him with your body.

You put one hand on his bare chest.

“What do you feel?”

And you asked.

There was a delicate tone of curiosity in your voice, but there was also the hoarseness of a question asked without waiting for an answer. One that clearly made him part his lips slightly.

When his eyes felt different now, you wanted to believe that they really looked different. When his fingers slipped softly between yours and settled on your waist.

You heard his breath in the silence.

His gaze fell to your lips as your other hand moved to his chest, adding to the warmth there. And seeing them slowly parting, he moved his fingers from your waist, pressing lightly against your skin.

All it took was a little pull away from the warm wall of the tub, and he leaned down to your face and kissed you.

It was not because he was a coward, but because he respected you.

He explained in the quietest way how otherwise he would have claimed you and kept you for himself. You knew that you already belonged to him and would continue to belong to him for a long time. When he told you that he couldn't ask you to be selfish, he was reminding himself that he shouldn't be selfish.

No other student would solve crossword puzzles in that schoolyard except you. No one else would blossom in silence like you.

There isn't another one.

He kissed you so gently that he didn't even have to show that he was as ruined as you are.

And the pessimistic literature that clung to you in exchange for a glittery page was eerie. Even if Oden's crows had warned you about what they saw, you weren't sure if they could have changed anything.

Because it wouldn't be called murder for a long time.

Now it was hard to tell whether the snow was actually writing something or trying to fall harder to the ground.

“I know you will be a very successful woman and I will follow all your work.”

The smoothness of his voice was felt on your chest.

“And to have once held you in my arms...”

The fact that you felt his warm arms around you for the last time stopped his sentence there, making the bitter silence he had interrupted meaningless for the moment.

“I promise it will feel amazing.”

A birdless heaven, seadusk, one lone star

Piercing the west,

As thou, fond heart, love’s time, so faint, so far,

Rememberest.

The clear young eyes’ soft look, the candid brow,

The fragrant hair,

Falling as through the silence falleth now

Dusk of the air.

Why then, remembering those shy

Sweet lures, repine

When the dear love she yielded with a sigh

Was all but thine?

After all that, the fact that you couldn't write as often as you used to brought the thought that your art wasn't raw every day. Choi Yeonjun once gave you everything to protect and nurture your talent.

That's what makes you still stand tall.

That makes you feel like you have to stand still.

With your respect for him, your belief that he created your tomorrow, and your admiration that has never been damaged since day one.

But he certainly should have taught you something about the few tears that glistened on your face when you locked eyes with him on one of the coldest days of last week, even though it was so brief that you could only catch a few snowflakes on his eyelashes.

thanks so much for reading! and don't forget that anything that contains sodium is a salt🤞🏼

+ all quotes that are used in the fic are belong to james joyce

#txt hard hours #txt smut #tomorrow x together imagines #txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt fanfic #txt yeonjun #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun smut #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun imagines #choi yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun scenarios #dom!yeonjun #txt x reader #yeonjun hard hours

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

I GOT A GENIUS IDEA about Dazai x reader!! It's inspired by my favourite novel, OUABH!

So Dazai is a forgotten prince, he's wandering around the world and is cursed. He's just waiting for someone to genuinely love him enough to break that very curse, but the curse is cruel; the moment someone loves him and confess their love for him, they will loses their memories about him!! But even though the reader forgets him, he's determined to make reader fall for him every single time.

Could you write that? I genuinely enjoy your writing!! Keep it up!

- 🐢🐢

THE 101ST TIME

The sun bled into the horizon, streaking the sky with dying embers. The world smelled of rain—fresh, clean, like something on the verge of change. You were walking along the river, the evening air cool against your skin, when you noticed him.

A lone figure leaning against the railing of a bridge.

At first, you thought nothing of him. Just another passerby lost in thought, watching the ripples dance across the water.

Then he turned.

And for a fleeting moment, something in his eyes—grief-stricken—made your breath catch.

It wasn’t the way he looked at you.

It was the way he looked at you like he had already lost you.

You hesitated. Some part of you whispered that you should leave, that speaking to him would change something. But your feet betrayed you, your curiosity outweighing reason.

And so, the 101st story began.

“You’re staring” he mused, tilting his head as a slow smile curved his lips. It was the kind of smile that felt practiced—like someone who had spent years learning how to hide behind it.

“I—” You faltered, shifting awkwardly. “Sorry. You just… look familiar.”

Something in his posture changed, his grip on the railing tightening just slightly.

And then, his smile softened. “Do I?”

You nodded, brows knitting together. “Have we met before?”

Dazai exhaled a quiet laugh. “You could say that.”

There was something off about him. He spoke like he knew you, like he was waiting for you to realize something that your mind couldn’t quite grasp. It sent a strange, hollow ache through your chest.

“Do you… live around here?” you asked carefully.

“No,” he answered. “But I always come back.”

He was watching you too closely now, his gaze searching, waiting. For what, you didn’t know.

This isn’t the first time.

You swallowed. “Well, it’s nice to meet you… again, I guess.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a single, delicate object.

A silver locket.

Its surface was scratched and weathered, as if it had been carried for years. Carefully, he held it out to you.

“This belongs to you.”

The moment your eyes landed on it, your chest constricted—like an invisible thread had pulled tight around your ribs.

You didn’t know why.

You had never seen this locket before.

…Had you?

Your hands trembled as you reached for it, fingers brushing against the cool metal.

A sharp, searing pain split through your skull. The world tilted, your vision warping. For a moment—just a single heartbeat—your mind was flooded with something else.

Rain. A dark alley. A promise whispered against your lips.

"Say it again."

"I love you."

And then—

Emptiness.

Your knees buckled.

You gasped, inhaling sharply as your mind reeled, your heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. Your fingers twitched around the locket, the image of the memory—if that’s what it was—slipping through your grasp like water.

Gone.

You blinked.

The world was normal again. The street, the river, the man in front of you.

…Who?

You glanced down at your hand. A silver locket rested in your palm, its surface gleaming under the dim glow of the streetlights.

Something cold curled around your spine.

Why were you holding this?

Where had it come from?

You looked up, confused. “I—”

But the moment your eyes met his, the words died in your throat.

Because the man in front of you—whoever he was—Was smiling.

Soft. Pained. Resigned.

Like someone watching a tragedy unfold for the hundredth time.

The silence stretched between you.

Your fingers curled around the locket, gripping it tight. “Who are you?”

Dazai exhaled a quiet laugh, but it wasn’t amused. It was empty.

“I was hoping you’d remember” he murmured.

He stepped onto the railing of the bridge.

Your breath caught. “Hey—!”

The streetlights flickered, the river below swallowing the last of the sunset’s glow. Wind ruffled his coat as he balanced effortlessly, staring down at the water as if it were calling him home.

Like he had done this before.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. “Get down.”

Dazai hummed, tilting his head. “Why?”

“Because you’ll—”

Your words caught in your throat.

Because, suddenly, you knew—

He wanted this.

He wasn’t looking down at the water in fear. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in his stance.

A sharp pang of fear shot through you.

You didn’t know this man.

And yet, the thought of watching him fall, of watching him disappear beneath the surface—

It terrified you.

The instinct came before the logic. Before the hesitation. Before you could think.

Dazai took a step forward—

And you lunged after him.

Air rushed past you, cold and biting, tearing at your skin. The distant sound of the city blurred, replaced by the deafening roar of the wind.

And in front of you—just inches away—

Dazai

His eyes widened, not in fear, but in shock.

Like he hadn’t expected you to jump.

Like you had shattered something he thought was inevitable.

In a blink, his arms were around you. The air crushed between you as his grip tightened, pulling you against his chest, twisting midair.

The river swallowed you both whole.

The cold was instant. A shockwave of ice against your skin, stealing the breath from your lungs. Darkness wrapped around you, water pressing against your chest, your ears, muffling the world.

Panic clawed at your ribs. Your limbs kicked instinctively, fighting against the weight of the river pulling you under. The surface was too far. Your chest burned, screaming for air—

A hand found yours.

And then—he was pulling you up.

You broke the surface with a gasp, coughing, choking, dragging in deep, desperate breaths. Rain pelted against your skin, the city lights above distorted through waterlogged lashes.

And beside you—Dazai.

He was still holding you. His chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, soaked hair clinging to his forehead. His grip was tight—too tight—his fingers digging into your wrist as if he were afraid that you would sink instead.

A shuddering breath left him.

And then he laughed.

“You jumped.”

You coughed, still struggling to keep yourself afloat. “You idiot—! What the hell were you thinking?”

Dazai’s gaze flickered, searching your face with something unreadable. “You always jump.

Water lapped against your chin, your body trembling from the cold. “What?”

His expression shifted—just barely.

Like he had said something he shouldn’t have.

Like he had forgotten this was your first time.

(Your first time. His 101st.)

“…Nothing.”

“What do you mean, I always jump?”

“You don’t remember”

“Remember what?”

“…Me.”

The cold suddenly felt unbearable.

You didn’t know why.

Didn’t know how.

But you knew.

Somewhere, in a place just out of reach,

You had met him before.

You took him in.

You didn’t think much about it at first, just that he had nowhere to go, that he was soaked to the bone, trembling from the cold. That his lips were tinged blue, and his hands were too light when they clutched yours, as if he wouldn’t mind slipping away.

You told yourself it was temporary.

But days passed.

And Dazai stayed.

The first few nights, he barely spoke.

You gave him dry clothes, wrapped him in a blanket, and forced him to drink something warm. He let you, silent and compliant, but there was something distant in his gaze—like a man sitting at the bottom of the ocean, watching the world through glass.

You were in the kitchen when it happened.

It had been a rare moment of peace—you’d just finished making tea, the scent of jasmine filling the air, when a feeling struck you.

You ran.

And when you found him, Dazai sat on the floor, his back against the wall, sleeves rolled up. A blade pressed against his skin, a thin, delicate line of red blooming just beneath it.

When he looked up at you, his eyes were soft.

Like he was caught.

Like he already knew what would happen next.

“…Ah,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You found me.”

You didn’t even realize you were moving until your fingers closed around his wrist, yanking the blade away with more force than necessary.

“What the hell are you doing?” Your voice was shaking.

“You’re shaking.”

You hadn’t noticed.

Your hands, gripping his wrist, were trembling.

“Dazai,” you choked out. “Why—”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” he said simply.

“It matters to me!”

The words came out louder than you intended, echoing off the walls, bouncing back at you. The silence that followed was thick.

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something—

But then, instead, he laughed.

Not the soft, empty chuckle from before.

A real, genuine laugh.

“…That’s new” he murmured, his gaze locked onto you.

Slowly, carefully, you reached down and picked up the blade. Then, without a word, you walked to the other side of the room and threw it—hard—into the trash.

Dazai hummed. “So dramatic.”

“I’m serious” you said, turning back to him.

His gaze softened, but there was something sad in it.

“I know,” he said quietly.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:

“…Promise me you won’t do that again.”

Dazai didn’t respond immediately.

“…I can’t.”

“Dazai.”

“I’ll just have to make sure you never look away” he mused, almost to himself.

If that’s what it meant to keep him here, to keep him alive—

Then you’d never look away again.

The Next Few Weeks

You started watching him more closely.

If you left the room for too long, he’d wander.

If you got too quiet, he’d get this look in his eyes—like he was slipping away, somewhere far, far away.

You had to anchor him.

So you talked to him more. Touched him more.

Small things—your fingers brushing his when you handed him tea, fixing his scarf before he went outside, pressing the back of your hand against his forehead when he looked tired.

And every time, his eyes would linger.

His body would go still.

Like he was memorizing the feeling.

Like he was afraid to forget.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because sometimes—when you turned around too fast, when you left him alone for just a second too long

You’d find him staring at his wrists.

Or at the balcony.

Or at the bottle of pills he had found in the bathroom cabinet.

And you realized—

It wasn’t enough to care for him.

You had to make sure he wanted to stay.

---

The first time you suggested it, Dazai just blinked at you.

“You want to do what?”

You crossed your arms. “Clean you up.”

His eyes flickered with amusement. “I think I’m rather charming like this, don’t you?”

You stared at him.

His hair was a mess, curling wildly in every direction, dried unevenly from the last time he bothered washing it. The bandages on his arms were sloppily wrapped, loose at the edges like he didn’t care if they unraveled. His shirt was wrinkled beyond repair, his coat barely hanging onto his frame.

If it weren’t for the sharp structure of his face, the deep warmth of his brown eyes, and the natural elegance he carried even in self-destruction, he would’ve looked completely pitiful.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Dazai.”

He tilted his head, smiling as if you were the one being ridiculous.

“Why?” he mused, resting his chin on his hand. “Are you trying to make me beautiful, my dear?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You already are.”

That caught him off guard.

“You’re too kind.”

You rolled your eyes. “I just don’t want to live with a stray cat who refuses to groom himself.”

Dazai gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “How cruel.”

“Sit down.” You grabbed a comb. “I’m fixing your hair.”

Dazai sighed dramatically but obeyed, flopping onto the couch like he was preparing to be pampered.

At first, he fidgeted.

When you ran the comb through his hair, his shoulders tensed—like he wasn’t used to being touched like this, like he thought you were going to hurt him.

You were gentle.

Slowly, the knots disappeared, the wild curls softened into something silky, smooth.

When you ran your fingers through it, testing the strands—Dazai stopped breathing.

“…You’re being careful” he murmured.

You hummed. “Of course.”

He didn’t reply.

But you saw the way his fingers curled against his palm.

Like he didn’t know how to handle this.

Like he wasn’t used to someone taking care of him just because they wanted to.

You wrapped his bandages properly.

Instead of the haphazard way he did it himself—messy, careless, like it didn’t matter—you took your time. Pressed the gauze gently against his skin, smoothed the fabric down with steady hands.

And when you were done, his fingers brushed over your work.

“…Neat,” he murmured.

You smirked. “See? You could look good all the time if you tried.”

Dazai chuckled. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

You flicked his forehead. “Shut up and change into something clean.”

When you finished, you dragged him to the mirror.

Dazai blinked.

For the first time in who knew how long.

“…Ah,” he mused, tilting his head. “I almost look like a prince.”

Something ached in your chest.

You swallowed. “You are one.”

Dazai stilled.

Your reflection met his in the glass, and for a moment—just a moment—he looked like he wanted to say something.

But then, instead, he turned to you.

“…You really are dangerous” he murmured.

You frowned. “What?”

His hand lifted—fingertips brushing against your cheek.

“…You always make me want to stay.”

---

The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of blooming jasmine. Streetlights flickered in golden pools along the cobblestone path, the world around you quiet except for the faint sound of footsteps—yours and Dazai’s.

It wasn’t your first time going out together.

Somewhere along the way, your relationship had shifted from caretaker and reckless wanderer to something softer. Something closer.

Dazai had stopped flinching when you touched him. He had stopped looking for ways to disappear every time you turned your back. He still carried his darkness—still held the weight of a forgotten prince who had wandered for far too long—but he stayed. For you.

And tonight, for the first time, you had dragged him out for a proper date.

“Ah, how romantic” Dazai mused, glancing at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “A moonlit walk with my beloved.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the one who insisted .”

“Only because it would be tragic if something happened to you,” he said, placing a hand on his chest dramatically. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I let my dear forgetful darling wander alone?”

The word forgetful sent a familiar pang through your chest.

He was always thinking about it.

No matter how happy he seemed, no matter how much closer you had grown—Dazai never forgot the curse. And tonight…It would finally break.

You felt the weight of it pressing against your ribs, the moment drawing closer with every step.

This was the 101st time.

The last time.

If the curse worked like it always had, by the end of tonight, you wouldn’t remember him.

Dazai had told himself he was prepared.

That if it happened again, he would simply make you fall for him once more.

Like he always did.

Like he always would.

But tonight, something in his eyes was haunted.

Like he wasn’t sure he could handle it this time.

Like he was afraid this was the last time he’d ever get to hold your hand like this, walk beside you like this, hear you say his name like this—

And you—you let him believe it.

Because when the moment came—when the words finally left your lips—

I love you, Dazai.

You saw it happen—the flicker of realization, the way his breath caught in his throat, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

And then—

The fear.

The horror that seeped into his gaze, the silent, desperate panic as he waited for you to forget.

The second stretched, agonizing.

Dazai’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“…Say my name again.”

You blinked. “…Dazai?”

His entire body trembled.

His fingers twitched—like he wanted to grab you, to shake you, to make sure this was real.

“You still—” He swallowed. “You still remember?”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “Who are you again?”

Something broke in his expression.

Dazai stumbled back a step, like you had struck him, like the weight of losing you again had finally crushed him for good.

For the first time, he looked truly lost.

“…Ah,” he murmured.

His voice was too soft.

Too empty.

“Of course.”

He smiled, but it was a dead, hollow thing.

“I suppose even after a hundred times, I never learned how to say goodbye properly.”

His hands curled into fists.

He took another step back, as if preparing to leave.

And that’s when you dropped the act.

You grabbed his wrist, pulling him back before he could disappear.

“I’m kidding, you idiot.”

His breath hitched, his entire body going still beneath your grip.

And then, slowly, he turned to you.

You smiled.

“I remember everything, Dazai.”

The silence was deafening.

He just stared.

Then—his lips parted.

A sound escaped him, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

“—hah.”

A choked, shaking breath.

Then another.

And then, suddenly, his arms were around you—tight, desperate, real.

He was trembling.

Burying his face in your shoulder, clutching you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

“You—” His voice cracked. “You remember.”

His entire body pressed against yours, warm and solid and alive.

And for the first time in so, so long—

He wasn’t alone.

You exhaled, wrapping your arms around him just as tight.

“I remember, Dazai.”

And this time, I won’t forget.

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