#DARK FLUFF

[toxicanonymity]

You wake up cold in the middle of the night. You grope around behind you to find the blanket and reclaim some of it from your man. You tug at the blanket, but he's hogging it and you can't get enough to cover yourself. You scoot back against him and grumble that you're cold. He drapes it over you and spoons you. You're too sleepy to notice the fabric is smooth and different, or that his arms are bigger. Everything's bigger. He's warm. You drift off in his arms, wrapped in his robe, and your boyfriend’s body is getting cold on the bedroom floor. 

[toxicbrothel]

POV

Joel has to drive somewhere, and Carter is busy. It’s just you and Joel, and you’re taking the smaller van. As Joel gets in the driver’s seat, for the first time he tells you to buckle up. It feels silly, given everything that’s happened in this van while it was moving, but you do it anyway. The road is mostly quiet, and you never see another car. It feels weird having a seat all to yourself, but seeing Joel drive really turns you on. His massive triceps casually flex with every turn. His thick thighs shake a little on the bumpy road. Joel looks over at you and does a double take, allowing himself the hint of a smile. 

“What?” you ask. 

He shakes his head as though to brush it off, then says. “The way you were lookin’ at me.” His nose pulls downward and he bites his lip like he might actually laugh otherwise. It gives you such a burst of joy that you could cry if you dwelled on it too long. 

“How was I looking?” you smile. 

He shakes his head. His nose twitches again. 

“How?” you plead. 

“. . . Like,” he shrugs.  “Like you’re . . .watchin’ a movie, or somethin’.”

You shrink into your dress to hide your smile, embarrassed of how wide it is, and for something so simple to make you so happy. It’s wrong to feel happy when you’re driving by pits full of skeletons and rotted clothes, you think. Looking out the window, looking at anything but Joel, is a reality check, but you can’t keep your eyes away long. 

You bring your left knee up on the seat and turn toward him, resting the upper left side of your head on the headrest as you watch. “I never see you drive, you know.” 

“Guess not,” he agrees. 

“I like how you do it.”

He reaches over and pets the crown of your head, and his eyes travel down your body before he returns his hand to the wheel. “Dress looks good on ya."

“I love it,” you gush. You fiddle with the hem and look down. There's that sting and pressure behind your eyes again. It’s the fact that he picked it up for you, back when he used to leave you at the trailer. And he didn’t give it to you until now. He wasn’t sure you’d like it, he said. Then, on this unseasonably warm day, he finally took it out of the bottom of one of his drawers. Like it was always in the back of his mind--you'd like to know what else is back there.

Unshed tears begin to blur your vision, and when you blink, the tears web your lashes. Joel notices. He watches you for a second and your lip quivers. He looks at the road again. You bring your knee down from the seat and look straight ahead, and when you blink again, one rolls down. Joel draws in a slow breath through his nose and looks at you as he exhales. You wipe your eyes with your fingers, then glance at him, brow furrowed, and quickly shake your head like you don’t wanna talk about it.

He nods in agreement and goes back to watching the road. A few seconds later, he looks at you again and puts his hand on your thigh. His voice takes on a soothing tone. “I know, sweet pea.” After a minute, he opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't. 

He rubs your thigh, then squeezes it. You nod and take a deep breath.

He adjusts his head on the headrest, looking pensively at the road. He's driving with one hand. He makes everything look so easy.

Sitting side by side, with what feels like a massive gap in between, even though he can reach you. . . It suddenly feels wronger than ever. You feel strange and exposed without your bodies together. 

“I feel weird in this seat,” you admit and wish it didn’t come out whiny. 

As soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, he takes his foot off the gas and the white noise of the gravel becomes slower, more soothing as he pulls off the road. He parks on the grass, surveys the area in silence for a few seconds, then turns off the engine. He gets out and gently closes the door. You take off your seatbelt while he’s coming around to your side.

You start to open the passenger door, and he opens it the rest of the way. You scoot to the edge of the seat and he leans into the van. You wrap your arms around his neck and his hands on your back pull you even more toward the edge. “It’s okay, I got ya,” he murmurs. You wrap your legs loosely around him, and he pulls you flush. A moan slips out when you feel him against you. You lift your chin, and when your lips brush his beard, he tilts his head down. His lips quickly find yours, and he moans quietly into your mouth as his embrace tightens.

------

------

Thank you so much for reading! And ty for the photo, Lum! 🌸🫛 💕

I imagine she picks the flower at some point on this trip as well.

[terrence-silver]

Imagining high school sweetheart!beloved and Terry getting married before he gets shipped off to war and Beloved always sending letters to Terry while he’s away

Bonus: Terry comes back home after the war and finds Beloved’s unsent letters to him that were written when he was M.I.A. and sees how worried she was about him

---

I feel nobody would believe Twig is married because he's, well...Twig!

He's so young! So shy! So wide eyed! Scrawny! The idea of Privates infinitely more experienced and worldly than him only just being in the stage of sharing correspondence back home with their respective sweethearts and go-steady girlfriends while this kid here is already legally married is straight out of the Twilight Zone for most of his fellow soldiers who immediately wrote him off as a sore loser, perhaps with the rare exception of John Kreese who stands up for him and defends him when he's teased and called a liar who just about invented a full-blown Missus for himself to seem cool and less of a wimp in the eyes of everyone else, the letters he receives from beloved deemed fabricated one way or another even though they're actually entirely legitimate, the parcels bearing the seal of the military mail, arriving the same as everyone else's packages do.

''Did your momma write those?''

Someone might cruelly jest right before Kreese gives them a look, telling them to step off.

Gets slightly worse during POW captivity. All the members of Twig's platoon are in the same mess but it doesn't prevent in-fighting and the day-to-day cruelty and microaggressions from continuing even inside of a cage when validly, once communications are entirely cut off and they're trapped deep in enemy territory, there is no way for beloved's letters or anyone's as for that matter to come in and circulate, and the soldiers and even Twig's own Commanding Officer Turner never let him forget that like he's somehow to blame (And in their mind's eye, he is. They feel he's got them all captured through his negligence and incompetence. There will be payback for that. If the Vietcong don't do him in, his own will. For all Turner cares, Terry Silver got them here and pray to God, in the following weeks, he'll make this kid's life so difficult in this cage he'll wish the Vietcong ended him day one, bullet to the brain, same as Ponytail and what better way to utilize psychological warfare than to use the boy's own spouse against him the way he later tries with John and Betsy), finding it an apt pastime to pester one of their own even when facing death, torture and execution from the Vietcong that captured them. It's easier in a weird and very sick sense; poking and prodding at the weakest link in the hierarchy of things to better endure the gravity of the situation and just forget for a while.

You do some pretty awful things under duress.

''Guess the love letters stopped now, eh, Twig?'' Turner mocks.

''Momma back home ran out of ink?''

The older man laughs into his own chin as Twig scoots further back against the bamboo bars of their shared jail, missing beloved so badly he can feel the ache of it in his bones, loathing the fact he has no control of anything going on and John Kreese, witnessing the sight and having stood up for his friend countless times vows that one of these days, he's gonna give their Commanding Officer a piece of his mind even if he ends up court martialed for it after they're released seeing as how John can vouch that if the other soldiers are boneheads Captain Turner has enough intel on his own men to know for a fact Twig never lied and that he is in fact married back home. That beloved's real the same way his Betsy is real. Man has no excuse for the hell he's putting Twig through just because he can. John gets his chance to retaliate for the abuse a few weeks later once the Vietcong force them to fight over an open pit of snakes.

As for Twig?

Once they're rescued from the POW camp, he is finally reunited with the stack of letters beloved's been sending him back at base and it's like being reunited with a missing limb. When he gets home, beloved gives him a package of unsent mail just around the time he was captured and gone missing. Everything he's been made fun of entirely real and genuine; not one word of it a lie or made up. Everything right there, in black and white, written down with beloved's own pen. Every bit of concern. Fear. Care. Of course, it only serves to turn him a little more...well...Terry Silver as we know him. No point in being truthful if he won't be believed anyway, even when he is. Might as well fabricated. Might as well manipulate. Everyone who ever laughed at him died. And he's here. He survived. He is loved. He's won. And he'll keep winning and winning.

He hugs the stack of letters and beloved close to his chest with a vice grip.

The first seeds of something very dark have long been sown.

[weirdohasleft]

‘The stars really were gorgeous out here.’

Fanart for @iammyowncryptid’s fanfic ‘Growing Pains’.

Very dark fluff and delulu Deathstroke but overall, a very interesting read. This isn’t exactly how the scene played out as Danny was actually laying on the ground and staring up at the sky and not just sitting there but ehhhh. I had an idea and my hands started moving

[buckgasms]

Ok, I'm sorry for interrupting your busy schedule AGAIN, but hear me out. I really wanna see the softer side of Daddy Bear. I know he's a dark character, and all but I just hear me out a little bit I wanna see what he does when let's say Goldilocks get and injury or something from chores or like just like cute interactions between them LIKE cute little gifts he makes her cute little things she does for him or celebrating holidays and birthdays together or Goldilocks having a bad day and how she gets treated or vice versa or Daddy bear reading Goldilocks to sleep when she can't sleep or Goldilocks treating daddy bear after a nightmare or Goldilocks having separation anxiety crying ugly when daddy bear has work and wanting to cuddle him to death the moment he returns home or bucky heart melting into a FUCKING SWIMMING POOL when Goldilocks complements him I'm sorry I've written the whole dictionary but you don't have to though we have imagination for a reason lol. also, I wrote this poem for you enjoy my love😘. I LOVE YOU POM I HOPE YOU'VE HAD A GREAT DAY OR WEEK OR MONTH I HOPE YOU HAVE GREAT COMPANY IN YOUR LIFE CAUSE IF HEAR THAT A BITCH MADE YOU FEEL THE SLIGHTEST AMOUNT OF AND THING THAT ISN'T JOY I'M NUKING FUCKING RUSSIA UNTIL THEY APOLOGISE love you tons pom bye wife🫶🏾

Babes I love you so much - I would do anything for you okaaaaay!!!!

You want soft Goldilocks hmm?

Ok lemme give you something sweet just because you are such a sweetie to me 💖 I hope this is okay????? I might have to explore some of these ideas further 😅

- Well any time Goldilocks hurts herself doing chores Daddy Bear is beside himself both with worry and pride. His perfect sweetheart/wife in training has worked so hard to make everything perfect just for him!

- You're gonna get cuddles, kisses, he's gonna rub your sore muscles and tell you how much he loves you.

- I can imagine him checking you over for other injuries just so he can squeeze at your body possessively and tease you until you are 💦wet💦 so he can then say what a naughty girl you are and what a perfect wife you are going to make because you are always ready for Daddy Bear.

- Obviously you can't go out or anything but he lets you roam the immediate area of his cabin and sometimes you find pretty flowers or pebbles or feathers and collect them for him which he loves.

- Or you draw something beautiful like the scenery or a picture of him and he's just thrilled because even though you don't have much to work with, you still think of him and make something special.

- Daddy bear will bring home all kinds of gifts for you, but he has to be careful not to arouse suspicion. So everything comes in discreet packaging and you get quite excited wondering what's inside.

- Mostly it's clothing, although often very skimpy things like little frilly aprons, or sundresses or pretty shoes.

- If you mention a book you loved to read he would get that for you too, although he avoids too many reminders of your old life just in case it makes you want to leave him!

- He will also make you little things. Wooden items are his speciality of course but I feel he is quite crafty with other things too. Like I imagine he makes you a little leather collar with his name etched on it????

- And so many flowers 🌸🌼💐

🩷

- He decides instead of celebrating your birthday, he wants to celebrate the day you came to him. So every year he gets a little bear for you, and I feel like some kind of roleplay into reliving the night but he has heavily edited it to make you think it's more like a rescue than what it actually was.

- One day you shyly ask him when his birthday is and from that moment you are planning the most perfect day.

- You wake up early and surprise him with a little treat under the covers which has him growling awake. The rest of the morning is spent doing whatever he likes to you, but it works out well for you!

- Then you make him a delicious birthday cake and surprise him with a present. I like the idea of it being a pregnancy test because that's what Daddy Bear wants more than anything, but it could also just be something sweet like you've packed a picnic and ask if you can go into the woods for the day?

🩷

- Also random but I totally picture him dancing alot with you.

- Its a nice excuse to be close and touch you and hold you tight without being so intense. And he can have fun with it, swirling you around, dipping you suddenly and lifting you up.

- You squeal and giggle a lot because you don't really know what is happening but it's fun and makes your stomach flip when he's holding you like that 🥹

🩷

- If Goldilocks has a bad day.... Well it depends why. If it's because she is missing home or being mopey, Daddy Bear doesn't have much patience for that. He will be kind, but he just reminds you that he is the only one who could look after you so well.

- If it's because you need him, well he's got all the time in the world for that. He'll snuggle up with you, play games and tell you funny stories because he loves you giggling in his lap.

- Maybe he'll take you for a nice walk in the sunshine and then find a suitable tree to fuck you against until you can't even remember your name, let alone what you were sad about.

- Your wellbeing is his top priority so whatever you need, you get.... Sort of 😂

🩷

- If you complimented him?????

- He would be such a goofball about it.

- Firstly because you'd be so shy and cute and he'd know you must have been thinking about it a long time before you could say it.

- But also, he doesn't want to be a monster in your eyes, so when you tell him how handsome he is, or that you loved his gifts, or you are glad he's your daddy bear.... Oh it's just too much.

- He compliments you all day long

- You are perfect, soft, gonna make such a good momma bear, take him so well, always ready, beautiful, everything to him.

- ugh

🩷

- I think you both have separation anxiety tbh! He hates leaving you alone because what if someone finds you and takes you away? He sometimes calls you over the radio at lunchtime and checks in on you.

- You always sit around it at lunchtime waiting for his call and you chat very briefly feeling a little better for it.

- For your part, you hate when he leaves for work. It takes you a few hours to come out of your gloom, wishing you could just sit with him and cuddle all day.

- You distract yourself with chores because you know it makes him happy and that does help.

- But nothing beats when you hear his truck driving down the long road to the cabin.

- You fix your hair and apron and wait eagerly on the deck, bouncing from one foot to the other in excitement.

- Once he's out of the car you run over to him and jump into his waiting arms, kissing his face until your lips meet in a hungry kiss.

"Missed you Daddy Bear" you pout and cling to his arms. He smiles at the routine of it all. "Missed you too Goldilocks"

[cometcon]

I did it. I wrote fanfic for Helluva Boss. Striker is consuming my mind. XD

So I was looking through the Striker tag on here for more of my favourite bastard snakey boi and found this really neat artwork. :D

And it's a really interesting concept and the artwork is so well done and they've kept just enough of Striker's sinister energy in the images that my brain just wouldn't leave me alone about it. And it got me thinking: Redeemed Striker cuddling up to Moxxie for warmth is definitely cute and even I love it (and I'm aromantic as fuck XD ). But would it be possible to write something with the same basic concept, just making it a different scenario to involve my first impression of Striker instead, without having to redeem and develop Striker first? Can I have my cake and eat it too? XD

I've changed my mind since I first posted this so here's the freshly edited new introductory waffle:

I want to flesh this out a little and write it as a whole oneshot partnered with my Blitz/Striker fic which is also set during Harvest Moon and maybe ending along the lines of the events in the canon episode, but in the meantime my brain churned out about 800 words for the specific prompt. I think I'm leaning for the fic being about Moxxie's perspective of Striker arriving at the farm as in canon. Moxxie dislikes him immediately and since Striker is an egotistical supremacist piece of shit he just doubles down on the dickwad behaviour, but keeps it subtle enough for Blitz and Millie to do their usual thing of overlooking Moxxie's concerns about things they don't see as a problem/threat/red flag (I promise I'm not hating on them; I enjoy their characters but also sometimes it does seem like a fair bit of the shit Moxxie gets dragged into could have been avoided if they'd listened to him. XD Though then we wouldn't have the parts of the show I enjoy, so again, not complaining, just playing with it. Don't kill me lol.) And Moxxie understandably gets sick of Striker's shit and they begin a tit for tat resulting in Moxxie shooting Striker's window 'by accident' and then 'forgetting' to fix it. XD And since they're all sleeping in the farm house, Striker chooses to escalate with a cruel and unusual punishment...

Behold, my first ever attempt at dark fluff. XD

----------------------------------

The sound of the door opening and soft light spilling across the room made Moxxie's eyelids flicker, a low growl of annoyance building in his chest. 

Millie had a bad habit of laughing off their boss' infuriating behaviour, finding it amusing. Cute, even. Moxxie vehemently disagreed, yet his complaints typically fell on deaf ears, so he usually just endured. But these night-time visits were reaching the absolute line and Moxxie had had enough. He didn't care what his wife said, he was going to fucking murder Blitz if he took even one more step toward-

His back tensed in surprise as the covers lifted, the mattress behind him sinking beneath Blitz's weight. The night had finally come. He'd suspected his boss would escalate, but the fact it was really happening took its sweet time trickling through his outraged mind. Moxxie's vicious attempt to slam his elbow into the licentious imp's gut was too slow and easily thwarted as a large hand latched onto his arm, halting its trajectory. 

"Blitz, I swear to fucking Satan, I will claw your eyes out of your skull and feed them to Luna! Get off me," he hissed quietly, hoping not to wake his snoring wife. She might just tell him to move over and give Blitz more space before falling asleep again anyway. 

Before he could do much else however, a long, clammy, lithe body that was decidedly not Blitz pressed into him, strong arms wrapping around his much smaller form and pulling him closer. His heartbeat accelerated and a bolt of fear shot down his spine. 

"Shouldn't make threats you can't follow up on, rodent." 

Striker's breath wafted over Moxxie's ear in a gentle caress. He shuddered, tugging uselessly at the unyielding grip trapping him against the assassin as he felt Striker curl further, moulding himself into every part of Moxxie he could reach. Moxxie's tail twitched, caught between them and unable to find a gap to escape.

"What the fuck?" 

It should have been a shout, but his throat was tense with fright, the words emerging in an embarrassingly pathetic whimper. One hand searched for Millie, desperately praying he could wake her before they were both slaughtered in their sleep. 

"Quit wriggling," Striker rumbled, fingers lacing through Moxxie's to draw the hand back into his chest. 

"Why are you in here? Get out." 

Moxxie still couldn't manage more than a choked whisper, but the fact there seemed to be no intention of actually harming him allowed a rising indignation to take fear's place. He tried kicking, though that only served to annoy Striker, who immediately enveloped the flailing legs between his own. It was like being stuck in a patch of quicksand; the more Moxxie struggled, the deeper he sank.

"Someone hasn't fixed my window yet. It's cold." 

That long, spiked tail snaked across Moxxie's shivering skin, coiling around their tangled limbs and draping itself over his abdomen. The quiet rattle as the tip continued upward and settled by his face sent a chill through him and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

"That doesn't mean you get to- mmph!" 

His final, barely audible attempt at protest was swiftly cut off by Striker's free hand covering his mouth. 

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," came the deceptively soft admonishment, arms and tail constricting in a painful warning. Moxxie groaned and went limp, hoping it would be enough to appease, the understanding he really was at his captor's mercy sinking to the base of his stomach like a concrete brick on the ocean floor. Striker chuckled and thankfully granted him the ability to draw breath after a moment, though he remained tightly entwined with the trembling little body in his clutches, chin resting in mock affection atop Moxxie's head as he murmured, "Good boy. Go back to sleep."

This was just another one of Striker's games, he told himself. If he stayed very still and didn't cause a fuss, his tormentor would get bored and leave. 

Any minute now.

The dark outline of Millie's senseless form under the blanket was silhouetted against the window, her peaceful snores the only sound stirring the atmosphere. Striker's breathing had slowed too, apparently content to stay snuggled against him, leaching his warmth and sanity alike. 

Well, fuck.

When several minutes had passed without any further threat, Moxxie forced himself to relax. There was nothing he could do anyway. If Striker wanted him dead he would be already. Staying alert all night would play right into the other's aims, showing him the intimidation tactics were working the second he saw his victim's tired eyes and frazzled demeanour the next morning. 

Moxxie refused to let him win that easily.

He listened for Millie, his breaths steadying as he timed them to match hers and held the image of her beautiful beaming grin in his mind. Striker was bound to slip up eventually and when he did, Moxxie would be prepared for him. A new thought of slicing the trecherous demon's throat with his own knife flashed through Moxxie's head and he smiled, playing it slowly on loop until he managed to drift off again.

[kawareo]

Look, at least he tried

I feel like this would've happened if the situation was just a little bit less urgent lol

[toxicanonymity]

Bodies.

7.8k, raider!Joel x f!reader

reader has no physical description, pics are for mood

raider master | playlists: raider, sweet pea (smut) SUMMARY: Uninvited guests make a nice evening devolve into disaster, but when they're gone, Joel takes a big step 💋 A/N: follows Hunger. Ty to this ask about flirting; arm anon; @gracieispunk for the B/W pic; @xdaddysprincessxx, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog, and others who've discussed his name, @javier-penas-wifexx420 for asks, @milla-frenchy for listening, everyone for your patience and support. @toxicfics for notifications, @toxicrecs for fic recs. WARNINGS: I8+ canon typical violence, tension, possessive/aggressive reader, angst, self-harm scare, references to skin carving scars, hurt/comfort, Joel is a little grumpy, exhibitionism, grinding, dacryphilia, leather choker, bj with ball sucking, unsafe P in V, creampie, obsessive unhealthy toxic dynamic, Joel can hold reader, reader can hang onto Joel.

Raider POV of smut.

The dog has stuck around for more than 24 hours now. He's a good dog. He’s working on a duck foot while you, Joel, and Carter eat by the fire. The evening air is cool but mild. The sky is clear. 

Joel and his men spent most of the day working on the van and looking for parts.  The dog sat with you while you read a book. You made a wildflower crown and put it around the dog’s neck. When one of the men walked in your direction on his way to the woods, the dog jumped in front of you and growled. Joel looked impressed. 

-

Now the fire is keeping you toasty as the sky fades from blue to black. 

“Tommy!” you call out to the dog to see if he reacts. 

Carter chokes on his food, but quickly recovers. His eyes are wide.

“What’d you say?” Joel asks, ominously quiet. When you don’t respond, he reaches over to gently turn your head toward him.  The look on his face makes your stomach turn. 

“I thought you’d like that one since it’s a type of gun,” you explain.

“No.” He shakes his head, “I don't like it.” He lets go of your face. “Namin’ the goddamn dog,” he grumbles under his breath. He puts down his plate and stands up.

You’re afraid to ask, but when Joel silently walks off toward the woods, you look at Carter. He asks, “He tell ya anything about his family? His brother?”

Your face is hot and your tummy feels dizzy. “He said he didn’t have any family.” 

Carter raises his eyebrows, then he's quiet for a moment and stares at the ground.  His face becomes studious. 

“What,” you ask. 

“Ain't my place,” Carter looks down apologetically.  

A few seconds later, watching your face, Carter adds the obvious: “I wouldn't go there.”

"Yeah," you whisper.  Anything about his family. The question weighs on you. You really don't know Joel, do you? 

Carter changes the subject. “He’ll come around on the dog.”

You perk up. “You think?” 

Carter nods, then adds, “Sorry ‘bout Daisy,” squinting solemnly. 

“Thanks,” you nod, then can’t resist asking, “Joel wasn’t. . .married, was he?”

Carter shakes his head and doesn’t elaborate. At least there’s that. But still. His family. 

You're unsettled, and you try to distract yourself with other dog names, mentally going through a list. Bullet. Clover. Duck. Joel doesn’t have to know he has a name. 

Apparently, Carter is thinking about the same thing. He tries to cheer you up. “Gun names, huh? Pistol, Rifle--”

“--Rifle??” You crack a smile. 

“Hey, there's no bad ideas,” Carter laughs, and you giggle. 

“What about Bullet–”

“--Shh,” Carter nods toward the tree line. Joel is on his way back. 

As you finish eating, Carter tries to make small talk with Joel to break the tension. Joel doesn't say much. You ask Carter how he makes his jerky, and he walks you through it. It doesn't sound hard. You could probably do it yourself. 

—--Carter—--

The three of you are sitting outside by the fire after dinner. You’re on Joel’s knee, and Joel slides his hand up your dress a little bit. Carter averts his eyes and watches the dog work on his duck foot, making happy little growls and wagging his tail. Hard to say whether you and Joel are about to go inside and fuck, or if Joel’s just copping a feel like he does twenty times a day. 

You have Joel wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even know it. You wouldn’t know Joel’s never been like this before. You wouldn’t know Joel’s never made a girl his in the years Carter’s known him. Joel’s always been a man of focus. He’s always been a tough guy. He’s always had a temper, but at this point, he’d tear a man to shreds just for looking at you wrong. It’s scary, and it’s a lot of mess to clean up. Carter’s seen Joel do some crazy shit, but never as crazy as turning one of his own men into a scarecrow for an off-hand comment. Carter knows Joel better than anyone, and it’s clear to him that Joel is crazy about you.

The dog drops the duck foot, growls and barks, then takes off and runs toward the back of the trailer. You get off Joel’s knee to go after the dog, and Joel’s arm around your middle stops you. As Carter stands up and puts on his rifle, a high-pitched shriek comes from behind the trailer. Joel grabs his rifle off the log, and Carter says, “it’s cool,” holding his hand out. He won’t hesitate to yell if he needs Joel. “Go inside, sweet pea,” Joel tells you. You take your time going. 

Carter goes around the back of the trailer and trains his rifle on two figures cresting the hill. The dog has stopped short of them and is keeping his distance, but he’s still barking and looks ready to pounce, like he’s holding himself back. 

“DON’T MOVE,” Carter booms, then keeps his rifle fixed on the pair and slowly approaches them. When Carter reaches the dog, the dog’s barking fades into a low growl. 

They drop their backpacks and put their hands up. 

“What’re ya doin’ here?” Carter asks. 

The woman clears her throat and follows it with a demure smile.  “Went huntin’, came back ’n our house was taken.” 

Carter nods and looks back and forth between the two of them. They’re both decent looking. Some resemblance, maybe siblings. 

“What do y’all want,” Carter asks, then spits over his shoulder. 

“Nothin’,” the man claims. “Just cuttin’ through on our way to the road.” His eyes pan down Carter’s shoulders and arms. Carter squares his shoulders and adjusts his grip on the gun. 

Carter nods hesitantly. “Can ya hang tight for me? Don’t want ya walkin’ into gunfire.” 

They nod in agreement with a hint of fear. They shouldn’t be trouble. They aren’t carrying much. 

Carter walks backwards for a few slow steps, then nods and turns around toward the trailer. Carter sees you spying in the kitchen window and gives you a reassuring nod as he goes around the trailer to talk to Joel. 

-

"They're alright, I think," Carter tells Joel. 

"What do they want," Joel grumbles.

"Nothin'. . . Cuttin' through on their way to the road."

Joel nods. 

“Lost their house, didn’t say who took it.” 

Joel’s brow furrows and he nods. “Armed?” 

“Not heavily,” Carter answers. 

“Bring’em around. Let’s find out who took their house.”

“You got it,” Carter says. 

—---- 🌸you 🌸 —---

You move to the window facing the yard and the fire pit with logs around it. As they walk around the trailer, you overhear that they’ve been traveling most of the day.  When they stop by the fire, you wait a few minutes, thinking they’ll leave. Then they take a seat, and the woman sits on the log next to Joel’s, on the end of the log closest to him. Your chest tightens. When she smiles at him, you scoff out loud to yourself. You start to go out the front door, then stop and go to the bathroom. You look in the mirror and open the flannel. You run your finger over the faint, healed letters on your skin, and you leave your chest exposed. You adjust your thigh holster, then go outside. 

When the door opens, Carter looks over his shoulder and announces, “There she is.”

Joel introduces you. “This is, uh. . .” 

“Jill,” she pipes in. 

“Ron,” the man nods at you. 

A couple. They must be a couple. They look a little alike, but not enough to be siblings. Joel leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped, connecting with your eyes for a moment, sharing something near a smile before his eyes fade back to serious. 

Joel doesn’t make room for you in his lap, but he doesn’t tell you to go back inside either. He looks alert and on guard. There are four logs and five of you. You sit on Joel’s log and feel satisfied when he doesn’t scoot toward Jill to make more room. He doesn’t mind you being right up against him. Carter’s on the log to your left. Jill talks about their house and what was going on when they got back from their hunting trip. Ron is quieter. He glances at Carter a few times. Jill keeps looking at Joel. She talks too much.

Jill says they saw Infected behind the trailer park. Joel and Carter look at each other. Your stomach twists, but you study her face, and you don’t trust her. Attention. She wants attention. She wants Joel’s attention. Joel is better than Ron – bigger, stronger, better looking. There were no Infected. She’s making it up for attention. 

Everyone is quiet for what feels like a full minute. You look her dead in the eye and break the silence with a soft, matter-of-fact, “No you didn’t.”  Joel gives you a cautionary look, and you add, “We would’ve seen'em. We were there yesterday.” 

Jill raises her eyebrows, bemused.  “Just one,” she admits with a little smile. “My brother took care of it.” She nods to Ron, and the fact that they’re siblings makes you hate her.  

“Where,” Joel asks flatly. You wish he wouldn’t speak to her at all. 

“Woods behind the junkyard,” she answers. “Thought ya’d wanna know,” she shrugs. It’s quiet again. Nothing but the fire crackling and the dog growling happily. 

“Thanks,” Carter mumbles. 

Jill’s gaze lingers on Joel. She seems pleased with herself. Joel looks away, sits back, and crosses his arms. Now she’s checking out his arms as they bulge out with his hands under them. Your heart races. Anger simmers under your ribs. 

"Bet ya could handle anything that comes over that hill," she purrs at Joel. Your nostrils flare. Your eyes are glued to her. You don’t blink. She looks at Joel’s pants and wets her lips. Your heart skips a beat. It feels like a personal attack. You pop up from the log. 

Joel makes room in his lap and looks at you as he replies, "Carter here could handle'em, too,” with a nod to his left. 

Joel must have expected you to sit on his knee like you were before they showed up.  He clears his throat as it becomes clear you’re going to fully straddle him. His nose twitches and his eyes sparkle. He puts his arms around you loosely. His hands rest on your back to help you balance. You scoot closer and he helps you settle in so your crotch rests on his. Your head is in the crook of his neck, facing toward Jill to keep an eye on her. It doesn’t take long for a familiar bulge to twitch under you.  

Your arms are around Joel. Your hand runs over the handgun in the back of his pants, and he tenses. 

Jill has the nerve to speak again. “That can’t be comfortable,” she laughs.

“You can’t be serious,” you snap back. 

“Shhhh,” Joel whispers into your hair. “‘S’okay, baby.”  

“I’m comfortable,” you tell Joel.

“I know, sweet pea.” He nuzzles his nose at the top of your ear. “‘s’okay, baby,” he whispers. You rock your hips into him, feeling him grow harder. He pulls you tight, adjusting your weight. He moves one hand to your thigh. You grind yourself into him and he lets out a little “mm.” 

“Um, okay,” she mumbles in disgust. 

You snarl and turn your head away from her, back toward Joel. Then you turn your head toward Carter. Carter is absentmindedly examining the bite on his hand. Ron is spaced out, watching Carter’s face. Then, his eyes fall down to Carter’s lap. 

“You’re bit,” Jill announces. “Ron, he’s bit!” 

Ron snaps out of his daze, sits up self-consciously, and when his eyes fall on Carter’s hand, his face hardens.

Carter protests, “It’s not–” 

“--It was the dog,” your head snaps back toward Jill. “It doesn’t look anything like Infected.” She just wants attention. She wants drama. 

“It was the dog,” Joel repeats, unamused. It sounds like a warning. Joel’s hand on your thigh nudges the gun loose from your holster. Your hand wraps around the handle of the gun in the back of Joel’s pants. 

“Lemme see it,” Ron demands.  He stands up and points his gun at Carter.  He snarls with a look of disgust. His face has completely transformed since a moment ago.

“SIT DOWN,” Joel booms and grabs the gun out of your holster. 

Carter starts to offer, “I’ll show-”

“No ya won’t,” Joel snaps as he stands up with you still wrapped around him. Joel points the gun at Ron. “Come into my yard, orderin’ us around?” Joel’s deep voice vibrates in your ear, then he whispers, “Go inside,” as he tries to let you down. You take the gun out of the back of his pants. “Inside, now.” You put your feet on the ground. 

“Nobody owns this land,” Ron laughs. 

“C’mon, man, y’all know how it works,” Carter seems to try to de-escalate. “Show some respect.” 

You slowly, carefully recede into the shadows, but you don’t go inside.  

Jill points her gun at Carter and demands, “Show us.” With everyone else’s eyes fixed tensely on each other, you can approach her from behind, undetected.  Two guns are pointed at Carter and one at Ron. Carter reaches for his rifle, and Ron braces his own gun with both hands. Ron cocks the hammer, and you quietly approach Jill from behind. 

Ron adjusts his finger on the trigger, and Joel shoots him in the head.  Jill screams. 

It all happens in an instant: You lunge forward, tackling her to the ground, making her drop her gun.  You could shoot her in the head, but something makes you toss your gun aside. You can't stop yourself from putting your hands around her throat.  She claws at your chest and breasts. She slaps you, and it stings.  You elbow her in the face, keeping one hand on her neck. She keeps clawing at you. “Stupid whore,” she spits. 

“I'm only his,” you snap back. She laughs. “And he’s mine,” you pant and put your palm over her face, covering as much of it as you can, putting all your weight on her.  Before she can bite you, Joel’s massive hands are firm around your arms, pulling you off. You resist, and he wraps an arm around your middle. 

“‘S’okay,” he repeats as he pulls you off, and lifts you into standing.  “Go inside.”

You hesitate and he firmly adds, “Now. I'll handle this.” He gives you a look that says he means it.  Then he turns his attention to Jill.  She coughs as you walk away. She whimpers and plays up how injured she is. Pathetic. 

“Hey,” Joel’s voice softens for her.  “You’ll be alright,” he tells her. You glance back and he’s what? He’s straddling her. He has his hands on her face. Is he . . .stroking her hair? You can’t see well enough. Your chest burns, and you start to turn around completely, wanting to approach them.  

But Carter whispers, “C’mon, let’s go,” and gently takes your elbow. 

Maybe it’s for the best. You walk with Carter in a daze. Maybe you were seeing things. No, Joel is comforting her. Your Joel is straddling and comforting the woman who just slapped you and called you a whore. 

“It's okay,” Joel reassures Jill again, then you hear the loud crack of her neck snapping. 

You feel a lot of things. Joy, relief, guilt–not for being happy, but for doubting Joel. 

Carter opens the trailer door and you go inside. 

-

For a few minutes, you just sit at the table. Your relief at Jill’s demise quickly fades when you realize she died thinking Joel liked her. Joel acting sweet with her even for a few seconds was more than she deserved. 

Now you can't calm down. All your muscles are tense. You start to cry, then you go to get a glass of water. Your hand is shaking and you can hardly hold the glass. You want to throw it, but you put it down, still empty, on the counter. You take a deep breath, bury your mouth in your shoulder, then scream as loud as you can, until you're out of air and your throat is sore. You cough and spit over the sink, nauseous from the effort. Then you slump down onto the kitchen floor in tears. 

Almost as soon as you hit the floor, the front door opens. It's not Joel, it's Carter. 

“What happened?” Carter rushes over to you.

“Where's Joel?”

“Haulin’ a body.” 

“Which body? Don't let him touch her!”

He looks at you, stunned for a second, then says, “Not hers.” 

“You promise?” you try to choke back tears. 

“God damn, you're both losin’ it,” Carter mutters to himself. Then he hesitantly reaches for your shoulder. “Shhh, it's okay.” 

You lunge toward him on your knees and let yourself fall onto his chest.  He looks over his shoulder then hesitantly hugs you. “Okay,” he whispers with his hands very lightly touching your back but not resting their full weight. He gives you a moment, then clears his throat. “I've gotta. . . ” He lets go, stands up, and fills the glass of water.  “Here.” He puts it on the table, then comes back to you. 

“Been a long day, huh?” Carter asks. He squats down and takes your elbow in his hand. “C’mon.” You wipe your eyes on your flannel and stand up. He guides you to the table with his hand on your back and pulls out a chair for you. He leaves you at the table with your water. 

—--

You sit there for a minute, sipping your water. Then go to the bathroom to splash your face. You stop crying. You fix your hair. But your eyes are still misty.  You look at your chest in the mirror. She scratched you. You can see a couple of her scratch marks better than Joel’s name. Your chest heats up as you stare at it, and your heart beats faster. You take calming breaths. You want her to go away. You don’t want anyone on your skin but Joel. You dab your chest with a cold washcloth. The worst scratch is right over the ‘J’.  

You open the medicine cabinet, don’t find anything useful, and close it. You go to the kitchen and find a pocket knife in one of the drawers. You bring it back to the bathroom and open the sharpest blade. What if you just. . .if you make the ‘J’ a little better, maybe. It’s like she goes away.  How should you do it? You look down at yourself. You can’t really see. You look in the mirror and bring the knife to your chest. The hand-eye coordination is hard in the mirror.

You’re looking in the mirror, holding the pocket knife in your hand, when the front door opens and slams shut. Joel’s boots thud, then stop. He says your name.  “You okay?” 

You sniffle.  He approaches the bathroom door. It's not shut. You move toward the door to shut it, but you're too late. Joel stops it from closing. He's so much stronger than you, he pushes it open with ease, then his arms wrap you in a hug and the force of it walks you backward toward the sink. 

You still have the knife open in your hand. As his arms tighten, you whisper, “Careful,” and hold your hand away. 

He pulls away, looks you over, and looks at your hand. “Hell are ya doin’,” he mutters. 

You turn back toward the mirror and stroke the ‘J’. “Making it better?” 

“Makin’ it. .  .” 

Your eyes water again as you face the mirror fully. Joel turns toward the mirror, too, standing behind you. You run your fingers over your chest with one hand and hold the knife with the other. 

Joel's face changes when he realizes what you're doing. He grabs your wrist so hard you reflexively drop the knife and it clatters into the sink. “No.”

He picks it up, closes it, and puts it behind the faucet. He looks at your face in the mirror. “Can't let ya do that.” 

“You said people can’t see it.”

“Told ya we’d figure somethin’ else out.”

“Like what?” 

Joel runs his hand over your chest, and his thumb lingers on the scratch over the J. His nostrils flare, his head tilts down, and his eyes darken under his brow. “This from her?”

You nod.

Joel sighs and steps over to the bathtub. He starts a shower. He takes his shirt off over his back. You back away toward the door, and start to give him some space.

“Whoa, nuh-uh” Joel stops you. “Did I say leave?” 

“Sorry.”

“Take your clothes off.” He sits on the toilet to untie his boots, then slips out of them and takes off his socks. 

“Ya know, ya came out there. Got her all worked up,” he grumbles. What? That’s not fair.

“I just wanted you.”

“You were starin’ right at her, sweet pea.”

“I just wanted to be on you, wanted to touch you,” you insist. 

“She wanted her grubby hands on you.”

“You think that's what she wanted?”

“And she got it, didn't she?” Joel asks rhetorically, eyes fixed on your chest again. He clenches his jaw at the sight of her touch. He nods toward the shower. “That’s yours.”

“Can I have a bath?” You know it’s a long shot. He’s not in the mood to wait for water to boil. 

“Fire's out and we’re outta gas.  Gonna be cold either way.”  

You brace yourself for the water. Joel remains seated on the closed toilet and holds your hand to help you balance as you step into the tub. You're far enough back that the water only hits from your abdomen down. It's not quite as bad as you expect, but gives you a chill all over. He scans your body as it prickles in goosebumps and your nipples pebble. He reaches behind you for the soap, then lathers a washcloth. He starts with your chest. The scrape stings. 

“She wanted you, not me,” you mutter, wincing at the echo of your own words under the light beating of the water. Joel slows down and you continue, “She was looking at you, not me.” He stops the washcloth on your clavicle. Lather pours between your breasts and trickles down your sternum. 

Joel squints at you, looks from your mouth to your tits, swallows, and refocuses on the task, adjusting the washcloth in his hand. 

“Don’t gotta worry ‘bout that, sweet pea,” he murmurs and begins to slide the cloth slowly across your skin. 

It’s nice to hear, but it’s not enough. Your eyes feel weak. “Well, I do worry about it,” you croak and feel the tears coming back. 

He adjusts himself, then sighs. “You always cry in the shower?” 

The coldness stings.

“Are you mad at me,” you ask shakily.

Joel curses himself under his breath. His brow furrows at your breasts and he braces his wet hand on his knee. “No, baby.” His eyes rise to meet yours, and he cups your cheek. “No. . .Just tired. . .” He searches your face. “Too many bodies in those woods. Gettin’ old.” You sniffle. You start mentally going through the bodies, and your head hurts at the thought. Joel says, “and ya can’t get in my shot like that, sweet pea.” You relax a little more. Your tears wane at the thought that he was already planning to kill her. 

Joel stands up, hands you the washcloth, and starts to undo his jeans. You watch his pants come down over his crotch, a sight that always makes your breath hitch. “Face the water,” he mumbles, and you obey, staying far enough back not to get your head wet. He braces his hand on the far wall of the shower and steps in, squeezing between you and the back of the tub. You inch forward to make room. His feet are spread around yours and his hands rest on your hips for a moment. He presses his lips into the crown of your head, then reaches around your front to take the washcloth from you. 

Joel presses himself up against your back, then continues to wash your chest. He soaps up your breasts again, then cradles one with his bare hand as he washes your trunk. You look down and watch the suds slide down your body. He washes your hips, your thighs. You’re grateful for the warmth of his groin against you. He turns you to the side and washes your sides, under your arms, your back, your ass, your legs. Then he tells you to rinse off while he washes himself. He steps all the way under the cold water without so much as flinching.  When he’s finished, he rinses off, turns off the water, and wraps you in a hug. The water rolls off your skin and the faucet drips as you stand there in his arms.

After a few minutes, Joel’s deep voice slices through the silence. “Carter's stayin’ tonight. Wait here.”  This unsettles you because you imagine Joel must be worried about something to have Carter stay. Did he believe her about the Infected?

Joel wraps a towel around himself and leaves you in the bathroom with your own towel.  You look in the mirror for a moment, then quickly avert your eyes from your reflection.  

Joel returns with clothes for you. He’s in plaid pj pants and a white t-shirt. Both are too small on him. His pockets are puckered.  You smile at the sliver of skin between his pants and shirt, and he asks, “What?” 

You shrug. “You’re wearing pjs.” 

“Yeah? Well I ain't wearin’em long,” he murmurs and you feel a twitch of need. “You're gonna finish what ya started out there.” He looks at you darkly. “Got it?”

You bite your lip and nod as desire throbs between your legs. 

“That means I ain't doin’ it, you are.” 

Your chest flutters with butterflies. 

He rests a flannel on his shoulder, while he holds up your nightie for you. You lift your arms and he puts it over your head.  He pulls it down and pats your butt. “Want it that bad. . .” He holds the flannel up for you and you stick your arms in. He brings his mouth to your ear. “Gonna show me how bad.” 

The front door opens and shuts. 

“All good?” Joel yells. 

“All good,” Carter answers, then exaggerates a loud yawn. 

“Blankets in the closet,” Joel yells. 

Joel brushes his teeth and leaves you to get ready for bed. 

-

Joel returns just as you're finishing up. He shoves his hand in the puckered pocket of the pj pants and pulls out something brown and strappy that looks small in his hands. It looks like a piece of your holster, but thinner, more delicate. His brow furrows at it and he swallows.  He sits on the closed toilet seat again. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“It's. . .” He looks at your chest. “C'mere.” You step forward. He holds the object against his thigh and with his other hand, he traces the letters on your chest. “It's better than tryin’ to . . .” he trails off. He looks at your face, then back to your chest and caresses it again. “Better than this.” Your heart swells. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t want you to hurt you. 

He looks at the object in his lap. 

“It's for me?”

He nods. He takes a deep breath and fiddles with the belt-like closure. “Can wear a sweater or whatever, and still. . .” 

“Lemme try it on.”

He searches your eyes. “Really want to?” 

You nod.

He stands up and guides you to the sink. He stands behind you as you both look in the mirror. He wraps it around your throat. Your breath hitches when you see his name in careful, bold lettering, clear but imperfect. It’s an odd sensation, having something around your neck, but the back of it is soft against your skin. It’s smoother and more delicate than the holster is on your thigh. 

“It's beautiful,” you tell him as he concentrates on putting it on you.  

He's gentle and careful. He fastens it with enough room to breathe and swallow. You look at it in the mirror, and the fact that he made it makes you emotional. “You made it,” you whisper.

He nods. “Don't gotta wear it all the time, but-”

“I love it.” 

“Yeah?” he turns you around with his hands on your hips, and his gaze devours your form from head to toe. “Well, God damn. . .Looks good on ya, too.” 

You wrap your arms around him and he hugs you close. He leans back to see you wearing the choker.  “Let's go to bed.”

—-—--

You take off the flannel and get in bed. You bury your head in your pillow. Joel wraps you in his legs and arms, muscles straining his pajamas as he holds you in the dim room. His big, warm hand strokes your back. His body is like a furnace. You take deep breaths. In his bed, in his arms, you finally feel like you can breathe. His arms feel like home in a way that nearly overwhelms you. These are the arms that took you. They hurt you and pushed you away. Would they still? These arms hold you and care for you. They comfort you and kill for you. You hope they never let go. 

It doesn't feel like you were ever really home before him, and it's impossible to imagine an after. There is no after. You're his. In the cruel, awful world, he carved out this space just for you. He kisses your forehead. You pinch your eyes shut and a tear runs down your cheek. It's a tear of relief. You press your cheek into his white t-shirt and his warm package twitches against you. He pushes his hips into you only slightly, and keeps holding you. You focus on his breathing and the beat of his heart. 

You wedge your hand between your bodies. Your knuckles slide down your abdomen, and your palm skims his tummy on its way to his pants. You cradle the warm bulge in his flannel. You press your palm into it and he grunts softly as he presses his hips forward. Then he wraps an arm over you.  He rolls onto his back, taking you with him. You're on top of him, and your heart flutters as his words from the bathroom echo. That means you’re doin' it. 

-

You come to your knees, and he watches you curiously as you straddle him. You lower yourself so your panties meet his flannel, and the warmth of his bulge sends a shock to your chest. You lightly grind against him and watch his chest rise and fall as his cock swells against your neediest place. His hips lift and his eyes gloss over as he watches you move on him. You must be a vision – swollen, misty eyes, scratched up chest – but the look on his face says you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

That means you're doin’ it.  

You scoot back so you’re straddling his thighs.  You bring your hand just above his waistband, and your thumb traces his happy trail up under his t-shirt to his belly button, bringing the shirt up with you. You use both hands to push it up and he asks, “Want this off?” 

“It's okay,” you shake your head. “Just like to see this. You slide your hand down his stomach, once again running your thumb through the hair leading to his groin. You run your hand slowly up and down it a few times and feel his muscles tense under the light padding of his tummy. The bulge in his pants becomes more of a tent. His tummy flexes as he rises up enough to take the shirt off anyway.

“What else ya like?” He asks. By now, he knows. Oh God, does he know.  But he must want to hear it. He must want to see it, feel it. He wets his bottom lip. You back up down his legs and take his flannel pants down. His cock bounces free, and for a moment, you dismount him entirely.  Once the pjs are down below his knees, he kicks them off the rest of the way as you take off your underwear. He sucks in air through his nose as he watches you. He's still, and he’s quiet, but the look on his face is more pain than patience. 

You straddle his legs, bend at the hips, and rest your elbows on either side of his hips. You take his cock in one hand, then bring your lips to the head. He's still not at full mast. Not for him. For another man, this might be as hard as it gets, but not Joel. You suck the tip into your mouth. A masochistic part of you imagines how many women might have sucked this cock. You have, too, of course. But you want to outdo them all. You suck as much of it into your mouth as you can, and he sucks in a shaky breath as you furrow your brows and close your eyes. You suck from the back of your mouth, and your throat gurgles obscenely as his tip nudges it, then you gag. His hand rests gently on the side of your head. “You’re okay.” 

You lock eyes with him as you slowly let his shaft out of your mouth. A string connects your lips to his tip until you wipe your mouth with the back of your wrist. You hold his shaft in a loose fist, thumbing his dorsal vein as you turn your attention to his balls. You cup his balls, then lick a stripe up the seam of his sack, and his hand grips the fitted sheet. When you look up at him, he releases the sheet. Your tongue circles his left nut and he closes his eyes. You have your free hand braced on his upper thigh, near where it meets his torso, and you can practically feel the blood rushing to his cock. His eyes meet yours again, and his brows are furrowed. 

“Can I have them in my mouth,” you ask and he nods encouragingly. 

You take one into your mouth and circle your tongue around it. You let it rest on your tongue then give it a gentle suck and he breathes, “oh God damn.” It’s fuzzy and soft and feels nice in your mouth.

You pinch your eyes shut and sigh, “Mm,” with your mouth full. You move to the other one, careful and gentle.  “Ohh,” he moans a little louder than you expect, and you pause. 

You look toward the bedroom door nervously, and take your mouth off. You’re about to remind him about Carter, but he cuts you off, “Shhh,” before you can. 

You lick all around his balls again, and his cock throbs angrily in your hand. You suck a ball into your mouth. You want both, but there’s no way you can do it without scraping him with your teeth, so you don’t. 

Instead, you return your lips to his tip and feel yourself throbbing as you suck his shaft into your mouth. When you look up, he’s shaking his head no.  

“This aint what ya wanted, baby.”

“Is it good?” you ask. 

“Yeah. It's good, sweet pea. . .The best.” His thumb brushes your temple. He moves his fingers to tilt your chin up to look at him.  “But this ain't what ya want *really* want.”

“Wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah? You were bouncin’ on my cock out there, just to make me feel good?”

You twitch and swallow and your chest flutters with desire.  

“What’d I tell ya in the bathroom?”

“I'm gonna finish what I started”

“That’s right,” he nods. 

His cock is raging hard. You’re throbbing and gushing for it. You give the tip of it one last kiss, then get up on your knees and take your time positioning yourself over it. You press his tip against your most sensitive place for a moment and let out a whimper. The contact makes you ache for him. 

—

Joel cradles the backs of your thighs as you hold his cock. You look down as you move forward just a little more, then nestle his cockhead at your dripping hole, the very tip of it prodding just barely inside. You’re more than wet enough. You brace your hands on his tummy, near the bottom of his ribs.  Then, you begin to sink down with a whimper, letting his cock spread you open.  He growls, “God damn.”  You're biting your lip, with his big cock stretching you already. 

He nods, “go on, you can do it.” You lift yourself up and bend slightly forward, tilting your hips. He sucks in air through his teeth. He grabs your hips, and you groan as he pulls you down. “Fuck,” he breathes heavily. He loosens his hands on your hips, then moves them to your thighs. You sit still on his cock with your body angled slightly forward, your clit pressing into his pubic hair.  You savor the fullness and the way your body makes space for him. 

You brace your hands on his chest and begin to move yourself. “Good girl,” he whispers with a gentle thrust of his hips. You whimper as his length nudges deep inside, and his hips lift you. 

You lift your ass and let most of his length out, before swallowing it up again and moaning with the delicious stretch. You slowly move yourself, and when you whimper, you feel his nipples harden under your hands. You palm his pecs as you ride his cock.  His chest rises with deep breaths as you fuck him. His eyes keep drifting to his name wrapped around your neck.

You try to be quiet, biting your lip, but you still let out little moans, you can't help it.  So does he. “Ohhh, baby—ohh.” His sounds are desperate, from deep in his chest. 

“Ya do it good,” he whispers. He cradles your ass in his massive hands and begins to move you on him, a little faster than you were going. He watches your breasts move under your nightie.  He lifts up the hem of your nightie to watch your cunt swallow his length, and he groans softly. You pause and take it off, then start moving again. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, then his hands return to your ass, gently guiding your rhythm. He clenches his jaw, and you can tell he's trying not to take over entirely. 

“C’mere a minute,” he murmurs. 

His tummy pudges and wrinkles over his flexing abs, and his fingers dig into your ass cheeks as he sits up. He wraps his arms around you and turns to face the edge of the bed with his legs hanging off. “Hang on,” he murmurs. “Hang on, baby.” He holds your back with one arm, stands up slightly, and pulls at one of your thighs. You adjust your position so you’re seated instead of kneeling and your bent legs wrap loosely around him. Without the leverage of your knees on the bed, it’s up to him.

You have your arms around his neck and your face against his cheek. Your lips pull like a magnet to the skin just below the dark, curly hair on his head.  You plant a kiss on his neck and suck lightly. He exhales vocally. He hugs you into him and moves you up and down. He’s doing it all now. You both sigh and moan as his cock fills you up. 

Then, he loosens his arms and slides his hands to your shoulder blades. He hooks his thumbs under your arms and breathes, “Lemme see ya for a minute.” 

You hesitantly let him pull you away from his body, missing the heat of his chest against yours. 

“Ain't gonna drop ya, sweet pea.” 

You relax some of your weight into his hands, and he brings you all the way down so you're lying face up with your lower back on his lap. His hands under your arms hold you steady as he thrusts into you, like your body is a warm, wet sleeve for him. You let your head fall back in pleasure. He grunts as he moves you, and you look again to see him snarl. He looks down and watches his cock disappear again and again.

“God damn you feel good,” he whispers. His eyes roam from your eyes to your lips, to your choker, to your tits. He watches where your bodies are joined as he keeps thrusting into you, making you feel like no one ever has. Then his eyes drift up your body again. He slows down. His hands tighten, and he grunts as he brings your body upright again. Your breasts meet his chest. Your arms wrap around his neck again as he hugs you.  Your cheek rests against his jaw, and his scuff scratches you pleasantly. “Always so good,” he breathes, moving you on his cock. His breath is warm against your ear. “Ohh baby,“ he sighs. 

He tilts his chin to look up at the ceiling, and you latch onto his neck. He braces a hand on the bed and his hips lift under yours as you grind your body into his. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Oh, God, baby. You're–you’re so good for me,” he pants, barely above a whisper. “Ohhh–so good, sweet pea.” 

You release his neck with a whimper. He cradles your head with one hand, and his cheek returns to yours. 

As you ride him, his head slowly drifts back, so his breath is on your cheek instead of your ear. Your lips are dangerously close, and Joel doesn't pull away. Your mouths get closer while your bodies move as one. Soon, the corners of your lips are touching. You breathe and moan against each other's mouths. Your lips tingle at the closeness, and all you want is his mouth on yours. It feels so close. The sides of your mouths move against each other. It’s enough, just feeling his lips. You want more, but it’s enough, for now. He pulls his head back, and your heart barely has time to sink before he leans his forehead against yours and cradles the back of your head. Your mouths loosely connect, with his lower lip hitching on your upper lip every time you slide down his cock. You breathe each other’s breath. Your noses touch. His bottom lip tenses, and his mouth follows yours, not letting your lips slip away. You moan softly against his mouth, pinching your eyes shut, resisting the urge, resisting it.  

Then, Joel presses his open lips against yours. His lips drag lightly, clockwise, then they truly embrace you. As your mouths seal together, you half-moan, half-whine, “Mmm.” His lips are strong and desperate, pulling on yours like a hug. You can feel him taking your air and your spit. He sucks it right out of you, replacing it with an even more desperate need for him. You’re having him, you’re having all of him, but you can never have enough. Arousal floods your body. It gathers deep in your gut and bubbles up to your chest.  You take a deep breath through your nose as his tongue slowly thrusts into your mouth and finds yours. His cock is in your tight, wet cunt, and his tongue is in your soft little mouth. You throb and twitch on his cock, and you're nearly overcome. Your whole body simmers. He wraps his arm tighter around you, and your tits smush against him as he kisses you hungrily, and you kiss back.  It’s real, it’s really–it’s real. His hand slides down to grip the back of your neck as your mouths move together, drawing each other in, deeper and deeper, like you need it to live.  

“Mmmm,” you whine at your imminent peak. 

“Mm,” he grunts into your mouth as you twitch again on his cock.  His tongue slides against yours, and the tension boils over violently, erupting from your core out to every inch of your body. Your walls clench, and you don't want to let go of his mouth, but your body jerks. Your lips begin to break away with a moan as you spasm on his cock. He holds you there by your neck. Your mouths stay half connected, and you breathe and moan against each other. Time freezes and waves of pleasure ripple through your core. Then, Joel’s thick cock twitches in the embrace of your spasming cunt. “Ugghh,” grunts, then his lips take yours again. “Mmmm.” He erupts, and you're still not finished. He holds you still, holds you tight. His hips lift slowly into you as his cock pulses. Massive bursts of warmth flood your core, and he kisses you slowly but needily as he comes. The kiss becomes sloppy. You both breathe through your noses, but your mouths still disconnect for split seconds, breathing each other’s humid breath.

When Joel finishes emptying his load into you, he gently pulls his lips from yours to take a deeper breath. He leans back and collapses on the bed. You sit there on his cock, still twitching, and your hand drifts to your tingling lips. His hands rest on your thighs. You watch his chest expand with air, and you watch his face. He opens his eyes, then silently motions c’mere with both hands. You fold at your hips and hug him. As you settle in, he strokes the nape of your neck. His chest rises and falls under your cheek. He unfastens the leather choker for you. You were planning to sleep in it, but now that he’s kissed you–and it was more than that, it felt like more–you don't feel quite as desperate for the tangible reminder that he wants you. You have it. Your lips are buzzing. Your whole body is. You can feel it in your bones. 

-

After a few minutes of caressing you, Joel murmurs, “Let's get some sleep.” 

You both get under the covers. He lies on his back. You’ve never seen his face so peaceful. You rest your head and half your body on him. You rest your hand on his chest.  He strokes your back. Then, he lays his other hand on top of yours.  

Soon, you drift off to the sound of him lightly snoring. 

----

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Raider POV: The Kiss

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So, I was writing this one when I took the detour to let Carter jack off lmao: He's only human.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. I really appreciate your support and patience and love for these characters. Out of all my characters, it means so much to me when you engage with raider Joel because I pour a lot of myself into this one and have been writing it for >8 months.

Love you all so much! I can't respond to everything without spamming but I appreciate all of your commentary so much and often revisit it when I need inspo.

I hear you about notifs not working, i hear you about tags not working (i'm not getting a lot of my tags either). consider checking my fic notifs blog @toxicfics or the "latest fics" on my profile header once in a while to see what you might have missed.

: @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

Raider: @randomhoe @princessloveweird @mugshotqueen @anas-dreamer @eggnox @dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl @tulipsatmidnight @imaginary98 @neobanguniverse@quietlyignoringyou @gab-thelamb-onthemoon

[terrence-silver]

Could you do a terry silver fic where the reader really loves like reptiles and kinda like geckos and all of that and when the reader finally moves in with him the reader brings a gecko with them

---

Geckos are small, mostly carnivorous lizards that have a wide distribution, found on every continent except Antarctica. By encyclopedic definition. He had Margaret order in a book on the subject specifically so he'd know what enemy he was up against while researching the topic between calls with his agents in Borneo and his lawyers upstate. And Terry Silver would be envious on every continent and in every semblance imaginable where the very prospect of sharing your affection with an animal, another living being, a creature small enough to fit into the palm of his hand was concerned if there wasn't a far better tactic to approach the issue with than secretly boiling in one's concealed anger over it and letting the inertia of envy win and control his thoughts as he observed you caress the thing --- play with it. Separate even mere seconds of attention on it rather than dedicating the same kindness to him and placing your devotion back where it rightfully belonged. Terry knew what to do once he calculated that accidentally ensuring your little friend is lost under mysterious circumstances might cause more rancor on your part than was worth in the long run. No. He needed to rethinking his strategy; Make the lizard love him more. More than it loves you, of course. That's what he'd do, yes. Until it is less your pet and far more his. This was a sort of war. Everything, in effect, was a sort of war, and nothing was too mundane for consideration. A war he intended to win without a single bullet fired and no blood shed. Soft warfare.

Of course coldblooded reptiles don't love. Not in ways mammals do.

Not snakes, not cobras, not geckos.

But they can trust.

They knew whose body-warmth they enjoy. They knew who brings the boiled rats and the meat and the food. They knew scent. They knew instinct. Territory. They knew when to feed, when to mate and when to brumate. They knew ultraviolets of a familiar shape and the outline they habitually see every day, in domesticated captivity and Terry decides he'll be the food bringer, the ultimate warmth, the source, the residual benefit and the owner. He related to reptilians and their ways, after all --- knew how they were wired --- an embroidered silk lace cobra on the back of his white satin Gi, it was safe to say he took on the beast as a sort of spirit animal. A manifestation of self. Maybe why he felt so standoffish at the prospect of his mate loving another thing that wasn't him --- completely and utter and entirely, without pause. King Cobras? They don't share their turf. Not even with another reptilian. Seated on the plush ottoman connected to his mansion's training hall, dripping with searing sweat, he caresses the gecko ardently, a daily ritual he's been practicing for months now, polishing it not unlike his fighting stance, outside of feeding and tending the thing like a child --- and it responded to him, nestling into his hand as per norm, ready for its shedding, covered in coating of peeling, thin, translucent flesh. It responded to him. As planned. More than it did with you nowadays, he noticed. And thought makes him grin into his chin as he runs a forefinger down the lizard's leopard dotted scales. After all, you belonged to him --- and with you, all things that in turn belonged to you did as well.

[f4irycafe]

thinking about sugar daddy toji who loves to go for the sweet and innocent girls. while his other ceo buddies (gojo, geto, sukuna) prefer to go for the high maintenance, hair laid, expensive ass women, toji prefers the cutie pies. he wants a tiny, pretty little baby on his arm. don’t be fooled though, while he might admire the innocent outward appearance, he likes his girls to have bite to them. he finds women he can walk all over and treat any type of way boring, and why would he spend his hard earned money on something that doesn’t entertain him. but most of all, he loves it when he gets to watch his little girls reduced to a mile of mush and cum underneath him every night as he fucks you like he wants to break you, sometimes you think he truly might. your hands are white knuckling the sheets as he rudely pounds into you from behind, his eyes locked on the way his massive cock stretches out your tiny, wheeling hole. “daddy. daddy. daddy” you chant as he his cock reaches places you didn’t even think where possible. and when he’s all finished, he loves his pretty baby curling onto his big chest as he lazily plays with your messy cunt, giving you sweet kisses as he promises to pay you 2k for each orgasm you gave him that night.

should i continue this hc w a lil fic 👀 lemme know

[rafedaddy01]

READER GETTING A TATTOO “r c” BETWEEN HER TITTIES PLSSS😫😫😫

Summary: you show rafe the little surprise you got just for him, and he can’t get over it

Warnings: smut! smut! smut!

“Rafey.. I have a surprise for you” you whisper into your boyfriend’s ear as he sleeps soundly in your shared bed. “Wake up”

“Mmm, baby? You finally home”

You’re a little tipsy from the night out you had with your girls. “Look, I got this just for you”

Rafes eyes suddenly pop open, wide awake from his sound slumber, “holy shit-“ he groans as he stares at your perfectly supple breasts and down the middle you have his initial R with a heart next to it. His dick immediately standing at attention.

“Do you.. do you like it?” Your suddenly nervous as his expression gives no hope of him liking it but rather of shock. “It was stupid, I- I was a little drunk, and-“

He cuts you off with a kiss, sloppy and filled with utter lust as his tongue speaks to you the words he isn’t able to communicate. “This is the hottest thing you could do. Marking your body as my territory, all mine”

He lifts you onto his lap as his lips attack yours once again, his big hands fall to your hips as he grinds your body’s together. Your tight little club dress riding up your thighs and exposing your pantyless crotch against his hard cock.

You moan into his mouth and he devours it.

Both of you are animalistic as you kiss like your starved. Like you can’t get enough air, mouths open wide and tongues fighting for dominance.

You can’t even pull away as your hands work down his boxers and you grip his cock, rubbing his angry mushroom tip against your sore and needy clit. You whine as you feel an electric shock of pleasure shoot up your spine.

Rafes lips move down your neck and chest, when he gets to the tattoo he kisses it softly and it makes your insides melt. When his lips latch onto your right nipple you push down on his cock and both of you groan from the stretch.

You give yourself a minute before you start rocking, feeling how good he stretches you open the more you push down on him. He continues to suck on your sensitive nipple before moving to the left one and sucking harsher.

You’re bouncing ferociously at this point. The slapping sound of skin filling your room, the slick of both your juices (mostly yours) slipping down your thighs and onto rafe and the bed as it acts as lube.

“Close” you whimper as your legs shake and tremble with pleasure. Rafe grips onto your hips and your palms smack flat against his chest for stability.

He starts thrusting up into you and taking over as you fall against his rock hard body, nuzzling your face into his neck and kissing.

He’s pounding so hard below you that the bed moves and squeaks and the headboard bangs repeatedly against the wall.

All that’s heard is your moans and small squeaks of Rafes and yes’s before you have the most mind blowing orgasm ever.

He doesn’t stop thrusting up into you until his own release hits him and he lets a strings of groans and I love yous fall out into the air.

You feel the warmth immediately, his cum painting your insides white and making you feel warm and fuzzy and safe.

His thrusts slow as he keeps his cock in you and the cum drips out of you and all over him and the bed, but none of you care as both of you doze off into the night. 

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover

[kawareo]

They're about to go fight the Netherbrain and Durge is acting like his old self again. Gortash approves.

[toxicanonymity]

raider masterlist

dark!Joel x f!reader | updated: August 29, 2024: calling him daddy

moodboard by @milla-frenchy 🖤 a rb will not stay up-to-date.

SUMMARY: He's a bad guy, and you're his good girl. Joel saves you from bad men, but claims you for himself. His persona starts to crack, but he gets even more possessive. You're his world, and he'll do anything to keep you. Emotional slow burn but smut the whole time. WARNINGS: 18+ canon-typical violence, noncon via implicit threat, evolving to enthusiastic dubious consent (stockholm syndrome), depraved use of praise and pet names (sweet pea, baby), unsafe P in V, exhibitionism, extreme possessiveness, dark fluff (🖤), angst, and more. NO USE of Y/N, No physical description of reader.

Spotify: raider, sweet pea (smut) Optional reference: trailer floor plan

Carter masterlist

main story

Note, non-bold links in this section were written out of order and may contain spoilers or references to future events. their placement in this list is based on timeline.

Raider: (Mar 24, 2023) - He "saves" you, then has his way with you but is kinda sweet about it. Joel POV (Oct 3, 1k)

Failed Rescue (Apr 8 - 1.9k) Your bf tries to save you. Joel makes him watch then keeps you.

Stash House (Apr 11 - 850)- Joel takes you to the stash house and shows everyone you're his. Wash Bin 🖤 (Aug 27, 1k) Shooting Practice Drabble(Jul 28, 1.6k)

Failed Escape (Apr 23, 4k)- Joel saves you from FEDRA, bathes you, amd edges you.

J. Miller (May 19, 2k) - Joel labels you with his switchblade and claims all your holes. dark. Can be skipped.

Home (May 29, 1.3k) - Joel makes dinner at home, cleans your chest, and tucks you in. 🖤

Company (Jun 9, 2.2k) - Joel brings home a girl to distract his men. dark. Extra Scene - angst.

Close (Jul 3, 2.7k) - close call with other raiders. You-almost-died sex, and later, tender sex 🖤

Gun Hug (Jul 31, 3.7k) - Joel traps 2 bad guys with some help and kills them while you. . .🖤 If you want him (1.5k) - he holds out to see🖤

Night Air (Aug 30, 3.5k) - Joel is brutal with a bad guy and his POV reveals some feelings. 🖤 Bonus blurb, wakeup pwp drabble

Hunger (Sep 29, 7k) - Joel takes you on a trek, comforts you, kills a guy, and gives you head. 🖤 He's only human (1.1k) - 👱‍♂️Carter POV, overlaps w/ hunger.

Bodies (Dec 3, 7.8k) - Strangers show up and cause a shitstorm, but Joel takes a big step. 🖤 Raider POV

No cliffhangers. Bulletin from Tox

more (drabbles, etc)

🔥 smut

Trying to use him (800) (riding) 🔥

House meeting drabble 🖤

You get sick at night drabble 🖤

He goes down on you (oral f) 🔥

If you touched his scar

if men had hurt you in the past

if you got your period 🖤

magazine and makeup 🖤

yoga pwp drabble piv 1k 🔥

boots drabble (oral f receiving) 🔥

graveyard blurb (spice)

if you bit his arm drabble (p in v) 🔥

If you snapped (emotional spice) 🖤

face sitting on sofa 🔥

being bad, looking good (2.8k, smut) 🔥

Van ride drabble (800) 🖤

sleeping beast (<1k), PWP 🔥

If Joel was sick 🖤

If you were annoying

cutting his hair 🖤

waking up on top 🔥

tired 🖤

waking up on top again 🔥

Sweet pea overhears Joel 🔥

Choking on his dick (600) 🔥

his birthday 🥺

if she called him daddy 🔥

Note: not all content is linked. Asks can lead to lore, snippets, and previews or hints of future plot points, etc. which are not added here.

Headcanons (not written like fic)

If another man has his way (Q&A)

dacryphilia - evolved update (Q&A)

if you had scars or tattoos (Q&A)

👱‍♂️raider carter Qs, face claim (Q&A)

sweet pea by herself

If you sketched Joel and Jack

Apple picking 🖤

Responding to a Nightmare

accidentally hurting her

Analysis (#raider!analysis)

why does he keep her

why did he snap (in Company extra scene)

his eye contact

his affection / feelings, trajectory 🖤

falling for sweet pea

his self hate and her feelings

the dog and joel's concern for you

awareness of growth / why keep her

Raider Tommy

Birds of prey (2.6k)

Art, etc.

Mattress by esquire magazine

Stitches by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

collage by @milla-frenchy

lose control edit by @survivingandenduring

🌸 sweet pea mood boards by various

6 month collage by milla-frenchy

6 month cake by not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

🌸 sweet pea cosplay from night air

👱‍♂️carter mood board by @romana-after-dark

pts. 1-3 rb mood boards by @iamasaddie

night air gif by not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

raider/sweet pea collage by milla

sweet pea's pup by @dark-scape

want it that bad gif by @dark-scape

Bodies gif by not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

👱‍♂️carter mood board by milla-frenchy

Then and now drawing by @romana-after-dark

Raider/sweet pea drawings by @lumoverheaven

our stars moodboard by milla

raiding edits by gasolinerainbowpuddles

under the anger by iamasaddie

🎥 Trailer (video) by @carminepoison

birthday sketch by @lumoverheaven

In love w raider by @milla-frenchy

✨ checks that you're ok 🐺 by milla

If I've left yours off please lmk I prob tagged improperly

Back to Joel Masterlist

Fic recs: other raiders

🖤 If mine or another writer's work has inspired yours, it's always better late than never to share / shout-out 🖤

[muggycuphead]

Lord forgive me I listened to funni reddit story men

Jokes aside, here, have a small post of Reddit Youtubers fanarts I’ve made bc I kinda vibe

'Hey there! Mr redder here!'

Ah yes, the creamy voice boy (?)

Tried to reenact the style his new avatar has but didn’t come out as planned, oops

At least Karen looks funny, that’s a plus I guess

'Hello, my beautiful friends!'

Your local sheep boy, Dark Fluff

His character’s funny, I like it

Gave it a small tail there btw, idk it looked kind of cute

'Hey everybody, my name is Steven and welcome back to Storytime!' 'Hello everyone, I'm Jake, and welcome to Storytime!'

The dynamic host duo ay

PD: Y’all I dunno what was FakeJake’s intro back when he was in that channel, I just tried to guess there, if it ain’t it you’re hereby allowed to call me a dumb ass thanks

'Welcome to Rslash'

Had to use references from a side fanart on dA, the fanbase kinda small :pensive:

Also funny dog u got there

[yuujispinkhair]

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!!