#a memory from a winter's night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kasagia · 4 months

Text

Losing your memory

Pairing: Young! Coriolanus Snow x fem!Capitol! reader Summary: He used to be your Coryo. Now he has become the man you don't know. The Plinth heir. The future president of Panem. You pray every day to forget about the sweet boy you fell in love with, on whom you could always count. To forget who he was and lose the memory of the past. Just like he did. Well... not exactly. Unfortunately for you, he still wants to remember you. Inspired by: "Losing your memory" by Ryan Star Word count: 7,2 k ~•♤♤♤•~ Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~

You've been avoiding him ever since you found out he was back in the Capitol.

A month ago, this news would have aroused great joy and ecstasy in you. Your Coryo is back home. He managed to shorten his exile and gain Dr. Gaul's favour again.

But the man who returned from District 12 was not your dear friend or lover. This wasn't your sweet Coryo, with whom you walked hand in hand to school. This wasn't the boy you shared your lunch with. This wasn't a boy who cared about your well-being above his own. This wasn't a boy who joked about snobbish children spoiled by the richest people in Panem with you and Sejanus at the end of the day. (Although he talked with them, trying to keep up good appearances—he used to call that one of the responsibilities of being Snow.)

The man who came back was Coriolanus. The new Plinth heir. The shell of someone you knew. The ruthless, cold pet of the mad creator of the Hunger Games you despised.

Sejanus' death didn't hurt you as much as the transformation of Coriolanus from the person closest to you into someone you barely even recognized. And from the tearful, sad, resentful, and disappointed stories you heard from Tigris, you had an accurate picture of the man who took your Coryo's place.

And you hated him with all your heart.

Especially after what he promised you when you stayed at his apartment for one snowy winter night.

You lay wrapped in the various blankets and quilts Coryo and Tigris could find. It was winter, and they didn't have much money for additional heating, so they mostly walked around the house in several layers and slept under piles of clothes.

You didn't know about that that night.

Tigris lent him her quilt so that he wouldn't have to be ashamed of the poverty his family had fallen into since you were supposed to come to sleepover with him after the argument with your parents.

Cuddling up to your blonde boy, you tried to fall asleep, listening to his heartbeat. You frowned at the sound of it being a little faster than usual.

You lift your head and look at him carefully. His gaze is distant and thoughtful as he lazily draws patterns on your back as he presses you against his chest.

"Coryo?" you whisper, cupping his cheek in your hand tenderly and forcing those blue irises you have loved so much to look at you. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

He sighs long and presses a kiss on your forehead, the tip of his nose stroking your hair, as he is inhaling your scent. "I just... I just think about the fact that you deserve so much more. My grandma and Tigirs deserve much more than... this." he says with disgusting pointing at the room you were in.

"This..." you say, clasping your hands together and pressing a tender kiss to the back of his hand. "Is more than enough. You are all I need. And one day, when you are President of Panem or any other important figure in the Capitol, none of you will lack anything. This is a temporary state. You are too smart to be anything less than great, Coryo. You know it."

You see him hold back tears. He pushed your head onto his chest to rest his chin on your head. He is not crying. He almost never cries. But you know how close he is to it by the slight quiver in his breathing.

"I know I don't show it often enough... but you mean... everything to me. I can't imagine how I would go through these all without you by my side."

"I love you, Corio. Just promise me you won't forget this. What you went through, what you experienced. Don't forget your struggle. That's something you should never be ashamed of." he tenses at your words but leans in to kiss you passionately and hungrily. Putting all his unexpressed emotions into action and into that kiss that warmed you more than any blanket or radiator could ever.

"I promise. I will never forget how you kept me sane. When you were the only shelter I could go to and the only support that could bear the boundlessness of my troubles and doubts. How you were my only moonlight in the worst of my darknesses." you laugh softly, recognising part of his words.

"Quoting poets will get you nowhere, Coriolanus Snow." you say teasingly, rubbing your nose against him, at which he chuckles, licking his lips.

"Well... I've learned that in some situations, it gets me somewhere. And it's a very cold night tonight, don't you think? I can't let you freeze to death." he says as his hands go under your shirt—actually, his shirt that you stole from his closet.

"Well… I guess there's nothing left for me… but to place myself under your solicitous care." you sigh softly as he pins you underneath him, making sure the cocoon of blankets is still tightly wrapped around the two of you.

"I couldn't have said it better." he whispers and presses his lips against yours, stealing your breath countless times. He pulls away just a little to say against your lips, "You're mine. We belong together. No matter what."

He makes you shiver as you eagerly agree to everything he says. You don't realise how, in the future, you will curse every single intimate, sweet moment you shared with him.

Ironically, you realise how deep he has gotten under your skin the moment he returns to the Capitol, and you have to avoid him, not when he is sent into exile.

It was probably because when he was gone, you were too distraught to bother leaving your room, opening the blinds, or wiping the tears that somehow kept leaking from your eyes to notice how almost every place reminded you of him. If you could, you'd go back in time and tell yourself there's no point in crying over the asshole he's become.

Although maybe you already felt that your Corio was leaving, and it was a way of mourning him?

Anyway, you saw him everywhere. Not Coriolanus. Coryo. He stalked you in the library, the park, the cafe near the academy that you two and Sejanus liked to go to, and of course the Academy itself. Kudos to your parents for not letting him into your house. At least he didn't pollute your room with memories of him.

Involuntarily, you wonder if he also sees you, for example, in every corner of his apartment. Or maybe he renovated it beyond recognition to erase all traces of his past?

You didn't know.

And you didn't want to know.

The information about him that Tigris gave you when you met her at your house when Coriolanus was at the university for classes was sufficient.

Just because it didn't work out with her cousin didn't mean you would abandon your only real friend. And just because things didn't work out with her cousin didn't mean she would stop (more or less subtly) encouraging you to go back to him.

"We talked about you." she says, making adjustments to your dress that she made for your birthday party thrown by your parents. Another one of the unpleasant responsibilities.

"You and your grandma?" you ask, trying to avoid HIM as a topic as much as possible.

"No. Me and Coriolanus." she says, pinning something to your waist—some decorative strip of fabric or something—you're not sure; you're too focused on the window and the bustling city as you are trying to ignore her words. "You know… I think… I think I saw in his eyes… the old Coryo. For a brief moment, but… maybe if you came back to him, he would come back to himself too."

"I'm sorry, Tigris, but I think he went too far on his path to simply go back to who he was. Surely not because of me."

"I understand… I just really miss him." she says it in a soft, broken tone, and your heart breaks at it. You hug her with all your strength, uniting with her pain that you also felt so deeply.

"Me too." you whisper in her ear as she cries into your shoulder.

Tigris was a very strong woman. She always impressed you. You wanted to be as strong as her. But even the toughest had to cry sometimes.

After all, there comes a time when even the snow melts... even if only for a little while.

You held him tightly in your arms as Corio cried into your chest.

His grandmother fell ill. Hard. Without a doctor, she definitely wouldn't be able to get out of this on her own, and they didn't have the money to pay for one, let alone the medicines.

Your boyfriend spent the whole day planning, thinking, and getting any money, but it was not enough even to buy the cheapest antibiotic.

However, you didn't expect that after you found out it all from Tigris and ran to him as fast as you could with the chicken soup prepared by your servants and all your pocket money, he would start crying.

Coriolanus Snow cried like a little baby.

You handed the money and soup to Tigris, who, after feeding up their grandma, quickly ran out with her to the doctor. At that time, you were holding your boyfriend in your arms in the other room, who simply fell apart from his helplessness.

"Shh… it's going to be okay, Coryo. She will live, falsify that stupid hymn and hate me for not being enough for you just as she used to." your attempt to comfort him didn't help. If anything, he only cried more, holding onto you tighter and tighter.

"I should be able to take care of them... I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around. I'm pathetic and weak. I'm not worthy of being called Snow."

"Hey, my sweet boy, look at me. You are strong. You are the strongest man I know. You are looking after me all the time; you literally give me everything you have, the last piece of your food, to keep me happy, safe, and full when I forget to bring a damn second breakfast from home or don't have time to eat something. You love me, and I love you, and that's how it works. We care about each other. And I have never, ever regretted being with you. Because what we have… is more valuable than anything else in this world. I trust you implicitly, and I will always be by your side. You are not alone with your problems and suffering. Not as long as I am here."

"But for how long will you stay? For how long will you endure with me?" he asks, and after one look at those a little red from crying, beautiful blue iris, you answer without a shadow of hesitation.

"As long as you love me and I can trust you. As long as I breathe. As long as I am in your mind and heart. I am not going anywhere, Coryo. Money can be earned, but what we have... you can't buy it. What I feel for you is more dear to me than any treasure in this world and I will never exchange it for anything else." you promise, stroking his hair tenderly to help him calm down.

You should've then wondered why he doesn't agree with you then. Why doesn't he say that he also feels this way and that he also values you more than money, glory, and honours?

But he blinds you by telling you for the first time that he loves you.

And you cling to him, wiping the tears from his face with your lips and foolishly believing that your love is pure and eternal.

Like a driven snow.

You knew this day would come someday. The day you let your guard down. But you hoped it would take a little longer before you came face-to-face with Coriolanus.

You are completely unprepared for this. You just freeze like a deer in headlights when you see his face at the end of one of the university's corridors as he walks forward, looking for something in his bag. Before you can even think about running away, he looks up, probably feeling watched, and his blue, icy eyes meet yours.

You both stand there transfixed, looking at each other, taking in the changes in your appearance since the last time you saw each other, which was after you broke up with him, when you saw how tenderly he treated Lucy Gray and how comfortable he was around her. And after someone politely informed you that he had kissed her.

"Y/N!" Coriolanus calls out to you and takes a step towards you, but you quickly step back and run through the crowd of people to get away from him. Unfortunately for you, he doesn't give up that easily. He never does. "Y/N! Wait!"

You have no intention of doing so. You run as fast as you can, bumping into several students along the way. You don't even bother apologising; you just run, hoping that Snow will stop being hot on your heels. Which, by the way, was a miserable dream after how fit he was after his training and the time he spent as a peacekeeper.

On the way, you notice a woman's bathroom and immediately run into it. You lock yourself in a cabin, thanking God or whoever is up that you managed to get an empty cabin and hide in it. You hear his quick footsteps and the door opening, followed by the screams of other women in the bathroom. You sigh in relief as you hear him obediently leave the room.

You're not leaving, though. You are not stupid. You know he's waiting at the door for you to come out. You decide to wait here until the end of the break between classes and hope that he will drop the idea of continuing to chase you and talk to you, and he will attend the lecture instead.

As the bathroom begins to empty, you realise that the next lectures must be soon. You stand silently on the toilet seat, listening carefully, waiting for the right moment to emerge from your miserable hiding place.

Just as you are about to reach for the doorknob, the bathroom door opens. You shiver as you hear heavy footsteps echoing off the tiles of the empty bathroom. And you think that you can smell the subtle scent of roses in the air.

"Come on, Y/N. I know you're here. I just want to talk."

Said the snake moments before eating the bird alive.—you think, mentally mocking how gentle he was trying to present himself. As if he could still be your Coryo.

"I have time. I can play hide-and-seek with you, if you want to. After all, you always liked to play this when we were kids. And you always lost."

You roll your eyes, listening carefully to his footsteps. He was opening the first cabin. You were in the middle one—the one a little closer to the door (and him).

"We'll have to talk eventually. You can't avoid me and ignore me, no matter how good you are at it lately. Let's stop this ridiculous, childish behaviour and go talk over coffee and some of your favourite cookies at the cafe near the academy. Just like the good old days. Well, this time all your orders are on me. What do you say?"

You would have snorted if it hadn't immediately revealed your hiding place to him. How dare he invite you to the place where you, he, and Sejanus spent the most time? To the place where your first unofficial date was.

He wanted to manipulate you, to make you believe that your Corio is still there and lives behind the façade of the rich, arrogant asshole he has become. But you knew better. His eyes told you everything you needed to know.

Even without Tigris' help, you realised that he... was a completely different person. He turned into somebody you only used to know in the past.

"Seriously? Still nothing? So you prefer the hard way, then..." he says, opening another cabin. You wait patiently for him to come to yours.

You breathe as quietly as you can, trying not to let him know which cabin you're in. You listen to his slow, measured steps as, with the incredible confidence and calm that is typical of him, he opens each cabin door, moving inexorably towards you.

Your heart quickens, beating madly, when you see his shoes in the whole, under the cabin's door. He reaches for the door handle, and before he can open it, you push the door against him with all your strength.

You hear him curse, taking a few steps back in a daze and holding his nose. You take the opportunity and run to the exit of the bathroom as fast as you can, not looking back.

"Fuck! Y/N! Are you insane?!" he shouts, running after you.

You reach the door just in time and slam it behind you, sprinting out of the university. You get in your car and drive away with your tyres screeching. In the rearview mirror, you see him leaving the building and following your car with a furious glare.

"I can't believe you invited Snow." you huff, fixing your makeup in the mirror. Your father is buttoning his cuffs, and your mother stands next to you, also putting the finishing touches on her appearance. "You hated him when we were together."

"He is an ambitious and clever boy. Plinth did well to make him his heir. You should reconsider whether he really is that bad. This match would have opened many doors for us. Not only among Plinth's allies but also among Dr. Gaul. God knows how she favours this boy. Who knows? Maybe one day he will be president of Panem."

"If so, I will run away abroad." you say it bitterly, putting your lipstick back in your purse and adjusting the necklace around your neck to make yourself look perfect.

"Don't be stupid. Snow wouldn't be so bad for you. Since you are our only child, we must marry you well. Make sure your husband doesn't blow our fortune in a week. And Snow is a thoughtful boy. He wouldn't let you live below the poverty line."

"And he's quite handsome." your mother adds, straightening your father's tie. "Still, he's not a womaniser. I heard he turned down the... special attention of Crane's daughter and a few other Capitol's girls. I guess he's been alone since your breakup."

"Hmm. Great. He wouldn't cheat on me with other snobs in the capital, but he would fuck with whores in the district. The perfect candidate for a husband." you scoff, walking with them to the next room, where the photographers were waiting to take a photo of you together.

“Language, Y/N. You are a lady. Besides, it is not certain whether he and this Lucy Gray actually had something between them. After all, she's a woman from the district.” your mom says this, smiling for the cameras.

The flashes blind you a little, but with your father's and mother's hands on your shoulders, you somehow manage to keep your pose, fake, pretty smile, and opened eyes.

Your father thanks them and leads you out of the room and into the corridor leading to the great hall where the ball was to be held.

"And even if he did, it's good that he had some fun. It will make him appreciate the treasure that you are and see that you are irreplaceable." he says, taking the box out of his pocket. He hands it to you with a warm smile. "Happy birthday, my treasure."

"We've already given her..." your father shushes your mother. You send them a confused look as you open the medium-sized box.

You find a tiara there. A small diamond tiara.

"It will match your dress perfectly." your father says proudly. You nod and walk to the mirror to put it on, despising the object in your hands with all your heart. You may look like a princess, but you've never felt so... disgusted with yourself before.

This feeling intensified even more when, after a toast and receiving wishes from several of your friends and more powerful families, you managed to sneak out to the balcony. Not long after you, all the single, young men of the richest family on the Capitol entered, with Coriolanus among them. They each took a cigarette and started smoking, gossiping about the events of the week…

And their topic of conversation was exactly what you were afraid of when you got that fucking tiara.

"Have you seen this? I bet they're pure diamonds. Old Y/L/N wants to marry her off so much that he's using every trick possible."

"He doesn't need to do much. She is beautiful in her own right. But this character… it's easier to train a dog than such a stubborn cow."

"What Snow? Are you now regretting that the Capitol's Diamond slipped from your hands? I heard she wants nothing to do with you. How unfortunate that it happened at the moment when you started to count in the eyes of the elite, and now you really have any chance of grabbing this precious gem for yourself."

The Capitol's Diamond. You shudder, thinking about the nickname you've been given.

That's what they called you. The sole heiress to your parents' fortune. Diamond of the Capitol, the best match in the city, with a dowry greater than any other woman. Anyone who won your hand was guaranteed to reach the top and success with your family's connections, your charm, beauty, and brain. And these vultures knew it perfectly well.

You were curious how the new Coriolanus would react.

Your Coryo only took advantage of your position in society when he had to. He didn't ask you for money or for you to convince your father to whisper a good word about him here and there. Maybe it was because of his pride; maybe he really didn't care. You have no idea. But Coryo despised that term as much as you did. You wondered if that had changed as well.

"I'm still in the game." he replies evasively, sipping his drink. The others laugh and he frowns in displeasure.

"Sure. Because the way she ran away from you today when you approached her with a gift says exactly that." they mock him. You see him clench his jaw, glaring at them coldly as he considers his next move.

"Enjoy it while you can. Your good mood will end when our cat-and-mouse game is over and the Capitol's Diamond hangs proudly on my shoulder." you huff, shaking your head in disbelief. You come out of hiding, and all the men on the balcony tense up and look at you in surprise.

Especially Coriolanus. Suddenly everyone is staring intently at the garden of your estate, too shy to look at you. Except Snow. He drills a hole into you with his gaze as he thinks of a way to undo what he said.

"Gentlemen." you scoff, walking past them and ignoring Coriolanus' glare. "For your information, I would rather live in one of the districts than marry any of you. Enjoy the party." you add sweetly, walking back to the ballroom.

The party is in full swing. You are talking to Thomas, using a sweet boy in a shameful way—to scare other men away from you. Just as you expected, they started flocking to you like flies to a fire.

So you chose the least spoiled of them. Thomas was nice and funny; you had a good time talking to him, and dancing with him was even better.

He wasn't rich; he wasn't part of the cream of society. You were really starting to enjoy spending time with him. And most importantly... he looked nothing like Coriolanus. He was nice for the eyes, but his dark hair, eyes, and sweet, shy personality made him drastically different from your ex. So he was the perfect break from your dramatic love life. Boring, nice change.

You danced to a waltz with him. He held you gently, close but respectful, not invading your personal space. He was a perfect gentleman. The man of your dreams.

If only Coriolanus' icy eyes weren't focused on both of you like a predator waiting for its prey to stumble, you would be able to enjoy Thomas' company to the fullest.

You are with him at the buffet, sipping drinks, when suddenly the last person you expected to meet here approaches you.

"Mrs. Plinth." you whisper in shock as he stands in front of you.

She looks—probably the way she feels. Nice on the outside and devastated on the inside. The dark circles under her eyes cannot be fully covered by makeup, and the deep black of her dress is a clear reminder of what she is still going through.

You can't imagine the pain he's going through right now. And you wonder why the woman decided to join her husband for your birthday party. Since Sejanus' death, she has rarely left their apartment.

"Y/N. Can I steal you from this young man for a moment?"

"Of course." you say, not even looking in Thomas' direction as you and Mrs. Plinth walk to one of the empty living rooms in your mansion. You close the door behind her and point to the couch. "Can I get you something to drink? Or to eat?"

"No. There is no need, darling. I just… I just came here to give you something." she says, pulling a thick letter out of her purse. "I… the letters from Sejanus are still reaching us. The flow of information between the districts and the Capitol is… very heavy and long. Especially when the peacekeepers are now checking every one of his correspondence. He sent it to you. Or rather, he wanted you to send it to him. Or rather, he wanted you to have it, just in case he couldn't… I'm sorry."

Your heart aches with sadness, seeing her on the verge of tears. She probably has no one to talk to about her son except her husband. After all, Sejanus was a traitor of Panem…

"He was a wonderful friend. The best one somebody could have. I could always count on him. Thank you for... taking the trouble to give me a letter from him. That... means a lot." you say, fighting the urge to hug the woman. The Capitol is not famous for acts of tenderness, mercy, or compassion. You had to keep up a facade. Always.

You take the letter from her and walk her to the exit. You give her one sympathetic look—everything you could afford in your position—and close the door behind her.

You sit on the couch and open the letter with trembling hands, trying not to look too closely at the way he wrote your name on the envelope. You know that will remind you of how you taught him how to decorate letters in his first days at the Capitol. Because everything here had to be perfectly beautiful. Even the fucking handwriting.

A bracelet falls out of the envelope and onto your lap. It is not particularly beautiful or sumptuous. It is a simple strap holding a peg-shaped pendant with some black, crushed stone placed behind a piece of glass.

You place it on the coffee table and open the letter with trembling hands. You already feel that after all this you will have to fix your makeup, which you will probably ruin with tears, but Sej's letter cannot wait until the end of the party.

Y/N, If you are somehow reading this letter, it means that I am not at your 20th birthday party, which makes me very sad. (You know how I love celebrating in your garden away from these Capitol's snobs.) Coming back, you know that I wish you all the best (along with Coryo. He's too big of a stick up his ass to write to you, even though he misses you and can't stop thinking about you. Take pity on me and write to this stubborn idiot, because I don't think I can stand another tirade about you and your perfection. Seriously. Our boy is getting mad because of this despair. I don't recognise him at all.) So, my dear friend, I wish you the best. I don't have any trinkets, interesting books, sweets, or anything suitable as a gift here, so I hope you'll be satisfied with what I came up with. I am not a poet, so don't laugh at me. I shall hear... or not. I made the bracelet, which you've probably already seen, myself. And that stone that is inside (and I hope it survived) is coal. I wanted to give this to you as a symbol of who you are to me. Everyone sees you as a diamond, something precious and beautiful. But for me and probably other people close to you, you are something more. This shiny diamond facade hides carbon. A simple coal, an ordinary soul like many others. But you made something more out of that ordinary coal. You are a diamond. Indestructible, the most durable of all. The purest form, preserved among the other gems and stones of the Capitol, because that's what all these power-hungry assholes are—coals that have decided not to change, to choose what is easy for them. I hope now you can see why I liked that nickname for you, diamond. So I hope you always stay true to yourself. No matter what. That's what I learned here, and I want to pass it on to you. Although I hope that by then the three of us will meet again in the Capitol. Do not wait for us both, Sejanus P.S. I miss you too.

You fold the letter and put it back in the envelope. You wipe away the tears that remain on your cheeks with your hands and take a few ragged breaths, trying to calm down.

You freeze when suddenly someone's arms wrap around you. The scent of roses hits your nostrils.

You get up from the couch like you've been burned and push Coriolanus' arms away from you. The feeling of sadness quickly turns to anger and pure fury as you stare at Snow.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you growl through a clenched jaw, extremely glad that there's a couch between you, or you'd hit him. And it was easier for you to explain your tears and smeared makeup than your red knuckles.

"Sweet, kind Plinth, giving you thoughtful gifts from beyond the grave. You love the dead Sejanus so much and ignore the living me. It must be hypocrisy on your part, don't you think? You accuse me of forgetting about Sejanus when you treat me so shamefully, worse than a dog. Should I die so that you can finally stop giving me the silent treatment and running away from me?"

"Believe me, you don't want to hear what I have to say to you." you huff, taking the bracelet and the letter. You hide them in the bodice of your dress and go to the mirror to fix your smudged makeup.

"You do not have to do that. Your boy isn't at the party anymore anyway." he says, standing so that you can see his reflection in the mirror.

"What?" you ask in surprise, turning to face him. You both stare at each other. In fact, you're only now getting a chance to take a good look at him. And you notice with dissatisfaction that the bastard found out from Tigris what your dress would look like, and he chose a suite so that both of you would match. "Where is Thomas?"

"Your little boy toy? Do you think he's enough of a distraction? That he can replace me? That he'll make you feel what I feel? Maby, that he can even protect you from me? Only I know you. I'm the only one worthy of your fucking attention and affection." you push past him, but he grabs your elbow.

"Touch me again and I'll cut off your hand and shove it down your throat." you growl, breaking away from his grip.

"Such aggression… I don't remember you from this side." he mocks you and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You step away from him and cross your arms, staring at him defiantly.

"I will ask you one last time. Where is Thomas?"

"Let's just say that your mother and I caught him stealing your jewelry. We were merciful enough to solve the matter quietly. You will never see that garbage on the ball or any gala again. Certainly not on yours."

"Were you the one who framed him for this?" his silence and the calculating, self-proud look of the cat that caught the canary (or, in this case, the snake that choked the mouse) tell you everything. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" you ask furiously.

You want to move past him, but he pushes you back, making you bump into the wall. He closes the gap between you in one step, pressing his chest against yours.

"You're mine. You've always been. You shouldn't lead this loser on or give him false hopes. We both know we will end up together."

"I broke up with you." you remind him, not caring about his intimidating attitude.

"A mistake I intend to fix." he says, leaning towards you.

His nose brushes against yours, and you shiver. You lift your leg, trying to kick him in the groyne, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees your sudden movement and grabs your thigh in a tight grip. If it weren't for the thick layers of material, he would probably leave bruises.

"You... you have nothing to fix. There is no longer us. I don't even know you anymore, Coriolanus."

"Don't." he growls at you angrily. You can see the desperation and madness in his eyes at the fact that you're using his name and that you wrote off your relationship. "It was always you. You were always mine, Y/N, and I was always your Coryo."

"Things are changing quickly. We are not the same, and now we have nothing in common, nothing to talk about."

"We have EVRYTHING to talk about. I still love.."

"DON'T!" you interrupt him. He freezes. You rarely shout, especially at him. That's why he takes a step back before putting on his impassive mask again. "Don't even say that. You have no idea what love is. Sure, you may feel attached and even desire me at some point, but you have no idea of unconditional, true love. So for old time's sake, leave me alone."

"What about you? Do you think you are so holy and blameless? That I'm the only bad guy? You lied to me. You promised you would stay with me, no matter what."

"I promised it to my Coryo. Not to you, Coriolanus. My Coryo died in District 12 with Sejanus—maybe even in the Hunger Games—when you let Dr. Gaul brainwash you in the name of fame, money, and position. You think that old hag didn't tell me why Sejanus is dead? That I don't know that your songbird has disappeared? That I would believe that Highbottom just got high or drank himself to death?" he clenches his jaw and fists at your words. You can see how furious he is, but he holds back, still controlling himself.

"Everything I did, I did for us. For you. For Tigris and Grandma." you laugh, wondering who he's trying to fool—himself, you, or both of you at the same time.

"No. You're doing it for yourself. Only for yourself, Coriolanus." he gets even more angry and pins you to the wall again. His cool blue eyes are raging with rage, and you try hard to push away the feeling of fear he has stirred in you.

"Do you want a reason to hate me? So you and Tigris can still gossip about my madness? Then maybe I should let this old man pursue her and sell her as a wife to one of them for good money."

"KEEP HER OUT OF IT! It's Tigris, Coriolanus! Tigris! The woman whose sacrifice you owe your entire fucking life to! A woman who went out of her way to give your ungrateful, selfish ass something to wear. Who sacrificed the love of her life in the name of maintaining the façade of Snow's wealth?! You can give a damn about me, Sejan, and even that little songbird of yours, but if you fucking ruin the life of your cousin—the only goddamn person who still cares about you—I promise you, in memory of OUR dead friend, that there won't be a fucking hole where you could hide from me."

You stare daggers at each other, both openly expressing your resentment towards the other. You have no idea why he still cares about you—is it because of your money, position, or some sick fantasy he has in his head, or maybe he actually still cares about you?

You don't think about it when a more important issue arises.

Suddenly, he grabs your face in both hands and pulls you towards him, greedily kissing you as he connects your lips after a very long time of separation. He caresses your lips with his and kisses you with such fervour as if he craves you like a hermit starving for water.

And for a moment, you feel like you were with Coryo, when all that mattered to you was the other one, when you could get lost in each other, forgetting about the rest of the world and the worries that were waiting for you.

And that's exactly what he's doing now. He makes you forget about anything but him.

You can't help but moan into his mouth as he presses his body against yours. When he releases his strong grip on your cheeks to grab you around your waist and press you against his body, his leg is between yours.

He kisses you more hungrily, groaning too at the familiar warmth of your body against him and the feeling of your soft, silky skin pressing against him. The scent of your perfume mixes, creating a perfect combination of roses and your favourite flowers. Your hands automatically go to his hair as you hold on to him and press him to you. You don't like the gel on your hands from his hair, but you ignore this new, irritating feeling by biting his lip.

You don't think at all. As well as Coriolanus. You both just kiss each other, your tongues joining, as you both let your desire for one another take control of the situation.

You only come to your senses when your lips break apart. You gasp, trying to breathe again, as he fucks your exposed collarbones with kisses. Your brain comes back to you as he leaves a hickey on your neck. He bites you, making you moan so needily that a wave of shame washes over you with his tongue, soothing the bite. You push him away from you and place your hand on your chest, trying to regain control over yourself.

"See? We belong together. There is no other way, Y/N. We are all we need."

"Bullshit." you gasp, trying to ignore the possessive, smug feeling blooming in your chest when you see his messy hair and your lipstick smeared on his lips. "Since you are that good in losing your memory, then forget about me too."

"I can't. I just can't. You think I haven't tried? That you don't haunt me every damn step I take? Everything I have and everything I know is saturated with you. With the memory of both of us. I forgot about what I had with that songbird and my friendship with Sejanus, but I simply CAN'T forget about you. I haven't spent a single damn day without thinking about you. NOT EVEN ONE. And I know you felt the same way. Do you know why I didn't kill that stupid boy who was clinging to you? Because I knew it would make you hate me even more. I was alone without you at 12, and you know how it ended. You are my conscience. Without you... there's nothing holding me back. Without you, there is nothing to distinguish me from the Hunger Games tributes. I have no borders, mercy, compassion, or anything that makes people human beings. And Gaul knows it. That's why she told you all of my crimes; that's why you're paranoid now that I'm someone completely different. But it's still me. I. Am. Still. Your. Coryo." he says it firmly, taking a step closer to you with each word.

"Don't turn me into a fucking cricket for your Pinocchio. I am not, and I do not want to be your conscience. I will not take part in your lies, games, and manipulations." you say as you both stare at each other, neither of you wanting to concede to the other in any way.

"I will have you. One way or another, but I will. Even if it is the last thing I do, I will have you by my side. Just where you always belonged. I promised you to be my First Lady. And I intend to keep that promise."

"You must become president first. And believe me, I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. Maybe you can't forget about me. But I can. I do not need you. I never needed you. How ironic to be able to lose the memories of everyone except the girl who will be the end of you, isn't it, CORIOLANUS?" you mock him, a smirk on your lips, making him a promise.

You walk past him, and this time he lets you go, knowing full well that he won't do anything more with you today. At least he got his kiss and a little taste of you, a reminder of the reward that awaits him when everything finally falls into place. When he finally has you in his arms and is at the top of Panem—his rightful place.

"The game has just begun!" he shouts after you, staring at you as you head towards the bathroom to touch up your ruined makeup. It gives you satisfaction to think that this bastard will probably have to clean himself up after your little make-out session, too.

You think that maybe Gaul was right about the Hunger Games being the whole world. But the reality was that there could only be ONE winner.

And among the people of the Capitol, only you and Coriolanus had a real chance of winning. It has always been like that. And even lost memories that do not want to go away so easily are proof of this.

Part 2

4K notes · View notes

yuujispinkhair · 6 months

Text

Death's Bride

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

Halloween Masterlist 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you here to collect souls?"

Your voice sounds weak and hoarse from coughing so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He watches you with amused eyes and a thoughtful expression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not today.

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

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

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

You gasp and sit up, looking around hastily.

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

And, suddenly, you remember everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ah, I see you are awake."

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

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

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

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

You nod firmly,

"Yes, yes, of course I remember."

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

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

Oh.

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

"But why am I... naked?"

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

So you were right. This is his bed.

"Why am I in your bed?"

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

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

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

You quickly avert your gaze, bowing your head obediently,

"Yes, my Lord."

"Sukuna."

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

You gulp hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is lonely here.

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

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

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

A statement that makes a shudder run through you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You meet no other being aside from Uraume and Sukuna.

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

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

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

It's gruesome. Hopeless.

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

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

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

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

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

Death's throne.

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head frantically.

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

He raises an elegant eyebrow and huffs softly.

"Such a pity."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are a good bride.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is beautiful and terrifying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're a good little bride."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His red eyes find yours and narrow in a frown.

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

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

You look nervously at him,

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

He blinks at you and shrugs.

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

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

"I never learned how to read."

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

"Follow me."

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

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

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

"Sit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is something he demanded from you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost succeed in pretending that you are still alive.

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks at you,

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

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

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

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

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

"Sukuna, look!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does a little delicate flower bother him so much?

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

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

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

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

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

"Forgive me, my Lord."

"I told you not to call me that."

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

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

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

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

That is where Sukuna finds you later that night.

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

"Don't run from me, brat."

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

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

"I never said that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him in utter astonishment.

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

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

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

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

"But... But I.."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will you sing for me again?"

You smile at him and nod gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Sukuna is unrelenting,

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

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

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

"So beautiful for me, my sweet bride."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sukuna?"

"Yes, my love?"

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

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

"Yes, I did."

"Is that what you want?"

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

"Then I will do so."

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

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

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

You are Death's Bride.

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

And he lets you.

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

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

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

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

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

6K notes · View notes

inkskinned · 5 months

Text

it is the first snow today. i think we should all have off work, even though it didn't stick. i think there should be 4 national holidays, one for each season. happy first snow, go home and make cookies. for spring it can be the first crocus. for summer the first lightning bug. for autumn, the first golden leaf. go home, kiss your dog, feed your cat (who is absolutely already-fed but somehow still starving.)

i think we should all take more showers together, but i mean that in the soft way. i mean it like taking a nap. two years ago i had 5 adult friends in my queen bed, all of us laying across each other, head over belly over thigh over hand. any time one of us would giggle, it would ripple over each of us, like pulling on a spiderweb. kim actually needed to nap and didn't get to sleep and i am still sorry for it even though this is one of my most precious memories.

i think we should all wash each other's hair, i mean. i walk my dog and i watch someone put up twinkle lights around their front porch. alex and i just moved, and i love the neighborhood. already so many of our new neighbors have stopped by to say hello. the nice lady downstairs also collects plants, like me. she gave us her number on a pink post-it note. i am trying to decide whether to make her cookies or brownies.

i am going through a very hard time. something bad happened this weekend that i do not wish to discuss. it is hanging over me. i think of the green ribbon, and the woman who had her throat cut. it feels like that sometimes, inside of my body. like i am walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. like i am hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. i keep saying - at least it wasn't worse. we are so lucky it wasn't worse. the idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

in this very dark night - the sun sets by 3 now - people don't need to, but they try anyway. they paint the missing light into things. i have an embarrassing number of missed calls and texts, but i feel the love from them nevertheless - hey. if you need something, i'm here. i will bring you food/puzzles/anything. i got you.

i think we should all have a big group chat where we do errands with strangers. this week i got lost in a home depot, which is wild because i'm a lesbian and we are actually hatched in a lowe's lumber section. there were two other women in the whole store. we ended up shopping together, at first by accident (we all needed things in the same aisle), and then because, well, why not. one of the ladies was taller than me, so she pulled down the screws i needed. i am agile and have the personality of a raccoon, so they sent me after anything below 3 feet. we talked about holiday plans and never learned each other's names, but did learn all the drama about each other's families.

i am making you cupcakes, because i have so much affection i want to pour it into batter. you ask me if i am eating enough per meal. i wrap your gift twice, trying to do it prettily. i get excited to give it to you, just because i hope you'll be excited too.

my parents drive an hour just to see the new apartment and to do the parent thing; standing in the kitchen saying things like "oh you'll get so much use from this dishwasher" and "well, you could paint that" and "when your mother and i moved it was uphill both ways and in a snowstorm and of course your brother was an infant." my mother brought me a plant for housewarming. i always say i love you before she leaves.

i play dnd on tuesdays still, after all these years. we all keep that night free. at one point, between grad school and marriage and all of it, we had to have a serious discussion about how to keep it running. we will keep going, we decided eventually. just to see each other, even if we don't play - you are all important to me. sebastian is not prone to affection but last night he stole my usual sign off - i love you all, be good, he said. he was laughing.

i don't love the winter, actually. i like snow in theory, but i grew up in the north, and am too-familiar with the season of "mud and sludge". i don't like being cold. but i do love something kind of soft and rare: every year around this time, people remember oh yes. you and i are human together. and i have love to spare.

it is the first snow, and something in my heart is finally warm again. i have spent what felt like the last 18 months just going-through-the-motions. it has felt blank and immediate, like i would never actually feel again. that sounds extremely trite and stupid - but that is the boring and familiar experience of depression. life just washes up against your windows, and you watch it happening. you see things that should be lovely and affecting, and it just whispers too-thin. i was desperately uncreative. uninterested in my hobbies. unimpressed by my writing. i told my therapist, often, i don't know how to find hope again.

almost sheepishly, something strange and lovely is burning in my chest. i keep not-looking at it, worried it will scamper back into the shadows again. it is skittish and wild, but it is so warm i want to sink my hands into its fur and feel it breathing. i love-hate it: if it's real, it can hurt me when it leaves again. but i am icarus-born, sun-lover and poet: i can't help myself. despite my best intentions, i am falling in love with life again.

i am planning to make cookies for my friends. alex and i are going to go christmas tree shopping. we picked out matching dish towels last night, and they have little mushrooms on them.

i love you. it does come back. yes, even after a long time. even for you. i promise. keep trying. you will wake up and it will be a day you can smile about.

write me when you get there. we will take the day off of work, and i will wash your hair, and we will both be laughing.

#spilled ink #writeblr #pos #recovery #my brain is like - don't trust it!!!!!!! AHHHHHHH!!!!! we can't be wrong again!!!!!!#and im like. what if the sorrow is the thing that's wrong though.#what if this - this!!!!! - is the truth

4K notes · View notes

fishofthewoods · 9 days

Text

I see a lot of people clowning on the people of Pelican Town for not repairing the community center themselves or clowning on Lewis for embezzling and. like. Those criticisms aren't entirely unfair. But I think instead of coming at it from a perspective of "why can't the townspeople do this" we should be asking "why and how can the farmer do this?"

Like. Think about it. The farmer arrives in Stardew Valley on the first day of spring. By the first day they're obviously different. By day five the spirits of the forest who haven't been seen by the townsfolk in years or generations are speaking to them. By the second week they've developed a rapport with the wizard that lives outside town.

In the spring they go foraging and find more than even Linus, who's spent so many years learning the ways of the valley. Maybe he knows, when he sees them walking back home. Maybe he looks at them and understands that they're different, chosen somehow.

In the summer they fish in the lakes and the ocean for hours on end, catching fish that even Willy's only ever heard of, fish that he thought were the stuff of legend. They pull up giants from the deep and mutated monstrosities from the sewers.

In the fall, their crops grow incredibly immense; pumpkins twice as tall as a person, big enough that someone could live inside. The farmer cuts it down with an axe without even batting an eye. Does Lewis wonder, when he checks the collection bin that night and finds it full to the brim with pumpkin flesh? What does he think? Does he even leave the money? Does he have the funds to pay the farmer millions of dollars for the massive amounts of wine they sell? Or is it someone--something--else entirely?

In the winter, the farmer delves into the mines. No one in Pelican Town has been down there in decades. No one in living memory has been to the bottom. The farmer gets there within the season. They return to the surface with stories of dwarven ruins and shadow people, stories they only tell to Vincent and Jas, whose retellings will be dismissed by the adults as flights of fancy. People walking by the entrance to the mines sometimes hear the farmer in there, speaking in a language no one can understand. Something speaks back.

The farmer speaks to the the wizard. They speak to the spirit of a bear inside a centuries-old stone. They speak to the shadow people and the dwarves, ancient enemies, and they try to mend the rift. They speak to the Junimos, ancient spirits of the forest and the river and the mountain. They taste the nectar of the stardrops and speak to the valley itself. They change Pelican Town, and they change the valley. Things are waking up.

And what does Evelyn think? She's the oldest person in the valley; she was here when the farmer's grandfather was young. (How old *is* she, anyway? She never seems to age. She doesn't remember the year she was born.) Does she see the farmer and think of their grandfather? Does she try to remember if he was like this too, strange and wild and given the gifts of the forest?

And does their grandfather haunt the valley? He haunts the farm, still there even after his death; his body died somewhere else, but his spirit could never stay away for long. Does Abigail, using her ouija board on a stormy night, almost drop the planchette when she realizes it's moving on its own? Does Shane, walking to work long before anyone else leaves their house, catch glimpses of a wispy figure floating through the town? Does the farmer know their grandfather came back to the place they both love so much?

Mr. Qi takes interest in the farmer. He's different, too; in a different way, maybe, but the principles are the same. They're both exceptional, and no matter what Qi says about it being hard work and dedication, they both know the truth: the world bends around the both of them, changing to fit their needs. Most people aren't visited by fairies or witches. Most people don't have meteorites crash in their yard. Most people couldn't chop down trees all day without a break or speak to bears and mice and frogs.

The farmer is different. The rules of the world don't work for them the way they work for everyone else. The farmer goes fishing and finds the stuff of fairy tales. The farmer goes mining and fights shadow beasts and flying snakes. The farmer looks at paths the townspeople walk every day and finds buried in the dirt relics of lost civilizations.

The farmer is a violent, irrepressible miracle, chosen by the valley and destined to return to it someday. Even if they'd never received the letter, they would've come home.

They always come home eventually.

#lich says shit #stardew valley #sorry for the stardew valley meta i'm just so obsessed with how FREAKY the farmer is. Like it's so fun #gonna write another long ass post about the farmer's bloodline specifically and. like.#why did their grandpa leave the valley?? why did their parents never go back??#stardew valley farmer #sdv

2K notes · View notes

youryanderedaddy · 1 month

Text

Dark Is The Night

Summary: A late night encounter with a patroling soldier changes the trajectory of his life - and, unfortunately, yours too.

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, threats, thoughts of non - con, mention of war, patronizing behavior, slight misogyny, hinted kidnapping

All he could think about was you.

It was a damp linden night, one of the very few old fashioned ones - as if time itself had stopped. The old colonel was laughing in short sharp breathes, skin spotting in red along with his sweaty neck, tearing into a letter he had received this very morning. The young soldiers were all over the tavern - some crying, some cheering over a beer and calling each glass their last, losing themselves in the rich foam that covered their fresh military mustaches. Christoph was alone, though.

He had no wife to write back to - no home to call his own, no friends or family to celebrate his final battle with. He also wasn't a rookie - so he couldn't drink himself blind in the pursuit of ideals, of empty promises of greatness to come. Truth was, his troops had won their fair share of battles, and today they had signed a treaty that would certainly benefit the district - the one he had lost his youth fighting for. He knew the capital would attempt at invasion, those greedy fucks wanted to bite more than they could chew - but that was no longer his problem. Today his contract ended. Today he was a free man.

And yet.

And yet all he could think about was you.

It was funny - he had spent more nights than he could remember wishing he could burn this half - dead village to the ground, all together with the maidens and the elderly still stick fending for themselves after the war. He presumed he'd be doing everyone a favor - he'd rid himself of the memories that haunted his dreams, and they wouldn't have to suffer any longer, not when all that winter would bring once again was even more hunger and decay.

After all, the victory changed nothing. The starving populace wouldn't starve anymore - it would simply die, having lost fathers, sons, daughters, farmers, merchants, healers. Nothing less than the very foundation of society. So maybe it would be far less cruel, far more humane, to burn everything and let them die with dignity.

But then you too would burn with the miserable souls of the damned. The man pictured it all - your beautiful skin still damp from the rain blistering in red and orange, and eventually black, those gems of yours trembling beneath your long eyelashes as the smoke swallowed your last breath.

The thought made Christoph irrationally angry - jealous even. Not only because he just imagined you dying, but because it was someone, something else stealing your final moment from him. Something else bruising your skin and forcing your lips to swell, something else causing you pain and suffering. No, he couldn't let you die. Not like this.

He couldn't help but recall your first meeting two years ago. Unbeknownst to you he had memorized it, citing each line by heart - envisioning it in his memory over and over each time he needed an escape, an outlet. The soldier wasn't one for softness, never one to dream and hope - but deep down he knew that this simple encounter had swayed the bullets. It had made him grip his rifle just a bit closer, made the biting wind just a bit warmer. He was a killing machine undeserving of humanity - yet you had saved him without even realizing it.

It was a cold winter night - quite opposite to this one, in the middle of Hell. The county your village was part of had been surrounded for a few weeks. Food was running low, and even clean water was scarce. All the men had been displaced a long time ago, sent off to fight in the eastern territories. Christoph was stuck at the Iron hills, a region so poor they didn't even bother to send additional armies to. If it lost, it lost. It held no special resources, no cultural or economic significance, no sea or forest roads to profit off of. All in all, no one wanted to serve here. No one but him.

Not that Christoph was too fond of the hills - it was more so that he didn't care where he was going to die. Whether it was on the eastern front, the western or even on the other side of the ocean, it didn't matter. And he had made peace with that fact - but before death took a toll on him, he was going to earn enough buck to buy good cigarettes for once in his miserable life. With real tobacco, none of that cheap imported trash they sold in his hometown.

And that's exactly how fate let him meet you. He was patrolling the border bridge late into the night - a thick cigar in hand (a parting gift from the general Murphy), humming to an old melody he couldn't quite remember the name of. He was alone that night - his friend had been injured so he needed to rest. The man was trying to stay alert, although the fatigue had long settled in between his tired bones and it refused to let go. The lack of sleep and the sheer paranoia was making him jumpy, ready to point his gun at the slightest of sound. He almost shot you that night.

"Colonel." You had whispered through gritted teeth, slowly raising your hands up as you approached him with a hesitant step. He blinked twice, unsure if he was still awake. Surely there was no way a young woman was out alone so late during wartime. "Colonel!" You repeated, putting a bit more force into your otherwise soft, calm voice. This seemed to snap him out of his trance and he finally raised his head to look at you, his sharp, intense gaze measuring you up from top to bottom. Just like a predator seizing his pray, like a soldier trained to keep his eyes on the target, he knew no other way to introduce himself other than with a silent, unspoken threat.

"A bit young to be calling me that, no?" The man snapped back, voice coming out more raspy than he intended - but it was hardly his fault. He rarely had visitors nowadays - no one wanted to expose themselves to the front lines, to risk becoming smoked meat, which meant he had little opportunity for chatter. So his voice had become rough - almost unnecessary cruel.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, blurry eyes focused on the weapon resting oh - so snuggly against the soldier's heart as if guarding it. "I'm not familiar with your many titles, sir." You explained with a certain bite. Christoph squinted, growing amused at your little jab, yet the black mask covering his mouth hid it from you. The man knew exactly what you meant. You were not used to so much surveillance on your step - on everyone's step, so many eyes set on you as if you had a massive red target on your back. You were not used to armed forces ghosting around your small homely village with a gun resting at an arm's length just waiting to be loaded.

He wondered if it was your first time running into a soldier since the beginning of the occupation. He wondered if you were scared - if your heart was beating against your chest like it was trying to break through the skin. After all he was indeed intimidating - with heavy combat boots and a black uniform that did little to hide his rough figure, the lineage of lean muscle and battered blistered skin that undoubtedly belonged to a man. A man whose hands were still covered in dirt and blood. He could kill you. He could push you around - get some entertainment out of you. He could shove you down and use you like a cheap village whore - and no one would care because that's just how war is. He was serving his country, he needed an outlet, and you just happened to be there. No one would blame him.

He couldn't bring himself to come closer to you. He didn't trust himself to hold back when faced with something so fragile after months of letting his fists and his teeth do the speaking.

"That's lieutenant to you, miss." He barked in a tone that felt familiar - a tone that used to wake him up every morning at 5 for weeks on end. A tone that he could still hear every time he loaded his rifle and let go of the trigger with shaking fingers.

He couldn't be nice to you. He couldn't be nice to anyone in this bloodshed. And yet he heard himself asking you for your name. It hadn't meant anything - it was a long night and he was bored. Lonely, maybe, he couldn't tell his feelings apart very well. You hesitated for a second too long before you finally gave him a clear answer. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard - not just now, but ever.

"Would you mind explaining why you're here so late, miss?" The man tilted his head, trying to understand your unreadable expression - somehow you looked lost in time, striken by fear and grievance. "I believe the general gave direct orders this morning. No one should be out after ten." He paused to take a long, dramatic puff off his cigar. "It's too dangerous. Especially for a pretty little thing like you to be roaming at night." He knew his boldness was making you uneasy, and that he shouldn't derive such obvious pleasure from your discomfort, but he just couldn't help it. He was lonely. He was sick. And most of all, he was a bastard who had already given up on life. He had nothing to lose.

"Truth be told, if you were mine I wouldn't let you out of sight, miss." He grinned, feeling just a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to scare you. To creep you out so bad you'd never go out alone again. Why he had got so invested so quickly, he also couldn't tell.

"I... I needed a breath of f-fresh air, l-leutenant." You responded quickly, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible - completely ignoring anything he said. Your initial confidence had evaporated as the wet cold crept into your thin coat. It didn't fit your frame - it was too big on you and it reeked of a man's first proper cologne. The thought of it filled the soldier with unreasonable, hot -red fury, imagining you next to some nameless brat with his hands wrapped around you.

"That's all?" The corners of his lips stretched mockingly as he let his smoke blow into your face - and you had to fight the urge to immediately wave it off.

"Are you, are you implying something, sir?" You fiddled with your fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at Christoph. He found it pathetically adorable. "Just curious." He took another long puff - his breath coming out frozen - white as it hit the icy air. "You don't seem like the brave type to me." His eyes narrowed to two pitch black slits. He must have looked terrifying to you in that moment, and he loved it. "So just what-" He pulled you in by the collar. "Are you doing here, huh?"

You froze in place as if he had pointed his gun to you yet again. You swallowed loudly, trying to come up with an explanation - but nothing came to mind when you were so obviously scared. The soldier could feel your heartbeat - he could hear the blood pumping to your ears as you looked around hopelessly for help that wouldn't come. And just like that the wolf had the rabbit dancing in its own trap.

"Are you just looking for trouble, hmm?" The man reached in to curl his finger around one of your loose locks. He didn't want to make you feel so awfully small - but everything about this situation, from the tremble of your lips to the sheer panic in your eyes was going straight to his cock. "I'm sure that with a face like that you never lacked attention, no?" He tilted his head with predatory malice. "But now all the men bending over backwards for you are off somewhere, dying as we speak. Poor little you - I can imagine just how lonely you are." He pressed his body closer to yours. "The thing is, I am more than willing to play with you in their pl-"

"Please, lieutenant." You couldn't stand to listen to him any longer, a thousand warm pleas already falling off your desperate lips. "Please let me go." Your eyes softened, trying to hide the first sign of hot wet tears. "I need to go home to my siblings. I need to bring them fo-"

"Why should that matter to me, dollface?" It was his turn to interrupt you - voice full of childish glee as he kept up with his petty torment.

"Because - because," You started off, hands shaking into little fists that you knew, realistically, could do the soldiers no damage were you to push against his chest. "Because you're a good man." You mumbled after a while, looking for the right words to say. "And I know that deep down you're kind and brave. That's why you're here now, fighting for all our lives."

You were such a pretty liar, Christoph thought. He could listen to your sugary sweet fairytales all night long, silently praying that they'd become true if he was only able to capture his own little fairy - his own miracle.

"What if I am not the hero, doll?" The man whispered darkly in response, leaning against you until your back hit the tree behind you, trapping you between his stiff body and the pillar. "What if I am here for all the wrong reasons, huh? Just think about it." He lowered his head so it would match your eye level - you were so quiet he wondered if you had forgotten how to breath.

"We're in the middle of nowhere. I have a weapon and a direct permission to shoot at will. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He made sure you could hear every single word clearly. He wouldn't let you faint before he was through with you. "I can fuck you right here in the open - or I can drag you to the barracks and keep you there for as long as I need to. Do you really think anyone would care about some insignificant girl going missin-"

"Please." You repeated, suddenly getting stirn with your pleading, as if you too had nothing to lose. "Let me go - I'd do anything."

His eyes darkened - then lit up with sick, perverse desire. He wanted to echo your words back to you just like a classical villain would - to really drive the point across that he was out for blood. Anything, you say? Anything at all? But he couldn't contain his excitement enough to voice those sadistically banal thoughts. Besides, he could already feel the adrenaline running through his whole body. His heart was beating rhythmically, pumping and alive for the first time in days, weeks, months. He wanted you more than anything. It was that moment he knew he was going to live - he was going to fight and win, and then come back for you as a hero. As your hero, even if in your eyes he would be more of a villain.

A nightmare you'd try to forget - and just when you think you have erased his fingertips off your waist, your face, your neck, he'd come back to steal you away forever.

"Kiss me." Christoph all but snarled, some unfamiliar, needy - greedy ball of emotion settling into his loins as your delicate face twisted into a petrified grimace. You began trembling in his arms, looking around yet again. It was pitch black, no soul in sight. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your movement to no avail. "A-alright. I-I..." You whispered with difficulty as if simply saying the words was causing you a great deal of pain. And maybe it was, but the soldier could care less. He already knew you were made for him - made to serve him, made to make him happy. "I'll d-do it."

The man growled in satisfaction, taking a small step back. You looked at him, puzzled - your confused face was just as cute as your scared one. He couldn't wait to explore all your reactions - the way you'd squirm and writhe underneath him as he fucked into you restlessly, filling you up with his love over and over again until you were crying for mercy. But that had to wait, he had a war to fight. For now he could settle for a little taste of you to keep him warm during the cold nights. And just like that he tapped his lips, guiding you silently. You felt your cheeks heat up once you finally understood what he meant by that. He wasn't going to kiss you. He wanted you to put in the work.

Your eyes filled up with tears, and you felt silly for becoming so upset over a little kiss - but this was your first kiss, and you had to give it to a monster. It was certainly better than the alternative, with the alternative being rape in a filthy military cottage, but it still made you feel dirty all over. Yet, you had no choice. You took a step towards the man - you could feel the suffocating warmth radiating off his body towards yours, and if the situation wasn't so grim, you might have been grateful for another human's heat in the freezing cold. But now all you could feel was dread.

You stood on your tip toes, a shaky hand reaching out to cup the stranger's face. Cristoph smirked, complecent at your obedience. You licked your lips and slowly, hesitantly pressed them against his, just barely touching at all.

He groaned, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He grabbed you and pulled you in roughly, squeezing you like a plush toy. He deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth, finding heaven between your soft, sweet lips and broken whimpers. You were so innocent. So lost. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let go. He wanted to keep kissing you until your lips turned blue, until it hurt to speak.

And then you pushed him off just like that, using your own body as a distraction. He tripped backwards, too shocked and lost in sensation to stop you. He smiled at your final act of defiance. It was, of course, adorable and so painfully you, yet it didn't really matter - not in the long run. You had only suceeded in making him want you more.

But that was two years ago. Now the war was finally over. Now he had enough to start a new life. Now he was a free man.

And he was coming back for you.

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere soldier

1K notes · View notes

marvelfilth · 2 months

Text

Her idiot

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: your night out with Thor and Valkyrie leaves Natasha worried unimpressed.

Masterlist

“Nat-”

“No.”

“But-”

“But no.”

“Just let me-”

“Shut up.”

Your mouth promptly snaps shut, the sound of teeth clattering echoing through the empty Compound.

You're being dragged to Natasha’s room, or you hope you are - you wouldn't put it past Natasha to lock you in one of the holding cells in the basement. You kinda deserve it. You can admit that even in your current inebriated state.

She drags you upstairs once you reach the end of the hallway, your shoes squeaking on the concrete, making you grimace with each step you make.

You're also starting to get cold.

You're not stupid enough to tell her that.

Wanda's head pokes out of her room, her eyes bleary with sleep and her expression pure confusion. Her eyes grow twice their size once she sees the state you're in. And then she laughs, shaking her head.

“You're so dead,” she whispers when you pass by and ducks back into her room lest Natasha unleashes her wrath on her.

You gulp.

Yeah.

You probably are.

Natasha halts her stride, opens the door to her room, and pushes you inside.

“You better not get any of that on my carpet,” she growls, tugging off your drenched shirt.

You're thankful you've had enough of a mind to leave your heavy winter coat by the lake before you decide to-

“Off.” Natasha gestures at your feet, putting a stop to your musings. You shrug off your dirty boots, carefully leaving them by the door. As carefully as you can, that is. The room is spinning a bit, and Natasha's face is a little blurry around the edges.

Then, she tugs down your jeans, making you wince as the harsh wet fabric slides down your legs. She looks at you, unimpressed.

“Sorry,” you whisper, hugging yourself.

You're starting to shake, a little bit. And your teeth won't stay put. Or is it your jaw?

Natasha sighs and leads you to the bathroom. It's already full of steam and the bath is full of bubbles, and you sag in relief, almost tearing off your underwear in haste to jump in.

You moan the second you sink into the warmth.

“You do know how stupid that was, right?”

You nod, wishing you could hide from her gaze.

“Then why?”

Your cheeks redden, not from the warmth, but from the sheer embarrassment. Now that you've sobered a little, none of the fun and entertaining ideas Thor and Valkyrie proposed sound fun and entertaining.

She sighs again, and starts gently threading her fingers through your hair, untangling the knots she finds there.

“You're not drinking with them ever again.”

“Okay.”

“And you're not going anywhere near that damned lake anytime soon.”

You wince at the memory of falling through the thin layer of ice after successfully making it halfway across the lake - just like Thor dared you to - and then swimming under said thin layer of ice the remaining half of the way and emerging on the other side, right in front or very angry and very concerned Natasha.

You're probably gonna-

“And you're sleeping on the couch.”

-sleep on the couch. Yep.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You're an idiot.”

“I am.”

She snorts. “It's very hard to stay mad when you're being so pliant.”

You bite on your lower lip, keeping a bashful grin from emerging. You decide to test your luck when the fond glint in your girlfriend's eyes intensifies.

“So no couch for me, then?”

Her eyes narrow, lips pursing. “You can sleep on the floor if you'd like.”

No luck. Ugh.

“Okay. Couch it is.”

She hums, leaving your side to retrieve a warm fluffy tower. You get up, almost falling into Natasha's arms when you slip. She wraps the towel around your shoulders, holding you against her chest.

“I love you,” you mumble into the crook of her neck, your body buzzing with love, warmth and remnants of alcohol. “So much.”

“And I love you. Even when you're being an idiot, which is-”

“Always?” You interrupt with a grin, pulling away just a tad to see the expression on her face.

Her eyes sparkle in the low light, the lines of her face all soft. “Yes. Always.”

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x you #black widow x reader

2K notes · View notes

astraystayyh · 1 month

Text

The snow falls, we fall apart.

summary: when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.

genre: producer student!hyunjin x reader. roommates!au. friends to lovers. acute descriptions of heartbreak and general sadness. slow burn. hurt/comfort. healing and hopeless romantic hyune. very inspired by long for you so lots of pining and yearning. (wc: 13k)

warnings: mentions of alcohol. it is implied that reader was in an a very toxic relationship but no details are shared.

a.n: happy birthday to my hyunjin, my muse, my light. thank you for being so full of love that it made me love love again in return. this is i think my most personal piece, and i hope it reminds those who need it that love should be soft and kind, that it shouldn’t hurt, that it should heal not break. i love you guys and i love you my xi, writing this collab with you has been a true honor <3 also!! please listen to long for you while reading :,)

winter falls masterlist.

You’ve only ever felt utter despair twice in your life.

First, when you were seven years old, playing hide and seek with your cousins at your grandma’s house. It was a warm summer afternoon, the air sweetened by pastries you devoured hours ago. You decided to hide in a wooden cabinet up in the attic, only to end up stuck there. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the oxygen seeping away from the cracks underneath the door, leaving you deprived of air, of life.

Second, at twelve, when you've come to discover sorrow's new facet, clad in grief's heavy cloak. Your parents adopted a hamster for your birthday, but they did not know he had a terminal disease. You were distraught, to say the least, when you awoke to its still form, death claiming a frail heart unaware of its imminent fate.

And now, third, many many moons later, you are knocking on Hyunjin’s door a few minutes after midnight. It is cold out, tears tracing rivulets on your cheeks, your fingers tinted pink from roaming outside in the harsh winds, your heart much heavier than when you were a child. More grief-stricken, at your own hands, this time.

A disheveled Hyunjin opens the door, his blonde ash hair tousled and sticking upwards, a clear indication of the many times he had run his hands through it in fits of frustration. His gray hoodie zipped up hastily, revealing the silver cross necklace he was wearing, nestling perfectly against his honeyed skin.

You've always had an aversion to seeking comfort, saw it as revealing your deepest vulnerabilities to a world that isn't always kind. It was easier, much simpler to do so when you were a clueless child— when you sank in your cousin Lia's hold as she attempted to steady your breathing, when your mother cradled you in her lap after Pinky died.

It is much harder now, much more embarrassing because Hyunjin has never seen you this sad, never glimpsed your shadows that now swarm his doorstep, unannounced.

“What's wrong?” he quickly asks, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds. He wouldn’t find any. All your injuries stem from within— blood doesn’t have to be spilled for your heart to weep.

You had rehearsed a lie as you walked up to his doorstep. You would say that your car broke down near his place and ask if you could stay over for the night. He would insist he could drive you to your place and you’d refuse, saying that it was too late and you did not wish to bother him. You’d sleep on the couch and slip away in the early hours of the morning.

Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that dismantles the fortress you've hidden in, melts the lie in your throat, morphing it into a steel lump coiling in your throat. He looks concerned when all you’ve had directed towards you recently was anger. And you missed someone looking at you in care, not reproach.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You admit, your voice shattered, fragments of your vocal cords scattered out in the wind like a broken mosaic, the sound of it scraping against your ears.

Blow one hurt. It felt like your body turned against you as it deprived you of oxygen. The sobs that escaped you once you perceived the light pained you, perhaps more than being confined in the darkness.

Blow two was even worse, it was your first time experiencing grief. It was too hard of a concept for your innocent heart to grasp, too complicated for you to find solace in anything as adults do.

You promised yourself that you’d reserve blow three for monumental agonies— big pains and big sorrows only. That’s how you managed to keep all your tears at bay for most of your life. Would they be worth losing your third sob for? No, you've always found the answer to be.

And in all the twisted scenarios you’ve conjured up in your mind, deaths and illnesses and the haunting tale of failure, you did not imagine that it would happen on Hwang Hyunjin’s doorstep. That you’d burst into sobs at the compassionate look in his gaze, and the sad smile he sent your way. As if he knew, as everyone did around you. That you had handed a knife to a serial killer and it was only a matter of time before he stabbed you in the heart.

Two weeks ago.

“I’m trying to understand you but you aren’t helping me,” Seungmin is frustrated as he paces relentlessly before you from left to right like a swinging pendulum. You sit on the couch, beholding only his shoes, avoiding his gaze that would reflect the truth you dare not confront.

“He’s sucking the life out of you, can’t you see that?”

You can, out of everyone that surrounds you, you can see it the most. You feel as if you are carrying a skin that isn’t your own, weighed down by a relationship that has taken everything from you. But admitting it is admitting that you were wrong, in trusting him, in loving him. You couldn’t bear it.

“We are fine!” you shout back, the defiance in your voice surprises even you. This is a familiar script with Seungmin, a recurring conversation spurred by your puffy eyes and diminishing appetite. He tells you, begs you to leave, but where could you go? How could you leave a home where you've shed all your treasured belongings at the door— your skin, your bones, your very self.

What place would welcome you now that you're stripped bare of your soul?

“When was the last time he made you smile, huh? All he does is hurt you, and you...” he chuckles incredulously, running his hand through his hair. “You are letting him.”

Deny, deny, deny.

“This isn’t true. He loves me,” the words taste foreign in your mouth like rusty metal dragging across your lips. A small voice whispers that love shouldn't feel like this, but you quiet it down.

“Are you hearing yourself? Yn, I…” he kneels before you, his hands resting comfortingly on your knees. This is Seungmin, your best friend of five years. You know he has your best interests at heart, you are even more sure of it when his voice softens, shakes slightly when he utters your name. “Yn, please. I’m trying to help you. Please.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you push away his hands, standing up. “I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it.”

You quickly leave Seungmin’s dorm, your heart heavier than when you entered it, foolishly hoping that he'd ignore your distressed state after yet another fight with your boyfriend. But Seungmin doesn't understand, no one around you does— you’ve gambled your heart, and you cannot stop drawing the cards, even in the face of losing strikes.

❁ ❁ ❁

Hyunjin offers you a cup of tea with a gentle smile and you grab the steaming drink from his hands. The smell of chamomile wraps around your senses, and your brain fizzles out for a second before the soothing aroma. But it is a fleeting respite, the tempest of your thoughts crashes back onto you with an unsettling force, causing you to almost drop the drink as your hands shake. You place it down the table without taking a sip.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” you apologize, wincing at the intrusion, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“I always sleep late. Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, but you know it isn’t a genuine grin, because his eyes betray an unsubdued concern, refusing to morph into their usual moon crescents.

You’ve always thought that Hyunjin wears his emotions openly— when he laughed, he did so loudly, his boisterous giggles traveling around Seungmin’s dorm. When he hurt himself, everyone in the vicinity would know so from his loud yelps. And when something worried him, he would bite his lip, toying with the plush flesh to ease his nerves.

As he is doing now. Looking at you.

“We broke up,” you quickly say, and your words hang over you like a gloomy cloud. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you want me to fight him? I’ll bring changbin too,” he suggests a serious tone underlying his playful offer, and it manages to tear a reluctant giggle out of you.

“Changbin doesn’t know me well enough to fight for me,” you counteract and he shakes his head. “He’ll fight for me, I'm his princess.”

“Are you now?” The giggle escapes your mouth less forcefully, and the smile that graces Hyunjin’s face is a genuine one.

“I am. My proposal stands,” he extends his hand and you wrap your fingers around his palm. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” you smile but he frowns, flipping your hand around in his hold.

“You are freezing,” he whispers, using his other palm to rub warmth into yours.

“It’s fine,” you lie, slipping your hand out of his grasp, not feeling deserving of his kindness.

Wordlessly, Hyunjin stands, walking into what you assume is his bedroom. You only know of his place because you dropped off Seungmin here some time ago. You are too exhausted to even drink in the interior.

“Here,” he returns, handing you a navy hoodie of his and black joggers. “This will keep you warm at night.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again. “Can you please not tell Seungmin, I... I can't face him right now.”

“Of course. I’ll be awake still if you do need something.”

Hyunjin’s clothing is warm, although peeling away your own garments felt like shedding layers of your skin, as if the fabric melted into your very flesh, just like memories from the day did. You have never felt this worthless before, discarded like a forgotten leaf on the roadside, one he stepped on for his own enjoyment, leaving you crushed in his wake, unable to fly away again.

Hyunjin’s rose perfume wraps around you, and you find relief in sleeping somewhere where your, his, scent was no longer around. You foolishly hope that if you close your eyes hard enough, you’ll manage to convince yourself that you’re someone else, tonight. Someone who isn’t tethered to the heartache, someone who can slip away from the clutches of a love that hurts more than hate could ever manage to do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Heartbreak isn’t beautiful, no matter how eloquently you try to dress it in the syllables of poetry, no words can soften the burn in your lungs, the searing ache that courses through your very core, reminding you that deep within, down to the fundamentals of your being and the most basic alchemy that ties your atoms together— you are unlovable. Whether you cut your hair or allow it to grow, change your heart, or leave it as it has always been, you will remain so.

You don’t remember much of the past week, blurry fragments here and there that float in your mind like a distorted water reflection. There is little room for memories when you are busy trying to remember how to breathe— one inhale in, one exhale out. The simple concept seems harder when there are unkind hands permanently lodged into your heart, squeezing it tight.

What you do remember is telling Seungmin through text the next day, because you couldn’t bear the way his eyes would soften if you spoke to him in person. No signs of surprise cast on his figure, because he knew that it was long coming, a train with one final inevitable destination— you in shambles, him okay.

You remember Seungmin cradling you in his arms when he came to see you, and you trying desperately to keep the tears at bay— too focused on pinching your arm to let Seungmin’s warmth radiate through your being, Hyunjin lingering uncomfortably by the entrance of his living room.

You remember begging Seungmin to grab your belongings from the apartment you shared with your ex because you were unable to face him, him, and everything that your old place spelled out for you. Stand in the ruins of what you once thought would be your permanent home.

And now, you watch as Seungmin and Hyunjin bring suitcases full of your stuff into the latter’s place. And you feel like an outsider in your own body, standing at the corner of the room gazing at utter destruction, unable to stop it, unable to mend it. Seungmin quickly reassures you that you could crash in his and Minho’s place until you find a new one to live in, already taking out his laptop to search for new apartments for you.

But you did not care for it, your eyes zeroed in on the satin shirt peeking out of your suitcase. The one he bought you on your first month anniversary. Back when love felt like a gentle feather running down your spine, and not a dull knife slicing away at your skin.

“This place's expensive too,” Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple warily. Your logical best friend could not fix your heartbreak but he took it to heart to alleviate your other troubles. You would thank him for it, later, when your tongue finds enough will to move.

“What if you move in with me?” Hyunjin suddenly says and his words filtrate through the fog in your mind easily, as if he rehearsed them enough times so they’d roll out smoothly out of his mouth. “I mean, Felix is away for the next year since he went back to Australia. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway.” He shrugs and Seungmin turns to look at you, his eyes convey the question his mouth doesn’t articulate— is it okay with you?

“I don’t…” your voice is croaked, so you clear your throat. “I don’t want you to do things out of pity.”

“I’m not. If I was, I would've told you to move in with me for free. I still need you to pay rent,” he raises his eyebrows, a playful tease and you smile in relief, nodding, “Okay, I will. thank you.”

Heartbreak is ugly and all-encompassing, weaving through the roots of your heart and infecting each organ with its insidious touch. It renders you immobile, incapable of performing the simplest tasks, burdened by a weight unseen by the world. But you try your best, your very best to contain it.

You smile at the cashier as she hands back your money only to wonder if her soft, well-manicured hands would too crush a soul without remorse. You go to all your classes without fail but your mind is elsewhere, contemplating why the sun filtering through the windows no longer warms your skin. Can nerve endings perish when subjected to too much pain? What's left of life when you can no longer feel the caress of the sun?

You watch a movie at Seungmin's dorm but your mind is elsewhere, fleeting to this morning and how you refused to stay in the shower for more than three minutes because your thoughts might become haunting ghosts tempting you to follow them. You brush your hair and spray your perfume, only because you have to, because you live with Hyunjin and you wouldn’t want your sadness to taint him too. You wonder how long you’ll have to bear it. You wonder if it’ll ever leave you or if the veins in your heart have molded themselves after the pain and they wouldn’t know how to accept happiness anymore.

You greet Hyunjin as he walks past you, shaking your head when he asks you if you want to eat dinner with him, quickly retracting back into your room. You have ten unread messages and a pile of growing laundry you need to do, but all you can muster is to gaze at the empty walls, mirroring the void within you. Your mom told you to call her again and you don’t know how you’ll speak to her without bursting into a sob, how you’ll tell her that all it took was one person to break you. Or maybe it was two people, your hands and his tearing apart your flesh and bones. Maybe that’s the worst part about it. So you don’t call her.

And you only ever emerge from your room when you need to, just like now because your water bottle is finished and you need to refill it. You go to open the kitchen door when you hear Hyunjin’s muted shatter, Felix’s distinctive deep voice coming out of the phone speaker.

“Next you add the melted butter and stir it,” Felix instructs, the sounds of pots and utensils clinking in the background. You fidget slightly, mustering the strength to paint a fake smile on your lips.

“What next?”

“Sift the dry ingredients then add them to your wet mixture,” Felix explains, met with a few seconds of silence. You can almost visualize Hyunjin's perplexed expression, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“Explain it to me like I’m five years old,” he requests, prompting a small smile to etch itself onto your face.

“How are you surviving without me?”

“I’m not please come home,” Hyunjin sounds horrified as Felix’s rich chuckles fill the air. “Why do you suddenly want to make brownies anyway?” he then asks.

You go to open the door when Hyunjin’s response catches you off guard.

“They’re for Yn.”

Hyunjin's words resonate in the air, causing a hitch in your throat and Felix’s teasing whistles simultaneously, but Hyunjin is quick to stop him. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. They’re just a bit down and I remember them loving your brownies. So…”

It takes you a fleeting moment to dig the memory out of your mind, a year ago, right before your ex came to pick you up from Seungmin’s dorm. You had a bite of Felix’s brownies, a surprised gasp escaping your lips at its delicious taste, back when food had taste and happiness came easily to you. It was an insignificant memory, you did not imagine Hyunjin, out of everyone, would remember it.

But he did, and he’s now pacing before your closed door, contemplating how he’ll convince you to finally eat something with him. He throws a thumbs-up in the air for no one but himself, inhaling deeply before knocking on your door.

“Hey,” he greets with a hopeful smile, his gaze meeting your tired form. He hesitates for a second, clearing his throat. “Brownies?” You remain unmoving and he falters, “Hm? Please?”

“Sure,” you nod and a wave of relief floods through Hyunjin as you step out of your room. His joy is short-lived when he takes the brownies out of the oven, only to find them thoroughly burnt.

His mouth hangs agape, and he walks back shamefully to the oven, lowering its door only to scream inside of it.

“This will be more therapeutic,” you say, pointing nonchalantly to the fridge and he agrees, opening its doors and yelling once again in the much larger space.

Your melodic laughter fills the kitchen, Hyunjin’s embarrassment is suddenly a forgotten memory.

“I’m craving kimbap. Should we get it instead?” you propose, a touch shyly and he quickly agrees, afraid you’d change your mind and walk back to your room where he can no longer ensure you are okay.

Hyunjin absentmindedly dances along to the music blasting through the convenience store when a girl sidles up to his side, a saccharine grin on her lips as she looks up at him, “hi,” she greets and his tentative smile mirrors hers. “Hey.”

“Are you single?” she asks, her gaze briefly fleeting to the window. “I think you are really cute.”

“I’m…” he glances at you but you're suddenly engrossed in the ingredients of the tuna kimbap you are holding, pretending not to listen. “I am but I’m not interested, thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” she places a hand on his arm and he physically recoils. “Give me your insta and we could talk.”

“No,” he repeats, grabbing her hand to remove it when a loud voice startles him. “Baby, what’s taking you so— What are you doing?” Hyunjin watches in horror as the girl’s eyes grow wide, before she scrambles to the man’s side, feigning fear.

“He kept hitting on me when I said I had a boyfriend, baby.”

“What?” both you and Hyunjin gasped in comical unison. He would find it amusing if not for the escalating anger radiating from the man, who looks like he spends all his days in the gym. Hyunjin suddenly regrets not working out with Changbin.

The man strides towards Hyunjin. “Do you want to die?”

“No? there’s a misunderstanding,” he replies, swiftly standing before you and shielding you with his arm. “Your… baby,” he wiggles his finger in front of the man's face, “she was the one hitting on me!”

The man scoffs loudly, his face growing redder from the anger seething in him. “So you hit on my girlfriend and then accuse her of cheating?” His fist rises threateningly, prompting Hyunjin to step back, accidentally bumping into your chest.

“Wait, wait, wait! Let’s go talk outside, man to man,” Hyunjin pauses, his voice taking on a taunting edge, “unless you're too scared?” he smirks as he feels you pull at his shirt, whispering an incredulous- “What are you doing?” He shakes his head, grabbing your hand and leading you outside, throwing a sly wink at the man behind you now.

“Are you seriously going to fight him?” you ask, your gaze shifting towards the deranged couple who are about to step out of the grocery store. “No, of course not. I'm a lover, not a fighter.”

“You said you'd fight my ex,” you point out and his eyes soften surprisingly.

“You are an exception.” He looks back at the man, who's now walking towards you both. “But anyways, do you know how to run?” he asks and you frown, “who doesn’t know how to—” you pause as realization dawns on you. “No," you whisper furiously.

“Yes.”

“No,” you shake your head, horrified and he nods, eyes apologetic.

“Yes.” His fingers entwine with yours, he squeezes your hand once before he takes off running.

“Hwang fucking Hyunjin!” you shout and he looks back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m sorry Yn my face is too pretty to be beaten up.”

“He’s following us!” you yell, looking back horrified as the, even angrier, man runs after you.

“Well, run faster!”

“I’m wearing fucking slippers!” you curse and he giggles, tipping his head back, the wind slamming into you both, his hand never letting go of your own.

“Oh my god why is he still running!” you groan and Hyunjin picks up speed, moving you even closer to his sprinting figure

“I know, is it ever that serious?” he yells above his shoulder and you dig your nails into his palm.

“Shut up, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so gorgeous.”

“So, you think I’m pretty too?” Hyunjin grins proudly and an incredulous laugh escapes your lips.

“Really? Is this what you’re getting out of this situation?”

“Silver linings, Yn, silver linings,” he shouts as you round a small alley, finally stopping to catch your breath. You both fall to the ground, heavy breaths escaping your chests.

“Holy shit, I’m not athletic at all,” he heaves, his eyes meeting yours. He expects to find anger lingering in your gaze but all he can grasp is your amused smile before you collapse into a fit of laughter, clapping loudly and clutching your stomach with your hand.

“Oh my god, I’m crying,” you laugh harder, wiping away at the tears falling from your eyes. Hyunjin’s weariness disappears in the blink of an eye— he did not realize how much he missed your smile until he glimpsed it again. And it is beautiful. Happiness looks beautiful on you.

“Idiot,” you hit his shoulder playfully, and his response is delayed for a few seconds, the warmth from your smile rendering him immobile.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, pulling you up. “Here, I’ll carry you home,” he squats slightly before you. “How impolite of me. How dare I make your majesty run.”

You shake your head, amused, before climbing atop his back, his warm palms holding your thighs securely. “Only because the slippers hurt my feet.”

You walk in silence for a while, your arms wound up around Hyunjin’s neck, the ghost of a smile still lingering on both your faces.

“They said it will snow tomorrow,” Hyunjin speaks suddenly and you stay silent for so long he starts to wonder if you even heard him.

“Mm? That’s nice,” your tone is melancholic, and he pauses at the peculiar sadness in it— as though you were trying to act nonchalant about something that has once meant the world to you.

“Don’t you like the snow?” he asks and your hold on his neck falters.

“I loved it. Loved ice skating and building snowmen.” Your voice is light and airy, like Hyunjin’s favorite mint chocolate ice cream. “But now it reminds me of bad times, bad memories.”

“I understand.”

Hyunjin knows what it feels like to relinquish parts of yourself you never wished to part from. For someone to grab your happiest places and to cast a gloomy filter atop them. Sometimes it is the loss of a season that hurts more than the departure of a person.

And Hyunjin loves winter.

He’ll do everything so that you’ll come to love it again too.

❁ ❁ ❁

Is it a nightmare if the person in it is one you once loved, looked forward to beholding with your gaze, hoping they’d never slip out of your reach? You don’t know, but you are growing tired of having the same dreams every night. Of waking up with an exhaustion that goes beyond your restless sleep but pleads from your soul to rest after almost a year of torment.

You sigh wearily, rubbing a hand through your face before walking to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. You find Hyunjin there, eating a cupcake while standing shirtless, scrolling through his phone. You blink at the sight.

“Hey,” you clear your throat and he startles, dropping the cupcake on the ground. He goes to pick it up only to bang his head on the table, a loud yelp escaping his lips. You barely contain your giggles as you walk to his side, rubbing your palm soothingly on his head. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you.”

“At least pretend you are sorry,” he mumbles, pointing to your amused smile and you chuckle, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

“What are you doing up now?” he asks as he grabs some napkins to clean up the pink frosting smeared across the floor.

You hesitate for a few seconds before whispering, “Just nightmares. And you?” you quickly add, not keen on pushing the subject any further.

“I'm working on a song,” he explains, as his gaze lingers on your sunken eyes, weighed down by dark circles from too many sleepless nights.

“And the cupcake?”

“Some people need caffeine to function. I need flour.”

“I literally see you drink three americanos per day.”

“Okay well maybe I need both,” he admits sheepishly and you grin, drumming your fingers along the countertop.

“Can I sit with you while you work?” you ask quickly, before the words linger enough in your mouth that you no longer wish to spit them out.

The smile that Hyunjin sends you is kind, pushing the shadows of your nightmares just slightly out of reach.

“Of course, yeah you can. Don’t even need to ask.”

Hyunjin walks first into his bedroom, quickly slipping on a hoodie while you take in the interior. It is a quite simple room— a large bed with gray covers, and a desk filled with what you assume to be his producing equipment sits adjacent. But what catches your attention is the dried rose hung delicately on the wall, and the array of paintings surrounding it. You edge closer to it, drawn to the well-crafted paintings— a sun-drenched beach, a couple lost in an embrace so intimate their forms can no longer be separated, and an elderly pair riding a motorcycle, their love radiating vibrantly as if enclosed in eternal youth.

“You paint?” you ask, turning around to find Hyunjin watching you. He steps closer, enveloping you once more in the fragrance of his rose perfume.

“In my free time.”

“You are amazing, Hyunjin,” you compliment sincerely, your gaze fixed on that imagery of the old couple, one that most likely grew together. It tugs at your heartstrings, stirs a painful longing within you, a memory of a time when you too believed you’d find such boundless love.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, before brushing his fingertips gently against your forearm, for a fleeting second. “Are you okay?” he asks, a tenderness you’ve been aching for latched into his question. Your eyes refuse to peel away from the paintings and the love spilling from each paint brush stroke, a love that refuses to rest on your being as if you were harboring an armor that repels it.

“No,” you reply sincerely, turning to face him. “It’s really hard,” you say with a smile, hoping that the mechanical display of happiness would keep your tears at bay, tricking your brain into believing you're not as sad as you feel.

It fails to do so, and the tears well in your eyes like a gathering storm. Frustration twists your features as you shut your eyes, tilting your head upward in a desperate attempt to contain the flood. It pauses as Hyunjin cradles the back of your head, drawing you close to the warmth of his neck. His palm glides soothingly along your spine, before patting your back ever so gently.

Your back stiffens, hands curling into tight fists, breath catching in your throat. You've grown accustomed to pushing away comfort, putting up tall barriers to shield yourself. But tonight, Hyunjin seems to break through your defenses.

Tonight, you soften, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, head nestling deeper against his tender skin.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers and another sob wracks through you, but he only holds you tighter. “It’ll get better soon.”

“I loved him,” you hiccup, your voice breaks, “a lot.”

“I know, that’s why it hurts.” His voice is gentle, and yet his hold on you feels secure as if you could stumble and fall, and he would be there to catch you

“I want it to stop hurting.”

“It will, with time.”

Your next words are tinged with a childlike vulnerability, reminiscent of blow one, then two. But you do not care for it, in that instant, you crave the reassurance, you need someone to plant a seed of hope in your soul because your hands are too frail to dig for it.

“Do you promise me?”

His response doesn’t come hastily, carelessly thrown into the air like idle chatters. He takes his time, considering it with the gravity of an oath.

“I promise you.” He finally says, each syllable infused with sincerity. A brief pause hangs in the air before he adds. “And if it doesn’t then you can hit me.”

“On your pretty face?” you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“On my pretty face,” he confirms with a chuckle.

“What an honor,” you roll your eyes playfully as you lean back and he grins, tenderly wiping away your tears with the back of his fingers.

“I can't believe it took three minutes for you to cry in my room. This isn’t good for my reputation.”

“Good thing this will never leave this bedroom, right?” you point a finger at him threateningly, and he pretends to zip his lips, tossing away the imaginary key. “You got it.”

“So what are you working on?” you ask as you settle on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to your chest.

“It’s a pretty sad song, wanna hear?” he offers, sitting across from you on his chair.

“Yeah, I'd love to,” you smile, and Hyunjin deftly adjusts a few buttons, before his melancholic whistles weave through the air, coupled with the somber melody of a piano. Your breath catches in your throat, the music reaching into the very depths of your soul. It's as if the notes are calling out for a loved one, for a time that has long passed, for a past that will never come back no matter how much we long for it.

The instrumental continues, each piano note and each violin string echo like a bittersweet lament, springing tears to your eyes. But the melody remains beautiful, akin to the beauty always found in the sadness— in the tears that cascade down your cheeks like glistening crystals, in the tremble of your hands akin to branches swaying in the wind, in the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, mirroring the ebb and flow of the waves.

Hyunjin watches you intently as the music envelops you both, his gaze softening with each passing moment. You bring a hand to your chest, almost unconsciously, too engrossed in the melody to even blink. He feels a blush sprout on his cheeks as your teary eyes hold his with the last fading guitar strings.

“You keep on making me cry,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion, and he grins, tilting his head shyly against his shoulder.

“You like it?” he asks, a tad eager and you nod, not bothering to wipe the lone tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“I think this is what my loneliness sounds like,” you confess softly.

“As do mine.”

A silent beat runs between you both, it isn’t uncomfortable, but safe. Because you understand him, just as he understands you.

“Sometimes I long for things that have passed," he admits, “although I know I can't get them anymore.”

“The most terrible thing you can long for is yourself.”

“Because no one’s to blame for that loss but you?” he muses and you nod, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, exactly.”

You bite your lip, casting a glance back at the paintings adorning the wall. “I don't love him anymore,” you begin quietly. “I stopped a long time ago because there was no room for love anymore to grow amid weeds and thorns.”

He remains silent, sensing that this is a weight you need to unburden yourself from.

“But in the midst of it I think I stopped loving myself too,” you whisper, a confession too terrible to be uttered out loud. “That's what I long for. The things I used to love that I'm indifferent to now.”

“Like you’re a stranger before everything once familiar to you.”

“Yeah, you express it prettily,” you remark with a small smile.

“It's my job,” he grins lightly.

“I think when your heart is pure,” he begins after a while, pausing to carefully choose the words that will soothe your burn, help sleep come more easily to you. “You give love to others more readily than you do to yourself. And it takes time, patience, to redirect that love back to your own heart once again. But it's not a mistake to love, you shouldn’t hate yourself for it. Nor should you blame your past self for loving the wrong person because they did not know what you now do.”

“Think of it as a caterpillar in their cocoon,” he continues gently, “when they finally emerge from their chrysalis, they might long for who they were, where they once were because it is the only place they've ever known. But they do not realize that they've transformed into a beautiful butterfly, that they can now fly, and witness much more than their chrysalis. So maybe, your new self will love the same things as before, or maybe you’ll find new, better things to love that you would have not known before. But in either way, your heart is beautiful. That is what matters, no?”

A small pout draws on your lips, your eyebrows scrunched as you gaze at him.

“You have a very tender soul, Hyunjin.”

Your words linger in Hyunjin's mind long after the sunrise, as you lay peacefully asleep on his bed. The melody of the instrumental he produced continues to play faintly in the background, serving as a gentle lullaby that eases you into slumber, entwined in his sheets, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself, one hand cradling your shoulders and the other resting gently on your stomach. The image sears into his eyes as he sketches the outlines of a figure holding itself absentmindedly, long into the night.

Hyunjin has had his fair share of compliments, mostly pertaining to his face, and others to his craft. but it is you who seems to have sensed that a part of his soul resided in his art, that he left pieces of his heart hidden in the notes he composes and the lyrics he writes, hoping they’ll find soft hands that will take care of them, just like your own.

Five days later.

hyunjin [11:34 p.m.]: are you home?

yn [11:34 p.m.]: yeahh, do you need anything?

hyunjin [11:35 p.m.]: come downstairs, im waiting for youu

if you say no i’ll freeze to death..

hurry i can’t feel my fingers anymore (please please) ㅠㅠㅠ

“This better be a life and death situation Hwang Hyunjin,” you say threateningly as soon as you appear before Hyunjin, causing him to straighten up from the wall he was leaning against.

“It is a very dangerous life-altering situation that requires your immediate assistance, indeed,” he responds solemnly, ushering you gently to his car and opening the door for you.

“Which is?” you ask as soon as he settles inside the car and he simply grins at you, his left dimple coming forth like the very sun on a gloomy day.

“You’ll see.”

Hyunjin’s eyes fleet to your figure every now and then, but you do not seem to notice, your gaze lost into the blurring lights ahead. He can tell you're still not entirely yourself, so he was prepared to forcibly drag you along with him. He’s almost surprised you accepted to come down so easily.

“Is that… Seungmin?” you speak suddenly, pointing to a man waving in the distance, as Hyunjin parks his car near an empty field.

“And Changbin? And Minho?” you continue, squinting your eyes, “and a bonfire?” you giggle with a hint of excitement.

“You love s’mores during the winter, right?”

Hyunjin smiles, your soul softens.

“I do,” you say quietly, “I really do.”

You quickly exit the car, running into Seungmin's arms with a grin of disbelief plastered on your face. “This is insane,” you almost shout, squeezing him tight in a hug.

“It was so hard to find the perfect middle of nowhere for this,” Minho grumbles as you move to greet him, but the warmth of his embrace assures you he's only teasing.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile as you hug Changbin, who affectionately ruffles your hair. “It was Hyunjin’s idea,” he reveals, and you glance back at Hyunjin, who stands with his hands buried deep within his sweatpants behind you. You mouth a silent “thank you” to him, but he shakes his head modestly as if it is nothing to bring happiness to a bruised heart.

The night unfolds in endless laughter, with Minho and Hyunjin taking turns roasting marshmallows over the crackling bonfire, and Seungmin serving you hot coffee to keep your hands warm. Your stomach aches from the uncontrollable fits of giggles that overtook your being as Minho recounts the time he danced so vigorously on stage for his dance club that he ripped his pants, feeling a breeze where there shouldn't be one; and Changbin tells you the story of the time his voice cracked in the middle of a rap battle, and how none of the boys stopped teasing him about it for months to come.

And as the four of them take turns making you laugh, a quiet, tender realization dawns on you—you are loved. It is something he tried to convince you was impossible, that no one around truly cared for you but him. And even then, you weren’t deserving of his love whole, only scrapes of it, as if you were a beggar tugging at the outskirts of his heart.

But Hyunjin reminded you otherwise. And if your friends found something worthy of love within you then perhaps so will you again, one day.

“Did you have fun?” Hyunjin asks as he opens the door to his, your, apartment hours later. What he doesn't expect is for you to respond by wrapping your arms around his slender torso, squeezing tight in gratitude.

“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods, though you cannot see him, returning the embrace by wrapping his arms around your shoulder blades.

Hyunjin doesn't let go first, sensing that perhaps you need this hug more than he does. He smiles as your eyes meet his again, but his grin falters when he notices your gaze flickering towards your bedroom, a hint of unease clouding your expression. It's as if behind that door lie monsters only you can grasp, wearing the faces of people you once knew, once loved.

“Wanna stay with me while I work on the song?”

“Last time I ended up sleeping on your bed,” you say a bit shamefully, recalling the morning you woke up to find yourself covered with a thick blanket that wasn’t there before, alone in Hyunjin's room.

“It's okay,” he shrugs, “I missed sleeping on the couch.”

You stare pointedly at him and he chuckles, “Fine, I did not miss it. But you needed the sleep, so it’s okay with me.”

“Fine,” you concede, though you did not need much convincing for it. “But only if you promise you’ll wake me up if I end up falling asleep again.”

Hyunjin tilts his head, thinking to himself for a few seconds before shaking his head stubbornly, a small pout drawn on his face, his eyes semi-closed. “No.”

“Hyunjin!”

“Nu-uh,” he insists, shaking his head once more as he walks back towards his room. “I'm waiting for you!”

“I'm not coming!”

But you do eventually join him, after changing your clothes and washing your face. You find Hyunjin clad in beige and white checkered pajamas, his glasses pushing back his silky hair as he hunches over his journal, scribbling away before erasing what he wrote.

“Struggling with lyrics?” you ask, leaning against the wall and he startles. “Do you float on the ground? Why can I never hear you come in?”

“Or maybe you just love being dramatic,” you sing-song, laying atop his bed, much more at ease than the previous night.

Hyunjin sticks his tongue out childishly in response, and you playfully mimic the gesture before both of you dissolve into happy giggles.

“Kind of,” he explains once you both settle down, “I have this specific feeling in mind that I need to convey.”

“You'll do well,” you reassure softly, “your lyrics are always so beautiful. Remember Cover me?” you smile and he scratches the back of his ear, a shy grin spreading across his face.

“You still listen to it?” he asks and you nod eagerly, attempting to belt into Seungmin’s ending high note. You fail horribly and Hyunjin throws a crumpled piece of paper on your face to get you to stop singing.

“My poor ears,” he laughs loudly, and you retaliate by throwing back a pillow on his head.

“You just don’t get my artistic abilities.”

“I’d get them more if you stayed silent.”

You gasp, faking offense as you stand up to tickle Hyunjin on his chair, he starts squirming immediately, his loud giggles spilling all over the room, coating it in vibrant hues of happiness, and you’re suddenly captivated by the sight of him— his head thrown back, a golden lock framing his laughter-filled eyes, his top lowering slightly to reveal glimpses of his collarbones and the delicate veins that trace enticing paths on his neck.

You pause, your hand hovering over the side of his stomach, as a long-forgotten warmth spreads through your heart, like the first rays of dawn greeting the earth after a long winter night. It doesn’t diffuse quickly through your being, but rather drapes like sticky honey on your veins, making you well aware of your growing blush, of how beautiful Hyunjin is in his joy.

“Never singing to you again,” you clear your throat, laying atop his bed once again, and quickly reaching for your phone, anything to avoid his eyes which rival the crescent moon outside his window.

Hours pass before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, rousing you from your slumber. Blinking away the fog of sleep, you find Hyunjin leaning over you, his grin wide and infectious. “Wake up,” he whispers, but you only groan, burying your face deeper into his pillow.

He doesn’t yield, taking hold of your wrist and guiding your drowsy figure upright, before wrapping the blanket snugly around your shoulders. Without a word, he leads you out onto his balcony, carefully putting his neon green beanie on your head to shield you from the cold.

“It’s snowing!” he smiles, and his excited tone manages to dissipate the fog in your mind. You blink repeatedly and soon enough, you too behold the fallen snowflakes, each one resembling a tiny speck of light bidding farewell to the sky to greet the earth.

“You missed the first snow so I didn’t want you to miss this one too,” he explains, and his thoughtfulness blankets you with a warmth that seeps into every crevice in your body, drips down your fingertips and makes the cold of 4 a.m. seem less harsh, less biting to the touch.

You don’t know how to say thank you, because those two words don’t encapsulate the depths of gratitude that you feel for Hyunjin. Because he is speaking to the person within you who still loves snow, the part buried underneath layers of dust from a ground heartbreak. But you still manage to hear him, and you squeeze his hand tightly, and he doesn’t let go until you finally do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Remembering has become easier for you these past two months— both the good and the bad. And each day, the scale tips towards one side or the other. Sometimes you recall the suffocation you felt with him, the feeling that no matter what you did you could never please him, that your hands were crafted to break rather than mend. And on those days your wound grows, it throbs and bleeds different emotions.

Sometimes it's anger— at him for treating your heart so carelessly as if you were a being devoid of feeling. And then at you— for staying, for giving him excuses and desperately searching for goodness within him, for the one redeeming quality that would convince you he was worth the pain.

And other days bring an excruciating sadness along, a weight that presses down upon you until you're paralyzed. Because you feel bad for yourself and for everything you went through. Because you’re unsure how to rise when unseen hands push you deeper into the abyss.

And on these days, Seungmin becomes your anchor. He buys your favorite food, skips classes with you, and takes you to your favorite gardens. He talks and he talks and you try your best to laugh because you do not wish to worry him more. It is enough to be your own burden, you do not wish to burden him too.

But when he drops you home, your facade slips away, the smile fading from your face as if it were never truly yours to wear. You are too tired to pretend so you don’t, and Hyunjin doesn’t let you, either. He brews you tea and orders takeout because he knows you lack the energy for cooking. He goes with you on walks and drapes you in pieces of his clothing— scarves and beanies and gloves because he knows you couldn’t care less about a cold when there is a frost coating your bones. He lets you sit in his room while he works on his songs, and while he paints. Sometimes you talk and often you don't need to. But he’s there. He's there with you.

But you also remember the good. You remember your movie night with the boys, Hyunjin building an entire fort for you, adorned with twinkling lights and the softest blankets. How you watched movies until 5 a.m. your bodies so closely huddled together that there was no room left for sadness.

You recall Hyunjin begging you to build a snowman with him at the crack of dawn, the two of you collapsing in fits of laughter as you threw snowballs at one another, your footsteps marking the fresh fallen snow.

You remember being so exhausted after one of your showers that you simply laid atop the couch, gaze fixed on the void, too drained to even untangle the knots in your hair. Yet, it is not the tiredness that you exactly recall, nor the salty tears you shed underneath the scorching water jet. But it is Hyunjin's tender hands as he brushed through your hair, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck, his knuckles ghosting over the slate of your shoulder. You remember whispering that it was a particularly hard day and Hyunjin understanding. You remember him watching many YouTube tutorials to prepare your favorite seaweed soup, only for it to end up being too salty. But you still ate it all, because he made it for you, to lift your wounded spirits. And that alone was enough for it to taste good.

You remember your heart hardening then softening again, breaking then stitching itself back together, closing off then blooming like flowers on the first day of spring. You remember smiling only to cry then smile again. And you remember liking snow, a bit more than you thought you would. Because Hyunjin was there, holding your trembling hand, steadying it enough for you to rewrite your memories with winter.

So, you want to say thank you.

You do not wish to spell it out, because there are too many things to thank Hyunjin for and too few words to do so. Instead, you drag him to the farmer’s market near your home, and you tell him to help you pick flowers.

“I could be in bed watching my favorite show and yet here I am bestowing you with my enchanting presence,” he sighs, not too modestly, as you both eye the array of colorful blooms.

“Okay, Shakespeare, are you done?” you roll your eyes, attempting your best to hide your grin.

“Done annoying you? Never. These are very pretty,” he adds, pointing to the white roses in full bloom, their delicate petals emitting a sweet fragrance into the air.

“I agree, what else should we add?” you ponder, picking out four roses.

“Mm, Hibiscus? The red in the center is so vibrant,” he suggests, taking out his phone to capture the flower.

“Cute. Baby breath’s would look good too,” you say as you gather the flowers, heading to the cashier with Hyunjin trailing behind, still admiring the delicate blooms.

“Can I write a note?” you ask the middle-aged man as he wraps the bouquet in a powder blue paper.

“Sure,” he replies with a smile, and you return the gesture, quickly jotting down your words.

“Are you done?” Hyunjin grins when you return to his side and you nod, exiting the flower shop.

“What do you think?” you ask, angling the bouquet towards him.

“It's beautiful.”

“It’s yours,” you smile, growing shier at the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you, then the flowers, then on you again. “Take it,” you hand it to him, your cheeks flushing like the hibiscus’s crimson core.

“Actually?” he says softly, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepts the flowers and you nod in response. You bite your lip as you watch him take out the note, his eyes softening once he reads the words inscribed in it— thank you for making my winter less cold.

“Should we go?” you say a tad too cheerfully, turning away, but Hyunjin grabs your wrist, spinning you around once more. His fingers trail up your arm, coming to rest gently on your cheek as he leans down to plant a tender kiss there.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. You think that if his soft lips grace your skin a few times more, your nerve endings might forget the harshness they were subjected to. If his gentle hands remain on your cheeks, then maybe, your heart would heal quicker, better. Maybe your past self that you long for would emerge again, maybe Hyunjin would be able to unearth it.

Your hopeful thoughts disappear as quickly as they arrive, overshadowed by a sense of helplessness that crashes over you, all of the sudden. You sense him before you hear him, the familiar anxiety that is only synonymous with your ex’s presence.

“Yn?” the sound of your name feels harsher in his mouth, the syllables spat out rather than spoken tenderly, as they are when Hyunjin pronounces it. Your veins run cold as his voice pierces the air, your heart skipping three beats at once before plummeting to your knees. You wrap your hand around Hyunjin’s forearm instinctively, and he looks down at you, his expression morphing into one of concern.

You’re unsure of what he sees in you— whether it is your pale face, the quiver of your lower lip, or the fear that has coated all your features— but his eyes harden, his brows furrowing as he gazes at the man behind you.

You refuse to turn around, bracing yourself for his next words. “Yn,” he repeats his tone laced with anger, his fingertips grazing your arm as if intending to force you to face him. But before he can touch you, Hyunjin intervenes, swiftly stepping in between you and your ex, shielding you with his own body protectively.

“Leave,” Hyunjin's voice is cold, dripping with a venomous edge you've never heard from him before, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.

“Is this your new shiny toy, Yn?” your ex taunts and his voice cuts through your being against your will, triggering a flood of memories you've tried so desperately to suppress. Memories of his cruelty, his manipulation, and the pain he inflicted upon you—using your love as a weapon to bolster his own ego.

“What's in it for you?” you find your voice again, though it trembles when you speak. He is the very embodiment of your pain and everything you loathe about yourself. You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, for a bolt of lightning to strike the earth, anything to spare you from facing him.

“It's only been three months, I didn't know you were a whore.”

Hyunjin's fist connects with his cheek before you can register his words. It all unfolds so rapidly that you barely have time to comprehend it. Your ex staggers back, blood trickling from the cut on his lip, while Hyunjin stands before you, his chest heaving with restrained anger, his right hand clenched into a fist, the bouquet still held tightly in the other.

“Fine, I deserved it,” your ex chuckles, his voice laced with mockery as he wipes the blood from his lip. His gaze meets yours briefly behind Hyunjin's back.

“You might not be a whore but you are unlovable, keep that in mind.” He spits out before walking away, crude words that tear at every scab covering your wounds, reopening them with a brutal force. Hyunjin moves to follow him, but you grab his shirt, pulling him back.

“He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Your words seem to snap Hyunjin out of his haze as he turns to look at you, worry cast across his figure. He moves to cradle your cheeks but you step back, refusing to meet his eyes. He swallows thickly, clutching the bouquet in his hands. “Are you okay?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head slightly. “Let's just go home,” you whisper, eyes fleeting to his for a split second. All the lights in your gaze are muted.

You’re crumbling before him once again and he cannot stop it, no matter how much he yearns to.

It's long past midnight when you find yourself seated on the floor of your living room, a bottle of red wine placed between you and Hyunjin. You exchange it wordlessly, taking turns sipping from it, the alcohol warming your insides but doing little to ease the ache in your heart. You don’t exactly recall when Hyunjin sat next to you, but you don’t mind. You were too lost in your own thoughts to even register his presence.

“Yn,” he calls out softly and you hum absentmindedly, memories of when your ex spoke your name haunting you, each time he yelled your name, uttered it in disdain as if it was the starting point of everything wrong with you.

“Talk to me, please?” he pleads, angling his body towards your own. But you refuse to meet his eyes and Hyunjin’s heart twists in his chest. He is afraid of all the ugly thoughts that must roam your mind. He wishes he could enter it, open the windows wide, and usher the light in.

“I'm sorry you were dragged into this,” you say, your gaze fixated on the bouquet placed atop the table. The crimson painted on the hibiscus’ petals reminds you of the blood that spilled from your ex’s mouth, and your gaze fleets to Hyunjin's hand, slightly bruised from the punch.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, “there is nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s as though you don’t hear him, your fingers trailing gently across his scraped knuckles, tears pooling in your eyes the more you stare at his hand.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice thick with emotion, and Hyunjin’s quick to shake his head. “No, don’t worry about it. He deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Neither did you.”

Your disbelieving scoff that follows scares him. What if you’re slipping away into a dark place yet again, one void and barricaded, in which the only sound that echoes is your ex’s hurtful words? What if he can’t reach you again?

“If the only person I’ve ever loved says I’m unlovable then maybe I am.”

You’re drunk, you wouldn’t have said such an ugly thing otherwise, wouldn’t have allowed this sentiment to materialize into the air, to take a tangible form apart from your abstract thoughts.

“No,” Hyunjin says in a panic as though he’s trying to quickly pull the brakes on your free-railing thoughts. He cups your face between his palms, your tears falling freely atop his hands but he does not move away.

“No,” he repeats, more calmly this time. “How he treated you is a reflection of who he is. And how you see him is a reflection of who you are. And you wanted him to be loving because you’re full of love. You wanted him to be good because you are a good person. And he can’t stomach that, can’t stomach that you are happy without him so he’s trying to ruin you again.”

“Hyunjin…” you shake your head but he only inches closer to you, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. “No, listen to me. Seungmin loves you so much he couldn’t eat properly for the first few days you stayed here, texted me all the time asking me how you were and if you were feeling better. He isn't good with words so instead he tries to make you laugh. He wishes he could give up parts of his happiness for you.”

A sob swells within you but Hyunjin presses on. “And Minho, he tried to memorize all your favorite recipes so he could cook them for you. It isn’t a coincidence that every time we go over to their dorm it is your favorite food that we eat. He takes more pictures of his cats these days so he could send them to you because he knows it cheers you up.”

“You told me Changbin doesn’t know you well enough to fight for you but when we saw your ex across the campus one day he wanted to get up and beat him. He always asks me if you are well and if there is something he can do for you, anything.”

He inhales deeply, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “And me…” a tender smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, “you make this house a home. I feel like my true self when you are around and loneliness doesn’t come to me as often as it did. Because you are here. You are like a beam of sunlight that lightens up every life you touch, mine first,” he’s baring his soul to you, vulnerable yet resolute. “So tell me, Yn, what’s not to love in you when you yourself are so full of love?”

“Hyune,” you speak the nickname for the first time, and Hyunjin’s heart thrashes achingly around his ribcage. “If you keep talking like this I might end up loving you,” you smile sadly at him as if it is a terrible thing to be loved by you.

“But I don’t want to love you, because I won’t know how to, not anymore. So I'll end up leaving. And I'll long for you, and I don't think I can stomach longing for you from afar.”

“So please,” you place one hand atop his own, wipe away the lone tear rolling down his cheek. “Don’t make me love you, hm? You deserve more than to be loved by someone like me.”

You leave Hyunjin in the living room, alone before the white flowers you gifted him. He doesn’t want to put them away in a vase, for as soon as he grabbed them from your hold, everything around you both crumbled. So he leaves them there for the night, the creamy white petals aglow underneath the moonlight. He spends the night painting the bouquet from memory, but the petals end up too tinged with red, perhaps mirroring the blood his heart refuses to stop spilling still.

He did not realize it before, maybe he blinded himself so he wouldn’t see what was before him all along. But it is all the clearer to him now— that in his attempts to make you love winter again, Hyunjin only ended up loving you.

A week later.

hyune [1:25 a.m.]: i miss you

You and Hyunjin spent the last seven days avoiding one another, well you more than him. He just understood your silent plea when you took a step back the one time he tried to talk to you in the kitchen, swallowing thickly before inching away, allowing you to move past him.

You did not know how to face him after what he said, partly because you were embarrassed by your own response, mostly because even in your drunken daze, his words etched themselves permanently into your memory.

It is his reassuring words that echoed in your brain for the past week, not those of your ex.

hyune [1: 26 a.m.]: and i miss sleeping on the couch

You giggle, shaking your head before replying.

yn [1:26 a.m.]: no you don’t

hyune [1:26 a.m.]: no i don’t ㅠㅠ

but i finished the song

wanna hear?

Walking to Hyunjin’s room feels as familiar as going into your own. And when your gaze finally meets his you can’t help but break into a relieved smile. It was foolish of you to punish yourself, enough people have done that for you already.

“Hey,” he greets tentatively, and you respond with an awkward wave, a moment pregnant with anticipation passes before both of you dissolve into laughter.

“What is this? Are we in middle school,” he teases and you giggle, settling comfortably on his bed once more.

“I know. We are so lame.”

“You are,” he corrects with a grin and you gasp, pretending to leave but he quickly catches your hand, stopping you. “No, please stay. I meant it when I said that I missed you,” he repeats quietly, as if afraid that his confession would make you run away once again.

Your heart aches, the knots in your stomach tightening and unraveling all at once. “I missed you too,” you admit softly, and he smiles, his thumb tracing a gentle path above your pulse before releasing your hand.

“So it's done then?” you ask and he nods, running a hand through his hair with a hint of anxiety. “How do you feel about it?”

“Good. I hope you’ll like it, mostly.”

“I'm sure I will,” you reassure him with a soft smile, and he nods once more, pressing a few buttons before his melodious whistles fill the air once again.

Nothing could have braced you for the sound of Hyunjin's voice that followed, its timbre soft as silk yet imbued with profound sorrow. It's as though he recorded the song on one of his loneliest nights, his honeyed vocals dipped in an excruciating nostalgia that seeps into every corner of the room, every corner of your heart.

In the faded photo, I come across a smile spread across a youthful face, overlapped with the seasons.

Your gaze flickers to Hyunjin as a shadow of recollection dawns on you. You remember telling him that you couldn’t stomach looking at pics of your past, ones in which you smiled so freely because you were blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The night’s so cold that it’s almost unreal.

Because you weren’t aware of the winter that will follow and the biting cold that it would bear, for everything that will go astray in your relationship, for your ex's facade to crack like a glacier succumbing to the pressure of lies and pretense.

I wake up in another silence, and I close my eyes.

You remember Hyunjin confessing that silence haunted him more than words ever could, and you had agreed, sharing how sometimes you shut your eyes, pretending that the reality you woke up to wasn't the one you were living.

The white flower we planted together has bloomed. I do not dare pick it. Now it withers away.

You gaze at the white flowers you brought him, now wilted in the vase placed on his desk, yet Hyunjin refuses to throw them still. You see the card you wrote for him hung on the wall, right next to the dried red rose. He kept it. Though it withered, he kept it all.

So I long for you. And I long for you. And I'll long for you.

You remember the longing you both spoke of, how he understood a feeling you felt so incredibly alone in. How he tried to reassure you when he too was caught in the webs of the past. How you longed for him in the past week. How you wished he longed for you just the same.

So I can keep loving you. So I could be loving you. And morе.

The violin swells and so does the emotion in your chest. You remember him asking you ‘What’s not to love in you’ and how you've spun those words in your thoughts ever since. You remember thinking that if he gave you a few more weeks, just a bit more time, you might have found it in you to believe them.

You see Hyunjin’s glimmering eyes holding yours, you see his heart atop a platter handed to you, and you see the resignation in his being. Don’t make me love you, you told him. You didn’t dare to tell him not to love you in return, deemed it too foolish of thought to entertain.

For he was Hwang Hyunjin, the quiet producer who paints in his free time and who wears his heart on his sleeve. Who remains hopeful, loving, and tender, despite the thorns pricking at his side. Who is beautiful, so much so that he allowed you to see beauty in the universe once again, through his eyes.

How could he love you?

How could you not love him?

“The song,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips as you stand, trembling, on your feet. Hyunjin rises too, meeting you in the center of his room.

“It is about you. For you,” he says simply as if his words don’t cause your world to burst at the seams only to mend itself once again, too eager to fix itself and exist in the same timeline as Hyunjin.

“I don't… I don’t know what to say,” you say earnestly, feeling your heart pound in your chest, its beats resounding loudly in your ears.

It is wrong of you to assume he wishes you to say something. He is Hyunjin, the one who finds words in your silences too, after all.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” he shakes his head, taking another step closer to you. “I don't want an answer, I don't wish to pressure you. I just wanted to tell you that my love is here, it is yours to take or to leave, to cherish or to discard. But it is yours, because this is who I am. I am someone who loves you.”

“So do not tell me to forget you because I don't know how to. And don’t tell me that you’ll leave because I will love you still, because you’d still be you, near or far, you are you. And you are someone I long for.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I long for you, Yn, more than anything I've ever longed for. And I've spent all my life longing.”

His lips meet your forehead tenderly, and you feel your entire being grow limp at the chaste kiss, as if your limbs wish to liquefy and form a puddle on the floor. His touch is soft, and you miss it the moment he parts from you.

“There must be something in this room that keeps on making you cry,” he smiles and you bring your hands to your damp cheeks, surprised to find there tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

“It’s you,” you pinch his arm playfully and he squirms away from your hold, stabbing his toe on the desk in the process. A loud fuck echoes around the room, and your laughter dissipates the tension clinging into the air.

“Can you play it again?” you request softly and Hyunjin’s theatrics fade as a shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Is it good?”

“It's everything to me.”

“It's called ‘long for you’, by the way.”

“Long for you,” you repeat quietly. There has never been a prettier combination of words.

The title all but makes sense as you lay on the bed, your gaze fixed on the paintings hung on the wall, Hyunjin sketching quietly on his desk, the song resonating softly in the background. You've longed for many things in your life—the person you once were and the tender love you once craved—but amidst it all, nothing has weighed heavier on your heart than the longing for the man sitting just two meters away, almost in your loving grasp. Almost.

❁ ❁ ❁

It is an excruciating five days that Hyunjin spends apart from you, the both of you too caught up in your assignments to find a moment to properly speak. But you do not shy away from him when he greets you, and your grin is kind as it drapes across his being, and Hyunjin swears he has never seen a prettier sight than you smiling.

On the sixth night, Hyunjin completes the cover for the song— a figure wrapped around itself protectively, mirroring the way you hug yourself in your sleep. He hangs it on the wall, right next to your thank you card and the white bouquet he drew once again, wishing to properly immortalize its beautiful flowers, to purify that memory from the tumult that followed it.

On the sixth night, the house is quiet, the full moon high up in the sky, snowflakes falling softly to the ground. Hyunjin wonders if you too mimicked the snow’s descent— both of you falling apart with it.

But then, there’s a knock on his door.

His heart catches in his throat, his body freezing as if it forgot how to move. You are here.

“Come in,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. You push the door open, and Hyunjin's words wilt on his tongue as he sees what you're carrying—another bouquet, filled with white flowers, yet again.

“Hey,” you smile, standing by the door.

He remains silent, unsure of what to say, or how to speak. He longs for you when you are away, even more so when you’re before him.

“We shouldn't let these white flowers wither away too, right?” you smile slightly, placing the bouquet on the desk before walking to Hyunjin’s bedside. His voice falters, vocal cords refusing to move and overshadow your voice.

You sit beside him, gently pulling his hand so that you’d both lie on the pillows. Your hand doesn’t leave his own, instead, it moves to rest on his cheek, reminiscent of the many times he had cradled your face before. Inch by inch, you close the gap between you, nuzzle the tip of your nose against his own. “Hi, Hyune”, you say softly, and he swallows thickly, his voice coming out just as quietly.

“Hi, my Yn.”

“If we take care of the white flowers together do you think they’ll survive a bit longer?” you ask, your gaze never wavering from his, countless stars twinkling in the depths of your irises.

“I believe so,” he says tentatively, too aware of the warmth of your palm against his skin, of the sweet ache unfurling within his being.

“Mm, and even if they wilt we can always buy new ones. We can learn how to care for them better, with time,” you say, and he nods in agreement, laying his hand atop your own, tilting his head to bestow a chaste kiss on your palm.

“With time,” he echoes softly and you smile, vulnerable yet secure in his gray sheets, in his hold.

“Will you give me time too?” you ask, and Hyunjin reads in your eyes what you mean, understands in the shake of your voice the question you are too afraid to voice. Will he give you time to heal in order to love?

“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, pressing his forehead gently atop yours, and you both close your eyes, as a running warmth encloses you both, blooms a blush on both your cheeks.

His arms wrap around your back, drawing you close until your chests are pressed together, your head resting naturally in the curve of his neck. And it is long forgotten in your mind, all the nights you slept in this very bed alone. You feel safe, safe enough to long for love knowing that it patiently awaits you behind the door, once you find enough courage to turn the doorknob. You feel serene, as Hyunjin’s warm palms glide soothingly up and down your spine, as every muscle, every nerve, every atom in your being relaxes in his hold.

You are healing, slowly, with each fleeting second that passes in which Hyunjin’s heartbeat resounds within your chest, as its melody runs through your veins, melds with your own as if it was destined to be there all along. As you rest in Hyunjin, as you find a safe home within his soul to discard your worries at the doorstep and breathe.

“It did get better,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Hm?” He leans back to look at you, and he’s so beautiful, so tender as he gazes at you, you can’t help but trace the contours of his face with your fingers, hoping to commemorate him with your eyes, with your touch.

“You promised me it’ll get better, and it did,” you smile, as your legs further intertwine with his, and his rose perfume becomes an indelible mark on your skin. “Too bad I can't hit your pretty face now,” you joke and he giggles, tipping his head back.

He's so beautiful, body and soul, and he longs for you, you alone.

“But I can still do this,” you murmur before finally pressing your lips against his like a boat finally reaching the shore after months of sailing. You both exhale, in yearning, in relief, as your mouths move together in a slow, languid dance, his hand finding the pulse on your neck, yours settling atop his jaw.

He would kiss you again, this intimately, in the coming months, when your heart expands enough to contain the love Hyunjin deserves. He would kiss you again, when your past comes to haunt you, and healing sounds like an elusive myth you’d never encounter in your life.

And he would kiss you again, over the kitchen table and under the fridge’s light, in between paintings and in supermarket aisles, while picking flowers and watching the first snow.

He would kiss you, this tenderly, in the next winter, and the ones after it, as if his longing for you never wanes. Till blow three disappears from your memory, till all you remember is the love, the true one, the kind one, the soft one Hyunjin alone could have brought you.

1K notes · View notes

bonewreath · 4 months

Text

𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 | 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

description: you’ve been getting closer to ellie lately and, unbeknownst to you, your blossoming crush is entirely reciprocated. cue your first smoke sesh together… and a little something more, too. [modern au, ellie and reader are both over 18]

warnings: weed use, oral sex, fingering. this fic is 18+, minors do not interact.

author’s note: my first ellie fic and my first fic on this blog! pls be nice :) let me know what you think <3

The first few times you hung out with Ellie, she’d offered you a joint. It’s no secret that Ellie’s the town’s top dealer, a welcome sight at rowdy house parties, her backpack stuffed with ziplock bags of the best bud around. You’d tried weed before, had taken a puff or two from poorly-rolled blunts here and there, but you’d never particularly enjoyed it. Mostly, you’d just coughed up a lung and felt nothing but a vague lightheadedness. So when Ellie rolled up a joint the first time you’d come over to her place, offering you a drag after she’d sparked up, you’d politely declined.

Ellie had arched a brow. “You mind if I smoke? Shit - I can put it out.”

Before you’d had the chance to respond, she was already reaching for the ashtray on her nightstand, ceramic and painted to resemble an eight-ball.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you interjected, reaching out and touching her wrist almost involuntarily. You pushed down the flurry of butterflies that erupted in your stomach at the contact. God, you had to be touch-starved or something. Since when did touching someone’s arm make your heart skip a beat?

Ellie looked at you with a guarded kind of suspicion, like she didn’t believe that you were fine with her smoking. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said, lips curling into an encouraging smile. “I don’t mind weed, it just doesn’t do anything for me.”

“Huh.” Ellie nodded. She lifted the joint to her lips again and you glanced away, chest tightening from the sight of her lips pursing.

“If you ever wanna try again,” she paused to exhale a plume of smoke, intentionally avoiding your direction, “let me know. Not to, like, toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve never had someone try my weed and not like it.”

You let out an easy laugh. “Okay, we’ll have to see about that.”

Ellie was smiling at you, those green eyes twinkling like so many stars. “No pressure.”

That was months ago, when the summer heat still blazed from sunrise to sunset. It’s mid-winter now, the chill nipping at your cheeks and the end of your nose. To your agony, it hasn’t gotten any easier to breathe when you touch Ellie - when she greets you with a hug and a smile at her front door, you feel like you’re paralyzed with want. And Ellie’s probably none the wiser, of course. You wonder if she’s ever noticed the way your breath hitches when she stretches out on the couch beside you, leaning her head on your shoulder while some tacky eighties film lights up the television screen. You figure she’s oblivious - she’s just being friendly. She probably doesn’t even know you like girls, anyway. Plus, she doesn’t shy away from talking about the girls she’s been with before. You’ve spent more than a few nights seething with jealousy as she recounted her latest hookup, schooling your expression into one of disinterest or even mild enthusiasm.

It’s been a while since she’s talked like that, luckily. You’re grateful you don’t have to feign excitement about Ellie’s latest conquests anymore.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Ellie interrupts your internal monologue, hands still working at the joint in her lap. She’s got a pile of ground-up weed on a rolling tray, sprinkling it into the perfectly-rolled cone like it’s muscle memory. It probably is.

“Nothing,” you blurt, cheeks warming. “Sorry, just zoned out for a second.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Ellie quips, rolling her eyes despite the smile playing at her lips. “What, you can’t tell me? I thought we were friends, cherry.”

You flush anew at the nickname. She’d picked it out for you after you’d scarfed down an entire jar of maraschino cherries one night, after Ellie had bought them for ice cream sundaes. You’d never live that down… But you’re not sure you want to, because every time the nickname leaves Ellie’s lips, you feel like you’re glowing bright red with admiration.

“We are friends!” You nudge Ellie’s shoulder with yours, rolling your eyes with that same playfulness she’d expressed. “Sorry, it’s just - it’s embarrassing.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. It’s like you can see the cogs turning in her head. “Embarrassing? What, you got a crush on some guy or something?”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, she’s prattling on again. “Y’know, just ‘cause I’m gay doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about your crushes. Swear I won’t be weird about it.”

Oh god.

“It’s not - I’m not…” You sigh, gaze lowering to your lap, where you’re fiddling with your hands. Should you tell her? You should probably tell her.

“I like girls, you know.”

It’s quiet for so long that you need to look up at Ellie to make sure she’s still there, still listening. And she is; her eyes are glued to you, wide in disbelief.

“What?” You feel like a bug under a microscope with her looking at you like that. “Is it that hard to believe?”

Ellie shakes her head emphatically. “No, no - it’s not. I just didn’t expect that.”

She turns away to finish rolling the joint, twisting the very end of the paper until it forms a little point. “Guess you’re just full of surprises, huh, cherry?”

You bite your lip to stifle a smile, but Ellie sees it anyway.

“So who’s the lucky girl?” She asks, rummaging through her pocket until she finds her lighter. You watch Ellie spark the joint, the twisted end catching fire until the cherry starts to glow. Ellie takes a few puffs and the scent of smoke tickles your nose.

“I’d prefer not to say,” you tell her, chewing on the inside of your lip. Your nerves are off the wall; you’re so anxious that the joint in Ellie’s slender fingers is suddenly tempting.

Ellie scoffs. “Boring.”

She looks up at you as she flicks ash off the end of the joint, and when she notices you eyeing it, her brows lift.

“Want some? Will that make you spill?”

You huff a nervous laugh, toying with the ends of your hair. “No… I don’t know. Maybe?”

Ellie whoops, her free hand curling into a fist of victory. “Fuck yeah. Here, take it.”

She offers you the joint and you take it, but not without a moment or two of hesitation. You will the anxiety away with the thought that you probably won’t feel anything. Ellie watches as you bring the joint to your lips and inhale, praying you won’t cough and make a fool of yourself. Especially not with Ellie watching so intently.

By the grace of some kind of divine being, you don’t cough. Your throat tickles, and you feel emboldened to take one more hit, letting the smoke fill your lungs. You imagine your body relaxing, the knot in your stomach unwinding. You hand the joint back to Ellie and she takes a puff of her own, her lips curled into the faintest little smirk.

“So…” Ellie trails off expectantly.

“God, you’re persistent,” you groan. She just peers at you knowingly from behind a veil of smoke.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say. “I’ve had a crush on this girl for a while now, but I don’t think she feels the same.”

“Have you asked her?” Ellie prompts, flicking ash off the joint.

You shake your head. “No way.”

“Then,” Ellie pauses to take another hit, “how do you know she doesn’t feel the same?”

You should be feeling anxious with her drilling you like this - you know you should. Usually, you’d be retreating into yourself with every prodding question Ellie asks. But all you feel now is yearning; there’s an ache in your chest that only she can remedy. And, clearly, Ellie’s clueless about it.

You don’t want her to be clueless, you realize.

The words leave your lips before you can think better of them. “Do you, Ellie?”

Her brows knit together, forming a crease that you’ve memorized by now - like every other freckle and wrinkle on her face. “Huh? Do I what?”

You reach for the joint and she yields it without question.

“Do you feel the same about me?”

The weed has certainly helped with your nerves, you think, watching Ellie’s expression shift from confusion to realization. Her plush lips part, but all that comes out is a series of stammers and false sentence starts: “I—you—what?”

Fuck it, you think. You stretch out to reach the nightstand beside Ellie’s bed, leaving the joint in one of the ashtray’s notches. A steady stream of smoke ribbons upward from the fading cherry.

“Ellie,” you start, settling back into your place on the rug. You look at her to find her already staring at you, blinking. “It’s you. I have a crush on you. It’s been—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ellie interjects, voice softer than you’d expected.

You blink. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, I guess. And you always talked about other girls, so I thought you just… Weren’t interested.”

“Cherry.” Ellie sits up on her knees so she can get closer to you, the sleeves of her oversized flannel slipping down to her forearms as she reaches out and grabs your face. Her touch is gentle but firm, insistent. You can feel the callouses on her fingers against your skin, her thumbs brushing up against your cheekbones, and the air is suddenly so thin you can hardly inhale.

“I have… I’ve had feelings for you for so long. So fucking long, cherry.” Ellie’s gaze is intense, eyes boring into you. You feel exposed, raw, alive with something electric.

You stare right back at her, frozen in her grasp.

“But you were always talking about other girls,” you say. Doubt lingers in the back of your head; this is too good to be true. Right?

“I know, fuck, I’m sorry,” Ellie sighs. “I thought you weren’t interested in me. Thought it was hopeless, y’know? My perfect best friend having feelings for me? Unreal.”

One of Ellie’s hands smooths over your hair; it’s something she’s done plenty of times before, but it feels different now. More intimate, with your shared confessions between you.

“Wanna know something?” Ellie asks then plows on, not really waiting for an answer, “I stopped hooking up with other girls a while ago. I just… Couldn’t.”

You nod in understanding. Your eyelids feel heavy all of the sudden, each blink heavier than the last.

“They weren’t you,” Ellie adds.

They weren’t you, her words echo in your mind.

“Ellie,” you breathe. Her face is impossibly close; you can pick out every detail of her face. Each pore, each freckle, each fleck of brown in her green eyes. You can smell the weed smoke on her breath.

“Cherry,” she responds, voice hushed just as low as yours. “Cherry. Can I kiss you?”

“God, yes,” you practically whine.

When Ellie kisses you for the first time, she tastes like relief.

Her lips are soft and insistent against yours, the pad of her thumb warm against your cheek as you lean in closer to kiss her back. It’s like time has gone still; the hum of the speaker on Ellie’s dresser fades away, as does the sound of the winter winds hissing and whooshing against the window. All you know is Ellie: her hand slipping down the length of your back to grab your hip, her mouth hot and needy against yours. It’s a desperate sort of kiss, one that you’d both been yearning for, and months of pining drain from your mouth to hers, then back again.

You’re not sure if you’d been kissing for seconds or hours when Ellie finally breaks away, gasping.

“Fuck,” she whispers. The tip of her nose brushes against your cheek, then your nose. “We should stop, before I…”

She trails off but you know exactly what she’d left unsaid. And your stomach flips in response; the mere thought of what else Ellie might do with her mouth has your cunt throbbing.

Ellie’s hand leaves your hip and it’s like she’s left a burn there - one shaped like her touch, a scathing outline on your skin.

“I don’t want to stop,” you find the courage to admit.

You’re not sure who makes the first move this time - only that you’re kissing again, swallowing Ellie’s pleased moans as your tongue prods between her lips. You gasp and pant into each other’s mouths, hands roaming on newly discovered skin; Ellie’s hands slip beneath your tee, her palms hot against your abdomen, your hips, your lower back. When her fingers find the clasp of your bra and unfasten it, you practically shiver with anticipation, back arching into her touch.

“Whoa there,” Ellie laughs, nudging her nose against yours. You go in for another kiss, annoyed that she’d stopped, but she pulls back. “You’re sure you want this, cherry?”

“Please,” you say, taking advantage of the moment to pull your shirt over your head and set it aside. You toss your bra into the growing pile, turning back to Ellie to find her gaping at you.

“Christ,” she says, licking her lips, “you’re fucking perfect.”

She gives you one last heated kiss before her mouth moves to your jawline, then the column of your neck, where she leaves a trail of wet kisses. She sucks on a spot right on the crook of your neck, just shy of leaving a hickey, and your toes fucking curl.

Ellie only gives a low hum of approval at your reaction before she’s moving lower, lower. Her kisses cover your breasts, every inch of skin worshipped by her lips until she finally takes a peaked nipple into her mouth. You feel her tongue swirl against the sensitive bud and you nearly cry from the pleasure, one hand flying up to knot into her hair and tug.

Her gaze moves up to meet yours, and your cunt tightens again at the look of unbridled desire in her eyes - her lids are heavy, too, but you can’t tell if it’s from the weed or sheer lust. Maybe both, you’re not sure, but you don’t have much time to consider it before Ellie’s moving to your other nipple, tongue laving against the taut flesh before she closes her mouth around it and sucks. A ragged moan tears from your throat and you tense, tugging again at the locks of Ellie’s hair in your fist.

She leaves your nipples flushed and sensitive, shining with saliva, and you’re suddenly very aware of the layers of clothes separating you from her. Separating the wetness of your cunt from hers, the bony curve of her hips from your needy mouth. You need those layers gone.

“Ellie,” you whine, pulling at the collar of her flannel.

“Shh, I know,” she coos, voice dripping with syrupy sweet lust. “Why don’t you get on the bed for me, hm?”

You nod and oblige, but not without stopping to slip out of your jeans. You leave your panties on because, well, they’re cute. A white lace thong with a tiny, silky pink bow just below your navel - Ellie’s eyes linger there as she stands at the edge of the bed, unbuckling her belt and stepping out of her cargos. You can feel the wet patch on your panties as you press your thighs together and watch her undress. She’s always been on the thinner side, but as she slides off her flannel and pulls her sports bra over her head, you realize that she’s much more toned than you’d imagined. Her arms flex with each movement and her abdomen is clearly taut with muscle; every inch of new skin she reveals only adds to the agonizing desire churning in your stomach.

Luckily, she seems just as eager as you are. She’s still in a pair of oversized plaid boxers when she grabs hold of your hips and yanks you toward the edge of the bed, pulling your knees apart so she can see what’s between them.

“Look at you,” she says, eyes wide at the sight of your soaked panties. “I didn’t realize you were so needy, cherry. Should’ve let me take care of you sooner.”

Her words send another gush of arousal flooding from your cunt, your stomach twisting. “‘M sorry, Ellie.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says, lowering herself onto her knees before you. Her fingers hook beneath the lace of your panties to pull them down, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the rug.

Her face sinks between your legs, and the first stroke of her tongue against your folds makes you shiver with relief.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Ellie moans against your pussy, tongue splitting through your folds, spreading your wetness with every swipe and lick. Your back arches involuntarily, your toes curling in sheer pleasure.

She laps at your cunt like a woman starving, hot tongue drawing circles around your puffy clit. It’s maddening, the way she knows exactly what you need, speeding up and slowing down in accordance with your moans and sighs and whimpers. You’ve never felt so close so quickly, but you don’t want it to stop - her mouth is magic between your legs, and as you hurtle towards your orgasm, she slips a finger into your clenching hole. You nearly scream.

“Ellie,” you moan shakily, your thighs tightening on both sides of her head. “Ellie, I’m gonna…”

She just moans again, mouth working at your clit while her finger sinks in and out of your cunt. She adds another not long after and it’s hardly a stretch with how wet you are. You’re trembling with every stroke of her tongue against your clit, and soon enough, you feel yourself slipping off the edge into oblivion. Your orgasm tears through you like never before, hot and electric, every muscle tensing as Ellie finger-fucks you through every wave of pleasure. Eventually, you push the heel of your hand against her forehead, too overstimulated for her to keep sucking at your too-sensitive clit. She pulls back and sits on her heels, fingers leaving the tight grip of your cunt as she wipes her mouth with her other hand. Your slick covers her from the nose down, the shining evidence of how good she’d made you feel.

“So fucking pretty when you come,” Ellie tells you, standing up and lifting a knee onto the bed beside you. Her hair is a mess, you’d made sure of it, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Think you’ve got a few more for me?” She smiles at you, wolfish and wicked, and her hand moves to grope at one of your tits.

“Mm,” you hum, reaching out for her. “Only if you have a few for me.”

When she’s close enough, you slip your hand between Ellie’s legs, your fingers brushing through sparse curls to find the heat of her folds. She’s soaked, you realize with self-satisfaction, your tongue swiping over your lower lip.

This will be fun.

2K notes · View notes

yandere-romanticaa · 16 days

Text

⚘ 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

m. - "forevermore" typically refers to something that lasts for an indefinite amount of time or for eternity. it implies a sense of permanence or lastingness.

You've ran away from your husband, the 11th Fatui Harbinger, Tartaglia himself. However, have you truly escaped his grasp?

yandere! tartaglia x fem! reader.

The shimmering rays of bright morning sunlight made the living room come to life as you sat in a classic wooden chair, a steaming cup of tea in your hand. It burned your fingers ever so slightly but you could not be bothered to remove them from the cup.

The pain made you not focus on the massive bouquet of flowers which were placed on your pretty white table.

From the corner of your vision, you could see the card which clung onto the fresh bunch of blooms, the handwriting on it disgustingly elaborate but oh so familiar.

"Blood red roses." The card said.

"I always knew that you fancied roses, and I couldn't resist to get you these specific ones when I saw you looking at them."

Bastard. How he had managed to track you all the way to Mondstatd was beyond your comprehension, but in hindsight, you really should have known better. The Fatui could sneak in anywhere they damn well pleased, be it the hustle and bustle of the city of Mondstatd, to the dirty cracks of the Chasm.

It was only natural that the many agents which were stationed in the city would start to talk upon seeing the wife of a Lord Harbinger so far from home.

You concealed yourself at first, obviously. Most unfortunately, word started to spread like wildfire that you had fled in the dead of night, never to be seen by anyone. And, due to the fact that your husband did not possess a single shred of decency in his body, he proudly showed you off wherever he could.

Just the mere thought of the memory made you shudder.

Your good husband was - is - a wealthy man. He made sure to spoil you in the finest of silks known to man and the endless sea of jewelry which was sent your way, if it were to be sold, could feed an entire army.

Although, he was always particular about your arms. He didn't like seeing anything on them except for the, surprisingly, simple wedding ring he got you.

It was a promise, he had told you.

His eternal promise to you, until the end of time. He would love you, in sickness and in health, there was no force in the universe that could separate him from you.

In a way, he was keeping his promise. He made the trip from the homeland straight to the City of Freedom all on his own.

... He probably didn't even need to hear the reports from anyone of your whereabouts. Knowing him, he tracked you down all on his own, using nothing but his wit and sharp senses.

He was a terrifying man. A man you ought to stay away from, a man who had the blood of countless innocent people on his hand. And yet, those same hands would keep you warm during the cold winter, his soft and pale lips would pepper your body with gentle kisses, making you feel as if you were the most beautiful woman in the universe.

Archons, he'd whisper to himself, his breath hot on your neck, making you blush. He would just say whatever came to mind, completely lost in his blind passion.

I want no one else but you - You are my everything - I will make you mine -

Frankly, you did not know how to feel. In those private moments he was less a man and more a lovesick little fool. He could not keep his paws off you, even if he wanted to. As the evening would go on the kisses would evolve into something more, something primal, carnal even. Tongue and teeth would mesh together, leaving a thick string of saliva between him and you, to which he would always let out that darling boyish laugh of his.

You loathed the fact that in those moments, he truly was ethereal, no different than a star.

What made your skin crawl was the effect his touch had on your mind and body. He became something akin to a drug, even now as you felt the sweetness of freedom with your own two hands you still felt the urge to hold something tight at night because your husband had spoiled you rotten with his presence.

Finally, you turned to look at the flowers as the horrible realization dawned on you - you loved him. You loved that man and it was putrid.

You cannot go back. You would not go back to him.

Jumping off a building would be a smarter thing to do.

As you pondered on and on about your predicament, you failed to notice the lingering shadow in your hallway. Deep blue eyes monitored you like a hawk as he toyed with a switchblade he had in his pocket. What should he do with you? He was furious, naturally. You were the last person in the world he wanted discord with. You broke his heart a little when you left and the fact that you didn't even care about his feelings only added insult to injury.

Even so, he could not help but to feel overjoyed by the fact that you hadn't thrown out his gift. He was half expecting you to burn whatever he sent you to the ground, not to mournfully contemplate in deep thought like this.

That was how he knew you loved him. It was crooked and wrong, but he had you. He had you and you didn't even know it. He'd bring down the heavens themselves if it meant that you could feel a fraction of the love he held for you. His lips curled into a sly grin but his heart pounded like clockwork in his chest. This waiting game was so horrible.

But the hunter in him couldn't resist, cornering you like this was just in his nature.

Victory was so close, he could practically taste it. Soon enough, his wife would be in his arms, weeping and apologizing and he would soothe her, like a good husband ought to. Yes, that was how this scenario would play out.

He was too clever to let it happen any other way.

It would be just him and you, perhaps even with a bundle of joy if the Tsaritsa blessed him. Even so, with you here, he had everything he could ever dream of.

Him and you, against the world, standing by each other's side, forevermore.

💋 TAGLIST: @genshinarchives, @saturnalya @mod-kisa-blog, @juuuuuj101010, @alatusprinz @kalopses-sonderes, @b10h4z4rd, @lakxcpsta @xiaopleasecomehome, @mayulli, @cc-6789, @mewmeowmika, @ranposgirlboss, @goldenglow149

This fic was born out of my own pure passion and love for Tartaglia, apologies for the Cringe™ I put you all through.

939 notes · View notes

loveshotzz · 5 months

Text

We’re supposed to be eating breakfast

older!steve x fem!reader an AIRWIY oneshot

summary: You wake up after your first sleep over at Steve’s house feeling bold.

wc: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ older!steve, smut, p in v, cream pie, breeding kink, mentions of past drinking, reader is wearing Steve’s baseball jersey but it’s not really described how it fits on readers body, no real descriptions of readers body.

authors note: this took me over a month to write with everything going on in my personal life, so I’m excited to finally give it to you. thank you all for your patience and encouragement to keep coming back on here every day despite me not writing as much as I used to and to keep me opening my word docs. this one was spurred my @palmtreesx3 brilliant mind and an idea that’s haunted me day and night. This takes place in the All I Really Want Is You universe, but can be read as a stand alone. Just know you’re wearing Steve’s personalized cubs jersey. :)

The harsh sounds of the coffee grinder is what wakes you up, but the golden rays of morning sunshine that leaks through the cracks in the blinds is what gets your eyes to open. Slow soft blinks, with fluttering lashes and brain still fuzzy from the kind of sleep that makes you temporarily forget what year it is, you need a moment to recognize the unfamiliar, much nicer surroundings.

You were in Steve’s room.

A smile you can’t contain spreads wide across your face, butterfly wings tickling at your rib cage. Stretching your still sleeping limbs, your body melts into the soft cushions of his mattress. The feathers that fill his pillows contour to your head perfectly, and the memories of the ways he had you pressed into it resurface, skin igniting with the ghost of his hands on your curves. Biting your bottom lip, the kind of nerves that you haven’t had since the Fourth of July make themselves known again, having never spent a morning with him at his home.

Rolling over, your face hits the cotton of his pillowcase that you’re not surprised is cold. Shamelessly you inhale the cedar and spice that still lingers on it, and the faint ache between your thighs, along with the clinks of glass you hear from his sink, reminds you that he’s just down stairs. It takes a little bit of willpower to leave the cozy cocoon you’ve found yourself in but the need to see him over powers the comfort of his duvet that feels like just the right amount of weight against your body.

Shuffling out of the covers, your bare feet hit the cold hard wood of his floors, a shiver crawling up your spine that you tell yourself is from the chill of the winter air that seeps through his unsealed windows, definitely not your nerves catching a glimpse of your naked body in his dresser mirror. The same mirror you’d seen him in almost five months ago.

Padding across his bedroom you wonder if he can hear your steps as you search for any sign of your clothes that had been haphazardly thrown around after an old bottle of red wine. The clean white color of his jersey catches in your gaze, the blue bold lettering that spells out his last name has your thighs pressing at the memory of your second date as it sits folded on top of his dresser.

The thought of how good he looked with it stretched across his broad shoulders, and the top two buttons undone, teasing the chest hair that your nails dragged through last night makes your skin warm. The praises he whispered in hot merlot against your lips, your neck, and between your legs is what gives you the confidence you need to slip it on instead.

The stairs creak under each step, but the popping grease of the bacon that fills his house with the smell of maple lets you go undetected. Familiar voices of who you’re learning are sportscasters, spill out from the small speaker on his phone that you know is propped up on the little plastic holder he always sets it on when he charges it. He mumbles something in response to the commentary under his breath, and you hear the beeping of the oven telling him it’s finished preheating.

Your cheeks hurt from how high they push up when you realize Steve’s making you breakfast.

A little shy from his affections already, your fingers wrap around the wood frame of the entryway with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. With his back to you, it gives you a perfect view of the way his white cotton undershirt stretches tight over his shoulder blades that move with every flick of his wrist, forearms flexing as he whisks whatever is in the bowl in front of him. Black sweats sit low on his hips, giving you a glimpse of his boxer briefs underneath, the font across the top of his waist band says Burberry, making your palms sweat. A personal favorite pair.

He turns his head to look at a replay of a game he missed in favor of spending time with you on his phone screen, still completely unaware of your presence. The new angle reveals the silver glasses he wore a few weeks ago in his office, dark chestnut and peppered hair sticking out wild at the ends, a mess you know was made by your hands.

“Seriously? Keep him on the bench.” He grumbles, shaking his head before bringing his attention back to the bowl.

You watch him for a few seconds longer, but his butt jiggling with the force of his whisking makes a giggle slip past your lips blowing your cover. He jumps at the noise no matter how sweet it is, meeting your eyes from over his shoulder. Steve gives you a smile that you’re learning is only reserved for you and sometimes Eddie, punching the air out of your lungs. Watching the way it only continues to grow across his stubble covered face makes your heart swell even more.

It’s only when his gaze finally lands on the only thing you’re wearing that the gold shimmering inside his eyes darken, a starless night lingering where the bottom hem of his jersey sits at the very tops of your thighs.

“Jesus honey, look at you.” The metal whisk hits the glass of the bowl with a loud clink as he turns around to really drink you in, “good morning to me.”

“I hope this is okay,” your voice comes out smaller than intended, suddenly self conscious you might have overstepped despite the way he watches you take your first steps into the kitchen like he wants to eat you alive.

“Okay?” His huffs out a breath like he’s wrecked, long fingers coming up to scratch at his jaw, “I’m afraid you’re not allowed to wear anything else in my house ever again.”

You giggle again, and you swear you hear him groan because of it.

“I think we might be able to arrange something, a deal, an agreement of some sort.” you smirk, tapping your nails along the smooth black marble of his kitchen island, giving your hips a little extra sway with your slow steps.

Both his palms curve around the counter behind him as he leans back, chest puffing while he licks his full pink lips. They pull up into a lopsided grin, a hungry gaze roaming freely as you come to a stop right in front of him. His confidence only falters a little when he has to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, but the gesture only makes your heart swell especially when the tops of his ears redden.

You lean against the island with a smile that tells him you’re up to no good. Heat from the oven and the man across from you warms your legs against the chill that bounces off all the glass and stone in his kitchen. Electricity sparks in the space between your bodies making the tips of your fingers and toes buzz, your pulse jumping when he reaches a big hand out for you.

“Just a little bit too far for me still baby,” He wiggles his fingers at you making you smile shyly before you slip your hand into his palm, your eyes glaze over watching it disappear in his grasp.

His gentle tug makes you squeal, hitting his chest with a soft thump, he grins down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Wrapping an arm around you to keep you from leaving, he lets go of your hand to cup the side of your face. The pad of his thumb traces the length of your cheek bone, and he smells just his pillow. Your hands find themselves tangled into the cotton of his shirt, leaning deeper into his touch. It makes the playfulness that dances in the chestnut of his eyes turn soft with something lovesick.

“Good morning handsome,” you say in a content sigh, and the hand that's spread across your back starts to work a path up your spine pulling the fabric of his jersey with it.

“I could really get used to this you know,” He hums, dipping his head down so the tip of his nose runs up the length of yours, mint and coffee on his breath “waking up to you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, all the blood rushing to your cheeks when you feel the cool breeze hit where your underwear should be.

“Oh yeah? What about Bandit?” You tease leaning closer, letting your top lip catch his bottom one.

Steve snorts a little, reminded of his dog who he knows is soaking up the sun outside, and the palm on your back squeezes you even closer.

“Are you kidding me? We’re obsessed with you over here honey.” The whites of his teeth show a little before they nip at your pout. He takes advantage of the gasp he earns, closing the gap completely in the kind of kiss that doesn’t give you any time to catch your breath before he’s licking at your bottom lip.

Your fingers untangle themselves from his shirt, and find a new home to get lost in the locks at the nap of his neck. Tongues meet in the middle with eager enthusiasm, and your front teeth hit as you push up on your tippy toes on the search for more. A deep groan vibrates from his chest, and his palm starts working its way down the dip of your back. When he’s met with the bare swell of your ass as he reaches the bottom hem of his jersey, you feel him kick up in his sweatpants.

“Tough girl.” He says your nickname like he's scolding you, leaving open mouthed kisses up your jaw, nipping at your earlobe before whispering with the kind of gravel in his voice that makes the inside of your thighs sticky. “We’re supposed to be eating breakfast.”

You hardly register him turning the oven off beside you.

“Who says -“ your sentence is cut off by a gasp when two thick fingers trace up your slick lips with ease, the pads of them pressing down on your bundle of nerves just long enough to make you whine with shaky knees.

“Who says what huh?” He whispers against the sensitive spot behind your ear, rubbing small circles on your clit with pointed pressure, obsessed with the way your jaw goes slack, and your eyebrows pinch together because of it.

“Who says we can’t do both?” You manage to get out with fluttering lashes, as he spreads you apart.

“You’re right, I don’t think breakfast is gonna be sweet enough for me.” He tuts, letting his middle finger push just a knuckle into your already greedy walls, and the soft moan that he gets from you has him leaking in his sweats. “You gonna help me with that, honey?”

Too lost in his teasing all you manage is a nod and a breathy ‘mmhmm’ looking up at him with big glassy eyes. He lets his lips ghost over yours, with a smirk tugging at the corners of them before spinning you around. Your palms land back on the cool marble of the kitchen island while both his hands wrap themselves firmly around the soft dough of your hips keeping his Jersey rucked up with them. He pulls your ass flush with his hips, letting you feel the hard length of him that begs to be released from the fleece confines of his pants against the ache in your core.

“This is what you wanted when you came down here lookin’ like this huh?” He asks with a low voice, hooking his thumbs under the bottom of his jersey. Lifting it higher up your back, he grinds against you while his eyes drink in all the soft dips of all your curves.

“Maybe,” you giggle a little breathy looking back over your shoulder at him with half lidded eyes.

His smile steals all the warm light from the room as he looks down at you with a cocked brow.

“I was trying to wait till after breakfast, which was hard waking up to you naked in my bed.” He can’t stop his heavy gaze from wandering to his last name covering the top of your back, unlocking something primal and possessive inside of him that he thought he’d lost forever. He wants you to leave it on, he’ll get it dry cleaned. “But honey, I can’t keep my hands off of you lookin’ like this.”

His palm feels heavy as it slides over the curve of your ass, squeezing at the fat with strong fingers spreading you apart a little before shoving his sweatpants half way down his hairy thighs. With hot cheeks, you flutter around nothing when the thickness of his cock springs free, standing at attention just for you. Somersaults in your stomach as you watch his tight grip pump himself a few times. Your hips wiggle in anticipation, whining when he teases more, gliding his tip through your slick, a small moan spilling from between your lips when he catches your clit.

“Always so needy for me,” he groans with a hint of disbelief, “fuck, what’d I do to deserve you?”

Steve doesn’t waste anymore time, slowly pushing in and the feeling of your walls wrapping around him while your body tries to accommodate the stretch has him chanting your name under his breath. Half way in, he regrips your hips a little rougher than before. His cock twitches watching your back bow, making his last name shine against the light while your nails scratch at the cool marble when he bottoms out.

Legs shaking, still sensitive from the night before, his hold on you tightens. You keen at the feeling of his thumbs rubbing small circles into your soft skin giving you time to adjust. It doesn’t take long for the initial sting subside, giving you the strength to rock your hips a little, a breathy sigh escaping you when it feels good.

“Yeah?” He hums, meeting your hips with his own hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

“Uh huh” You manage to utter as he pulls almost all the way out, a moan of his name long and drawn out bounces off the walls when he pushes back in letting you feel every inch.

“That’s my girl,” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes you want to turn around and see it.

Your eyes meet from over your shoulder again as he starts to roll his hips, finding the perfect pace. The sound of skin slapping fills the quiet space between moans every time your ass jiggles from the force of it. That strand falls messily over his forehead when he looks down at you, brows pinching together and jaw going slack like seeing your face only intensified everything he was feeling. He holds your stare, and the snap of his hips starts to get rougher. Burying himself deep focusing on that spot, the one he’s only ever been able to find.

“Oh, oh- Steve. Right there -shit - oh my god.” Your head falls between your shoulders, when he starts to barely pull out anymore. The tip of him making your eyelashes flutter as he reaches the spot that had you screaming his name last night, over and over again.

His eyes wander the expanse of your back, keeping his pace while his hands slowly start to slide up your sides, pushing his jersey with it. He wants to see more of you, but his hips stutter hearing the noises he’s getting out of you with his last name plastered across your hunched shoulders.

“You look so good - shiiit, like this baby. My name on your back, letting me bend you over in my kitchen while I cook you breakfast.” He babbles as your walls start to flutter, already dangerously close to falling over the ledge, your body threatening to take him with you. “Wanna do this all the time, please, let me do this all the time, honey.”

“Whatever, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want, I’m - oh fuck, I’m yours.” Your words break off in a moan when he starts to circle his hips at the same time you push yours back and he holds you there, repeating the motion.

“Yeah? You’re mine?” Steve grunts, cock twitching at the thought of filling you up, and for the first time in over a decade he feels the need to mark what’s his in the most primal way he knows. The thought of you round with his kid brings a new kind of intensity to the way he starts to fuck you, and he knows he’s not going to last much longer. “Tell me again.”

“Mmmhmm, always yours.” You whine, feeling yourself reaching the edge. Steve leans forward, somehow going deeper. Long thick fingers find their way between your thighs, where the two of you connect and he starts rubbing messy circles on your clit, pushing you off the cliff.

You flutter and squeeze around him hard enough to almost push him out, but he continues rutting his hips fighting against it, white spots explode behind your lids, his name falling out of your mouth broken in a gasp and a shudder.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s it.” He groans, watching the way your forehead hits the cold marble with another tremor that makes his cock twitch. “Gonna cum baby, let me cum inside, need it, please.”

He can make out the nod of your head, and with the little strength you have left, you push yourself further back encouraging him more. He knows you're on the pill, he’s seen you take it, but right now in the heat of it all, a small part of him hopes you missed a day. He blames the blue letters on his Jersey staring him right in the face, or the way you coat his cock with the remains of what he did to you every time you suck him right back in.

He pushes himself deep enough to make you fall forward a little, a low groan rumbling deep from his chest as he spills hot inside of you the rock of his hips slowing down as he falls apart. His forehead hits your back, with one last lazy thrust, and you can feel the heat of his breath as he pants to catch his breath. You wish the fabric of his jersey wasn’t so thick when he plants a kiss between your shoulder blades, before slowly pulling himself back up.

“Yeah, it’s official. This is absolutely the only thing you’re allowed to wear here.”

#my writing #all i really want is you #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader smut

3K notes · View notes

cozage · 8 months

Note

Congrats on 2k!!!!

For the request I was wondering if you could do the ASL boys confessing to their childhood friend that they've had a crush on:) and if it's not too much could you add shanks as well?? It's okay if not!

I love your writing it's the best just make sure you're taking care of yourself!! <3

A/N: Some of these are kind of subtle, but I think subtle is their way of confessing after that long :) Characters: gn reader x Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Shanks CW: Marineford spoilers Total word count: 873

From Friends to Lovers

Ace

“She looks like your type,” you mumbled, nudging Ace. A girl at the end of the bar had been eyeing him all night.

“And how do you know my type?” Ace asked, raising his eyebrow at you. He was slurring his words just slightly; enough for you to know he was drunk.

“Please. We’ve been friends forever, and we’ve sailed together for two years. I know what kind of girls you go for.” You laughed, pushing down the jealousy that churned in your stomach.

“You must not,” Ace said, leaning his head against you. "I'll stay right where I am."

“Go talk to her,” you urged. “It’s not doing you any good being by my side.”

He frowned at you. “What do you mean? I’m already sitting next to the hottest person in the bar.”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful shove.

“I’m serious.” He had a newfound urgency in his voice. “You’re the only one for me. You’ve always been the only one for me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. There was no way he could be serious right now. He was drunk and stupid.

He saw the bewilderment on your face and gave you a goofy grin. “Are you just now realizing I’m head over heels for you?! I thought I had made that obvious from day one!”

Sabo

You stared at the man before you, unsure how to react. He looked like Sabo. He definitely acted like Sabo. Even his name was Sabo. But it had to be a coincidence.

“No,” you said. “Sabo died. Sabo died a long time ago.”

“There was this one winter day where we went sledding,” he said. “We raced Ace and Luffy down the hill a hundred times. They kept trying to beat us, but they never could. And then Dadan made us go inside and gave us hot chocolate and let us all sleep together in one big bed that night because it was so cold. I said it was the best day ever because we got to spend it together.”

Tears filled your eyes as he spoke. “You died,” you whispered again.

You were talking to a ghost. You were afraid any moment you’d wake up and be left alone again. Just like when he had died. Just like when Ace had died, and Luffy had disappeared.

“I lost my memories from the head injury and was taken in by the Revolutionary Army. I only remembered after I saw the headlines about…”

“Ace,” you whispered, tears spilling over. It still hurt to think about.

“I’ll never leave you again,” he promised. “Come back with me to the Revolutionary Army. We’ll keep you safe. I want to hear about everything.”

“Sabo-”

“Please,” he begged. “I know I just remembered you, but my heart has ached every moment we’ve been apart. I just found you again and I’m starting to feel whole. Please-please don’t leave yet.”

Luffy

“Heeeeeeyyyyyyy!!!!” Luffys voice rang out from above you, and you instinctually braced yourself.

He slammed into you, sending the both of you falling to the ground. You screamed out in glee as rubber arms wrapped around you, holding you tight.

“It’s been a while, Luffy!”

“I can’t believe it’s really you!” He shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my home, idiot!” You laughed, trying to squirm out from under him.

Moving away from his grip was proving to be quite difficult though, considering Luffy’s body weight was on top of you, his arms still tightly around you to prevent you from moving.

“Your home was Windmill Village. I’ve missed you since you left.”

Tears filled your eyes, and you suddenly enjoyed his closeness “I missed you too, Luffy.”

“Sail with me and my crew,” he said, pulling away slightly to look in your eyes, begging you with his big, dark eyes. “I want you to join me.”

You raised your eyebrow. “I have a life here, Luffy. I can’t-“

“Make a life with me!” He whined. “Come on!!”

“You still want to be King of the Pirates?”

“I can only do it with you by my side.”

Shanks

A red-haired man sat down next to you in the bar, glancing your way.

“Come here often?” he asked, sliding your favorite beer over to you.

“Only in town for the week.” A smile danced across your lips. “My pain in the ass captain has us on a tight schedule.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his jolly laugh, the room brightening as his voice echoed through it.

“He sounds like tough work,” Shanks said, wiping a tear from his eye.

“He is!” You took a long drink of your beer. “I’ve been sailing with him my whole life, I think I would know.”

He smirked. “And you’re not tired of him yet?”

“Nah,” you chuckled. “I could never get tired of you.”

Your words caught up with your brain, and your cheeks turned a deep pink at the realization of what you had said.

“Good, because I’ll never get tired of you either. ” Shanks gave you a softy, gentle smile and cupped your cheek with his hand. “So you’re stuck with me for the rest of time, okay? You’re all mine.”

“Of course, Captain.”

2K notes · View notes

arthenaa · 5 months

Text

nocturne (interlude) — mizu x f!reader

synopsis: it seems as if you've always managed to bump into your father's regular in untimely situations. it also can't be helped that you think he's absolutely handsome.

content: reader is a daughter of a medic and an apothecary, golden retriever x black cat trope, might contain historically inaccurate terms (not that well versed in the edo period or japanese culture. forgive me), mizu will be referred with he/him pronouns, mizu being emotionally constipated ig, slight mention of violence and gore, fluff, pre-relationship, meet cute, sfw.

a/n: heyaaa :D its been awhile since ive posteddd. considering this as a break from comms and sch!! ill try to be more active in posting as my xmas break is approaching hehe <33 current hyperfixation is mizu from blue eyed samurai. (I HIGHLY SUGGEST WATCHING IT !!!) enjoyy part 2!! (my love mine all mine)

You can still remember the first time you met him.

It was quite easy to recall the memory with ease. It was after all one of the nights where there weren't many customers fluttering about to avail your father's services in medicine due to idiotic accidents and miscalculated duels. You watched your father pull out herb after herb, vial after vial, stitch after stitch as more and more swordsmen of all ranks came in and out of the shop.

You were quite well-known around town as the daughter of the medic—often smiling and huffing about. Some say you were too naive to be comfortable and accommodating to your father's customers but others also claim you were elegant and a ray of sunshine due to your approachable and easygoing nature. None of that mattered anyway, not when the field of medicine was your only focus in life.

Your father doesn't like to call you his apprentice but you knew you were his. After all, with all the knowledge he's passed down unto you, you might as well run your own apothecary but alas, you still had much to learn.

It was also a quiet agreement among men that no one pays too much attention to the daughter of the skilled medic and apothecary. You suppose it's because of your father's standing and reputation that most men would rather cut off their arms than get on the bad side of one of the only medics who can actually do a decent job in life-threatening situations.

Which brings us to the current topic at hand.

It had been a cold winter that night. Your father had been busy making fresh medicine at the behest of a high lord in one of the rich provincial states up north. It was up to you to man the front and be alert in case any wanderers might walk in asking for help.

The harsh breeze of that winter night was your first cue. The doors had swung open which left you scrambling off your seat then a second later, a man with a lean stature stumbles his way through—arm clutching the side of his stomach.

Your breath hitches as he props himself against the wooden pillar. He looks up at you, blue eyes clear and intense that it left you speechless from where you stood.

"I-I," He gasps for air, eyebrows scrunching from the pain. "Help-I need—"

You wasted no time in aiding him as you took wide strides to his injured form, arms holding out to keep him steady as he began to wobble back and forth. You scream for your father, worried that the man before you would pass out at any moment.

Thankfully aware of the situation, your father prepares the receiving area. You look back at the injured patient with worry in your eyes as you further assess all sorts of damage on his figure.

However, you can't help but find yourself entranced by his clear blue eyes. Despite being on the brink of utter exhaustion, he has managed to keep himself awake perched up on your shoulder.

He locks eyes with you, blinking slowly, and just as you begin to get lost in those blue hues of his, his body begins to fall.

"Sir, wait—!"

Then he's out like a light.

The next time you met him had been purely coincidental.

After that night, the man left quietly like the leaves falling gently along the stream. He left quite a hefty sum of money on your father's desk and kept the bed clean at his departure. It's safe to say that your father was overjoyed by the payment.

Your father had sent you on an errand to town to gather some supplies from a supplier he trusts. He had been busy attending to patients and manning the counter to be the one to get the package himself.

"You have nothing better to do anyway, might as well be useful to your old dad," Your father scrunched his nose playfully as he placed a bag of money on your palms. "And if a man approaches you, remember to use that knife I gave you and make clean perforation at the jugular vein—"

You had stopped your father right there.

It didn't bother you that much and this also was an opportunity to get some leisure time. You did as you were told and saved a bit of money for window shopping.

Stumbling upon an artisan selling hair ornaments, your eyes immediately dart toward a golden hairpin with imitations of sakura leaves. Upon reaching out to inspect it, a hand collides with your own causing you to let out a gasp.

"Apologies—" Your eyes dart up to look at the stranger but is met instead with familiar blue eyes, this time under the disguise of orange tint sunglasses. "Oh! It's you."

The man furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Are you Mr. Gojo's—?"

"Daughter?" You perk up with a smile. You shift from heel to heel at the intensity of his gaze. Somehow, you're feeling quite nervous with this gentleman. "Yeah. I caught you that night."

"Ah," The man nods, awkward in his stance before turning back toward the array of ornaments in front of him. "Thank you."

"I-It was no problem," You stammered, hands smoothing out the fabric of your kimono. "It's what we do after all."

There's a hum of response coming from the man before silence ensues between the two of you. He had gotten back to analyzing other items that the vendor was offering and you could only stand there, discreetly watching his every move.

You didn't have the opportunity to take a good look at him besides his eyes that night. Your father seemed like he had recognized the man before you and ushered you out of the room before you could have the chance to offer help. Though, now, you could see that he had a proportionate height—a few inches taller than you but still tall nonetheless. His shoulders evoke confidence with every move of his body but his face talks of the mystery hidden under the guise of his kasa. He was pretty, yet... handsome. You've never come across a man who could embody both sides of the spectrum.

"Do you need something?" His voice had startled you out of your daydream causing your cheeks to flush. He raises his eyebrow with his ever-perpetual glare. You give him a sheepish smile.

"I've never gotten your name, sir." You purse your lips, tilting your head as he squints his eyes at your request.

"My name? Why?"

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water at his response. Why? What does he mean why? This man was truly cynical, you think.

"Well, I saved you, didn't I?"

"Correction. Your father did." The man deadpans. You giggle at his tone, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Alright, no need to get so philosophical with me," You jest, trying to get him to lighten up to you. You take a step closer, trying to gauge his expressions as you give him a lighthearted smile. "Is getting to know people a crime now?"

The man sighs before looking at the array of hair ornaments to your right. He then grabs the hairpin you were looking at and tosses a bag of coins toward the vendor. He places it within your palms before adjusting his cloak. You flinch at the sudden gesture, unaware of his intentions.

"It's Mizu." He says before turning and leaving without further explanation. You stand, agape as the man further blends in with crowd with each step he takes away from you.

This man—No, Mizu, surely is interesting.

This next meeting was one you were thankful of.

Now, it wasn't as if your meetings were solely limited by chance. He became a regular after your father's incredible work on him. You watch him arrive usually at the end of every week, either looking to restock the medicine that your father gave him or get himself treated for an unwanted injury.

You tried interacting with him during his visits but Mizu always either cut the conversation short or grunted in annoyance. He never tried to entertain much of your whims and only left you grasping at straws for whatever possible chance of interaction he might give you.

Although, despite being cold towards you, he still has the heart to help you in mundane tasks whenever he encounters the chance. For instance, upon seeing you struggling with the basin, he immediately walked over and carried to where your father is with ease. He also grabbed your freshly bought basket of fruits and guarded you on your way back home. He even thumped the back of your head lightly with his hand on his way out while you were fixing up the front.

He was an enigma. A puzzle you desperately tried to solve but always failed.

The thought of his gentlemanly actions had always left your heart thumping faster and louder within the confines of your chest. Wanting to know him, get closer to him, see the corners of his lips upturned—anything to see a version of him only you can keep.

It also seems that your father is familiar with his master. You hear talks between them, asking about the well-being of a man named 'Master Eiji', the one whom Mizu calls his swordfather. You ought to know better than to eavesdrop but somehow your attention has always been led towards his very existence.

Your father had always been strict about you ever since you were but a wee girl. He had expressed the importance of having a fruitful marriage with someone who is of your deserving. He, after all, was in a true love marriage with your mother and was together for at least 25 years before your mother succumbed to her illness at the age of 45.

It also didn't help that you were deemed the sunlight of the town, often getting several interested looks from promising men. But all your suitors couldn't take the intensity of your father's expectations. It's safe to say that you won't be getting married for awhile.

"Just stay here, my daughter," Your father sighs as he serves you seconds of your favorite food. "Who the hell cares about marriage anyway."

You laugh, reaching out to pat your old man's hand. "It's going to look bad for you if you don't marry off your one and only daughter, y'know?"

"That's precisely why I don't want to do any of that," Your father grumbles, taking a sip of his soup. "Work here, eat, sleep, go have fun. That's what your mother would've wanted anyway."

You were grateful for your circumstances, yes, but you've always wanted to help out as much as you can for your dad. His reputation as a skilled medic can only take so much before others will come to expect more. So as long as you're in his care, you try to help out around his shop as much as you can.

Although you wonder if your father would allow him to—

Ah, forget it. Convincing your father was a lost cause.

Back to the current task at hand, your father had tasked you to gather some herbs from the forest near your humble abode as it is less taxing for your finances when you have easy access to one nearby. Gearing up for the coldness of winter, you stepped out of your house in pursuit of such herbs. With a hop on your step, you wish to finish your task sooner than later to prepare for a certain gentleman possibly visiting later at night.

The only you thing you didn't account for was the possible danger you'd be encountering.

"Listen, I-I don't want any trouble," You slowly backed away as a group of men began surrounding you. It was uncommon to encounter bandits around this area as this was situated near the town. You're not so sure as to what prompted this criminals to stage a robbery in broad daylight.

"Oh, c'mon little miss," One of the bandits chuckled. He twirled a knife in his hand as he approached you menacingly. "We just wanna know what you're up to."

Your breath speeds up as one of his companions playfully advanced with a jump in his step. You flinched back, heartbeat thumping as the crunch of leaves around you signified their slow advance towards your figure. You clutched the knife your father gave you within your hands, ready to use it in case one of them tries something.

Jugular vein. Neck. Neck. Vein. Keep it fast. Right side.

"Perhaps we could do something fun, darling? I'm sure you'd love it." Wide grins and loud laughter erupted from their lips.

Vein. Lethal point. Could head straight through the liver. Artery. Perforation.

Your head had begun to ramble, your father's words echoing within the depths of your mind. Just as you adjusted your grip on your knife and one of the bandits had began to finally get whatever they aimed for in the first place, a breeze of wind suddenly alerted you of a new presence.

You shut your eyes in fear as one of the men at the far back screamed.

"What the fuck?!" The leader bellowed as he watched his man crumple to the ground, holding what was left of his dismembered arm. The other bandits begin turning towards the new opponent, swords ready as they watched him step over their comrade.

You open your teary eyes, locking gazes with the familiar hues of blue hidden under orange tint. There's some sort of hardened glare as Mizu looked at you up and down, assessing your well-being within a matter of seconds.

"This is Takayama's jurisdiction," Mizu's deep voice bellowed as he placed his hand on the scabbard of his sword. "I suggest you leave."

The leader lets out a scoff as he widens his shoulders to appear more menacing to him. Mizu only looks at him under the guise of his kasa.

"You are outnumbered, samurai," The man smirks. It might've been intimidating with the number of men that surrounded Mizu but you were well aware of his prowess as a swordsman and completely had faith in his abilities. "Your talks of dominance do not affect me."

Mizu chuckles, one hand reaching up to push back his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"We'll see about that."

"Thank you," You smile widely, eyes crinkling as you grab his extended hand.

The bandits groaned in pain as they crumbled to the ground. Some have even passed out from the harsh hits that Mizu had inflicted. You watched him twirl and move with elegance, slicing and hitting with precise angles that left you in awe at his performance.

It took at most 15 minutes for him to finish all of them and another 3 minutes for you to pick your jaw off the floor and fix yourself up.

"It's no problem," Mizu nods at your gratitude. He holds your hand firm as you wobble back and forth to stay back in balance. "Although, I advise that you venture towards areas within the town vicinity. This area is bordering outside of Takayama, thus the bandits."

"Ah," You let out a soft laugh. "There were more herbs here. I thought it was safe."

Mizu doesn't reply back as he gazes at you from the comforts of his glasses. You flush at his stare, still not being able to handle its intensity. You look down to busy yourself with, staring at your conjoined hands before finally taking notice of a scratch on the side of his hand to his wrist.

"You're injured," You whispered as you pulled his hand close to yours. You hear Mizu's breath hitch as he stumbles slightly at the pull of your hand. You look up at him as he furrows his eyebrows.

"I-It's fine, it doesn't hurt." He tries to reason with you but your grip on his hand remains steady.

"You saved me so I'll repay you by treating this. Alright?" You give him your best smile and suddenly the samurai doesn't have the heart in him to say no. At the sound of his reluctant silence, you enthusiastically pull out your satchel filled with medicinal tools. It was handy that you always kept your tools with you no matter where you went.

You applied antiseptic, brushing it with a clean cloth along the wound. Whether Mizu felt the pain or not, he only remained as still as a rock while you worked.

"You're early today," You try to make conversation as you clean his wound up. Mizu stays silent for a few seconds before replying.

"I had free time," He says. "I... was also out of medicine so..."

You hum, nodding along his words as you make gentle strokes to ease the pain (if he ever felt it).

"If you ever need to go out like this again," He picks up the conversation making your heart skip a beat. There's a pause of silence before he continues. "Let me—If I'm there, let me know. You don't need to endanger yourself like this."

You let out a quiet laugh as you finally wrapped his wound with a white strip of cloth. You look at him with softened eyes, reveling in his slightly flushed cheeks and gaze dulled by sincerity. There's a pause of comfortable silence between the two of you, only lost in each other's gazes.

You slowly reach out, hands pausing as you communicate a request for consent. Mizu only gives you a small nod before you reach out to pull off his glasses. Those same beautiful blue orbs stare back at you as you revel in their gaze.

"You're more handsome like this," You whisper as you take a step closer to him. Snow gently falls around you, cascading in gentle flow as you breathe out puffs of air. Mizu tilts his head with an upturn of the corner of his lips.

There it is.

You flush in his gaze as he reaches up to brush a stray hair away from your face. "You're jesting," He says with a quiet tone.

Your gaze at him doesn't waver. "I'd say yes if you asked me to marry you."

Mizu let's out a chuckle, eyebrow raised at your bold response. "You are one dangerous lady, Y/N. Does your father know that?"

You roll your eyes at him. "How could he know when all he does is keep men away from me," You tilt your head playfully, "Although, I do wonder why he often keeps you close. Perhaps, he's found you to be worthy of a man."

Mizu laughs at your praises, shoulders shaking as the two of you stand close to one another, basking in the soft breeze of the winter sky. He lifts his hand up and flicks your forehead. You flinch back, holding your forehead in pain as you give him a glare.

"Ow?!" You frown as he looks at you with a smirk on his lips. "What a way to turn off a lady!"

"You're too adorable to be a lady," Mizu teases as he crosses his arms over his chest. He tilts his head as he looks at you with squinted eyes in thought. "Kind of like a.... puppy."

Your jaw drops at his comparison causing him to release a few chuckles. It wasn't fair that he was out here causing poor things to your heart and raised by a father who was direct and determined to achieve the things he wanted in life, you didn't allow yourself to back down.

With wide strides, you easily reach where he stands before standing on your toes and grabbing his face as you placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Wha-?!" His face flushes a deep red as he moves back holding his cheek. You flash him a cheeky grin as he looks at you with wide eyes.

"I'll be waiting for your proposal, Mizu," You giggle, swaying back and forth with your hands tucked behind you. You put on his glasses before leaning slightly forward with eyes squinted playfully. "Or shall I be the one to propose, hm? Seeing as your blushing from just a kiss on the cheek."

Mizu takes a few seconds before collecting himself. There's an unreadable look on his face before makes careful steps towards you. You watch him, curious as he stops in front of you—hand reaching out to pull his glasses off from your face. You expect him to start berating you for invading his space but what you received after was certainly something you never took into account.

He leans down and gingerly places a kiss on your lips. Your breath hitches as he presses himself close before pulling away all to fast. Your lips tingle as you watch him put on his glasses back with a smile.

"I'm no coward, Y/N," He adjusts your cloak as you remain speechless in front of him. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

And just as he enters, he walks off with quiet footsteps, leaving you grasping at whatever was left of your brain after what he just did. Your face flushes a deep red as your fingertips touches your lips with shaky movements.

Did this man just—

"Are you coming?!" He calls over from the dirt path back to your house. You stumble in your footing as you rush over to him.

"I-I'm coming!" You stammer as you gather your things and rushed towards him. He greets you with a smile and this time with his glasses tucked away. Blue hues greet your flushed form and suddenly an overwhelming realization washes over you.

Oh, I'm definitely not going to let this man go.

a/n: MY WIFE MIZU MY WIFEEE,,,,, planning to make a pt2 idk lemme guys know if u want one. will also fix my archive, tumblr's getting messy. NOT PROOFREAD but will fix if ever i do go back on this after my finals. HOPE YALL ENJOYED THIS!

#arthenaa #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #the blue eyed samurai #Spotify

2K notes · View notes