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unspeakable-imagination · 6 months ago

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𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝚘𝚐

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Hosea's meddling has you and Arthur heading into the local town of Valentine. You're on a mission to get some clothes of your own. And Arthur's looking to help some woman named Mary. You don't know who she is, but she must be important for him to leave you all on your own in a strange town for the whole day. One thing is certain, you're not forgiving Mr. Morgan for this anytime soon.

You feel Arthur’s worried stare boring into the side of your head and let out a heavy sigh. “I am perfectly capable of driving a wagon, Mr. Morgan.” You turn towards him with a frown and his face falls flat. Like he hasn’t just been drilling holes into you for the past five minutes.

“I know, I know.” His brows furrow and he shoots you a worried look. “Still, you don’t have much experience.”

“Oh,” you huff and glare at him, tugging the reins a little to the right on accident. “Would you calm down?”

“Tree,” he says, eyes darting forward. You shake your head and he rips the reins out of your hand, “Tree, woman!” He doesn’t exactly shout at you, but you still feel like you’re being yelled at. Finally turning forward you see what he was saying.

“Oops,” you whisper, watching him direct the horses back onto the trail and away from the trees. “Well, it’s not my fault these ridiculous things don’t know not to walk into trees,” you argue, motioning at the horses.

“Hey,” he chuckles, “don’t blame the horses.”

You see Hosea lean forward from the back of the wagon. He peers between you both with a smile. “Having fun up here?” He asks you, nodding towards an overbearing Arthur.

You roll your eyes with a faux pout, “Not really. Arthur here can’t seem to wedge that stick out of his ass.” Arthur turns to glare at you and you nudge his calf with your foot playfully, giving him a sly grin. He fights it, but you see the way the corners of his lips twitch up.

Hosea glances between you both, something mischievous playing on his face. “What’re you up to?” You ask, suspicion brewing as you practically see a plan forming in his head.

Hosea sends you a smile that does nothing to assuage your reservations. “Nothing, nothing. Arthur,” he chides, turning towards the man, “let her try for a while.”

Arthur sighs through his nose, you see him glance out the side of his eye at you with a perturbed expression. You don’t know why he’s so adamant about not letting you drive. You only crashed the wagon once and that wasn’t your fault. The horses got spooked by a cougar as you were going down the mountain. Still, he hasn’t let go of it.

You know he’s not used to denying Hosea, but he takes too long to relent. Just as he’s starting to hand the reins over, the wagon bumps into something. The left side of it flies up, sending you sliding down the bench towards Arthur. His hand shoots out, bracing you so you don’t tip out of the wagon. You can’t help but flush at the feeling of his arm around you, caught off guard by the reaction.

You push that down, deciding to address it later. The left side dips down now and the horses come to a bumpy stop. You let out a rough sigh, turning around and glancing behind the wagon. Arthur drove you all into a large rock, knocking the wheel off the wagon.

You can’t help but bark a laugh at his expense. “Well, Mr. Morgan, looks like I’m not the only one in need of some driving lessons.”

He takes his hat off, running his hands through his hair and glaring at you. “Enough,” he grouses. He jumps down from the bench, walking off to fetch the wheel. Hosea climbs to the front of the wagon, taking a seat beside you.

“I suppose once he gets that fixed, I should take over.”

You laugh, grinning at Arthur as he props the wagon up. “I think that would be best.”

His head snaps up and he glares at you both, “Shut up, both of ya.” You can’t help but laugh a little harder at his grumpy tone.

Mary-Beth helps you set up your few belongings beside the tent alongside the other women’s trunks. You glance over your shoulder, watching Arthur pitch his tent and rifle through his satchel. A part of you is going to miss the solace of having Arthur beside you at night.

It was comforting, having such a strong man to watch over you while you slept. Especially while you healed. You supposed you were healed now, though, and you didn’t have much more of an excuse to be near him. Not like you did before.

A part of you is surprised by this sudden attachment to him. You should have seen it coming, though, this sudden onslaught of feelings. It has been so long since you’ve been around any truly decent man.

Your husband had been good to you at first, but they always are, aren’t they? You hadn’t had some great love story. But you’d been lucky for two people of high status to get along as well as you had. You suppose that success changes every man. For some, they turn into a miser. They want to keep their money as close to their chest as they can.

Your husband had been the opposite. He’d flaunted his wealth in every way he could. Placed larger bets than was smart. Let people borrow from him and never collected. And then he got into it with some bad men who set him down the wrong path. They made it so he was their cash cow, milking him for what he was worth and turning him against you all the same. They couldn’t risk any words of wisdom getting him to think about what he was doing.

There was no sharp pain in your chest when you thought about your husband lying dead in the snow somewhere. You didn’t want to lay down and weep. You didn’t even miss the ring on your finger. The one that those O’Driscoll bastards had stolen. If you didn’t remember every bad night with him then you could almost pretend that you’d never been married at all.

Since he had turned down that path, you hadn’t met a man you thought was worth knowing. Until Arthur. He could say what he wanted about himself, but you’d never had a man treat you as gently as he has. Maybe it’s creating some warped sense of admiration. It could explain the coying urge to want to repay him and be near him at every chance.

You almost wished you weren’t healed. If only so you could make up an excuse to see him. Now, you’re not sure what you’re going to do. You think he might have only spoken with you because he felt a sense of responsibility towards you. Alive and well, he’s got nothing to say to you.

“My, I think I see hearts in your eyes.”

Your head snaps up and Mary-Beth grins at you. “Oh,” you catch the teasing glint in her eye and frown. “Hush, you. You’re reading too many of those damn books.”

You help her haul a crate up, pretending to look busy as Miss Grimshaw passes by. “Uh uh,” she argues. “I might fill my head with too many love stories, but I’m no fool. You’ve got it bad.”

Before you can object Tilly walks up. “You talkin’ ‘bout Arthur?”

You frown, brows furrowed as you drop the act of unpacking anything. “How’d you know?”

Mary-Beth and Tilly share a knowing look, both of them giggling slightly. You can’t help but feel like it’s at your expense. “I’ve just never seen a lady so attached to him. Hard to stomach the smell sometimes,” Tilly teases.

“Hey, he doesn’t smell that bad,” it’s a weak argument and an even worse deflection but it makes them laugh harder. You can’t help but laugh along, cheeks aching with a smile. You’re not too much older than them, having been married to your husband at a young age. You find yourself enjoying the company of women your own age more than you thought you would.

Someone clears their throat behind you all and you turn around to find a very upset-looking Miss Grimshaw. The three of you straighten up, scrambling for something to fix. It’s not until she shakes her head and walks away that you start cracking up again. Tilly shoots you a look, turning up her nose and mocking the woman.

You smile, throwing your shoulders back and trying to adopt her haughty walk. It makes Mary-Beth snort so loud that Arthur turns towards you all. He sends you a questioning look and you can’t help but flush, turning around and busying yourself with anything other than him.

“Knew it,” Mary-Beth whispers behind you as she walks away. You roll your eyes and sigh but you know she’s right. Clearly, you’re feeling something for him. But it feels wrong too. Too fast and too soon for you to be feeling anything but lucky to be alive.

A few days later, once you’re all settled and Miss Grimshaw is finally satisfied with the camp’s state, you all gather around the fire. You’re late to join the others, having to change your dress after Uncle spilled whiskey all over the other one.

You walk towards the glowing firelight and the sounds of Javier strumming lightly on his guitar. He’s not singing yet but you’re sure a few more drinks for everyone and the whole county will hear your hollering.

You try to find an opening among everyone but most of the seats have already been taken. Just as you go to sit beside Charles, Tilly throws herself down on the log. She doesn’t look at you, just fiddles with the hem of her dress and slurps loudly on her drink. Your eyes narrow suspiciously but you don’t call her out.

Instead, you roam the faces of those around you, seeing a spot beside Sadie. She nods her head at you but before you can go claim it, Hosea grabs her attention. He sits beside her, asking her about some nonsense you can’t hear from where you stand. And just like that, it seems everywhere you look any open spot was gone. Someone either slid over or stole it. It left you with just one place left.

Arthur looks up from his cup as you approach. “You mind?” You ask, lingering by the log, unsure of whether or not he wants your company.

He slides over easily, “‘Course not.” You let out a small breath of relief and sit beside him. You don’t know if it’s divine interference or a few nosy campmates, but it feels too coincidental that the only open spot is beside him.

There are a few moments of stilted silence between you. It might all be in your head. You’ve messed yourself up, putting too much thought into how you feel about him. Now, you don’t even know how to talk to him. You just stare into the fire, and watch the shadows play across the other's faces.

Arthur’s voice breaks you out of your concentration. “You been feelin’ okay?”

You’re surprised by the genuine concern in his voice. He really cares and it’s such a strange idea to you- meeting a man so attentive. “I’ve been a little sore from the ride, but nothing too bad.” When you turn towards him you’re surprised to find him already looking at you.

It’s easy, to just stare into his eyes and pretend it’s just the two of you by the fire. It casts a comforting glow across the both of you, makes the dark night look a little warmer. Eases the chill of the night and lulls you into a place where you finally let the anxiousness that plagues you melt away.

“How ‘bout you, Arthur, you okay?”

He chuckles quietly, nodding his head and glancing down at his lap. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

The soft way he speaks to you lures you into a false sense of security. You wonder if it would really be so bad to say what you’re thinking. He’s so kind to you, you’re sure even if he doesn’t feel the same he wouldn’t be cruel.

“Would it be odd if I said I miss bunking with you?” You laugh a little at yourself, trying to downplay just how much you truly mean that.

You seemed to have made a horrible mistake though. Being around the woman of the camp has allowed you the comfort of a loose tongue. Judging by the way his whole body stills and he won’t meet your eyes, you think you might need to tighten it once more. “Oh,” you sigh, rubbing an embarrassed hand down your face. “I’m sorry, forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” Arthur’s quick to stop you. He glances around, making sure no one else is listening. “Nothing wrong with that. I just think,” he pauses and lets out a huff. Your face pinches and you bite your tongue, trying to stop yourself from shouting at him to just spit it out. He sucks in a deep breath and turns to you with a pained look. “There are better men than me out there, Mrs. Rowe. I think you’d be better off goin’ after them.”

“What-” He gets to his feet before you can object. You’d like to tell him what a fool he is. How he’s a perfectly fine man and you can choose well enough for yourself.

“Good night,” he tilts his hat down, ambling off towards his tent and leaving the warmth of the fire behind.

You look down at your lap with a frown. “Oh,” you whisper, “You’re such a fool, Arthur Morgan.” You watch him slip into his tent and feel like a stone has replaced your heart. You feel heavy now, wanting nothing more than to sleep the sting of rejection off. You quietly slip away from the fire and head towards the women’s tent.

You ease onto the rocky ground and pull a blanket over your shoulders. You’d never thought you’d long for the rotted floorboards of that shed in the mountains but you crave that comfort more than ever.

Arthur adjusts his hat and steps out of his tent. He adjusts to the bright morning light and finds his gaze drifting toward the tent the other women are sleeping in. You’re not there, your bed roll fussed up like you’d just gotten up. There’s a split second where he worries you might have changed your mind about the outlaw life and left.

He’s not happy with the stomach-dropping feeling that leaves him with. He shouldn’t care whether or not you stay. Still, he isn’t satisfied until he looks around and sees you sharing some coffee with Hosea.

He debates walking over to you both when Pearson ambles towards him. “Arthur,” he barks out. He holds a white slip of paper in his hands and you turn away from Hosea to glance back at him. “A woman brought this by for you.”

He tries to wave at you but you whip around when you hear Pearson speak, avoiding meeting his eye. Hosea leans in and whispers something to you, but you just shake your head. His eyes narrow at the two of you, wondering when you got so cozy.

“Who was it?” Arthur asks.

“I don’t know,” Pearson grouses, walking off with a shrug. Arthur flips the paper over and sighs. He didn’t even need to ask. He knows this handwriting about as well as he knows his own. Mary.

He’s not sure he even wants to read this. There’s the chance that he’ll either have to deal with her father again or he’ll just feel the guilt of what she thinks could have been. Sighing, he turns away from you and Hosea. He flips the letter open, skimming it. He’s not ready to dive so deep into the past this morning but it could be urgent.

Most of it is pretty vague. Brief mentions of her father devolving past the fool he already was and something about her brother needing help. She asks him to meet her in Valentine and he tucks the letter in his satchel. He doubts anything good would come of going to see her.

Half the time they just have these quiet sort of non-arguments about how he can’t change and how she never gave him the chance to. They keep going back to each other and keep pretending they're different people than they actually are. She has it in her head that he would never abandon this outlaw life for her. And he thinks that she would never be able to truly accept him as he is.

They go round and around each other endlessly. Never quite meeting in the middle. These occasional meet-ups have just started to feel like a punishment for himself. But there’s a part of him that always feels the need to hear her out, to see her one last time. He hates that part of himself sometimes.

He turns to head towards the horses when an eager voice stops him. “Oh, Mr. Morgan!” Strauss stands up from his stool, walking over to Arthur with a large black book in his hand. “Just the man I was looking for.” There’s something in his tone that makes Arthur bristle. He has a feeling whatever he’s about to ask for is going to be something he doesn’t like.

“What?” Arthur’s short with him, never having been a huge fan of the man. He hates that he’s the one Strauss comes to for collections. He understands the necessity of the money for camp. But half the time the people are just desperate families trying to keep a roof over their heads. If Strauss targeted the rich, maybe he wouldn’t mind roughing the debtors up so much.

“I just need a favor from you. I’ve got some collections that need to be taken. A few reminders to be sent,” he laughs a little. The noise is empty and grates on Arthur’s already frayed nerves.

“We’ve barely been here a week. You’re tellin’ me you’ve already got lives to ruin?”

Strauss's eyes narrow into slits before he forces on another thin smile. “Mr. Morgan, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the loss our camp funds suffered in Blackwater. We need everything we can get. Surely you understand this is for the good of the camp, yes?”

Arthur lets out a rough sigh. He looks down at the list of people in Strauss’s hand. He knows that he’s always going to choose the gang over anyone else. But it doesn’t make this feel any better. “Fine,” he snaps, snatching the paper from him.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Arthur shakes his head, ignoring the smug lilt of Strauss’s accent. He shakes his head and turns away, walking towards the horses.

“-well, Uncle ruined my only other good dress. I’ll need to buy some new ones,” Arthur looks over as you speak to Hosea. You motion sadly to a large brown stain on the front of your dress and he rolls his eyes, thinking of Unlcle spilling something on you. Maybe he could pick something up for you while he’s in town. You’ve got hardly anything to your name, you could at least use a new pair of boots.

He’s nearly to his horse when Hosea calls him over. Is he going to get anything done today, or does everyone need something for him?

He lets out an irritated sigh and walks back over. You don’t look up at him and that only further sours his mood. “What are you doing?” Hosea asks, the suspicious expression on his face only makes Arthur’s hackles raise further.

“Was gonna head to Valentine but Strauss has got me doin’ collections.” Your eyes lift at the mention of collections and he doesn’t miss the slight grimace that passes across your face before you’re looking away again.

Something hot boils in the pit of his stomach but he shoves it down, trying to ignore it. Hosea shakes his head, waving him off. “No, I need you to escort Mrs. Rowe to Valentine. Micah will handle the collections,” he tells him firmly, not leaving much room for argument.

“But-”

Hosea cuts him off with a frown, “No ‘buts,’ the lady needs some new clothes, Arthur. You can’t let her go into town without a proper escort. Imagine what could happen.”

Your face drops at that. You roll your eyes with a scoff, “I most certainly do not need-”

You trail off, sentence falling short as Hosea shoots you a sharp look. You throw the rest of your coffee into the fire and get to your feet. “Right, well I clearly don’t get much of a say in this.”

“Neither of you do,” Hosea responds. He’s got a look that means he’s far too pleased with himself. Arthur glances over at you, feeling a little guilty at the perturbed expression you wear. He doesn’t blame you for not wanting to spend time with him. He knows he could have been kinder to you last night, but all he’d been thinking about was stopping another situation like Mary from happening.

“Come on Mr. Morgan,” you call out, walking past him and heading towards the horses.

Arthur lingers behind for a moment, shooting Hosea a glare. “I’m gettin’ tired of your games, old man,” Arthur grouses before reluctantly following after you. Hosea just laughs, taking a long, pleased, sip of his coffee.

Arthur turns around and heads towards the hitching posts. You’re already waiting there for him, arms crossed while you examine the horse. “Somethin’ wrong?” You jump slightly, turning around to face Arthur as he walks up.

Your lips purse and he can tell you’re debating whether or not you want to speak with him. Arthur stops walking, standing just a little ways back and giving you no other choice but to talk. Rolling your eyes, you force the words out. “Your horse is too damn tall.”

Arthur glances between you and the shire, laughing a little under his breath. “Alright, come on.” He comes up in front of you, hovering his hands over your waist until you give him a reluctant little nod. He takes you by the waist and lifts you onto the back of the horse. His hands drift down to your knees, squeezing once before he forces himself to back off. “Comfortable?”

You glare down at him, but he can see a little bit of sheepishness in the look you give him. “Fine as I’ll ever be, sitting like this.”

He swings up on the saddle and glances back at you. “We’ll see if we can’t get you a horse while we’re in town.” Your face lights up at that and it unravels a bit of the knot in his chest.

“I think I’d like that,” you tell him, turning slightly to wrap your arms around his waist. He does his best to ignore the warmth you provide. But all he can focus on is how soft you feel against him compared to the harshness he deals with every day. He doesn’t say anything else, leading his horse out of camp and heading to town. He doesn’t know what he’s more stressed about, seeing Mary or having you see her.

He lets out a rough sigh and shakes his head. Women, they’re not worth the damn trouble.

The ride into Valentine isn’t too slow, but you know Arthur isn’t going as fast as he wants so that you feel more comfortable on the back of the horse. You’re still getting used to the finicky beasts, not quite having bonded with them like the others in camp. Still, you’d rather swallow your pride and get one of your own than have to keep riding side-saddle like this.

Sitting on the back of the horse is damn near impossible to get comfortable on. And you know the animals don’t like it any more than you do. You think it’s only making them dislike you more. You adjust yourself again and hear Arthur sigh in front of you. His chest heaves under your grip and you realize just how tight you’ve been squeezing him this whole time.

“Sorry,” you mutter, undoing your arms and stretching them out. You’re surprised the poor man can still breathe.

“It’s fine,” he responds, but you can hear the strain in his voice as he finally sucks in a full breath. You grimace, wondering how you’re gonna handle your own horse if you can barely deal with this one. Arthur’s is the least temperamental of the bunch at camp and you still can’t bring yourself to trust it.

Arthur passes by the train station and you straighten up, a little bit of relief forming when you realize how close you are to finally being able to walk around on your own two feet. Arthur brings the horse to a slower pace, pulling on the reins as townspeople begin to walk by more frequently.

You’re not sure what you were expecting of the town. It’s certainly not glamorous. But it’s not as backwoods as you had been expecting. The people seem friendly enough, at least to you. They’ll nod their heads with a polite, “Ma’am,” but they don’t seem very warmed to Arthur.

“You already been through here?” You ask, a little bit of a tease lingering on the edge of your words.

Arthur stiffens under your grip, tilting his head back towards you before looking forward. “Whaddya mean?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, “these people seem a little wary of you, that’s all.”

Arthur lets out a heavy sigh, “Not my fault,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. “He called me a pretty boy, what was I supposed to do?” You barely catch the words before he brings the horse to a stop and gets down.

“Pretty boy?” You question, a grin curling at the edge of your lips. His eyes narrow and he shakes his head.

“Forget it,” he demands. He holds his hand out towards you and you hesitate. You could just jump down, you'll probably roll your ankle, but you could do it. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like how wholly Arthur’s hand envelops yours, even if he’s made it clear he doesn’t think he’s good enough for you.

You slide your hand into his and he brings his other one up to your waist. He eases you down onto the ground but your boot slips into a bit of mud. You tilt forward, off-kilter, and catch yourself against his chest.

Your eyes widen when you feel the bulk lurking underneath his tattered shirt. You clear your throat, backing up quickly and straightening out your skirt. Even after a few weeks, you’re still not used to touching another man who’s not your husband. Especially not so brazenly.

Arthur laughs at your behavior but you see the nervous way he rubs the back of his neck. He ducks his head down, hat blocking his pretty eyes. You know that you have an effect on him. In the same way, a simple touch from him sends heat racing through you, you can see it happen to him.

You’re not some lovesick fool who’s blinded by your desire. You may be naive when it comes to relationships, but you know want in a man’s eyes when you see it. If only he weren’t so damn stubborn.

“I’ve got some business to deal with in town,” your face falls as he speaks. You’d almost forgotten about the letter Pearson had brought to him. The one that a woman had dropped off. You hope it’s his aunt or some withered old lady who just needs an outlaw’s help. As unlikely as that is, you still pray for it.

He reaches into his saddle bag and your eyes double in size as he holds out a holstered revolver. You stare at it, eyes darting between him and the gun. “You know how to shoot don’t ya?”

You scoff in indignation. “I’ve spent my entire adult life in the mountains. Of course, I know how to shoot. But why would I need to?”

He looks amused by your attitude and it only makes you narrow your eyes at him in irritation. “Just take it, would you? You’re traveling with a gang of outlaws, it’s not smart to go around without anythin’ to protect yourself with.” He nudges the gun towards you once more and you snatch it from him.

You bring it to your side, attaching it to your belt as you chew on his words. You hadn’t thought of that before, mainly because you haven’t left the camp since you made it out of the mountains. But you’re so used to being seen as a lady that you forget you’re now just as much of a criminal as the rest of them. If only by association.

“Fine,” you relent.

“Here,” he reaches into his satchel and tugs out a few bills. “Take this, for the dresses or whatever it was ya needed.”

You stare down at the money and shake your head, “Oh, no, Arthur, I couldn't.” He’s already done so much for you and the camp. You don’t feel comfortable taking from him further. But he won’t let it go, he takes your wrist and forces your palm open, placing the money in your hand.

“You’re not gonna steal the clothes are ya?”

“No, but-”

“‘Nough fussin’, just take it would ya, woman?” You tuck the money in your waistband and glare at him. He’s being awful pushy this morning.

He grabs the horn of the saddle, pulling himself back up and glancing down at you. “How long am I gonna be expected to look after myself?”

“Only about an hour, I’ll be back soon enough.”

“You better,” you chide. He only chuckles, tilting his hat towards you before riding off past the shops and towards the houses behind the town. You let out a heavy sigh, fiddling with the money and looking around town. You don’t imagine you’ll find much here, but you figure the general store is probably a good place to start.

It isn’t until you’ve bought yourself a few new outfits that you realize just how much money Arthur has given you. You could probably buy two horses with all this. You’re sure Dutch would be irate if he learned Arthur funded your shopping trip and not the camp lockbox.

You walk out of the general store with your box of goodies tucked under your arm. You hide the rest of your money away in the top of your corset like you’ve seen Karen do before. You look around the shops, trying to spot Arthur’s giant shire hitched somewhere. When you don’t see the horse you frown, deciding to do a quick lap around to see if he’s somewhere else.

It turns out to be fruitless, despite promising to be back within an hour, you can’t find him anywhere. You figure that his “business” just ran on longer than he thought it would and try and think of a way to pass the time. You debate going to the stables and getting your own horse but it seems rude to just spend his money so cavalierly.

Besides, you figure you should get his opinion before you commit to one of the erratic creatures. He seems to speak their language. You figure he could help you find one that won’t send you flying if it gets spooked.

With no other way to pass the time, you take a seat on the bench outside the general store. You pick up a discarded newspaper and figure you’ll just wait for him here. Of course, you only make it about three sentences into a report on a train robbery before you toss the paper to the side.

You’ve never been very good at waiting. Living the life of a proper lady has left you spoiled and you’re starting to get antsy. Jumping up from the bench you walk around the back of the shop towards the houses Arthur had ridden towards.

There’s a brief moment of intelligence where you think about the consequences of bugging him. He is an outlaw and for all the manners and grace he’s shown you, you’ve seen the bounty. You know he’s a known criminal and a murderer. Who's to say he won’t get upset at you for interrupting and just shoot you?

Still, the thought of him getting so mad he starts firing off rounds makes you laugh more than it makes you scared. You just can’t picture Arthur in that way.

It isn’t hard to figure out which house he went to. All you have to look for is the giant black horse grazing in the grass outside. You pick up your pace when you see Diablo roaming in front of a particularly nice house. It’s probably the biggest one around and the most well-kept. You wonder who he could be meeting out here, in Valentine being “rich” doesn’t mean much.

You notice the front door of the home opening, but you know they can’t see you past the large tree in front of you. You see Arthur first, the brim of his hat, and then his boot as he walks out the door. He turns around, talking to whoever’s inside and shaking his head vehemently.

You take another step towards them but your foot hovers in the air as the person he’s talking to follows after him. So much for a withered old lady. You feel your stomach drop as the beautiful woman he’s talking to reaches forward and takes his hands in hers. You can’t hear them speaking, but you can see the familiarity in the way they dance around each other.

She’s got a pleading look on her face and he’s got the expression of a man about to give into whatever she asks of him. You turn around as quick as you can, marching yourself right back to town. You never should have even gone looking for him. One hour or two, you should have just kept your happy ass where it was. At least then you wouldn’t be dealing with the racing thoughts going through your head.

You had a suspicion that there was once a woman in his life. In fact, it would be odd for there not to be. He’s traveled for so long and he’s so different than other men you met that it wouldn’t make sense for him to have not caught the eye of a pretty woman. But you hadn’t expected her. She seemed so much like…

You.

She reminded you of yourself before your husband had abandoned you and you started traveling with the gang. Hair done up prim and proper, clothes tailored perfectly to her body. Even the way she carried herself was straight out of the proper lady training book. She most certainly came from money.

You just didn’t know how Arthur knew her. Or what their relationship was. It certainly wasn’t familial. You knew that much from the longing in her eyes. Oh, this was just awful. Arthur didn’t reject you because he thought he wasn’t good enough for you. He just didn’t want you. He had a woman of his own, of course he did. You feel like such a fool, getting your hopes up over something that could never happen.

You trudge back into town, heading straight for the saloon. You’ve never had the stomach for alcohol, but you’re sure you can make an exception tonight. Just to ease the blade of hurt wedging itself in your chest.

You toss your box of clothes on the counter of the bar and the barkeep gives you a startled look. His eyes narrow before he slides a glass over to you. “Looks like you need a whiskey.”

“Make it a double,” you slip him a few more bills than necessary and he whistles. Instead of pouring he just places the bottle in front of you. He leaves you on your lonely end of the counter and scrubs up a drunken spill.

You use a heavy hand to pour and bring the glass to your lips, ticking your head back and downing as much as you can. The acrid, bog-like taste doesn’t comfort you. But it does make your tongue feel fuzzy and begin to soften the harsh edges of your mind. About a bottle later, you can barely remember Arthur’s name, much less why you’re drinking.

You’re debating entering a very risky poker game when you see it. Just out of the corner of your eye, a man goes stumbling up the stairs with a whore. It’s not out of the usual, it’s been happening the whole time you’ve been here. But there’s something familiar to you about the back of his head.

Stumbling to your feet, you rub at your eyes and blink a few times. You squint, trying to make out how you know this man when he finally turns slightly. Like a bucket of cold water being tossed over you, the whiskey seems to leave you for a moment.

Your husband’s glazed eyes pass over you and he laughs at a drunk man falling face-first to the floor. Your heart pounds so harshly against the cage of your chest you can hear nothing else but your blood rushing. He stumbles the rest of the way up the stairs and you stand there, completely dumbfounded and confused.

Your husband isn’t just alive. He’s here and he’s about to go fuck a whore like he didn’t leave you for dead.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x you #Arthur morgan #Arthur Morgan fanfiction #Arthur Morgan imagine #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption #red dead 2 #red dead redemption x reader #Hell Hath No Fury

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unspeakable-imagination · 6 months ago

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The Adyssey (Adam x Reader pt 1)

The Epic musical by Jorge Rivera-Harrans Inspired this one shot through and through.

Part two will be worked on soon.

🤭🤭

Anyways heres 11 pages written in one night instead of me SLEEPING.

Warnings- Violence and Injury, Implied Cannibalism / Siren Lore, Child Abandonment/Kidnapping, Death / Loss, Mild Body Horror,

good side- It has a happy ending.

18+ ONLY! All my works are for mature 18+ Audiences, Minors and ageless accounts will be blocked!

Your mother was a siren, your father? A poor sailor lured down to his watery grave, presumed to be human.

When you were born, hatched out and new, your mother and other sirens were in disarray.

You looked nothing like them.

You had no water elements to your small little form, and while you had wings, yes, all were covered in glowing white and golden feathers, six stretched out and yet wrapping around yourself to keep you warm.

Your mother, however, loved you and tended to you, her strange little hatchling. She watched as you grew, forced on land or the perches above the waters, since you could not swim no matter how hard she and the pod had tried to teach you.

When you were of a woman's age, she and the pod had welcomed you to sing with them, and while you had an enchanting voice, your voice could not lure men down, nor did men's flesh ever satisfy you. Instead it made you ill.

You had wept to your mother, a sound no parent of any creature would love to hear. She held you close, her scaled hands moving through your glowing hair as you wept into her arms.

Different. That was what you were, different from your mother's blood.

“I do not want to lure men,” you wept into her arms as you looked up at her with a broken heart. Your mother could only sadly smile at you.

“You were not meant to be part of this pod.” Her soft words made your heart flutter in pain as you looked at her with watery eyes.

Her hand moved through your hair before cupping your cheeks.

“You must fly, follow the current patterns and find land. Fly east. Stay safe and away from others, and should you ever be caught by man, deny being part of my own. Tell them that you have not a clue of what you are, but good fortune follows you if you remain unharmed. Man will fall for this little lie, and you will be safe, my child.”

You listened to your mother, nodding before hugging her in a warm embrace one last time before your wings stretched out and lifted you away. You flew for so long, following the eastern currents, landing only to find food or to rest and hide from the harsh storms that would plague the sea.

You flew on as clouds of mist started to fill the air, thick like a curtain, making it hard for you to see, but you felt a flutter in your heart and a rush of strength filling your tired wings, and thus you trusted them and your heart to guide you through the mist.

Your eyes closed entirely as you flew, feeling your body move and sway as your wings so strongly and carefully guided you on your heart's path.

The mist tickling your bare skin and brushing through your hair and feathers until a gush of warmth rushed through your body, letting you gasp as your eyes opened and blinked.

Vast glorious lands lay below you, lush and rich with forests and meadows.

Land of man.

You had seen such things before, but nothing was as lovely as this place. Your eyes took in the land in wide surprise as everything seemed to glow and gleam and sparkle.

You flew over a field, seeing small beings move around it, thinking it was farmers.

Yet, as you risked the sight of yourself, you flew lower to see what the crowd of men was doing.

Your brows furrowed as you saw humans line strange things in a row and one walked forward, holding up another strange thing in his hand, making the crowd cheer.

You tilted your head, lowering even more, trying to keep hidden, but your curious nature was dying to be sated.

The single man moved forward, seeming to pull back on some cord tied to the strange curving thing.

You watched as he seemed to focus, your wings holding you in the air, and you felt a nervous feeling curl in your stomach as you watched the man's hand let go.

Something fired clean through the line of twelve strange things, and a shrill left you as pain jabbed through one of your wings.

You felt your body hurtling down as you frantically tried to stay in the air, the world rushing and swirling around you as you crashed from the sky, crashing through branches and vines.

Cries left you until you stopped, vines entangled around you like snakes, making you freak out and scream, trying to get free from them.

Another let out a breath he was holding, eyes narrowing as he heard screams. He had thought the thing that was watching would have sensed that he noticed it, as he shifted to make sure his arrow would curve after leaving the last axe's head to strike it down.

Adam moved quickly into the forest, a few of his army girls following to spread out and find whatever it was he perceived as a threat.

Yet he found a clearing where the sun's light shined through the trees on an entangled form crying. He had made the calling sound for the others to find him as he made it down to the clearing, his golden eyes narrowed at the form.

You had gone silent as you heard sticks crunching, fear surging through your heart as your wings fluttered to get you away. You let out a pitiful noise as your ensnared form turned slowly, and you could see through your wings' feathers the one who was approaching. Your (e/c) eyes landed on a man who seemed to gleam of gold, his eyes nothing but bright golden coins.

He was beautiful, and yet he terrified you deeply, as man was unpredictable and could be deadly.

“Spare me, spare me, please.” You softly wept as silent tears ran down your face, trying to shrink into your wings for safety.

You could see one of his brows raise as he neared, something sharp in his hand making fear course through you.

A man's blade.

“What are you? A demon? A siren?” the man's voice questioned as he neared, moving the blade to a vine, making a small terrified shrill leave you.

“No!” you cried out, frantically trying to escape the vines again. A choked sob left you.

“I know not of what I am. Please! Please don't hurt me!”

You squealed as you heard the swiping of metal, yet instead of the pain of a deep gash, you only felt the pain of your backside landing onto semi-soft moss.

You immediately scrambled backward, two wings moving to curl around your bare body to cover yourself from the man's eyes. The others tried to fly, but pain surged through you as one was struck with an arrow, and others broken, snapped from the fall.

The man's eyes followed you, making you nervous as he moved toward you, outreaching a hand that made you flinch. You were scared he would strike you, only to feel gentle hands moving your arrow-embedded wing open. You opened your eyes to look at him as he moved the blade he held to cut away the arrowhead, and his hands moved quickly to yank out the arrow's pole, making you let out a small whine.

His hands then examined your broken wings before he moved, grabbing vines and broken branches, cleaning them from their shrubs with his blade, and working on putting them against your wing, snapping them back into place and working vines through your feathers to tie, splinting them.

“Do you bring harm?” the man questioned you as you watched him in surprise before shaking your head.

“No, I bring no harm, only good fortune,” you said softly, watching how his golden eyes flicked to you, brows furrowed.

“Good fortune, hm?” he asked, questioning your words, and you nodded, repeating your mother's very words.

“I bring good fortune if no harm is brought to me.” You claimed, and the man made a noise, looking at your wings.

“So you will bring bad fortune, for it was my arrow that struck you down,” the man admitted, being the one who caused your pain, and yet you did not want to bring him anything of the sort, so you shook your head.

“You thought I was danger. How can I blame you for such a thing…” you justified his actions, his attack on you.

The man hummed before moving away from you a moment, his hands working on unbuttoning the fabric around his body, exposing his chest to you before wrapping it around you, and moving, hooking an arm under your legs and the other around your back.

Your arms flew around his neck the moment he effortlessly moved you off the ground. The man was tall, from how far the ground looked as he held you in his arms, well cushioned but as he started to move, you could feel muscles ripple from under the protective lining of his flesh. The land's spoils must be very well if such a giant was able to feast so well. You wondered if he was fully human at all as he carried you from the clearing.

“I will atone for the harm I brought you.” His words came as a promise, making you look at him in surprise.

“You will be an honored guest in my kingdom and in my home, and once you are healed, if you wish to leave, I will make sure you have plenty for your travels.”

Warmth spread through you at his kind words, taking accountability and yet offering you hospitality. You never thought man could be so generous.

“I am called Y/n,” you softly spoke, enlightening him of your name as you eagerly waited for him to do the same.

“Adam.” He simply responded, watching how his simplicity had made you nearly wither away in his arms in disappointment.

“King of Eden, Adam.” He added, watching how you softly perked up more as he exited the forest, joined by his guards who met him at the tree lines. Your eyes swept over them, all adorned in armor, and the more you looked, the more you were taken in wonder.

Women.

The king's guards were women.

Adam carried you from the meadows into a lovely city, where many went about their day, men, women, and children filling the streets with laughter and joy.

All, once seeing Adam, would greet their King generously before curious eyes landed on your form, then moved away, allowing space for the King and his guards to pass freely.

The city was beautiful, adorned with golden accents and gleaming trees bearing various fruits.

Adam continued to carry you as you focused on the sights, until you reached a lovely palace of stone, all accented with treasures, you were sure. Your breath was taken away by the man-made structure, all intricately designed and built, carved from marble and stone to form breathtaking statues.

“This place is beautiful,” you softly breathed out, and you felt the man chuckle, his fingers softly tapping the plushness of your thigh's skin absentmindedly.

You looked at Adam to see him stare at the palace with great pride before glancing down into your eyes.

“It took me many years to build,” he softly informed you before entering the palace, maidens moving to greet him and you. Adam carefully set you down.

“Take her and bathe her, then have her fed. Her every need is to be met, as she is my welcomed guest,” he ordered them before moving on, separating from you entirely.

You were unsure as the maidens took you deeper into the place, into a lovely room now destined to be yours, and then to a bathing area where fire-heated water was poured into a great stone pool, and you were softly guided to sit in it.

The maidens removed the fabric that covered you, taking in the wings that curled as close to you as possible. None of their hands brought you harm, though you gasped and squeaked at them bathing you.

Each maiden idly chatted as her fingers lathered soaps and sweet-smelling oils into your skin, your hair, and your feathers.

You began to melt into their gentle massaging hands and the warm, toasty water.

After your bath, the maidens' hands were in your hair, twisting it into designs and pinning it up so it did not fall, guiding you from the wash area back to your main room where a live, warm fire crackled. They pulled soft silken fabrics over your bare body.

They wanted to put more layers on you, but you refused, afraid so many would suffocate you, despite their assurances. They fed you whatever your mind was set on, and the bed was gloriously soft and warm.

You were allowed to move freely as you liked, and healers worked tirelessly on making sure your wings would heal correctly. They also scribbled away in their endless inks and papers about your form.

You wondered why, but such thoughts would escape you as you took long walks around the palace.

You had hoped to run into Adam once more, the King who had welcomed you into his home, yet you had not seen him in days. You tried not to be rude and sulk in his home, so you spent your days roaming the halls, looking at the art that lay around.

One bright and sunny day, you heard small weeping through the halls and followed it out to a lovely courtyard where a large, glorious tree grew strong, as though prideful in its reign over the yard. Bright, glowing crystal apples grew on its branches and dazzled in the sunlight, making you stare at it in enchantment as you neared. You were momentarily distracted in your sudden quest, wanting to reach out and pluck one of the crystal apples.

But sniffles caught your ear, and you turned your head to follow them, peering over a large root to see a small frame curled into his knees. A small boy was crying as quietly as he could into them, and you moved around the root slowly.

“Hello.” You spoke softly, watching the boy jump. His head lifted from his knees, and you were surprised to see slitted eyes snapping up to you.

The small child had tanned skin that glowed gold like the King's, but it had more sheen than any other human you had seen. His slitted eyes were two colors, yellow and red, and they watched you carefully as you stayed where you stood.

His cheeks had intricate patches of red on them, glistening like scales. Dark brown, nearly black, fluffy hair fell around his face like dark clouds.

Snake.

Your inner voice screamed in panic as your wings momentarily tensed with the need to flee, but you watched as the boy sniffled and moved a hand to wipe away the tears as he looked at you.

“H-Hello.” His small voice wavered, and you could not help but immediately move closer, getting onto your knees as you carefully held out a hand to him.

“Are you alright, my child?” you asked him, your eyes moving over him again in search of any source of pain. As you held out your hand, the boy's eyes widened, and he shrank back for only a second before rushing past it, his small frame clinging to you with fresh sniffles.

You paused, unsure at first, then brought your hand to the back of his head, softly twirling your fingers into his locks and offering quiet words of comfort, the way your mother once comforted you.

“I'm Y/n.” You softly told the small boy your name, and he pulled away, his little face sniffling away tears.

“I'm Cain,” he said softly, still clinging to your fabric. “Eldest prince of Eden.”

You nodded, taking in the small child's name.

“Well, young Cain, why do you weep so?” you asked him softly, wanting to know how you could ease his troubles. You watched as more tears dripped down his face, his little brows furrowing as if his own thoughts upset him again.

It was not long until you heard the pitter-patter of other little feet, and you turned your head to see an even smaller boy round the roots.

His hair was golden, matching his eyes, and his skin was pale, barely kissed by the sun. The new child’s eyes landed on Cain, and he made noises, moving toward the eldest prince, who moved away, using one of your wings to hide.

“Go away, Abel!” the first boy hissed with sniffles, making the newest boy pause, tears bursting in his eyes, and weeping sounds came from him.

“Ain! Ain!” the smallest wept, trying to reach the other.

You took in the chaos of the two before carefully comforting the newest weeping child, who also threw himself into your arms. You moved your wing to wrap around Cain and pull him back to your arms, where you held both boys.

“Goodness, what is going on?” you softly exclaimed as you stared at the young boys in your arms, one trying to get away and the other clinging to the older.

“I'm mad at him!” Cain wailed, struggling to escape Abel's small arms as Abel whined, clinging to him.

“Ain, no go!” Abel wailed, and you moved to hold them both securely.

“Why?” you asked, trying to figure out what such small children could have done to upset each other, and it seemed Cain had given up on fighting, huffing through tears.

“He called me pretty!” the older boy exclaimed, making him all huffy and teary-eyed, which stunned you for a moment.

“I am not pretty! I'm not a girl!” Cain wailed.

“Ah…” you muttered, dumbfounded, staring at the two boys. You tried to gather yourself.

“Men can be pretty,” you said softly, making both boys look at you. Cain, surprised. Abel, curious. “Just like women can be pretty. Though I suppose men's pretty is deemed handsome. Perhaps that is what Abel was trying to say?” you offered, looking down at the two small children in your arms.

Cain's little face shifted into a thoughtful expression before looking at the other boy in your arms.

“Is that true?” he asked the toddler, and Abel giggled, nodding.

“Ain! Andsome!” the smaller tried speaking, and it made you smile as you watched Cain's face break into a wide grin before moving to hug the other.

“I think you are handsome too, brother!” the boy said, and you took note as you looked at the two.

The princes of Eden.

Since that day, the two boys always seemed able to find you, insisting on following you and spending time with you as you roamed the palace. You did not mind, enjoying their small chatter and eager footsteps, getting lured into their tiny human games, unaware of the golden eyes watching you in the distance with another pair of silver ones not too far behind.

The courtyard with the enchanting apple tree was where the three of you spent most of your time. You would sit by the roots and watch the two play, sometimes they would get you to play with them, but otherwise, they seemed satisfied with you simply watching.

This day was different as someone else entered the courtyard. Both boys' faces lit up with glee as they ran toward the man's shadow, both clinging to one of his legs with hugs.

“Father!” young Cain shouted in delight.

“Ather!” little Abel squealed as well.

Your gaze shifted from them to the man who had carried you to the palace so many days ago, taking in his tanned, golden skin, his bright golden coin eyes, and how his fluffy dark hair shone in the sunlight.

The boys shared so many of his features, even little Cain with his many snake-like differences.

Adam greeted his boys warmly, his hands ruffling their hair, then urged them back to play as he found a place near you among the apple tree's roots, leaning back to watch them play.

“They seem to have taken a liking to you,” Adam commented, and you spared him a glance while watching the two go back to their chatter, a smile forming on your face.

“They are great company in the lonely days I found myself,” you answered the King as you turned to face him, your expression shifting to concern. “I have not kept them away from their mother?” you asked, wondering how the boys could be gone for so long without upsetting her.

You watched Adam's face shift before he shook his head, keeping his eyes on the boys. “They have no mother,” he said firmly, making you feel guilt for asking.

“My apologies—”

“Even if they did, only one would have a mother, and the other would have only me,” Adam continued, his eyes never leaving the boys. You moved a hand to his arm in comfort.

Adam looked at you, his gaze flicking to your hand, then back to your face, as though pondering something before he spoke again.

“My first wife and I were lured into a naga's den where we were both put under a trance. When we finally broke free, we returned to our kingdom, thinking we had escaped. She fell pregnant afterward. I assured her I would love the child as my own, no matter its birthright, and that I would protect them, seeing how she wept those days.” Adam spoke softly, still watching Cain. “On the day she gave birth, I was away on a hunt. When I returned, the maidens told me I was a father of a daughter, and that my wife was exhausted. I rushed to them, to my wife, my daughter, despite the maidens trying to stop me, to warn me of the newborn's appearance. Yet when I entered our chambers, my wife was nowhere, and the balcony was open. All I found in the room was the crying from our bed, where I found him, Cain, messily wrapped in blankets for me to find. The snake had come back to take my wife and her child and abandon our son.”

Your heart ached for the King and the eldest son as you brought a hand to your own watering eyes to wipe away tears.

“No search could find my wife or daughter, so I swore I would protect my boy with my life,” Adam said sharply, looking at you, his gaze firm yet softened by your presence.

“I swore that if the other child, the daughter who was supposed to be mine, ever made her way back to the kingdom, she would have a home here with her brothers.”

“You are most warmhearted, Adam,” you said softly, moving your hand to your eyes again as you looked at the boys who still played, not a care between them. You could not help but wonder what Cain's sister would be like if she too were here in the courtyard. You imagined Cain as a young girl, and the image seemed so fitting in your mind. Without once laying eyes on the missing child, you would never know for sure.

You turned your gaze toward Abel, then looked back at Adam, noticing guilt forming on his face as he looked away.

“Abel's mother was my second wife,” he said quietly. “I needed help raising Cain, and so I found a soft, loving woman to raise him. Seeing how she cared for him made me fall in love with her as well.”

Adam took a breath and sighed. “Cain was taking his first steps when she told me she was carrying Abel. I was overjoyed and spoiled her with lavish gifts and rare foods. I gave her everything she wanted, except…” He leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree, his golden eyes staring at the crystal apples with a look of hatred for them, making you nervously look up at them as well, the enchanting glow now no longer so wonderful.

“The fruit of this very tree,” Adam said, his voice growing dark. “Everyone who bites from one of these apples loses themselves. A plague of darkness consumes them, a rage driving them to do terrible things. My refusal to allow her to taste one made her obsession grow. One night she slipped from our bed, and by the time I realized she was gone and got here, she had already taken a bite.”

Adam's face twisted in a grimace as he looked away from the fruit, glaring at his shaking hands as if the memory was too much.

You, too, moved your eyes off the apples, unsettled by their glow, and shifted your focus to the boys playing. A small smile appeared at their carefree laughter, then you placed your hand over Adam's trembling one. He glanced at you, then slowly wrapped his fingers around yours, needing to finish his story.

“I saw part of the apple fall to the ground, a wicked smile on her face nearly splitting it in two, and a blade that had left her stomach. Abel was no longer safe in her womb, falling to the tree's roots as she morphed into the darkness and vanished from sight. I fought sleepless nights to keep my second son alive and push her memory from my mind.” He told you in a voice weighed down by years of sorrow, feeling compelled to share this after watching how you cared for his boys.

“I vowed I would not take another wife of my own choosing,” Adam told you, and you nodded in understanding.

“I do not think one would find fault in such a thing,” you spoke softly as you looked back at his sons. “Your sons should be your utmost priority.”

He found himself smiling at your words, warmth spreading through his chest. He did not tell you that, soon after your arrival, your words had proven true: you brought good fortune. In only two days, the farmers' harvest had grown plentiful overnight, stored beers and wines had finished brewing in mere days rather than months, and the forests were full of game ready for the hunt. More importantly, his sons seemed finally at ease. Cain was calmer, and Abel no longer provoked him. The bickering that once ruled the palace had turned into laughter and affection.

Adam let his gaze settle on your wings, which were no longer splinted but still wrapped for support. You would be free to leave once healed, and he had promised you supplies if you did.

But he wished to be selfish.

You had been good for his kingdom, wonderful for his boys, and Adam could not pretend he himself had not felt a new peace since he carried you from that forest. Now, sitting at your side, he felt serenity easing his tired bones, a kind of relaxation he had not felt in so long.

“I told myself that I would let my boys decide who would be their new mother, the one who might become my wife,” Adam said softly enough that you turned to him with wide eyes, seeing a tender look in his golden gaze. “It seems they have chosen you.”

Your heart raced, and your wings fluttered at such a warm, promising declaration. You felt your face grow hot at the King of Eden's words, warmth filling your being as you considered being the one to care for his children. To be at Adam's side.

The idea of being mother to Cain and Abel, who found solace in you, made your heart skip. To be the King's wife, building a promising future for yourself in Adam's arms, was more than you ever thought possible.

“But I cannot commit to another unless I know they can fully accept my boys as entirely theirs, knowing all there is to know of them, of me,” Adam spoke again, his soft voice turning firm as he set down the final lines. He seemed prepared for you to demand your freedom and leave.

Instead, you moved your fingers against his, intertwining them in his hold as you gave him a warm smile, then turned to look at the boys who would soon be yours as well.

“I did not believe such a thing possible for someone like me,” you whispered, then looked at Adam longingly, wishing to be someone he could trust and love. “But I cannot say yes unless their father knows of my origins too, for I know how it feels to be born different.”

You told the King everything, of your journey flying across so many lands until you reached his home, about the pod and mother who raised you, and the hardships of living among sirens when you were so unlike them.

When you finished, you stared at Adam, expecting him to turn cruel, as men could do, and cast you out, telling his guards to run you through. You trembled, afraid that your honesty would be your end.

You flinched when you felt him remove his hand from yours, your wings tensing, ready to flee at the first sign of danger, only to gasp as his hand found your face, his warm lips pressing softly against yours. Your eyes fluttered closed, leaning into the warmth.

Adam pulled away, smiling as he gazed at you.

“I do not allow others to call and curse my son a naga,” he said protectively, his gaze running over your frame and wings with the same fierce devotion. “And I will not let anyone call and curse my wife a siren,” he promised, making your heart glow.

Seraphim.

Adam told his kingdom that you were a Seraphim sent by the gods to bless the lands of Eden, to bless its people and their King and princes. You would be his sons’ holy and divine mother, raising them to be future Kings of the land, and you would sit upon the throne at Adam's side as his Queen.

_____

All my Adam One- Shots can be found on A03 titled as "Adam-Shots"

Hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading!

-Queen

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unspeakable-imagination · 6 months ago

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@not-neverland06 figured you'd needed this to make you feel better.

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unspeakable-imagination · 6 months ago

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Spraying your puppy sub with a squirt bottle when she misbehaves

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unspeakable-imagination · 7 months ago

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Fluff, fluff, fluff, RAHHH angst NOMMM

GODS AND MONSTERS — sukuna x female reader [oneshot]

summary: a thousand years stretch thin between love and loss. sukuna carries the weight of a life unfulfilled, and you, unknowingly, ache for something you can't name. when fate threads your paths together once more, will the echoes of a forgotten bond be enough to heal what time has unraveled?

content warnings: big three (fluff, angst, smut). smutty content [soft sex/p in v/unprotected/creampies/breeding kink/body worship/praise/posessiveness/ oral & fingering (f. receiving)] reader death and reincarnation in modern day world, mentions of violence/killing and gore, soft sukuna, implied heinen era, uraume mentioned, angst with a happy ending

read on ao3!

the king of curses sat in the suffocating stillness of his endless existence, the weight of time pressing heavy on his shoulders. his once-mighty form, feared by all, now hunched under the burden of a life that had lost its purpose. uraume had long since perished, their unwavering loyalty a mere memory now, one more fragment of the life he had left behind. sukuna’s claws had been idle for centuries, yet the echoes of his rampages reverberated in the emptiness of his soul.

for what?

he’d asked himself this question for centuries, the edges of the thought dulling like the once-sharp memories of the one he fought for. you. whoever you were. he remembered only pieces — a laugh like sunlight on water, a touch that once brought him to his knees. but the details? gone.

his queen. his beloved.

your name, your face, your voice — they’d all blurred into a hazy outline, cruelly erased by the passing millennia.

until today.

he wandered through the chaos of the modern world with the same detachment he’d carried for centuries, only vaguely aware of the noise and light surrounding him. the buzz of something humans called technology swarmed in his ears, but none of it mattered.

then he felt it.

a shiver ran down his spine — alien, electric, alive. his steps faltered, his hands twitching at his sides. and when he lifted his gaze, there you were.

a colossal billboard loomed above him, glowing against the twilight sky. and there was your face. your face.

you were dressed in modern clothes, nothing like the regal silks and gold he remembered. your hair was different, your posture foreign, but your eyes — they were the same. the curve of your lips sent a jolt through him, and the name emblazoned across the billboard hit him like a curse:

y/n - world tour starts tonight.

“...no.” sukuna’s voice cracked, the sound foreign even to his ears. his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood, as a wave of raw emotion surged through him. “no... it can’t...”

the tears came before he realized what was happening, hot streaks down his face that carved into his hardened visage like rivers into stone.

“it’s you...” he whispered, his voice trembling. “you came back.”

the memories slammed into him then, a cruel gift from the depths of his long-forgotten soul.

“you can’t die before me, you hear me?” you had said with a teasing smile, pressing your palm against his chest. “i’ll haunt you for eternity if you do.”

“as if i’d let you go first,” he’d replied, brushing your hair aside. his voice had been firm, commanding, but his eyes betrayed his desperation. “you belong to me, in life or in death.”

but you had gone first, hadn’t you? you left him behind, shattering him in a way even the strongest opponents never could.

the world around him blurred as he staggered back, unable to process what he was seeing. you were alive. reborn.

the billboard taunted him with your image, a ghost of the past mingling with the present. your name, your face, your existence — it was no illusion. the bond he’d once treasured but had long since forgotten pulled at him like a chain around his neck.

“you didn’t wait for me...” his voice cracked, a low growl laced with anguish. “but you’re here now.”

with newfound determination, sukuna’s claws flexed. a spark of purpose reignited in his crimson eyes. he would find you. nothing — no mortal, no curse, no god — would keep him from you now.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

sukuna sat in the darkened corner of the venue, an invisible shadow among the throng of humans screaming your name. the irony wasn't lost on him: you, who once belonged solely to him, now belonged to them — a god in their eyes, worshipped by their cheers and adoration.

you stepped onto the stage, bathed in an ethereal glow, and sukuna’s breath caught in his throat. you were magnificent, the power you exuded rivaling the strength of your past self. your voice rang out, rich and hauntingly familiar, threading through his soul like a melody he had clung to in his loneliest nights.

but when your gaze swept over the audience and landed on him, it was as if the world stopped.

his heart, once hardened by centuries of blood and despair, cracked at the faint flicker in your eyes. the recognition was there, brief as a shadow crossing the sun. your lips parted slightly, your brow furrowing as if you were trying to place him.

and then it was gone.

the realization stung more than any blade ever had. you didn’t know him. the face you had traced with reverent fingers, the body you had clung to as if it were your lifeline — it meant nothing to you now.

sukuna leaned back in his seat, his crimson eyes never leaving you. he clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms until blood dripped onto the floor.

how could you not know me?

he had watched entire civilizations fall, mountains crumble, and oceans dry, but this — this was worse than any apocalypse. the tables had turned so cruelly that he almost laughed. you had been his queen, his everything, and now, he was nothing more than a nameless face in the crowd.

the song ended, and the thunderous applause jolted him from his thoughts. he saw you bow gracefully, your smile dazzling and far removed from the quiet, intimate ones you reserved for him.

but as the lights dimmed and you walked off stage, a flicker of something passed over your face — a hesitation, a pause.

you were looking for something. or someone.

sukuna’s claws twitched at his side. could you feel it, even now? the tether that bound us? or had that, too, been severed?

he stood abruptly, his towering frame casting a shadow against the neon lights. the humans around him flinched but paid him no mind, their excitement for your encore drowning out the strange presence among them.

you were close enough for him to feel, to smell, to sense every tremor of your soul. but he couldn’t touch you. not yet.

“is this what it feels like?” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the noise. “to be forgotten by the one who once knew me better than anyone?”

he let his head tilt back, crimson eyes closing briefly. the memories surged forth unbidden.

“kuna,” you had said once, your eyes closed. your hands reached out, finding his face with unnerving precision. “don’t move.”

he hadn’t. and you had traced his jawline, the sharp curve of his nose, the furrowed lines of his forehead.

“i’d know you anywhere,” you had whispered, your voice soft and certain. “even if the world burned around us, i’d find you.”

but now? your gaze had brushed past him, the faint recognition extinguished before it could ignite.

he moved toward the backstage entrance, his aura commanding even in its restraint. the guards hesitated, their instincts warning them of something primal, something ancient. they stepped aside without understanding why.

as he neared the corridor where you stood, signing autographs and smiling for photographs, he paused. his hands trembled slightly, the weight of millennia pressing down on him.

how do you confront someone who once promised to find you in any lifetime but now looks at you like a stranger?

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the backstage was chaos, the kind that always followed a sold-out performance. your team swarmed around you, fussing over makeup touch-ups, post-show interviews, and wardrobe changes. yet, their chatter and praise fell on deaf ears. you sat on the plush chair in front of a vanity, staring blankly at your reflection.

you were supposed to be happy — ecstatic, even. this was the dream you’d worked tirelessly for, wasn’t it? and yet, as you sang those sugar-sweet songs to a crowd of adoring fans, the ache in your chest only deepened.

yearning was a funny thing. you had been chasing something your entire life, channeling it into melodies that felt raw and true. but the industry had its claws in you now, morphing your art into polished, soulless hits about first loves and fleeting crushes.

you sighed, pressing your palms to your temples. something was missing. you didn’t know what, but it gnawed at you, an emptiness that no amount of applause could fill.

then came the commotion.

the door to the backstage area slammed open, the sound cutting through the noise like a whip. the air shifted, heavy and electric, and for some reason, every hair on your body stood on end.

you turned, and there he was.

a towering man with wild, spiked hair and piercing crimson eyes strode into the room, his presence so commanding that your team froze in place. whispers erupted around you, someone asking who he was, but no one dared to stop him.

his gaze locked onto yours, and the room seemed to vanish.

your chest tightened, the ache that had been with you for as long as you could remember suddenly stopping. just like that.

you didn’t know him. not by name, not by face. and yet, as he stood there, staring at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch, it felt like you should.

“who...” your voice came out a whisper, barely audible above the silence that had fallen.

he didn’t answer immediately. his crimson eyes softened, just for a moment, and you saw something flicker in them — pain, longing, desperation.

“you feel it too, don’t you?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine.

feel what? you didn’t know what he was talking about, but tears pricked at your eyes anyway. a strange, overwhelming frustration bubbled to the surface, a storm of emotions you couldn’t name.

“i don’t understand,” you murmured, your hands clenching the fabric of your dress.

his expression shifted, his jaw tightening as if your words caused him physical pain. he took a step closer, and your breath caught again.

“you’re not supposed to,” he said quietly, his tone almost bitter. “not yet.”

your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill over. why did this stranger — this man you had never met — make you feel like this? like your heart was both breaking and being made whole all at once?

“why do i feel like i know you?” the words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice trembling.

he exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of something unseen.

“because you do,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “or you did.”

the cryptic answer only frustrated you more, and a tear slipped down your cheek. you looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer, but he stepped closer, closing the distance.

his hand hovered near your face, as if he wanted to wipe the tear away but didn’t dare to touch you. he wanted to reach out, to touch you, to trace the lines of your face as you once had his, but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

“don’t cry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. there was something in it — something raw and aching — that made your chest tighten again. “not for me.”

“then what for?” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “why does it feel like i’ve lost something i can’t even remember?”

his expression broke for a split second, a crack in his carefully controlled facade. he looked down, his jaw clenching.

“because you have,” he admitted finally. “but it’s not your fault.”

you stared at him, the tears falling freely now. “who are you?”

he met your gaze again, his crimson eyes burning with something ancient, something eternal.

“someone who will never stop looking for you,” he said simply, and with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you with nothing but the echo of his presence and the strange, heavy silence he left behind.

because now, the power lay with you. the king of curses was no longer the one sought out in a crowd. you were the untouchable one, the star shining so brightly that even he, a god among curses, felt small beneath your light.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

grief was supposed to follow loss, but how could you lose someone you never had? it didn’t make sense, this hollow ache in your chest. the man had been a storm, sweeping into your carefully constructed world and leaving just as abruptly, like a phantom that no one else seemed to notice.

you sat in the empty dressing room, the after-show glow long faded, replaced by a cold, suffocating silence. your head was in your hands, your thoughts a jumbled mess as you replayed the encounter over and over.

“no one saw him?” you had asked, desperation creeping into your voice. your crew had exchanged confused looks, some shaking their heads while others muttered that maybe you were overworked, imagining things.

but you knew better.

he was real. the way his presence made the air feel heavier, the way his crimson eyes seemed to peer straight into your soul — those weren’t things your mind could conjure on its own.

yet, there was no trace of him.

no name, no explanation. no footsteps leading to or from the backstage area. it was as if he had materialized out of thin air and dissolved back into it.

you leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as tears pricked at your eyes again. why do i care? you thought bitterly, wiping at your face with the heel of your hand.

but you knew why.

there had been something in his voice, something in the way he looked at you. he spoke as if he knew you, as if he had been waiting for you.

and now he was gone.

your chest tightened, a grief so raw and sudden that it almost took your breath away. how could you feel this way for someone who had stormed in and left without so much as a name?

you clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms. “why didn’t i stop him?” you muttered to yourself, the frustration bubbling to the surface. you should have done something, anything, to keep him there, to demand answers to the questions that now haunted you.

but you didn’t. and now, all you had was an empty dressing room and a gnawing ache that wouldn’t go away.

you closed your eyes, the memory of his face flashing behind your eyelids. there had been something so familiar about him, something that made your heart ache even now.

who was he?

and why did it feel like losing him was the greatest tragedy of your life?

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the small cafe was quiet, a sanctuary away from the chaos of your everyday life. the hum of soft chatter and the gentle clink of cups were a soothing background as you stared at the menu, pretending it was the most interesting thing in the world. the matcha latte was supposed to be your solace today. not a solution, but a temporary distraction from the gnawing emptiness in your chest.

then you felt it.

that same heaviness in the air, that same electric charge.

you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. the man who had crashed into your world and disappeared just as quickly. your grip on the menu tightened as your pulse quickened.

slowly, you looked over your shoulder, and there he was. standing near the door, his crimson eyes fixed on you like he had known you’d be here. like he’d been searching for you all along.

the tension between you was palpable, a thousand unsaid words hanging in the space between. neither of you spoke, but the look in his eyes said enough. you needed to talk.

and now, here you were, sitting across from him in a corner booth. your cap and mask were still on, a feeble attempt to cling to anonymity. your hands rested on the table, dangerously close to his, as if your subconscious craved the contact your mind wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

his hands were larger than yours, decorated with black tattoos that curved and twisted like they belonged to something ancient and untouchable. his nails were sharp, almost claw-like, yet they didn’t scare you.

your own hands, smaller and calloused from years of training and performing, felt almost fragile in comparison. but there was a quiet strength in them too, a resilience that had carried you through the ups and downs of your career.

you didn’t know where to start. you couldn’t even find the words, but he didn’t seem to mind. his gaze was steady, almost unbearably intense, as if he was memorizing every detail of you all over again.

“you came back,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

he tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “i never left,” he said simply, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

you frowned, your fingers curling against the table. “what does that even mean? you disappeared. no one saw you leave that night.”

he exhaled slowly, his eyes briefly dropping to where your hands were resting — so close, yet not touching. “because no one was meant to,” he said, his tone soft but firm.

frustration bubbled up inside you, but it was laced with something else — something warmer. “who are you?” you asked, your voice trembling. “and why do i feel like i know you?”

he was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. when he finally spoke, his voice was lower, almost reverent. “you do know me. or at least, you used to.”

your chest tightened, the ache from before returning with a vengeance. “why does it feel like i’m grieving someone i don’t even remember?”

his hand shifted slightly, the tips of his fingers brushing yours so lightly that it was almost imperceptible. your breath caught, the touch sending a jolt of something raw and familiar through you.

“because you are,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “and so am i.”

you stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. there was so much you didn’t understand, but one thing was clear — this man, whoever he was, held answers to the questions that had haunted you for as long as you could remember.

“then help me understand,” you said softly, your voice laced with both desperation and hope.

his gaze softened, and for the first time, you saw something vulnerable in those crimson eyes. “i will,” he promised, his voice steady. “but it’s not an easy story to tell.”

you nodded, your fingers shifting just slightly closer to his, closing the already minuscule gap. “i’m listening.”

and for the first time in what felt like forever, the ache in your chest began to ease.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

sukuna remembered the first time he laid eyes on you, though he doubted you would recall it the same way. it had been an unremarkable day by his standards — a patrol of one of his many estates, more out of habit than necessity. the land was prosperous, the people obedient, and the daimyo appointed here hadn’t caused any notable stirrings.

but then, as his entourage approached the training grounds near the estate, his attention was drawn to a rider galloping across the field. the figure cut a striking image — your posture proud, your hands steady on the reins. you rode with skill, commanding the horse with practiced ease, and for a moment, sukuna almost dismissed you as another faceless warrior in his service.

then you fell.

it wasn’t a subtle tumble either. your horse reared slightly, startled by something unseen, and in the blink of an eye, you were unseated, hitting the ground with a thud that echoed even from a distance. sukuna’s men stiffened, unsure of whether to laugh or feign concern, but sukuna himself let out a sharp bark of laughter.

it wasn’t the kind of laugh that came when he watched enemies crumble under his might or when someone dared to challenge him. this was different — lighter, unguarded.

“a warrior brought to the ground by her own steed,” he drawled, his deep voice carrying across the field. his crimson eyes sparkled with something rare — genuine amusement.

you scrambled to your feet, brushing dirt off your clothes with quick, agitated movements. your face was flushed, whether from embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t tell, but the sight only deepened his grin.

his words reached you, and you froze, looking up sharply. it wasn’t difficult to spot him — he was a towering presence, clad in dark robes with his unmistakable tattoos marking his skin. the king of curses himself, watching you with an expression that was almost mocking.

your brows furrowed, and despite the clear difference in your statuses, you square your shoulders, tilting your chin up in defiance.

“i did not fall,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the heat in your cheeks.

sukuna arched a brow, his grin widening. “is that so?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “and here i thought my eyes were deceiving me. perhaps the earth simply leapt up to greet you?”

your lips thinned, but you refused to back down. “the saddle was loose,” you replied, pulling your horse’s reins as you approached it. “a simple mistake, nothing more.”

his men exchanged glances, some barely holding back snickers, but sukuna held up a hand to silence them. his gaze never left you, his interest piqued.

“a simple mistake,” he repeated, his voice low and almost teasing. “and yet you wear your indignation like armor. tell me, do you always deny the obvious, or is it just when faced with your lord?”

you stiffened, your grip on the reins tightening. “i deny nothing,” you said, your tone sharper now. “but i will not be mocked, not even by you.”

silence fell over the field, the audacity of your words hanging in the air. anyone else would have been cut down where they stood for speaking to him like that, but sukuna found himself… amused.

you turned sharply, leading your horse away with determined strides. “if you’ll excuse me, my lord,” you called over your shoulder, your voice tight with frustration, “i have duties to attend to.”

he watched you go, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

“bold,” he murmured to himself, his voice carrying only to uraume, who stood at his side.

“foolish,” uraume replied flatly, though there was no missing the slight edge of disapproval in their tone.

“perhaps,” sukuna said, his gaze lingering on your retreating figure. “but foolishness is far more entertaining than obedience.”

later, he learned your name. he learned that you were the daimyo appointed to oversee this estate, selected by uraume themselves for your loyalty and reliability.

but it wasn’t loyalty or reliability that interested him. it was the fire in your eyes, the way you stormed off without looking back, the sheer audacity to stand tall in front of him despite the yawning chasm of power between you.

“interesting,” he had murmured that day, more to himself than to anyone else.

and in the days that followed, he found himself returning to that estate more often than was necessary, under the guise of ensuring its prosperity. in truth, it wasn’t the land or the people he cared for — it was you.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the title of daimyo had not been handed to you — it was a role you had earned through sheer determination and relentless hard work. it was no small feat for a woman to rise to such a position, and you owed much of it to uraume, who, despite their often sharp demeanor, had seen something in you worth trusting.

“boldness isn’t the same as foolishness,” uraume had once said when they appointed you, their words clipped and eyes cool. “but tread carefully. the king is not known for his patience.”

you hadn’t exactly kept that in mind when you first met the king. the memory of your words and actions made you panic even now, weeks later. to stand tall in defiance of the king of curses? to argue with him over something as trivial as falling off a horse? foolish was an understatement.

“you’re lucky to still be breathing,” uraume had remarked when you’d recounted the incident, their tone a mix of exasperation and incredulity.

and they were right. the more you thought about it, the more you realized how dangerously close you had come to overstepping. so when word reached you that sukuna was to patrol the estate again, your nerves frayed at the edges. you resolved to be different this time, to show the respect that was expected of you.

when his entourage arrived, you greeted him with a deep bow, your tone subdued as you welcomed him to the estate. you kept your gaze low, your demeanor quiet.

it didn’t take long for sukuna to notice the change. his crimson eyes narrowed as he observed you, his expression unreadable but heavy with something that felt like dissatisfaction.

“you’ve changed,” he said bluntly, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

you swallowed, keeping your head bowed. “i have reflected on my behavior, my lord,” you said carefully, your voice steady despite the tension in the air.

sukuna’s gaze bore into you, and the weight of his attention was almost unbearable. “reflected,” he repeated, his tone sharp with mockery. “and decided what? to cower like a whipped dog?”

your breath caught in your throat, but you didn’t dare respond.

he scoffed, the sound low and disdainful. “pathetic. where is the woman who stormed off in defiance, who claimed the saddle was loose? where is the fire?”

your head snapped up, surprise flickering across your face. “my lord?”

his lips curled into a smirk, though there was no amusement in it. “if you think i spared you because i want another obedient puppet, you are sorely mistaken,” he said, his voice low and cutting. “live as you were, with that stubbornness and defiance. but know your place.”

you blinked at him, your mind reeling. was this… approval?

sukuna turned on his heel, his robes billowing as he strode away. the air seemed to lighten with his departure, and you found yourself exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

a small smile tugged at your lips, and you quickly pressed them together to suppress it. still, your head felt lighter, your chest less constricted.

“know your place,” you muttered under your breath, mimicking his tone. and for the first time in weeks, you felt a little more like yourself.

your head held higher, you watched him leave, the weight of fear easing just enough to let a sliver of confidence shine through.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

it was no secret that the king of curses rarely lingered in one place for long — his attention span as fleeting as a passing storm. yet, for reasons only he could justify (or perhaps couldn’t), sukuna spent more time at your estate than his own court, a fact that didn’t escape the whispers of those around you. no one dared to call you his favorite, of course; favoritism wasn’t a concept to be associated with a king as ruthless as him. yet, the pattern of his visits made it hard to deny.

“show me around,” he demanded one afternoon, his voice carrying the weight of authority as he stood at the edge of the estate.

you paused, glancing at him with a mixture of confusion and exasperation. “my lord, this is your estate,” you pointed out, your tone measured but with a faint edge of teasing. “surely you know it better than anyone.”

his crimson eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing through them. “did i stutter?”

you sighed, realizing it was futile to argue. whether bound by duty or something far more perplexing, you relented, gesturing for him to follow. “very well,” you said, leading the way.

despite your reservations, sukuna seemed unusually at ease during these tours. he didn’t bark orders or glare with his usual intensity. instead, he followed closely, his eyes lingering on you more often than the landscape. and though he’d never admit it, his steps slowed whenever you stopped to admire something, as though he were more interested in your reactions than the scenery itself.

at one point, you passed the estate’s orchards, the branches heavy with ripe fruit. you paused, the sight momentarily breaking through your careful composure.

“shall i have someone pick some for you, my lord?” you offered, gesturing to the trees.

sukuna crossed his arms, his lips curling into a smirk. “no,” he said, his voice low and almost teasing. “you’ll do it.”

your brows furrowed, confused by the demand. “me?”

he stepped closer, his towering presence impossible to ignore. “it tastes sweeter when you do,” he said simply, as though it were the most logical thing in the world.

you blinked at him, unsure whether to be flustered or annoyed. his gaze didn’t waver, and with a resigned sigh, you plucked a fruit from the nearest branch and held it out to him.

he took it, his sharp claws brushing against your fingers as he did, and for a moment, the air felt heavier. you didn’t look up, focusing instead on the ground, but you could feel his gaze burning into you.

“acceptable,” he said after taking a bite, his tone nonchalant but his eyes betraying a flicker of satisfaction.

then there were the horseback races. what started as an offhand comment about your riding skills turned into an almost ritualistic challenge.

“again,” sukuna barked one day, his voice ringing with competitive fervor as you both slowed your horses after yet another lap around the estate.

you panted, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as you shot him a glare. “are you ever satisfied, my lord?”

“not yet,” he replied, his smirk widening as he urged his horse forward again.

you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you as you gave chase, the wind whipping past your face. the exhilaration of the race, the pounding of hooves against the ground — it was intoxicating. and though you tried to focus on the path ahead, you felt his eyes on you the entire time.

“don’t fall this time,” he teased, his voice carrying over the rush of wind.

you turned your head just enough to shoot him a playful glare. “only if you can keep up,” you shot back.

his laughter — low, deep, and genuine — rumbled behind you, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as though the weight of his title had been stripped away. he wasn’t the king of curses, and you weren’t just a daimyo. you were two souls caught in a moment of reckless freedom, the lines between duty and affection blurring with each race and shared glance.

was this flirting? you weren’t sure. but whatever it was, it made your chest feel lighter and your heart race faster, though whether from the thrill of the ride or his gaze, you couldn’t say.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

romance was a phrase people threw around with ease — quiet evenings, shared whispers, fleeting touches. but for you and the king of curses, it was something far more visceral. your unspoken language was in the clash of blades, in the crackling tension of your sparring matches, where sweat dripped, breaths mingled, and the world narrowed down to just the two of you.

your blade met his with a ringing clash, the sheer force of his strikes reverberating through your bones. sukuna’s strength was monstrous, his skill unmatched, and you knew he was holding back. his smirk as he parried your blows told you as much.

“is that all, little daimyo?” he teased, his voice dripping with mockery as he sidestepped your next strike with infuriating ease.

you didn’t answer, too focused on the swing of your blade, the shifting of your weight as you lunged again. the cuts on your arms and legs stung, a testament to his superiority, but you refused to yield.

“persistent, aren’t you?” he said, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes as he deflected yet another attack.

you glared at him, panting. “someone has to keep you in check, my lord.”

his laughter boomed, loud and unapologetic, as he disarmed you with a flick of his wrist. your sword clattered to the ground, and before you could react, he swept your legs out from under you. you hit the dirt with a dull thud, the wind knocked from your lungs.

he loomed over you, his broad frame casting a shadow as he planted his blade into the ground beside you. leaning forward, he rested an arm casually on his knee, his expression caught somewhere between triumph and amusement.

“checkmate,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk.

you groaned, your body aching from the strain of the fight, and stared up at him. “you’re impossible.”

and then, it happened. neither of you knew what sparked it — perhaps it was the absurdity of it all, the sight of you battered and bruised yet unyielding, or the way he, the king of curses, had momentarily shed his ruthless demeanor.

you laughed.

it started as a small chuckle, then grew into something deeper, uncontrollable. the sound bubbled from your chest, raw and unrestrained.

sukuna stared at you for a moment, his smirk faltering. then, to your astonishment, his own laughter joined yours. it was deep and resonant, free of mockery or menace. just laughter, pure and unrestrained, as though the weight of his title and your station had been lifted, leaving only two souls in the moment.

“you’re insane,” you said between breaths, still laughing as you wiped the blood from your lip.

“says the one who challenges me to fights they can’t win,” he shot back, his grin broadening.

and for that fleeting moment, it didn’t matter that you were lying on the ground, bruised and exhausted, or that he was the most feared being to walk the earth. there was no need for declarations, no flowery words to bind the two of you together. it just was.

the unspoken bond, forged not in tender touches or whispered confessions but in steel and resolve, felt stronger than anything else. and as your laughter faded into a shared silence, you felt it — that indescribable understanding that, in this chaotic, violent world, you had found something rare. something that just was.

dust settled on the sparring ground, the aftermath of your brutal yet exhilarating match with the king of curses. sukuna loomed over you, the faintest sheen of sweat on his brow, though he was far from winded. meanwhile, you lay sprawled in the dirt, catching your breath.

"get up," he said, his tone a little softer than usual, offering a hand down to you.

you blinked up at him, hesitant. “i can manage, my lord.”

“don’t argue,” he grumbled, his hand unwavering.

reluctantly, you reached up. his hand engulfed yours, rough with calluses and strong enough to crush bones, yet his grip was surprisingly gentle as he pulled you upright. for a fleeting moment, his fingers lingered on yours, tracing the small scars and nicks etched into your palms.

you didn’t think much of it at first, brushing dirt off your armor. but then —

“rear my children.”

you froze. your head snapped up to meet his crimson eyes, which for once seemed to betray a flicker of uncertainty. “...excuse me?”

he cleared his throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable — a rare sight for someone who usually exuded unwavering confidence. “i mean — you’re strong,” he blurted out, his words rushed and awkward. “your resolve, your... grit. admirable qualities. for a mother. of warriors. my warriors.”

your face heated instantly, the flush creeping up to your ears. “m-my lord, that’s… a rather sudden proposal!”

“it’s not a proposal!” he shot back, his voice raising an octave, uncharacteristically defensive. “just… an observation. a logical one. who wouldn’t want strong heirs?”

you stammered, trying and failing to form coherent words. “i — well — that’s —”

“it’s practical,” he continued, as if convincing himself more than you. “you’re disciplined. resilient. not to mention... stubborn as hell.”

“and you think stubbornness is a good trait in a mother?” you finally managed to ask, your voice squeaking slightly.

he faltered, his ears reddening ever so slightly. “well, it’s not... bad.”

the two of you stood there, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. sukuna, the fearsome king of curses, was fidgeting. his hand still lingered on yours, and it felt like the entire world had gone quiet save for the sound of your racing heart.

“what do you say?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost tentative.

you blinked rapidly, trying to process what was happening. “i — uh — ”

and then it hit you, the absurdity of it all. the great and terrible sukuna was asking — no, suggesting — something so utterly domestic and human. you couldn’t help but let out a small, breathless laugh, burying your face in your free hand to hide the burning flush on your cheeks.

“is that a no?” he asked, his tone bristling with the faintest hint of impatience, though the uncertainty in his eyes betrayed him.

“i didn’t say that!” you squeaked, peeking through your fingers.

he raised a brow, his smirk creeping back into place, though it was softer than usual. “then what are you saying?”

you groaned, unable to meet his gaze as you mumbled through your hands, “i’m… not opposed.”

for a moment, the world seemed to pause. sukuna tilted his head, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were suppressing a smile.

“not opposed, huh?” he repeated, his voice low, almost teasing.

“don’t make me say it again!” you snapped, your embarrassment reaching its peak.

“hmm,” he mused, finally letting go of your hands, though the warmth of his touch lingered. “practical indeed.”

as you glared at him, still flustered beyond belief, he turned away, his back to you. he was clearly trying to act unaffected, but the faint upward curve of his lips gave him away.

and sukuna? he thought to himself with the faintest hint of pride, maybe smiling isn’t so bad after all.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

how you went from a daimyo to the wife of the king of curses, you couldn’t quite fathom. one day, you were overseeing harvests and managing disputes, and the next, you were draped in silks too fine for your roughened hands, adjusting to the weight of a title you never sought.

sukuna, however, seemed unbothered by the incongruity of it all. he had simply decided that you were to be his wife, and what sukuna decided became reality. your hesitant protests, your concerns about abandoning your duties to the estate — none of it phased him.

“then stay here,” he’d said with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if it were the simplest solution in the world. “i’ll come to you when i wish.”

uraume, ever the loyal servant, had been aghast. they didn’t voice it, of course, but their disapproval was palpable. yet beneath their furrowed brow and pursed lips, there was a flicker of something else — pride. pride that their lord, fearsome and untouchable, had chosen someone with your mettle.

you were still adjusting to your new role when sukuna visited the estate for the first time as your husband. he was unceremonious about it, arriving without warning, striding into your chambers as if it were his rightful place.

“what’s this?” he asked, eyeing the bright silk robe draped over your shoulders.

“your people insisted,” you replied, tugging self-consciously at the fabric.

he snorted, crossing his arms as his gaze swept over you. “you look like a peacock.”

you froze, your grip tightening on the sash. “a peacock?” you repeated, your tone dangerously low.

“hmm,” he mused, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “not a bad thing. regal, loud, a bit ridiculous — suits you.”

your glare could have set the silk ablaze. “is this your idea of flattery, my lord?”

he chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made your cheeks burn. “only telling the truth.”

“then here’s some truth for you,” you shot back, your voice sharp as a blade. “perhaps you should spend more time governing your lands and less time critiquing my attire.”

for a moment, there was silence. then, to your astonishment, sukuna laughed — a genuine, unrestrained laugh that echoed through the room.

“bold as ever,” he said, stepping closer. his crimson eyes softened ever so slightly as he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “it’s what i like about you.”

your breath hitched at the unexpected intimacy, but before you could respond, he pulled away, his smirk firmly back in place.

“come,” he said, turning toward the door. “there’s work to be done.”

and just like that, your marriage was sealed — not with a grand ceremony or a formal declaration, but with sharp words, shared laughter, and a silent understanding that spoke volumes.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

uraume had been left in charge of state matters, their protests falling on deaf ears as sukuna waved them off with a smug grin. "you’re competent enough to handle it," he’d said, the dismissiveness in his tone making uraume's temples throb. they could only bow in grudging acceptance, watching their king stride off to the estate like a man with nothing but time on his hands.

his first night as your husband was spent testing your patience. “it’s tradition,” he declared with a grin that was more wolfish than charming. “we’re supposed to consummate the marriage.”

you had stared at him, unimpressed. “it’s tradition to do so willingly. i don’t see any willing party here.”

his grin faltered, replaced by a mock glare. “a king shouldn’t have to beg his wife.”

“then don’t.”

his brow twitched at your quick retort, and though he tried to argue further, your unyielding stare — a mix of warrior resolve and exhausted defiance — silenced him. eventually, he grumbled, “fine. no bedding. but you’ll sleep here, with me.”

you’d crossed your arms. “on opposite sides of the bed.”

“skin to skin,” he countered, clearly enjoying the bargaining.

“over my dead body.”

“bold of you to assume i wouldn’t oblige.”

the back-and-forth ended with a compromise that involved his bare chest pressed against your back, his arms draped over you like iron shackles. “this is hardly ‘opposite sides,’” you muttered as you felt his warm breath on the nape of your neck.

“you’re warm,” he murmured, his tone almost soft, and that was the end of it.

or so he thought. because the king of curses, who had never known caution, underestimated the awareness of a daimyo — a warrior trained to detect even the faintest signs of an enemy’s advance. when his hand began to creep lower towards your legs during the night, you intercepted it with a grip so firm that his eyes snapped open in shock.

“don’t push your luck, my lord,” you whispered without turning, your voice cutting through the dark like a blade.

to his credit, he chuckled, more impressed than annoyed. “fine,” he relented, withdrawing his hand. “you win this time.”

morning came, the soft light of dawn spilling into the room. sukuna, who rarely stayed still for long, remained entangled with you, his larger frame curled protectively around your smaller one. for the first time in centuries, his guard was down. and when your lips parted to murmur his name — soft and reverent, like a prayer — he froze.

“...sukuna.”

it was just a whisper, but it held a weight that he couldn’t explain. something in his chest tightened, a foreign warmth spreading through him as he stared at your peaceful face, your lashes fluttering against your cheek.

“damn you,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with awe.

because for all his conquests and power, for all the women who had once vied for his attention, none had ever made him feel like this. none had ever whispered his name like it was a blessing, like it was sacred.

and in that moment, as he held you closer, sukuna knew — he had never loved a woman the way he loved you.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the days following your marriage passed with an ease that felt both strange and natural. your routines remained the same in essence — horse-riding through the vast lands, plucking the ripest fruits from the orchards, and patrolling the estate to ensure its prosperity — but now, there was a shared intimacy, a silent acknowledgment that you were no longer alone in these moments. sukuna accompanied you everywhere, his presence both imposing and comforting.

you’d ride side by side, your horses kicking up dust as laughter rang out in the open air. sukuna, who once considered these lands beneath his attention, now seemed to find joy in every mundane detail of life here.

“you’re slipping,” you teased him one afternoon, presenting a basket filled with fruits you had picked before he could even dismount his horse.

he huffed, feigning annoyance. “don’t get cocky, woman. i let you win.”

“of course you did,” you replied with a smirk, your eyes gleaming with playful defiance.

on other days, you hunted together. sukuna, ever the showman, would present his kills to you with exaggerated grandeur. “a token for my wife,” he’d declare, dropping a stag at your feet.

you’d roll your eyes, refusing to be outdone. “wait here,” you’d say before vanishing into the woods, returning hours later with a kill just as impressive, if not more so.

“not bad,” he’d admit, the amusement in his tone thinly veiling his pride in you.

“not bad?” you echoed, placing your hands on your hips. “i’ve bested the king of curses himself, and all you can say is not bad?”

“careful, wife,” he warned, though his grin betrayed no real malice. “keep this up, and i might actually start trying.”

nights were a different kind of ritual. after the day's activities, the two of you would collapse onto the bed, the exhaustion of the day settling into your bones. his arm would always find its way around you, pulling you close, as if ensuring you wouldn’t slip away in the night.

one evening, as you lay in his embrace, he traced the scars on your body with calloused fingers, his touch unusually gentle. “these,” he murmured, “are the marks of a warrior.”

you shivered at the sensation but didn’t pull away. “and yours?” you asked, brushing your lips over a jagged scar on his chest. “what do they mean?”

“they’re the marks of a man who’s lived too long,” he replied, his voice low.

you didn’t respond immediately, instead pressing your lips to each scar, as if trying to soothe the pain they carried. when you finally spoke, your voice was soft but firm. “then let me be the reason you stop living like that.”

his breath hitched, but he said nothing, instead pulling you closer.

sukuna laid beneath you, a sight so rare it could have brought the gods themselves to their knees. his broad chest rose and fell in a rhythm that betrayed his composure, his usually piercing gaze softened by an emotion he couldn’t name. vulnerability. no one had ever dared to see him like this, and yet, here you were — your lips trailing over every scar, each one kissed with a reverence that made his heart clench in ways foreign to him.

you felt his muscles tense under your touch, his hands resting on your hips like anchors, grounding himself as he surrendered to the moment. he wasn't used to this — not the softness, not the unguarded exposure. “woman,” he rasped, his voice gravelly, laced with something between a warning and a plea. “don’t you dare stop.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured against his skin, your lips brushing over a deep scar that cut across his side. your voice was steady, but your heart pounded. this was no king of curses before you, no tyrant capable of untold destruction. this was sukuna, your husband, your equal.

his grip on your hips tightened as your lips traveled lower, tracing the ridges of his abdomen. every kiss you placed felt like a silent vow, a promise to love him not despite his scars but because of them. they were proof of his survival, of everything he had endured, and you wanted to cherish each one.

“why?” he asked suddenly, his voice cracking slightly. his crimson eyes searched yours, vulnerable and uncertain. “why do you... look at me like this? like i’m...”

“like you’re human?” you finished for him, your lips curving into a small, gentle smile. “because you are. to me, you’re not a king or a curse. you’re mine, sukuna. and i’ll love every part of you, even the parts you hate.”

he exhaled sharply, a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “bold words,” he muttered, his gaze darting away as if embarrassed. “but i’m not complaining.”

“good,” you replied, leaning down to kiss another scar near his hip. “because i mean every word.”

his breath hitched as you continued your ministrations, your touch both worshipful and tantalizing. the coil of heat in his stomach grew, blending with the unfamiliar ache in his chest. it was maddening — how you could make him feel both powerful and utterly powerless at the same time.

“you’re a menace,” he grumbled, his gruff tone betraying the faintest hint of affection.

you laughed softly, your hands sliding up to cup his face. “and you’re mine to please tonight, husband. no arguments.”

his eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. “yours,” he murmured, the word heavy with meaning. and as you leaned down to kiss him, he let himself believe it. tonight, he was yours — in every sense of the word.

for all the confidence sukuna wielded on the battlefield — his presence commanding, his strikes calculated and devastating — soft intimacy found him at a loss. it was a battlefield of another kind, one he wasn’t sure how to navigate. his lips moved against yours with a clumsiness that was foreign to him, and though his brow furrowed in frustration, you didn’t pull away.

instead, you smiled softly against his lips, the curve of it so gentle it could’ve brought him to his knees if he hadn’t already been lying down. your hands squeezed his shoulders, your touch warm and grounding, a silent assurance that it was okay. okay to fumble, okay to feel, okay to let himself be vulnerable.

his hands roamed your back, hesitant but firm, the sharp edges of his claws barely grazing your skin as if he feared breaking you. “this... feels different,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with an uncertainty that felt out of place coming from a man like him.

you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers brushing against his jawline. “it’s not supposed to feel like a fight, sukuna,” you said softly, your voice carrying both patience and affection. “it’s okay to take your time. it’s just us.”

just us. the simplicity of those words hit him harder than any blade ever could. no title, no battlefield, no kingdom to rule — just the two of you, bare and unguarded in the quiet of the night.

he huffed softly, his lips quirking upward in a half-smile, half-grimace. “you’re annoyingly patient,” he said, though there was no bite to his words.

“someone has to be,” you replied, the teasing lilt in your voice making his chest ache in a way he didn’t know was possible.

the cicadas outside filled the silence, their rhythmic song blending with the occasional call of an owl. the night air was warm, but the heat between your two bodies was something else entirely. every brush of your skin against his, every whispered breath, felt amplified in the stillness.

when you leaned down again, your lips meeting his once more, he let himself relax into it. his hands found your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. and though he still fumbled — his movements rough around the edges, his breaths uneven — you didn’t falter.

instead, you guided him with your touch, your lips, your presence. it wasn’t rushed, nor was it perfect, but it didn’t need to be. for sukuna, this wasn’t about dominance or conquest. it was about trust, about letting himself be seen in a way he had never allowed anyone else to see him before.

sukuna wasn’t sure what surprised him more — the way his breath hitched when you lined him against yourself or the way his heart felt like it was being split open in the process. this wasn’t like the countless nights he’d spent with others, pursuing pleasure with little regard for who shared his bed. no, this was different. you were different.

as you sank down onto him, your movements slow and deliberate, his hands gripped your hips like a lifeline, his claws digging in just enough to leave faint impressions on your skin. his eyes were glued to you, watching the way your face shifted with every inch, the trust in your gaze piercing through every layer of armor he’d ever worn.

“fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough and low, almost trembling. “you’re... gods, you’re perfect. too perfect for me.”

your hands rested on his chest for balance, your fingertips brushing against the hardened muscles there. his body tensed beneath you, but his gaze softened.

“look at you,” he rasped, his words a reverent whisper, like a prayer to a deity he didn’t know he worshiped. “taking me like you were made for this — made for me.”

your movements began to pick up pace, and sukuna’s head tilted back, exposing the column of his throat. a strangled groan escaped him, and his grip on your hips tightened.

“so fucking good,” he growled, his crimson eyes locking onto yours once more. “you’re everything. everything i didn’t even know i needed.”

his words spilled from his lips like a hymn, unfiltered and raw. “do you know what you’re doing to me? huh? riding me like this, making me feel like... like i'll fucking lose my mind.”

your lips parted to respond, but all that came out was a gasp as his hands guided you faster, his own hips rolling upward to meet yours. his praise didn’t stop, each word more desperate and sincere than the last.

“strong,” he murmured, his voice strained, “beautiful, powerful... fuck, you’re going to ruin me, aren’t you? my queen.”

that title sent a shiver down your spine, and sukuna smirked, though it quickly faltered into a low groan as you clenched around him.

“that’s it,” he encouraged, his tone almost begging now. “take what’s yours. claim it. claim me.”

the heat built between you, and sukuna felt the familiar coil of pleasure in his abdomen, but this time, it wasn’t just physical. it was something deeper, something terrifyingly profound.

when the two of you finally reached your peak, his voice broke into a string of curses and your name, uttered like it was the most sacred thing in the world. and then, in the blissful haze that followed, as you collapsed onto his chest, both of your breaths ragged and uneven, the words spilled from both of your lips in unison.

“i love you.”

sukuna stilled beneath you, his body frozen for a moment before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“say it again,” he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper, his vulnerability cracking through the rough edges.

you smiled against his skin, your voice soft but sure. “i love you.”

his chest rumbled with a sound that was part laugh, part groan. “i’ll never get tired of hearing that,” he admitted, his lips pressing against your temple. the king of curses held you like a treasure he never thought he’d deserve, vowing silently to never let you go.

the silence between you was profound, the kind that spoke louder than any words could. your fingers moved with purpose, trailing the contours of sukuna’s face as though committing every ridge, every line, to memory. with your eyes closed, you traced the edges of his sharp jaw, the slope of his nose, the scarred texture of his markings.

“even if i couldn’t see you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “i’d know you. i’d remember you... just like this.”

sukuna’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling beneath you, his body still intertwined with yours in every way. your words struck something deep within him, a part of himself he had buried under centuries of bloodlust and power.

“you’re a fool,” he murmured, though his voice lacked its usual bite. instead, it trembled, betraying a rawness he rarely let show. “thinking you could know me like that.”

your fingers stilled for a moment before resuming their path, brushing against the corners of his mouth, tracing the faintest curve of a smile that never fully formed.

“i already do,” you said softly, opening your eyes to meet his.

the sight that greeted you stopped your breath. his crimson eyes, always so fierce, were glistening, and a single tear had slipped down his cheek. it caught the dim light of the room, a testament to the vulnerability he so carefully guarded.

“ryo,” you murmured, the nickname escaping your lips without thought, carrying all the tenderness you felt for him.

his brows furrowed, as though he wanted to snap at you for daring to call him that, but the moment passed, and his features softened instead. his large hand came up to cover yours, pressing it firmly against his cheek as though grounding himself in your touch.

“don’t,” he said gruffly, though the break in his voice betrayed him. “don’t look at me like that.”

“like what?” you asked, your tone gentle, though your eyes held a mix of curiosity and concern.

“like i’m human,” he admitted, the words tumbling out like a confession. “like i... like i don’t deserve it.”

your heart ached at his admission, and you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. the warmth of his skin against yours was grounding, and you let your eyes flutter shut once more.

“you’re more human than anyone will ever know,” you murmured. “more human than you let yourself believe.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of your words settling over the both of you. sukuna’s grip on you tightened, and he shifted slightly, still buried inside you, as though seeking reassurance in the way your bodies connected.

“you make me weak,” he finally said, his tone low and rough, but there was no anger in it.

“no,” you corrected, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze again. “i make you strong, because you can finally feel.”

another tear slipped from his eye, and you caught it with your thumb, your touch light and reverent. and for the first time in centuries, the king of curses didn’t feel like a monster, but a man — flawed, vulnerable, and utterly, devastatingly human.

the realization hit sukuna like a blow, an overwhelming surge of emotions he couldn't entirely name, but he knew one thing with certainty — you were his. utterly and completely his. his breaths were heavy, his crimson eyes fixed on you, still straddling him, your bodies joined in a way that left no room for ambiguity. every scar on his body, every ounce of power he held, paled in comparison to the sheer force of this truth.

and yet, that vulnerability — the unfamiliar, maddening softness you evoked in him — made him pause, his grip on your hips slackening for just a moment. you tilted your head, brows furrowed as you asked gently, “ryo... what’s wrong? you look so... lost.”

your voice was soft, concerned, and it cut through the haze of his thoughts. but sukuna couldn’t hear the words, not really. the blood roared in his ears, not with the adrenaline of battle but with something far more primal, far more consuming.

he didn’t answer. instead, his hands gripped your waist with renewed fervor, flipping you onto your back in one fluid motion. you gasped, wide-eyed as he loomed over you, his gaze dark and intense.

“you’re mine,” he growled, his voice low and hoarse, more a declaration than a statement. “say it.”

your lips parted, the weight of his words sinking in as your chest rose and fell beneath him. “i... of course, i’m yours.”

it was all he needed to hear. his hips snapped forward, his movements rough yet oddly tender, like he was caught in a battle between possessing you completely and cherishing you wholly. you cried out, your hands flying to his shoulders, clutching him as if he were the only anchor in the storm he was unleashing within you.

“you’re mine,” he repeated, each thrust driving the point home, as if trying to fuse the words into your very being. “say it again. let me hear it.”

“i’m yours,” you whispered, then louder, more sure, “i’m yours, ryo. always.”

his face softened for the briefest moment, but the intensity in his movements never wavered. “you’ll bear my children, won’t you?” he demanded, his voice laced with a desperation he didn’t even try to hide. “tell me you’ll give me a family.”

your eyes locked onto his, your hands cupping his face despite the heat building between you. “yes, ryo. a family. yours. always yours.”

something in him snapped at your words, and his pace quickened, his movements growing more fervent, more insistent. his forehead pressed against yours, and his words became a litany of possession, devotion, and need.

“mine,” he murmured, his voice cracking with the weight of emotion. “all of you — mine. no one else will ever touch you. no one else will ever have you.”

“no one else,” you agreed breathlessly, your voice trembling as you tightened around him, your own body responding to his unrelenting claim.

and when he finally stilled, his body shuddering as he came inside you, the sheer force of it leaving him breathless, he whispered one final time, “mine.”

you pulled him down into an embrace, your hands stroking his back as he lay atop you, his breath warm against your skin.

“always yours, ryo,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear.

and in that moment, with your words and your touch grounding him, sukuna realized that there could never be another for him. you were his salvation, his obsession, his everything. and he would claim you, over and over again, for all eternity.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

love was a funny thing. it crept in quietly, weaving itself into the mundane and the extraordinary until it became inseparable from life itself. it wasn’t always grand declarations or sweeping gestures, though those had their place. sometimes, love was as simple as sukuna rising earlier than usual to make you breakfast, grumbling about how you should “stop being so bloody picky about the eggs,” while still serving them perfectly to your taste. or it was you spending hours grooming his prized horse, treating it with the same care and respect as if it were your own, much to sukuna’s begrudging admiration.

but this time, love took the form of a life yet to come. it began with the subtle signs — your monthly cycle vanishing, a tiredness that wasn’t quite normal, and a growing fullness in your being that was unmistakable. the realization hit you one morning, and though the weight of it could have been daunting, it only filled you with excitement. the thought of a child — a piece of you and sukuna — made your heart swell.

would it be a girl, blessed with your grace and wit, or a boy, inheriting his father’s untamed strength? perhaps both, their traits melding into something new and extraordinary. only time would tell, but the mere thought of it was enough to have you practically vibrating with anticipation.

that evening, sukuna arrived at the estate after a grueling day at court. his shoulders were tense, his usual commanding presence slightly dulled by exhaustion. you spotted him from the balcony, and by the time he stepped into the hall, you were already bounding toward him, your excitement practically bubbling over.

“what’s got you all worked up?” he teased, though the corners of his lips twitched in amusement at your giddiness.

“you’ll see,” you replied cryptically, taking his hand and pulling him toward your quarters.

he allowed himself to be led, curiosity piqued despite his fatigue. once inside, you turned to face him, your hands trembling slightly as they rested on his chest. his crimson eyes searched yours, his brows furrowed in confusion at your sudden quiet.

“ryo,” you began, your voice soft but steady, “i have something to tell you.”

his expression shifted, a flicker of worry crossing his features. “what is it? out with it already.”

you took a deep breath, your lips curving into a smile as you placed a hand over your abdomen. “i’m pregnant.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, the weight of them sinking in. sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, the faintest trace of disbelief flickering across his face before it was replaced with something softer — something rare.

“you’re... carrying my child?” he asked, his voice low and almost reverent.

you nodded, your smile widening. “yes. our child.”

for a moment, he was silent, his crimson gaze fixed on you as if trying to memorize every detail of your face in this moment. and then, to your surprise, a rare smile graced his lips.

“you,” he murmured, pulling you close, one large hand cradling the back of your head while the other rested protectively over your stomach. “you’ve given me something no victory ever could.”

you laughed softly, burying your face in his chest as his arms wrapped around you. “i thought you’d be more... theatrical about it,” you teased, your voice muffled against him.

he chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “don’t push your luck, woman. i’m still the king of curses.”

“the king of curses,” you echoed, looking up at him with a smirk, “and soon to be the father of a child who’ll probably have your temper.”

he scoffed but couldn’t hide the warmth in his gaze as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “then we’ll raise them to be stronger than either of us. someone the world will fear — and love.”

in that moment, with his hand resting over your womb and a future unfolding before you, neither of you could imagine life any other way. this was love, in its purest and most profound form, and sukuna, for all his power and pride, had never felt richer than he did now.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

motherhood wasn’t something you had ever envisioned for yourself. you had spent your life leading soliders, strategizing in courts, and ruling your estate with the iron will of a daimyo. being a wife had been an adjustment in itself, but now? now you were a mother too. or at least, soon to be.

your days of riding through the fields and sparring with the guards had been replaced by cautious walks and hushed admonishments from the trusted servants sukuna had personally assigned to you. they weren’t just women — they were warriors, chosen to protect you and ensure you didn’t overextend yourself. but they could do little against your stubbornness, often having to physically steer you back inside when you ventured too far or pushed yourself too hard.

you hated the idea of being confined, of being seen as fragile, but the truth was unavoidable. carrying the child of the king of curses was not just an honor; it was a burden that demanded more from you than any battle ever had.

even if you wouldn’t admit it, you felt it — the constant exhaustion, the strange pull in your body as it adapted to accommodate this new life. was this child mortal, like you? or would they inherit their father’s immense power, the blood of a sorcerer coursing through their veins?

you often pondered these questions during the quiet hours of the night, your hands resting protectively over your belly. whatever the answer, one thing was certain: you would love this child fiercely. and sukuna? he would love them too, even if he didn’t yet know how to express it. and if he faltered, you’d teach him, just as you’d taught him what it meant to love you.

sukuna, for his part, had insisted time and again that you should come to his main estate. “it’s closer to the court,” he argued one evening, his voice edged with frustration. “i can oversee your care personally.”

you shook your head, remaining firm. “ryo, this is unfamiliar territory for me. i need to be somewhere familiar while i navigate it.”

his crimson eyes narrowed, but there was a softness to his expression that belied his irritation. “stubborn woman,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“you love me for it,” you countered, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

he grumbled something under his breath but didn’t press the matter further. instead, he reached out, his hand coming to rest over yours on your belly. his touch was uncharacteristically gentle, almost hesitant.

“just promise me,” he said quietly, “that you’ll call for me if you need anything. anything at all.”

you nodded, leaning into his touch. “i promise.”

and so, you stayed. familiarity surrounded you during this strange, transformative phase of your life. and while sukuna begrudgingly relented to your wishes, he visited often, ensuring he was never too far away. whether it was to bring you fruits from the orchards you loved or to simply sit by your side and watch as your child grew within you, he was there.

you had been a daimyo all your life, a wife for only a brief period, and now a mother. the transition wasn’t seamless, but it was yours. and as unfamiliar as it all was, with sukuna by your side — even if he complained every step of the way — you knew you could face whatever lay ahead.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the months passed slowly, each one bringing your child closer to the world and sukuna further away. the growing unrest among the sorcerer clans demanded his attention, their attempts to topple him becoming more brazen with each passing week. you knew he hated leaving you, especially during such a critical time in both your lives, but the king of curses was nothing if not steadfast in his duty.

“they think they can end me,” sukuna sneered one evening, pacing the room as you watched him from your seat. your belly, round with the promise of your child, rested beneath your hands. “let them come. i’ll end their miserable bloodlines myself.”

you rolled your eyes, though you didn’t miss the tension in his jaw or the way his hands flexed into fists. “and you’d drag our child into it too, wouldn’t you?”

his crimson gaze snapped to you, a dark grin curling at the corners of his mouth. “of course. our child will grow to be strong — strong enough to make those sorcerers regret ever crossing me.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, you chose me,” he quipped, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

but the truth of his absences was harder to bear than either of you let on. while he battled threats to his reign, you were left behind, surrounded by handmaids and servants who were loyal and attentive but could never fill the void his presence left. they tried reasoning with him, explaining that you were in no condition to make the arduous journey to his main estate, and while sukuna begrudgingly accepted their logic, it didn’t stop him from huffing and stomping out of the room like a frustrated child.

“damn stubborn woman,” he muttered under his breath one such evening, though not so quietly that you couldn’t hear him.

“takes one to know one,” you shot back, leaning against the doorframe with a frown.

he glared at you, though the heat in his eyes softened as he took in your figure. his shoulders sagged slightly, the fight draining out of him as he crossed the room to stand before you.

“you’re impossible,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“and yet, you keep coming back,” you replied, resting a hand against his chest.

he didn’t answer, but the way his arms wrapped around you said more than words ever could.

late at night, when the estate was silent and the weight of his absences pressed heavily on both of you, sukuna would return to your side. his footsteps were quiet as he entered your chambers, careful not to disturb you as you slept. but you always woke when he did, your instincts sharper than ever as your body prepared for motherhood.

he’d settle beside you, pulling you close as he buried his face against your shoulder. “i hate leaving you,” he murmured, his voice raw with exhaustion and guilt.

“i know,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair.

“i’ll end this soon,” he promised, his grip on you tightening. “for you. for us.”

and though you knew it was a promise he couldn’t fully guarantee, the sincerity in his voice was enough. you turned to face him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“just come back to me,” you said softly. “that’s all i ask.”

and he did, every time. no matter how far his battles took him or how heavy the weight of his crown became, sukuna always found his way back to you. because in the quiet of the night, with you in his arms and the promise of your child growing between you, he was reminded of the one thing that mattered more than power or victory — his family.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“uraume...her highness… attacked...”

in that instant, sukuna's blood ran ice-cold. no further explanation was needed. his chair scraped harshly against the floor as he rose to his full height, the air thick with his suffocating fury. without a word, he stormed out, crimson eyes alight with a rage that made his retainers scatter like frightened mice. his strides were long, purposeful, the bile in his throat a constant reminder of what could await him.

when he arrived at your estate, the scene before him made the world tilt on its axis.

it was a battlefield. bodies littered the grounds — servants, guards, handmaids — all sprawled lifeless, their blood staining the earth. the once-pristine estate was in ruins, its walls splintered, its lush gardens reduced to barren desolation. the trees that bore fruit so abundantly now stood stripped, their branches bare and broken. the air reeked of death and decay, a stench that clawed its way into sukuna’s nose as his eyes darted, searching.

and then he saw you.

his daimyo, his wife, huddled in the center of the carnage, a blood-soaked uraume shielding you with the last vestiges of their strength. their once-proud posture was hunched, their breaths shallow as they clutched their blade with trembling hands. and you — oh gods, you.

you were slumped against a crumbling wall, your once-bright eyes concealed beneath a bloodied cloth tied crudely over your face. your body trembled, your hands pressed protectively to your swollen stomach.

“they took her sight,” uraume rasped, their voice weak but still burning with loyalty. they staggered, barely able to remain upright as the sorcerer clans circled, jeering and taunting, their eyes glinting with malice.

sukuna’s vision went red.

“what have you done?!” he roared, his voice thunderous as it split the air.

“the king of curses finally graces us,” one of the sorcerers sneered, raising their weapon. “your wife was a liability —”

they didn’t finish the sentence. sukuna’s claws ripped through their body in one fluid motion, blood spraying as the lifeless corpse hit the ground.

“none of you are leaving here alive,” sukuna snarled, his voice a venomous promise.

in the span of moments, chaos erupted. sukuna moved with the precision and ferocity of a man possessed, tearing through the assailants with brutal efficiency. his cursed energy crackled like lightning, obliterating anything in its path.

“you dare touch what is mine?” he bellowed, his fists crushing bone, his claws slicing through flesh. “i will rip every last one of you apart.”

one by one, the sorcerers fell, their arrogance extinguished by his wrath. sukuna barely registered their screams, his focus razor-sharp as he ended the lives of those who dared harm you.

amidst the carnage, uraume collapsed, their body crumpling to the ground as their strength finally gave out.

“uraume!” you screamed, your voice raw with desperation as you reached out blindly.

the sound of your cry snapped sukuna out of his bloodlust. the last of the sorcerers fell at his feet, their lifeless body joining the rest. the battlefield went eerily silent, save for the sound of your labored breaths.

sukuna knelt before you, his knees pressed into the blood-soaked earth, hands trembling as they hovered over your body. he didn’t know where to touch, how to start — your swollen belly, your trembling fingers, your face, now marked with the absence of those eyes that once pierced through him. his mind raced, frantic with a thousand thoughts, but none of them could drown out the truth hammering in his chest: you were slipping away.

"don’t," his voice cracked, low and raw, a plea that wasn’t supposed to exist in the vocabulary of the king of curses. “don’t you dare leave me, woman.”

you smiled faintly, lips dry and cracked but still unmistakably yours. your hands — gods, your hands, still steady despite your broken body — reached up, fingers grazing his jaw.

“sukuna,” you murmured, his name falling from your lips like a benediction. “i knew you’d come.”

“of course i came!” he snarled, the sharpness of his tone masking the panic beneath. “what kind of fool do you take me for? you’re mine. mine!”

your fingers moved with purpose, tracing the sharp edges of his face, his cheekbones, his chin, the ridges of his scars. your touch was deliberate, trembling but sure, mapping him like a cartographer immortalizing a sacred land.

“i told you,” you whispered, voice faint but steady. “even without my eyes... i’d find you.”

his chest constricted painfully. he grabbed your wrist, not harshly but firmly, as if grounding himself to you. “then find me now! stay with me, damn you!” his voice rose, a command that bordered on desperation.

your breath hitched, your hand stilling against his face. “'kuna… i’m so tired.”

“no.” his voice wavered for the first time. his hands moved to cup your face, forcing you to look at him — or at least, where his face should’ve been. “no, you don’t get to be tired. you don’t get to leave me.” his thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away blood and dirt as though erasing the evidence of your suffering.

“look at me — listen to me!” his voice cracked again, his frustration bleeding through. “you are not allowed to die, you hear me? you are my wife, my daimyo, mother of my child. you don’t get to go!”

you smiled softly, that maddening, gentle smile of yours that he hated and loved in equal measure. “you’ll be fine without me,” you murmured, and his hands tightened against your face, claws digging slightly into your skin.

“don’t you dare say that,” he hissed, his voice trembling. “don’t you dare.”

your fingers resumed their exploration, your palm resting against his cheek now. “promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“shut up,” he spat, but there was no malice in it, only the raw edge of panic. “you can tell me yourself when you wake up tomorrow. we need to name the kid together — argue about it if we have to.”

a weak chuckle escaped you, and the sound shattered something in him. “so stubborn,” you murmured.

“you’re calling me stubborn?” he bit out, leaning closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “this from the woman who refused to come to the main estate even when —”

“shhhh,” you cut him off, your other hand weakly reaching up to rest against his chest. “kuna, let me… just let me…”

“don’t say goodbye,” he growled, his voice cracking as his claws dug into the ground beneath you, his cursed energy crackling wildly around him. “you don’t get to say goodbye.”

you didn’t listen. you never did.

“i love you,” you whispered, the words so soft they barely reached him, but he heard them all the same.

“don’t,” he choked, his voice barely above a whisper now.

“i love you,” you repeated, your hand falling limp against his chest.

and then you stilled.

“no,” sukuna breathed, his hands trembling as he shook you lightly. “no, no, no. you don’t get to — wake up!”

but you didn’t.

his hands curled into fists, claws tearing into the ground as his head fell forward, pressing against your cooling forehead.

“you promised me,” he rasped, his voice broken. “you said… you said you’d always find me.”

but the only sound that answered him was the faint rustle of the wind, carrying away the last remnants of your presence.

for the first time in his long, immortal life, ryomen sukuna felt what it truly meant to be alone. and for the first time, he wished he could be mortal — if only to follow you into the dark.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the battlefield was soaked in blood, a crimson sea stretching endlessly as the scent of death hung heavy in the air. sukuna stood at the center of it all, his figure drenched in gore, the sharp lines of his face painted with a grim expression. bodies lay scattered around him, lifeless and crumpled, their clans eradicated down to the last soul. his cursed energy crackled violently, an unrelenting storm that tore through everything in its wake.

he raised his hand, ready to summon another wave of destruction when something caught his eye — a pair of horses galloping in the far distance. they moved in tandem, their forms blurred by the heat rising from the blood-soaked ground. his breath hitched, his fingers twitching as he froze mid-motion.

a memory surged through him like a blade to his chest. faint laughter, the sound of hooves thundering against soft earth, and the warmth of a voice. your voice.

he lowered his hand slowly, the cursed energy dissipating with a low hum. his gaze fixed on the horses as they disappeared over the horizon, his chest tightening in a way he didn’t think was possible anymore.

“who… was it?” his voice cracked, the words barely audible, as if he feared shattering the fragile memory. his claws flexed, curling into fists at his sides. his heart, if it could still be called that, ached in a way that was both foreign and unbearable.

he stumbled back, for once his body feeling the weight of his own destruction. he wiped his face instinctively, only to realize his hands were trembling. “why… why does this memory hurt?” his voice was a growl now, anger and anguish intertwining.

he fell to his knees, staring at the ground beneath him. he could see the faintest outline of you — your smile, the way your hair caught the sun, the sound of your laughter as you challenged him to another race. the memory was fleeting, just like you, and it burned him from the inside out.

“who were you to me?” his words echoed into the emptiness, his cursed energy swirling weakly around him like a storm losing its strength.

the silence that followed mocked him. it wasn’t the triumphant roar of victory he was used to — it was hollow, deafening, and suffocating.

“damn it.” his claws tore into the ground, blood and dirt mixing under his nails. “why did you leave me? who gave you the right?”

but deep down, he knew it wasn’t your choice. it never was.

millennia of violence, rage, and destruction had never slowed him. yet now, as his mind clung desperately to the shadow of a memory, he found himself rooted in place. unmoving.

the horses were gone, swallowed by the horizon, but they left behind a gaping hole in his chest that no amount of slaughter could ever fill.

“who am i even fighting for anymore?” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

as he sat there amidst the carnage, the king of curses — feared by all, unmatched in power — felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in ages: emptiness. true, unrelenting emptiness.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

sukuna's voice faltered as he finished recounting the story, his usual gruffness trembling under the weight of memories he thought he’d buried long ago. his hands, always so sure and unyielding, shook as they rested on the table. his crimson eyes, usually sharp and menacing, softened with unshed tears that clung stubbornly to the edge of his lashes.

and then there was you. sitting across from him, your hands clasped tightly together as if the very act of letting go would break the fragile connection between you. your own eyes glistened, the ache in your chest a weight you couldn’t name but could feel deeply in your soul.

you didn’t remember, not in the way he did. but your body and soul reacted, resonating with every word like an old song long forgotten. and as your tears spilled, so did his.

“ryo…” your voice was barely a whisper, unprompted but steady, and it shattered whatever composure sukuna had left.

his head fell forward, and for the first time in centuries, sukuna wept openly. no growls to mask his sobs, no threats to cloak his vulnerability. his shoulders shook, and his large hands gripped yours like they were the only thing tethering him to reality.

“you remember…” he choked out, his voice breaking, the tears streaming down his face unstoppable. “you — you remember ...”

you nodded, though you weren’t sure how much of it you truly did. it didn’t matter. your soul knew him. your heart knew him. and right now, that was enough.

your hands reached across the table to cup his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears that fell freely now. “we found each other,” you murmured, your own voice thick with emotion. “and isn’t that all that matters?”

he pulled you into his arms then, the table between you forgotten. you both sank to the floor, holding onto each other like lifelines, crying for what was lost and for what was found.

“i searched for you,” he whispered into your hair, his voice raw and uneven. “for so long. i didn’t even know what i was looking for, but it was you. it was always you.”

“and you found me,” you whispered back, your arms tightening around him. “we found each other.”

and so you stayed there, tangled together, tears mingling as centuries of pain and longing poured out between you. in that moment, nothing else mattered — not the past, not the future, not the world around you.

you had each other again.

and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the room felt electric, every shared breath, every soft sigh charging the atmosphere between you and sukuna. the way he looked at you, reverent and awestruck, as if he couldn’t believe you were real, made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t thought possible. his hands roamed your body with a mix of desperation and tenderness, calloused palms smoothing over your skin like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

his lips trailed lower, brushing kisses along your neck, your collarbone, your stomach, until he reached the apex of your thighs. he paused, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, and the sound he let out — a soft, almost broken chuckle — made your heart skip a beat.

“let me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “please, let me. i’ve waited so long... i need this, need you .” his crimson eyes glistened as they met yours, raw and unguarded.

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat when he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his lips lingering as if they were trying to tell a story his words couldn’t convey. his hands gripped your hips gently, holding you in place as he moved closer to your pussy.

“you don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, the words muffled against your skin. “a thousand years, and nothing — nothing —has ever come close to this. to you. ”

your breath hitched as his tongue flicked over your sensitive clit, a soft gasp escaping your lips. you tried to pull him up, to bring him to you, but he shook his head, his grip on you tightening just slightly.

“no,” he said, his voice trembling. “not yet. please, just... let me have this. let me show you how much i’ve missed you.”

he sounded so broken, so utterly vulnerable, that you couldn’t find it in yourself to deny him. you sank back into the mattress, your hands threading through his hair as he continued.

his tongue worked you expertly, alternating between firm strokes and teasing flicks that had your body arching off the bed. he let out noises — soft, desperate sounds that bordered on whimpers — as if your pleasure was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“you taste like heaven,” he murmured against you, his lips pressing kisses to your swollen clit before moving to your thigh. “i could spend eternity here, worshipping you like this. you’re perfect... so perfect.”

“'kuna,” you breathed, your voice shaking as you tugged at his hair. “please, come here. i need you.”

he hesitated, his lips brushing over your skin one last time before he looked up at you. his face was flushed, his crimson eyes dark with emotion, and he shook his head softly.

“not yet,” he begged, his voice cracking. “just a little longer. please, let me show you... let me have this moment.”

you nodded, your chest tightening at the sight of him so undone, so vulnerable. “okay,” you whispered. “okay, ryo. m'yours.”

his eyes fluttered closed, and he pressed one last, lingering kiss to your clit before moving up to capture your lips in a searing kiss. the love, the longing, the sheer need in that kiss spoke volumes, and as you tangled yourself around him, you knew that this moment was everything you both had been waiting for.

a thousand years may have kept you apart, but now, in this moment, you were whole again.

sukuna's lips were everywhere — your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder. each kiss carried a desperation that made your heart ache. he trembled against you, his hands roaming your body reverently as if afraid you might vanish beneath his touch.

“i can’t —” his voice broke, his breath warm against your skin. “i can’t believe i’m here, with you again. you don’t... you don’t know what this does to me.” his crimson eyes looked at you, raw and unguarded, as if you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

you cupped his face, your thumb brushing over the sharp line of his cheekbone. “i’m here,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. “i’m not going anywhere, ryo.”

he let out a shaky breath and pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, his fingers tangling with yours as he guided them above your head. he moved slowly, deliberately, as he prepared you, his fingers stretching you with care that seemed almost at odds with the reputation he carried.

“so perfect,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear. “you feel like you were made for me, like no time has passed at all. do you feel it, too? how we just... fit?”

you nodded, a soft moan escaping your lips as your body arched into his touch. he groaned at the sound, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered, “you’re everything. my everything.”

when he finally aligned himself and pushed inside, his breath hitched, his entire body stilling as he buried himself to the hilt. he didn’t move. he couldn’t. he just held you impossibly close, his arms wrapping around you as if shielding you from the world.

his face pressed into the crook of your neck, and you felt his breath tremble against your skin. “you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice breaking with emotion. “you’re mine. you’ve always been mine.”

you tightened your hold on him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pressed a kiss to the side of his face. “i’m yours,” you whispered, your voice shaking with the weight of the moment. “always.”

he began to move, slowly at first, his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that felt both achingly familiar and entirely new. each thrust was deliberate, as if he wanted to etch the memory of this moment into his very soul.

“you’re so beautiful like this,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “so soft, so warm. i don’t deserve you, but gods, i’ll never let you go.”

his pace quickened slightly, the tension in his body coiling as he continued to whisper sweet nothings against your skin. “you feel... gods, you feel so good. i’ve missed this. i’ve missed you . tell me you’ll stay. tell me you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you repeated, your voice steady despite the tears that blurred your vision. “always yours, ryo.”

your words seemed to undo him, his movements becoming just a touch more desperate as he chased the feeling of completeness that only you could bring him. his lips found yours again, and the kiss was anything but rushed. it was tender, a thousand years of longing poured into one moment.

“i love you,” he whispered against your lips, his voice trembling. “don’t leave me again. please.”

you kissed him back, your hands cupping his face as you whispered, “never.” and in that moment, as he held you close and moved within you, the world faded away, leaving just the two of you and the love that had withstood the test of time.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

the room was bathed in a soft amber glow from the bedside lamp, the warmth of the heater wrapping around the two of you like an embrace. sukuna lay on his side, facing you, his crimson eyes fixed on your face as if committing every detail to memory. your fingers threaded through his soft pink hair, the motion soothing as your legs tangled under the heavy blankets.

he huffed, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. “humans and their strange contraptions,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the heater in the corner of the room. “a box that makes fire but doesn’t burn anything? ridiculous.”

you chuckled, and his lips twitched into a small smile. “i can’t believe the great king of curses is humbled by a heater,” you teased, poking his chest. “next, you’ll be telling me you’re scared of microwaves.”

“what’s a microwave?” he asked, raising a brow.

you burst into laughter, clutching his shoulder as you leaned into him. the sound echoed in the quiet room, and he froze for a moment, drinking it in. “gods, i missed that,” he murmured, his voice soft as his hand came up to cup your cheek. “your laugh... i could hear it forever.”

you stopped giggling to look at him, your smile fading into something tender. “i’m here now,” you said quietly, your thumb brushing against his cheekbone. “and i’m not going anywhere, ryo.”

he pressed his forehead against yours, exhaling deeply as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly close. “you’d better not,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t think i could survive losing you again.”

the two of you lay like that for a while, the silence filled only by the hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the house settling. then, sukuna began to speak, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“did i ever tell you about the time we went horse riding, and you insisted on taking that wild stallion?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

you tilted your head, your fingers still combing through his hair. “no... but it sounds like something i’d do. what happened?”

“it threw you off within five minutes,” he said, his smile widening. “but you didn’t cry. no, you got up, brushed the dirt off your clothes, and glared at the horse like it had personally insulted you.”

you laughed softly. “sounds about right. did i get back on?”

he chuckled, his voice rumbling in his chest. “of course you did. you were too stubborn not to. you rode that damn horse until it obeyed you, and then you rode it every day for weeks just to prove a point.”

“his name was akagi,” you said suddenly, the name slipping out before you even realized it.

sukuna froze, his eyes widening as he looked at you. “you remember?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

you frowned, your hand pausing in his hair as you tried to piece together the memory. “i... i think so. he was a red horse, wasn’t he? with a white blaze down his face?”

a slow smile spread across his face, and for a moment, you thought you saw tears glistening in his eyes. “yes,” he said, his voice trembling. “yes, that’s him. you remember, my love. you remember.”

you nodded, tears welling up in your own eyes as the memory became clearer. “and you hated that horse,” you said, laughing through your tears. “you said he had too much attitude for his own good.”

“he did!” sukuna exclaimed, his grin breaking through the emotion. “but you loved him, so i tolerated him. for you.”

the two of you laughed together, the sound filled with relief and joy as more memories began to surface, each one like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. sukuna held you tightly, his face buried in your neck as he whispered, “thank you. gods, thank you for coming back to me.”

you kissed the top of his head, your fingers threading through his hair once more. “we’ve always found each other, ryo. even after a thousand years. i’m yours, always.”

he looked up at you, his crimson eyes shining with unshed tears. “and i’m yours. forever.”

as the night stretched into the early hours of the morning, the two of you stayed like that, recounting stories, laughing, crying, and holding each other. for the first time in a millennium, everything felt right. you were home, and so was he.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

sitting there, listening to sukuna recount the stories of your past life, painted a picture of someone you could barely recognize. a fierce, confident daimyo who commanded respect with every step, who ruled with fire in her veins and passion in her heart. the kind of person who spoke her truths, weaving her desires into words that resonated with everyone who heard them. but now? the years had dulled that fire, replaced it with something meek, something you didn’t recognize as you.

as he spoke about the woman you used to be, his pride was palpable, and it stirred something deep within you. he looked at you as though you were still that person, still that bold, unstoppable force. and as much as it warmed you, it also broke your heart. you had let yourself forget who you were, what you wanted, and most importantly, why you sang in the first place.

or rather, who you sang for.

he was right there, in front of you, the embodiment of every yearning, every note you ever wrote. your songs weren’t just about a nebulous longing — they were about him. and suddenly, the idea of continuing to sing songs crafted by someone else felt like the ultimate disrespect to both yourself and the man who loved you.

the next morning, after sharing breakfast with sukuna — who, despite being less than graceful in a modern kitchen, insisted on helping — you marched into your talent agency's office. the nerves had settled into your gut like a heavy stone, but you ignored them. you knew what you had to do.

the executives barely looked up when you entered, more concerned with their schedules and the demands of the music industry. but when you stood in the middle of the room, hands clenched at your sides, and declared, “i want to perform my own songs from now on,” they couldn’t ignore you.

their response was swift and cutting, full of reminders about contracts, marketability, and their so-called expertise. they warned you about repercussions, about how stepping out of line could end your career.

“then so be it,” you said, standing tall despite the tremor in your voice. “i’ve built enough of a name for myself that i don’t need this label to keep going. i’m not afraid of starting over.”

their protests followed you as you turned and walked out, but you didn’t look back. you felt his presence before you saw him — sukuna waiting just outside, leaning casually against the wall. his crimson eyes locked on yours, a flicker of pride shining in them.

“did you mean what you said in there?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he straightened up.

you nodded, slipping your hand into his. “every word.”

his grip tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “that’s my girl.”

together, you walked out of the building, the air around you feeling lighter than it had in years. the weight of others’ expectations, the chains of a system that had dictated your life — it all melted away with every step.

as you looked up at sukuna, his presence grounding you, you realized something: yearning wasn’t a weakness or a silly indulgence. it was a force that led you to beautiful things, to him, and to rediscovering yourself.

“what’s next?” he asked, his voice carrying an edge of excitement.

“i’ll write,” you said with certainty. “and i’ll sing. but this time, it’ll be my words, my heart, my truth.”

he grinned, that familiar, almost feral pride lighting up his face. “then let’s show the world what you’re made of.”

and for the first time in years, you felt like that fierce, confident daimyo again. the fire in your veins was back, and you had no intention of letting it go.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

three years had passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. your once-thriving singing career had quietly taken a backseat, but not without reason. life had shifted, blossomed in ways you and sukuna had long wished for, and the result was the sound of soft giggles and tiny footsteps filling your home. you were parents — parents to twin one-year-olds who were the perfect blend of you both, a miracle that neither of you could ever take for granted.

your days were now a whirlwind of business meetings and baby bottles. stepping away from the stage had allowed you to pivot into a new role: the owner of a successful label company. while you had initially mourned the end of your singing career, the new path felt right. nurturing young talent and giving others the platform you once had filled your heart with joy, just as much as rocking your twins to sleep did.

sukuna, of course, had his own rules when it came to parenting. he swore up and down that playing your music for the twins was the only surefire way to get them to calm down and sleep through the night. “it’s their mother’s voice,” he’d say, almost smugly, “of course it soothes them. they know quality when they hear it.”

you’d laugh, rolling your eyes at his tone but secretly loving how proud he sounded. and when the babies would finally drift off, their tiny hands clutching the edges of their blankets, sukuna would pull you close, kissing the top of your head like he always did.

one quiet evening, after the twins were finally tucked in, you sat behind sukuna on the couch, your fingers threading through his hair as he rested his head on your shoulder. your movements stilled when you noticed it — a strand of silver weaving through his dark hair.

“you’re getting grey hairs,” you murmured, letting out a soft chuckle as your hand continued to trace his scalp.

“hm?” he glanced up at you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. “does that bother you?”

“no,” you said quickly, a smile tugging at your lips. “it makes me happy.”

he raised a brow at that, clearly intrigued. “happy?”

“yeah,” you replied, your voice softening as you leaned forward to kiss his temple. “it means we’re growing old together. no more waiting, no more longing. just... this.”

for a moment, he was silent, his hand reaching up to cover yours where it rested on his shoulder. “you know,” he began, his voice unusually gentle, “i didn’t think this would ever be possible. i thought... after everything, after losing you once... that maybe this kind of peace wasn’t meant for me.”

you turned his face toward you, your fingers brushing against his jaw. “you deserve this. we deserve this.”

his gaze softened, the sharp edges of his usual demeanor melting away. “you’re too good to me,” he muttered, almost gruffly, before pressing a kiss to your palm.

“that’s because i love you,” you said simply, and his eyes darted away for a moment, the faintest hint of color dusting his cheeks.

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward in a rare, unguarded smile. “i love you too, you know.”

you laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair again. “i know.”

and as the two of you sat there, basking in the quiet warmth of your home, the soft hum of the heater in the background and the sound of your twins breathing steadily from their cribs, you felt it in your soul: you had waited lifetimes for this. and now that you had it, you weren’t letting go.

#absolute fav #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #I’m feeling every emotion possible #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst

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unspeakable-imagination · 8 months ago

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I need to know which fic to focus and work of for the next part (s)

Masterlist link

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #hugh jackman #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #logan x reader

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unspeakable-imagination · 9 months ago

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Y'all are making me GIDDY mg - Venus

Ne'ali

#canon x oc #avatar fanart #fanart #female na'vi oc #avatar oc #na'vi oc #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar james cameron #tsu'tey te rongloa ateyitan #tsu'tey avatar #avatar fanfic #avatar fanfiction #fanfic #avatar movie

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unspeakable-imagination · 9 months ago

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"See more than just with your eyes"

The one-shot contest winner @nonamevenus One-Shot!

This one shot is about Her Oc Na'ali and Tsu’tey meeting and building chemistry till the day they are each others.

I had so much fun writing this One-Shot!

As always my pages and fics are always and all 18+! Ageless accounts and minors will be blocked!

To the One-shot

“We will adapt!” Jake’s words rang out over the crowd, speaking not only for his family but for Tsu’tey as well.

“We will adapt.”

The day replayed in Tsu’tey’s mind like a relentless echo—Jake’s promise to the Water People’s leaders, to the clan, to everyone. Tsu’tey tried, struggled, to adapt to this clan's ways, but his cup felt too full to understand, too full even to want to learn. His only relief was seeing that Neytiri also struggled to adapt to the Metkayina ways as much as he did. But that relief was short-lived as he watched her, his friend, begin to adapt as quickly as her family.

Outsider.

He knew, deep in his heart, that he did not belong here. He belonged back at his true home, with his true clan. But he had made a promise to his brother and to his sister that he would stay with them to help protect their family—his nephews and nieces. He loved them dearly and did not want the Sky Demons to ever bring them harm. They had already managed to get a hold of the Sully kids once; Tsu’tey would be damned if they laid a demonic finger on them again without his blade slicing through flesh, taking their hands as trophies.

He hadn’t been made War Chief without reason, after all.

Not that it mattered now. The Metkayina were a clan of peace; there would be no wars. They did not engage in such things unless it was direly needed. There was no War Chief of the Metkayina; such a role would fall to their Olo’eyktan if ever required. They didn’t even patrol their own islands. But he did.

Some habits die hard.

He rode his ikran around the island, staring down at the people below. The Water People were carrying out their tasks: hunters out fishing, gatherers collecting resources, children being taught the skills and ways of their people. It was so similar to what he was used to, and yet so different that it poisoned his heart with an ache he knew nothing here could cure.

His eyes drifted from the island to the distant cays on the horizon. A soft pat on his ikran's neck guided the flying beast toward them.

Somewhere alone—where he could sit and think in silence.

His ikran swooped low, its wingtips skimming the water before landing on a low-hanging tree on one of the smaller cays. Tsu’tey carefully climbed down, sliding along the tree until his feet dug into the sand, and he began moving further inland. From the sky, he had seen that the cay encircled a pool of water in its center—a serene spot, he thought, to ponder what clouded his thoughts, what held him back from adapting like the others had.

The walk from the beach to the high-rooted trees was not an easy one, which brought back some familiarity and heartache as he made his way through mangrove roots and limbs to reach the cay's small lagoon-like waters. Right before he would break through the trees, his ears perked up as he heard splashing. Carefully maneuvering around onto mangrove roots, he peered out to the lagoon.

Bright, shimmering waters moved calmly, where crystal clear depths revealed an endless valley of thriving, rich coral reefs. Soft waves pushed onto the lagoon's shores, and each gentle wave glimmered with reflections of the sun. Small fish creatures swam peacefully in schools as Tsu’tey’s eyes moved over the lagoon. His ears twitched at a splash, narrowing as something moved through the waters before emerging.

Hair flew up, spraying water droplets around before falling onto turquoise shoulders, water-reflected cyan stripes merging and splitting down the figure's back. The braids cascaded down to the middle of the figure, and he paused as he watched her move, swimming in the lagoon. Her ears perked, and her head turned, scanning the tree lines where he ducked down, making sure to stay out of her gaze while keeping his on her.

Her cadet eyes scanned before the woman ducked under the waters, vanishing where the coral leaves descended down into the deep, disappearing into darkness.

Only then did Tsu’tey move, heading to the lagoon’s edge, looking down at the water, his eyes searching for where she had gone. Confusion formed on his features when she did not resurface anywhere else in the lagoon. Staring at the water made him clench his teeth as he backed away, not trusting its edges. His tempted curiosity damned, he perched in the sand, staring out over the lagoon.

He was not a swimmer.

“He is an idiot,” Neytiri muttered as Tsu’tey watched with her at the docks, seeing Jake trying to overdo himself all at once. He chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched his brother-in-arms get flung from the sea animal that had taken off.

“He is,” Tsu’tey remarked, a smirk finding its way onto his lips, his tail moving idly behind him.

“But at least he is trying,” Neytiri spoke, cocking her head at him, making his ears slick back.

“I will not swim. I am not meant to swim,” he answered with narrowed eyes and slicked-back ears.

“You need to learn,” his friend coaxed, prompting a hiss from him as his tail twitched.

“I do not need this.”

“Tsu’tey, it has been weeks,” Neytiri tried to press, but she was met with the sight of his back as he stormed away from the docks. A whistle on his tongue, and with the swift beating of ikran wings, Tsu’tey was soon off again, soaring the skies that led him away from the Water People’s village. Her own ears slicked back as she watched him fly away with concern, a sigh leaving her. She prayed to the Great Mother that Tsu’tey would find a home here as she had learned to find one.

The laughter of her children brought her attention away.

The cay was a place he would continue to go, landing his ikran on its beaches and swinging through the mangrove roots and tree limbs, always stopping before the tree line in different locations. His glowing green eyes cut through the treeline's shade, out onto the lagoon.

Glimpses.

He was always able to catch glimpses of the woman of the lagoon.

Today, as he leaned against one of the many mangrove trunks, he watched her sitting on rocks near one of the lagoon's sides. Her braided hair was twisted up into a messy bun, and her hand came down with a thunderous whack with a rock in her tightly fisted palm. She brought it down two, three times before moving her hand away, the other grabbing something bright orange and fleshy to her lips, sucking it into her mouth, a soft smile gracing her face.

He recognized it—the flesh of a prickly animal the Metkayina liked harvesting and eating alone or mixed with sea grain. He did not like its taste; the texture of mush did not sate his appetite. However, watching the mysterious woman of this cay’s lagoon eat it with such satisfying content made him want to experience such a simple joy.

She never stayed in the lagoon long. Washing away the animal's remains, she would stand, and his eyes would take her in with sudden awe as the sun reflected on her skin before she dove off the rocks back into the lagoon's waters, blending entirely in where he could no longer make out her shape as she vanished into the darkness.

An underwater cavern, he believed, led out to the open ocean surrounding the cay.

Typically, this is where he too would leave the cay, but today he walked out onto the lagoon's beach and moved to the rocks, where he laid down a small trinket between some rocks where it could not be washed away.

He still did not know if this water woman was real or a play on his eyes for feeling alone in this new, bizarre world he had followed the Sullys into. The small trinket he left behind on the rocks would be his proof.

If it remained there on his return the next day, then the woman was never real.

But if the trinket was gone, moved by hands—perhaps her hands—then she was, in fact, very real and now aware of his visits to the cay’s lagoon.

He had wanted to rush to the cay quickly this morning, but instead, he found himself pulling stupid kids apart from a petty fight, dragging his nephews, the Metkayina Olo’eyktan, and Tsa’hik’s son and his friends away. Having to deal with dragging them all to be dealt with by their parents had been an ordeal.

He had stayed with Tuk, keeping an eye on his youngest niece while Jake and Neytiri went to make peace and make their sons apologize for causing trouble.

“And then we saw these little tiny fish—they were like butterflies, Uncle Tey!” his small niece Tuk excitedly chattered as he sat beside her, finishing the weaving of a basket that Tuk was supposed to do on her own. He hummed at her chatter, acknowledging without fully paying attention as he fought with sea nettle to bend and twist under his fingertips.

“Uncle Tey, where do you go every other day?” Tuk's soft little voice broke his focus, making him look at her.

“A place to think and observe, little one,” he responded, watching how her little features formed into soft confusion.

“Dad says you go and sulk.”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Your dad is an idiot,” he grumbled, causing the little one to giggle.

“But he’s trying to help you, like Mom,” Tuk said, her eyes earnest and wide. She didn’t understand the weight of his burden or the ache in his heart. She only knew the simple wisdom of a child—that everyone should try to get along, to fit in, to find joy.

He sighed, setting the half-finished basket aside. His large hand gently ruffled Tuk’s braids. “I know, little one. But sometimes… sometimes it is hard to change.”

He was glad when his ears perked up hearing of footsteps and turning his head to see her parents. He had left her with them and quickly left the Metkayinas island once more, Taking flight into the sea satly breezes as he did not even need to guide his beast anymore, the Ikran knew where he wanted to go and took him so without any hesitation in the beat of its mighty wings.

The rocks were where Tsu’tey went when he didn’t catch a new glimpse of the lagoon’s woman. Moving to them, his eyes searched the place where he had left the trinket, only to find it gone, replaced by a bracelet of frosted sea glass, woven in a delicate pattern. He took it gently, his tail swaying as he felt the prickling sensation of eyes upon him. His own eyes scanned the water, catching sight of a partial glimpse of a woman’s head breaking the surface—cadet eyes staring back at him, her ears perched well above the water.

Tsu’tey moved his hand from his side to his forehead in a respectful greeting, dipping his head down as he did so, showing the mysterious woman some deference.

Her eyes narrowed as she rose from the water, droplets cascading off her form like crystals. He kept his attention solely on her.

“You are a persistent presence here,” her voice carried across the lagoon, making his ears perk and flick.

“I do not mean to disturb—”

“Do not speak differently than your actions. If you truly meant not to disturb, you wouldn’t have come here repeatedly to stare at me for a solid month,” she cut him off, her tone blunt, as her eyes assessed him with suspicion.

“You are far from where you belong,” she commented, her cadet eyes meeting his.

“I left my homelands to ensure my friend's family stays safe while they seek refuge with the Metkayina,” Tsu’tey explained, watching her so intently that he wasn’t sure when he had last blinked.

“And yet I find you here, bothering me with your staring from a distance,” the woman countered, making him clench his teeth at her brashness. Yet, he couldn’t deny the truth in her words. Resetting his jaw, he attempted a different approach.

“And what is the name of the woman who likes being alone?” he asked, pressing lightly but cautiously.

She stared at him sharply, examining him with an unwavering gaze. Her jaw shifted slightly as she let a clicking noise escape her lips.

“Ne'ali.”

Tsu’tey’s lips twitched into a smile he had to bite back, and her eyes snapped back to him with sharpness.

“It is an honor to know you, Ne'ali,” he responded respectfully, watching as she scoffed and turned away from him, reentering the water.

“Do not disturb my serenity.”

And yet, despite his efforts, he continued to do so.

Every few days, Tsu’tey found time to leave the Metkayina village, flying his ikran to the cay where Ne'ali seemed to reside. Their initial meeting emboldened him, and he began walking out from the mangrove trees to the rocks each time he visited, finding things to occupy himself. He dangled his legs over the edge of the rocks above the water, carving wood to pass the time or to appear busy whenever she arrived from the underwater caves that led to the open ocean.

Sometimes, she acknowledged him with narrowed eyes, shooting him a glare as if his very presence aggravated her. He pretended not to notice, carving away at the limb in his hands. When he finished an animal or whatever he had created, he would leave it behind on the rocks, ignoring how, once he started entering the mangroves, he could hear the splashing of water. Once deep into the treeline and out of her sight, he would turn to see her examining what he had left behind.

Sometimes she took the carvings; other times she left them, but always placed in the cracks of the rocks where the rising tide couldn’t sweep them away.

A collection was growing.

“You do not swim?” Ne'ali’s question came more as a statement, causing him to pause mid-carving. Glancing up, he saw her approaching the rocks from the lagoon's beach. His eyes furrowed at her question, casting a sidelong glance at the ocean as if it were something terrible. His tail cracked behind him like a whip at the very thought of it.

He remained silent as she crouched down, keeping a respectable distance between them.

“I do not know how,” Tsu’tey admitted forcefully, meeting her gaze. He refused to feel ashamed or embarrassed. He had never needed to learn—his life in the forests had made climbing a priority, with flying his ikran, hunting, and fighting following closely behind. Swimming had never been on his agenda, nor had he needed it. The water holes back home were shallow creeks that barely reached his knees. Rivers? He would never go deeper than his chest, still able to walk.

Ne'ali held his gaze for a moment, her head tilting slightly as her ears flicked, thoughts passing behind her cadet eyes that she kept to herself. Then, she rose to her feet, her wide tail swaying with her.

“I shall teach you,” she stated firmly, making a motion for him to follow.

She didn’t give him much choice.

“Why are you smacking the water as if it’s a drum?” Her voice rang out over the waves as Tsu’tey’s arms flailed, colliding with the water as he desperately tried to stand on the tips of his toes, keeping his head above the surface.

“How else am I supposed to hit the water when swimming?!” His voice hissed out, barely louder than the foamy water swirling just under his chin.

“You’re not seeing my motions,” she said, grabbing him and pulling him to the shallow waters where he could rest on his legs. There, she clacked her hands, making him focus as she cupped her palms.

“See my hands?” she emphasized strictly. “When they meet the water, do they echo? No. They meet it with care. My fingers aren’t spread in all directions like branches—they’re enclosed, cupping like a bowl.”

She moved her hands and arms, letting herself float in the lagoon’s waters, demonstrating the movement as she swam around him, her head remaining above the water.

“See how I caress the water, filling my hands like a bowl? That is how you should meet the water, not like this!” She flailed her arms mockingly, slapping the water the way he had moments before.

“This doesn’t move you or keep you up! You’re thrashing around like a newborn, and even they know how to float!” Ne'ali chastised him, humor dancing in her voice as a rare smile touched her lips.

Tsu’tey’s ears slicked back, and without a word, he stormed toward the shore.

“I will not be ridiculed,” he muttered, bitterness lacing his words.

Ne'ali watched him leave, her cadet eyes tracking him as he disappeared into the trees. A soft whisper escaped her lips, meant only for herself.

“And yet, you will return to bother me more, skxawng.”

And he did return. In the following days, Na'ali was not surprised when she finally heard him approaching again. She did not turn to face him, focusing instead on the seaweed she was twisting and weaving into new netting along the lagoon’s beach. Her ears tipped slightly at the sound of his footsteps—the only acknowledgment of his presence as silence filled the lagoon, broken only by the gentle waves and the occasional leaping fish.

“I apologize for how I acted,” Tsu’tey's voice came softly from behind her. “Time and reflection have allowed me to see my ways more clearly.”

She greeted his words with a sigh, setting her half-finished net aside before turning her head to look at him. His ears were down, his tail low—a pitiful display.

“Are you ready to see with more than just your own view?” she asked bluntly, pressing him to understand if he was truly ready to listen and learn.

“I am willing to try again,” Tsu’tey answered, and she responded with a nod, standing from the sand and walking into the water. Her tail glided effortlessly through the waves as she raised her hand, beckoning him to follow.

And see, he did.

Na'ali found herself grinning when he finally managed to keep himself from flailing. Within hours, she had him leaving the shallows to swim with her to the middle of the lagoon. In less than half an hour, they reached the center, where he lay on his back, floating beside her as the sunset painted the sky in hues of gold, purple, and pink. The last of the Great Mother’s blazing suns were beginning to depart, and the moon was creeping in, ushering the grand eclipse that would bring the night.

The lagoon’s waters began to shimmer with luminescence. Na'ali tilted her head slightly, glancing at Tsu’tey. His bioluminescent freckles glowed brighter than hers, their light dancing on his skin. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful, as if he had finally found stillness within. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, the brightness of his green gaze startled her.

A forest.

She could almost see the very homeland he had left behind reflected in his eyes. His lips curved into a gentle smile that made her pause in her thoughts.

“This is peaceful,” Tsu’tey admitted softly, and his words struck her with an unexpected sense of pride. She grinned before turning to the star-lit sky.

“You should keep your eyes open more often,” she teased.

After that, he grew more daring. Tsu’tey began to swim farther out from the shorelines, not just at Na'ali’s secluded lagoon but also in the village. He swam with his chosen nephews and nieces, and his sudden embrace of the Metkayina way did not go unnoticed by the Sully children—or by their parents, who watched from the docks in disbelief.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jake muttered to his wife as they watched Tsu’tey swimming. “He’s actually out there.”

“About time he got over himself,” Jake added with a smirk.

“No,” Neytiri corrected, her lips curving into a smile. She placed her hand on her mate’s arm, her eyes brightening with a quiet joy.

“He has found another,” she said, a note of celebration in her voice. She began to move toward their home, leaving Jake with more questions.

“You mean a woman?” Jake asked, following her as she started preparing dinner, her grin growing wider.

“Another who can make him smile, like Sylwanin once did,” Neytiri revealed, grinding herbs as she spoke. “I hope to meet this person, to see who has brought warmth back into my friend's heart.”

After all, no one with a strong heart should be alone.

The wood crackled as flames danced into the salty sea breeze, carrying the scent of fish being cooked.

“Do you plan to always stay on your own?” Tsu’tey asked, turning to look at Na'ali, who sat beside him. She was watching him as he turned the fish over the coals, the bundled herbs stuffed inside its split side. The aroma seeped into the tender flesh as the oils sizzled and dripped onto the hot stones.

Na'ali's response didn’t come as quickly as usual, and concern crept into Tsu’tey’s features. He noticed her distant expression before she blinked it away and met his gaze, her cadet-blue eyes locking onto his.

“Are you planning to make your presence in this woman’s life a permanent one?” she asked, a playful note in her voice as she deflected the personal question back to him.

Tsu’tey’s eyes crinkled with amusement, a smirk tugging at his lips. He took the bait, teasing in return.

“If she would have me,” he replied.

Something shifted in Na'ali’s eyes—a softness forming within them as her ears fluttered, and her cheekbones darkened with a deeper hue. She turned her face to avoid looking at him, but her fingers shyly grazed his, a warmth sparking through their touch. Tsu’tey moved his fingers to interlock with hers, his warm palm enveloping hers gently.

“I will not move into another village,” her voice wavered slightly, but Tsu’tey knew Na'ali was firm in her words. He squeezed her fingers gently in reassurance.

“I know. I wouldn’t ask you to,” he said softly, watching her. Hesitation only lingered for a few moments before he carefully cupped her cheek with his other hand, turning her to face him. He stared into her alluring cadet-blue eyes.

“Oel ngati kameie, I do not want to change you, Na'ali. You are beautiful as you are.”

His heart was fully on display for her, his eyes radiating warmth and affection as his hand rested gently on her darkened cheeks.

Na'ali struggled internally, years of solitude fighting against the urge to pull away, to protect herself. But the strange desire to guard that tender look on Tsu’tey’s face—one she was sure no one else could bring out in him—kept her still.

Her lungs burned as she forced herself to take a breath, her chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale. Her entire body felt alive, pulsing with warmth as her trembling hand covered his, pressing his palm firmly against her cheek. She closed her eyes, unable to continue looking into the forest that lived in his eyes.

She breathed, and Tsu’tey allowed her the space to do so without any pressure, simply staying by her side like the air she needed. When she opened her eyes again, she greeted him with azure eyes, glowing with the light of new love—a calm ocean stirring with the promise of endless depth.

“She would have you,” Na'ali whispered, clinging to his hand softly, a silent plea in her gaze.

“If he promised to stay.”

Tsu’tey brought her into his arms, holding her close. Always offering her safety, always allowing her the freedom to flee if his touch became too much. But when she didn’t pull away, his heart pounded with joy as he rested his chin on her head, his tail swaying gently. His eyes flickered to the fire before them, watching as ash and flames danced toward the starry sky.

“I have nowhere else to go,” he whispered, feeling her lean more into him.

“Oel ngati kameie, Tsu’tey.”

#avatar way of water fanfics #avatar way of water #james cameron avatar #avatar #na'vi oc #18+ fanfic #navi ocs #Na'vi oc not mine #Contest one shot #Contest Winner #Tsu’tey x oc #Tsu’tey #Avatar Tsu’tey

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