Unique, Never Been Done Before, Amazing, Show Stopping

Unique, never been done before, amazing, show stopping 🫶🫶🫶🫶🤩🤩🤩🤩🥳🥳😻😻😻😻

[ nsfw ] - post-apocalyptic au (mentions of guns, blood, war, fighting for survival) ; probably ooc bakugou because of the setting ; implied/minor shinsou x reader ; smut (18+) (may or may not be exposing my spit kink with this one LOL)

[ word count ] - 7.5k

"y'want me to do it?"

it smells like copper.

when you press your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you taste blood; a preemptive warning for what's coming, what you'll spill. for some reason, the rifle feels heavier than usual today.

"c'mon, what're you waiting for?"

maybe it's because you can't see his face. seems immoral that way. maybe it's because showing your back to someone is a sign of weakness in the world now and everyone knows that; him walking backwards to the safehouse, one arm barely raised in surrender — that's trust. that you won't do exactly what you're planning to do to him.

"gonna let him knock on the front door or what?"

"would you shut up?" you hiss, snapping back to fix your watch-partner with a glare. "i'm trying to focus."

he only raises one eyebrow, lazily gesturing back out to the road where the figure is stumbling along. despite hitoshi's easy facade, you can tell there's a sincerity to his words, even more evident in the tight hand he has around his own gun. he's allowing you the time, the chance to make your own decision, but he's as much a guard to the house as you are.

holding your breath, you look back through the glass reticle and find the man again. the gun aizawa gave you is from before the war, but it'll still take a raider's head off if you aim it right, and it won't be clean about it, either. even from where you're sitting in the watch blind, you have him clear in your sights and all you have to do is rid the tension from your shoulders and ease out your breath and —

the man crumples into the dirt, and stays there. a dusty lump of skin and bone and uncertainty.

when you pull back to look at hitoshi, he ignores you, frowning at the sight. the rusted chair he's half-leaning back in creaks when it hits the floor, screeching as he scoots to its edge to better survey the road. it's been a few days since he's shaved, the skin underneath his sprouting hairs irritated from where he's been scratching.

"this is a trap if i've ever seen one."

"so what are we supposed to do?" you pull the rifle from where it'd been perched on the ledge — something that deepens hitoshi's frown; a finality. "just leave him there?"

("we can't lose our humanity," aizawa told you, both, as you all stood on the screened-in porch, watching eri make dolls from sticks and straw in the yard. it hadn't been long after you joined their encampment, and you'll never forget the way he looked at you. with trust, pleading, that you wouldn't become everything they feared. "or else we'll be no different than the damn machines.")

hitoshi finally looks at you with his heavy, withdrawn eyes, and he looks the same as he did the night he found you in that ditch, all alone and bleeding out. he could have just left you to die on some excuse about not having the room or space or resources to take on another mouth to feed, but —

frustrated, he shakes his head, chasing away his compassion and memory in staunch self-defense. "this is a trap."

it's been a few days since either of you have seen another person this far out west, even longer since raiders have come along and met their own graves. a sweeter aspect to having the safehouse on a hill: you can see anything coming for miles. it gives you all the time you need to prepare for bandits and thugs, the wayward todoroki corporation 'droids that scan this edge of the earth.

you can see anything coming, even the end. and it can see you, too.

you don't argue because his concern is rooted in truth; what little peace you've had is bound to expire. it never lasts very long. people are getting desperate, moreso than usual. aizawa predicts a fourth of the population won't make it without food and shelter and something to keep warm when the next winter hits — which isn't far off.

out on the road, the lump never moves.

"fuck it," you grunt, kicking your chair back as you stand. your rifle strap slips over your head easily, the weight of it grounding as nerves light with unease. "just—cover me."

hitoshi glares, but doesn't move to stop you. "you're explanin' this to shouta on your own."

you shuffle down the rickety ladder, jumping off as soon as you can because you hate the stupid thing. the dehydrated skeleton of a bush snaps when you clamber through it, kicking along dead limbs and branches and thorns until you reach the barren, dirt road.

once you're out in front of the blind, you give a thumbs up and you don't move until hitoshi's light flashes twice, hidden by what remains of an old pine.

even from where you're standing, you can hear the man breathing, wheezing audibly enough that your own chest tightens in response. could be from the storms and their acidic haze, or prolonged exposure to radiation that's started to eat him up from the inside; either way, you don't think it sounds like he has long.

before you can fully approach, the up-close sight of him stops you dead.

half-alive. battle-torn, much more than you expected; your mouth fills with saliva at the dried clumps of blood clinging to one side of his face, crusted over with debris and muck. his right arm is — fucked, to say the least, and he's at least lucid enough to know it, cradling it close to his body as if you're going to steal what's left of it.

only his left eye is open, probably the only one that can still make out a damn thing, and he watches you, half-lidded.

an explosion of some sort; probably set off a mine in that airfield north of here. must have walked near 50 kilometers in this direction, which would explain why he's in such a piss-poor state. rifling through his pockets produces hardly anything, save for some lint and a small folding knife — that you do take, for good measure. not once does he try to stop you (as if he even could), choosing instead to take you in the only way he can.

you sit back to check his ears, and his head moves without fight. maelleable. surrendered. his right one is hard to find, underneath the blood. "can you hear me?" unsurprisingly, you receive no response. probably can't hear a thing. "hey. can you hear me?"

but then — he blinks, twice and slow.

behind you, the nuclear glow of night begins to unravel and you can feel it nipping at your skin; cold and chemical, a fresh burn under running water. another quick flash of light means to hurry you along, but you just raise a hand to hitoshi.

"you can hear me?" your voice drops considerably, to a narrowly audible whisper. the kind you would use with a newborn, or when trying to calm a wounded animal. "blink twice."

he does.

something softens in your chest, something that's long since crusted over. you've become so used to finding the threat in everything, you've forgotten what it looks like to need help, and now it's staring you in the face. carmine and bleary and scared. you can't feel his skin beneath your gloves, but you touch the sharp curve of his brow, wiping away the grime.

"hitoshi," you call, "get the horse. and the stretcher."

aizawa doesn't say anything when you get back. no one does. not even him.

it takes effort to care for him, which you think is the lesson you're meant to learn — the hard way. after he's loaded into the house, the hands that tend to him are your own and no one else's; the water you boil for your own bath goes to him, trying to carefully wash his wounds as he watches you, unchanged; for the first two nights, you give him your rations, until you're so hungry that you have to split them.

he doesn't speak to you. doesn't make any sounds, not besides his ever-present wheeze — which you have to get used to sleeping beside. you give him your sleeping bag, though you don't mind the floor as much as you thought you would.

there are no grunts of pain, not even when you have to peel the tattered remains of his clothes from his arm, just to wrap up the gristle that's still attached to him. he'll probably lose it, if he's lucky, but you've got nowhere near that kind of medical expertise and kayama hasn't been back for a few months. longer than anyone has expected. he'll have to wait, just like everyone else.

there's — little you can actually do for him besides bandaid-ing him together, because you're so afraid of hurting him or making any and all of his situations worse that you take your time. too much maybe. pulling a shirt over his head and squeezing warm water out of a towel down his grisly body and even feeding him; you're hardly able to take care of yourself. doing it for someone else proves to be a challenge. lesson learned, though the regret never comes.

three weeks go by, before he tells you his name.

you're sharing a granola bar and a can of peaches from your own personal stash, enjoying the peace and quiet of the dining-room-turned-barracks. hizashi has been taking your watch shifts and in return you've been helping eri out in the garden, tending to the field behind the house so that you can be close, just in case.

("is he going to die?"

she's afraid of him. you can tell by the careful way she watches him, shallow little breath held whenever you help him to stand for another round of clean bandages. she rotates who she sleeps with because she doesn't have a bed of her own, and since you've given your pillow up to your half-man, she's kept her distance, both when awake and not.

"what?"

she swallowed and turned her attention down to her nails, picking at the dirt underneath them as you tossed another potato into the bucket she was holding.

"him. hitoshi said—"

"i don't care what he said." you barked, harsh and in a way you would feel guilty for later, but it made sure she didn't ask again.)

the right half of his face is completely bandaged up, making him look more mummy than man, and his eye is trained on the spoon of peaches you keep feeding him. he takes it patiently, but there's an eagerness to his bite that has you worrying he's going hungry.

he's much bigger than you; that, you could tell even before you got his clothes off. his shoulders are wide, broad, and the strength they carry couldn't have been born from anything but healthy labor. it's been a long time since you've seen someone so well-fed and it makes everyone seem smaller and more feeble in comparison, has you wondering where he could have possibly come from, before he got nearly blown to hell.

you don't care what hitoshi is saying. that he's questioning everything now.

defiantly, you think that maybe if he'd helped with the wound-washing and bandaging, he'd know how much meat and tissue and muscle lies beneath your half-man's skin. no wires or tracking chips. no metal. just human.

you can't explain why he doesn't cry or speak or even cringe, but emotion is in there, somewhere. maybe next to his hunger and his trust. the sense he has to touch you with only gentle, considerate intent.

a 'droid wouldn't do that. all of you know it, from experience.

"i have to go into town soon,"

he watches you carefully, teeth clicking against your spoon when he closes his mouth around it. food gets shoved into the left side of his cheeks on instinct and it reminds you of some rodent you're sure doesn't exist anymore.

"i'll be gone a few days, but i have enough food squared away that no one should bother you." even if they don't want him here, you know the rest of the house won't put him out, not with you gone — but still; you want to take care of the only tension they could have with him. "i'll leave you my pack if it will—"

"i have to go to kamino."

stunned, you look up at him, spoon midway between the two of you. your half-man stares back, blinking as if he's just woken up from a long and fitful sleep.

"you can talk?"

"yes." his brow furrows, as if your question is irrelevant or maybe stupid. "i have to go to kamino."

"uh," now you blink, trying to picture a map in your mind. the miles stretch on the further you think about it. "i don't think you'll get very far with the state you're in."

he nods, suddenly grim, and goes quiet. retreats to a place that's not here, with you, as his eye glazes over and sticks to the floor. you feed yourself a peach in an attempt to sweeten the sour feeling that bubbles up inside you.

you wait as long as you can before speaking again, until you can't take it. "you'll be moving on, then?"

he turns his head, focuses more on your face with his one eye and — you get the feeling it's the first time he's ever looked at you, really. which you know is stupid because he's done nothing but watch you, but now: alive and aware, he catalogues your face, the dip of your shoulder, a stray scar that's jagged across your collarbone.

assigning it to memory, maybe.

"yes. when i'm better."

you shrug, and try to keep your mouth from curling down like it wants to. "might be a while."

"someone's waiting for me."

it makes you feel bitter, though it shouldn't. as if he's throwing all you've done for him in your face even though he's not.

you feel — overwhelmingly embarrassed at yourself, but it doesn't stop the burn that builds in your waterline.

people are so scarce these days, an endangered species. finding one to tuck into a worn sleeping bag, to rinse the dirt from their hair and help them with their clothes, to become reliant on the white-noise sound of their wheeze — it happened too easily. lesson learned.

your half-man shuffles in front of you, nodding back at to the granola until you're feeding him again. a spell has been broken now, and because he's talked and shown plans to leave, you think he should maybe be feeding himself. but what the hell.

cheek full, he asks, "you know where kamino is?"

again, you picture the map in your mind, frowning at the distance. "it's not close."

"can you take me there?"

you shake your head; whiplash. two days ago, he couldn't stand on his own and now he's trying to lead an expedition half-way across the country. briefly, you picture it: him and you, snaking down the beaten path, avoiding the highways and finding old 100-yen shops to sleep in. using the aisle shelves like a bunk-bed, him on the bottom. wheezing until you're lulled to sleep.

when you look back at him, he's frowning. "i-what? me?"

again he makes that face: furrowed brow, mouth slanted like he can't comprehend your question — or why you've asked it.

"i can't just," you glance back, checking the room for open ears. "i can't just leave them."

"why not?"

"because," now you frown. "they've — been good to me and i don't want to abandon them." you close your eyes and you're in the dark again, being eaten up by ants and the dry, nuclear heat of summer. left to die, all alone. "they saved me."

it's silent for a long time, his voice echoing in your ears now that you've heard it. when you blink back into the here and now, he's just staring down at the floor again, already gone.

"besides," you continue, more eager to hear him speak than you're willing to admit. "i don't even know who you are."

"bakugou katsuki," he murmurs, automatic. his eye flicks to you and — you think it could be glowing, in the low light. carmine, like the burn of a fire. "my name is bakugou katsuki."

you and hitoshi find treasure in a nearly ran-sacked pharmacy; enough antibiotics to last a while, maybe longer if everyone is careful enough to avoid scrapes and burns and scratches. there's a tub of vaseline and a dented can of coffee grounds, something that aizawa will be ecstatic about, even if he doesn't have a half-decent way to use them.

it takes a day and a half to get into town because you only travel at night, and you spend a chilly evening under a crumbling overpass, housed in the rubble. shinsou even shares his beans. all around a win-win, in your book.

it's not until you're on the way back that disaster strikes.

you get comfortable, pig-headed from the weight of the haul on your back, and you cut across a desolate highway in an attempt to shorten the trip. both of you are too eager to get back and share your spoils, and it makes you careless.

hitoshi is in the middle of probing you about bakugou, when aqua lights flash off the failing frame of an old house.

"'m jus' sayin'," he grunts, shrugging. "he's pretty weird, don't you think?"

you don't want to answer him, but his question is so childish that you can't help it. "so are you, but i'm not judgin', am i?"

even in the dark, his wide smile is obvious, and he opens his mouth to retort something that will surely infuriate you when it seems as if the whole sky lights up. you know it doesn't really, but the neighborhood has been nothing but the skeleton of the world before, and to see the light after only traveling in the dark almost has you blinded.

hitoshi grabs you by the arm and you're being dragged through the dirt before you have time to blink. he doesn't have to tell you to keep quiet; you hold your breath, mouth open, tasting only the salt from his palm and your own fear.

the night-cover is meant to protect from raiders and feral animals. 

aizawa says that the 'droids are heat-seeking.

aizawa says, "there's no hiding from them."

you're both bent awkwardly behind a mound of rusted scrap metal and old rubber, legs and back folded to better blend in, though you have no idea if you even will, and the light flashes like a heartbeat in the distance. a block or two down, you think, if you're as good with distance as you think you are, and you track the echo of it underneath the remaining war-haze that blocks the stars.

not even a thought crosses your mind as it trails across the horizon, getting further and further away until it stops completely. and then fear sets in like a cold sweat.

during what few run-ins you've had with the todoroki 'droids, they've never just — gone away; they have to be dismantled, head pried from their shoulders. a thick piece of some kind of metal you've never known the name of sits at the base of their skull, soldered beneath their fake, translucent skin, and getting it off is a bitch and a half.

but if you don't, it won't stop. ever. 

you have to get out of here, far away before it gets closer and hears the rapid drum of your heart, but — should you run? no doubt it'll hear your footsteps across the ground, every breath that rushes from your lungs, and it'll reach you way before you can get —

hitoshi moves his hand from your mouth and your eyes flick up to his, the direction he points to — south, back to the safehouse — but it's hard to move your limbs from where they've frozen over with cold fear. your hands are shaking, shoulders, too, but you slowly push yourself to your feet, crouching close to him.

he doesn't say anything, and he won't; you've just got to trust him.

it's been so long since you've encountered one. since you've even seen one this far out. you're half a day from the house, but that's still close, in the grand scheme of things. dangerously, your mind dips into dread, imagining the copper smell of your encampment, if they've been found first.

you can't go there. not now.

hitoshi takes low, careful steps away from the corroded junk metal, crossing from dead tree to dead tree as softly as he can, and you follow even as tears well up in your eyes. 

all you can see is eri's little face. the last thing you said to her. how shouta gripped hitoshi's shoulders, murmuring something meant for only him.

how bakugou looked, forlorn, on the inside of the porch screen as you headed off into the night.

you can't go there. not now.

walking so close to the ground strains the muscles in your calves and they burn, full of fire and tension, but you trail him as long as you can, for what feels like hours before you're finally out of the neighborhood and back on the barely-trodden trail. it's not until you can stand that you finally breathe — or at least, that's how it feels, with how tightly your lungs have shriveled — and shinsou turns to stare at you, wide-eyed.

"what the fuck!" he whispers, harsh, before pointing to where you've come. "what the fuck!"

"i know!"

"no, not 'you know', this isn't a fucking coincidence!"

all your fear crescendos, crumbles into fury. "what?" you snap back from him as if he's slapped you, teeth bared, feral. 

"he's a goddamn infiltrator!" no names need to be said in order for the message to get across. "another fucking hunk of tin!"

"you don't know anything," you say it for nothing, because he won't stop talking over you. "i've had his blood all over my fucking hands, hitoshi! his arm is nothing but a wad of meat and bone, and you'd know that if you—"

"hello."

hitoshi spins around before your argument finishes settling on the air, placing himself between you and the half-crouched figure watching you from the tree line. hands raised in surrender. just like bakugou.

in no time, the both of you have your rifles loaded, staring down the reticle with the stranger's head in your sights.

"i'm alone," the man says, and you see a flash of white hair as he fully stands. the first thing you notice about him, is how immaculate he seems. untouched by the wasteland. "i just need some help."

"back off," shinsou barks, bumping into you as he takes a step backward, urging you to do the same. "turn around and forget you ever saw us."

"i just need some help." he says again — but his eyes glow blue in the shadows, hands clicking beneath his fleshy exterior, and then before you know it, an alarm screams, ringing so high in pitch that you're forced to drop your gun and cover your ears.

it doesn't last long; hitoshi manages to fire his rifle, clipping off half of its head just as it lunges for the both of you. it stumbles to the ground, sparking and zapping as it repeats "i just need some help, i just need some help," over and over and over, until hitoshi is firing down on it again, right at the height of its neck.

the world goes so silent, it hurts; you can feel a deep and thrumming pain in your ear canal, and when you pull your hands from your head, they're wet and dark in the hazy night glow. hitoshi tries to say something, but it's muffled, and then he's pushing you along in the night until you're both sprinting. running as fast and as far as your body will carry you.

it's day, when you reach the house.

aizawa doesn't care half as much about the coffee as he does about the noise you've made, that they heard all the way out here. he toys with his eye-patch, headache apparent on him as he rubs at the vein protruding in his forehead.

he's not mad at you, he says, but you'll have to be on the lookout. for what's sure to come, in the following days. boarding up the house, starting the generators around the property, just for the extra heat and distraction. you'll have to take longer watch-shifts, all of you. even eri.

day-old blood trickles down your shoulders and into the tub, when you dump a bucket of water over your head. it's the first thing you do — try and wash the excursion from your skin — and even though the water is warm and fresh-boiled, you can't stop shivering. digging your fingers into your arms as you hug yourself, head throbbing.

maybe it's because you haven't slept that you still feel like you're in that neighborhood, holding your breath as the neon warning flashes. if you close your eyes, it breathes behind your lids, white-hot and blinding. and your ears —

you barely register the door creaking, eyes snapping open as bakugou peeks his head in.

a fucking infiltrator.

your jaw loses tension as soon as it finds it, has you wincing from the ache, and you close your eyes and turn away from him. he should be able to take the hint. if he's human, then he'll understand how badly you want to be left alone. how badly you need to weigh your options, as the end looms over you all.

something buzzes in your ear, and when you turn to look back at him, he's sitting on the edge of the tub, staring down at the cloudy water.

"what?"

his eye snaps up to your own. aizawa's loaned an eye-patch to him and all his head wrappings are gone, leaving him to look, truly, like a half-man; scar and tissue and pink, with all his tenderness.

another fucking hunk of tin.

("you have to destroy they back of their neck. you have to, eri, do you hear me?"

she looked so young, so tiny, with a gun in her hands.

"they're all connected, and they can all track each other. one after another, they'll keep coming.")

you miss what bakugou says to you again and you shift, angling your head before shaking it.

"can you hear me?" he repeats, and you read the soft words against his lips. "blink twice if you can hear me."

and you do, slowly, leaving them closed as they burn with unshed, nuclear-hot tears.

it makes you jump, when his finger lightly touches your forehead, near your brow, and he watches with simple interest as water droplets collect on his skin. he trails lower, just under your ear, and then his brow furrows. that red gleam returns to his eye, like he's just waking up again.

"y'r bleedin'."

"not anymore," you can feel yourself talking too loud. "it's — fine." you mean for him to move his hand away, but he doesn't. and you don't make him.

instead it goes to your hair, where it's down and plastered against your skin, and he very carefully tucks it behind your ear before angling your head, as if he can see the damage better. he leans close, eye intent on where his skin meets yours.

and you can't take it anymore, as the tears finally run over your cheeks. "what the fuck are you?"

bakugou is half through a wheeze when you ask, and he stutters and coughs and — you just don't know. you can't fucking tell. 

how human he seems. how gentle he can be.

how different he is.

"what?" he rasps, signature confusion decorating his half-face. "what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"i'll tell them," you seethe, though you don't mean word of it. "if you don't tell the truth right now, then i'll tell them what you are." a bitter laugh huffs out of you and his eyes narrow, annoyed almost. "who am i kidding? they probably already know and are just waiting to take your ass out. as soon as i give the word."

"i don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about."

"don't fucking lie to me," the words are lost to your ears, echoing somewhere in your skull — and even then, you can tell how desperate they sound. his eye tracks a fat, hot tear that slips from your own. "please don't lie."

bakugou doesn't answer, just frowns at your cheeks, and then he moves his hand to stroke the fat of them, gently. as always. he collects the tear on his finger and inspects it carefully, closely, before tasting it with the pink tip of his tongue; you and all your salt.

when he fixes his eye on you — so bright and red and alive — you lurch forward in the water, grabbing his face in your hands before yanking his mouth down to your own.

he grunts, loud and surprised, and he's hardly able to catch himself, hand going flat against the ceramic between your legs. you breathe him in deep through your nose: the subtly sweet scent of his sweat, the bitter fall air that's clinging to his soft skin — decayed leaves and earth and stratosphere, something foriegn and strangely clean.

your lips part his and your tongue slips into his mouth and he gasps lowly, sliding his hand in the water closer to you, moving in to press back against you with just as much hunger. it fans the flames to life in your belly and you drag him further into the water, until he has no choice but to fall in, knee thudding against the tub as he lets out a quiet "ow" against your lips.

you don't care — don't know how or what to care about — and you pull back from him to yank at the bottom of his shirt, stretching it out until he's able to slip it off his head, around the bandaged remnant of his arm with a little more concern; funny, how it's always him that's being careful. 

in a world like this one, maybe that really does make him the outlier. maybe that really does mean he's something inhuman.

the thought threatens to make you sick and your lips tremble, scooting closer to hug your face into his warm, toned body as he struggles with the button on his pants. they're soaked and sticking to him and he gives up half-way through, instead moving to cup the back of your head so he can kiss you again. you note that he still tastes like peaches, just as saccharine.

you help him out of his worn jeans — which really is a struggle, thanks to you and your forcefulness — and you try not to be so obvious in your inspection of his dick. on a handful of occasions, you and hitoshi have fooled around and it's always been just like this: desperate. the need to feel skin on skin. to know that you're still alive.

when you wrap a hand around him, he sucks in a breath and groans into your mouth, pressing you back against the tub so he can hike your legs up around his hips. your not as ready as you could be, but you don't even care about that right now; you wet your fingers with your tongue even though you're half in the water and circle the swollen tip of him, watching the lip he digs his teeth into, his eye as it lids, as if he really feels it.

and you want him to really feel it.

the burn is good. the burn is what you want, though the quiet "fuck" he gasps into your ear has you shuddering. bakugou places a clumsy kiss on your cheek, where your tears have dried, and you want to hate him. for what he may be. for how soft he feels, as the water sloshes out onto the floor with every slow grind of his hips.

you want him to fuck you until the ringing is finally gone from your ears — but instead he's careful like he wants this to last, and it only cements something deep in your weary chest, something you might never get out.

his tongue drags across your lower lip until you open your mouth for him and he kisses you deep and messy and wet, so that a thin line of saliva connects you two when he pulls back, and the sight has his hips snapping a little harder. he watches you so intently, hooked on the drop of your mouth, when you tilt your head back to gasp at the ceiling. 

"fuck," he hisses again, leaning in to lick a hot stripe up your throat. "y-y'r so—"

you want him to shut up and stop making your heart thunder in your ears, so you press your lips back to his, even if the two of you are just gasping and groaning into one another. there's never been enough time or privacy for anything sentimental and everything between you and shinsou has been quick and wordless, something the two of you hardly acknowledge outside of the moments you need one another.

but this is entirely unfamilair; you can feel yourself growing impatient, a hot desire coiling at the base of your spine as you slip down a little more against the ceramic, to angle your hips up so he can fuck into you hard enough to bring new tears to your eyes. your fingers scrape against the bottom of the tub and he squeezes his eye shut, muffling a long moan into the skin of his shoulder when you clench around him.

his cheeks are warm, you realize, red in the crappy light filtering through the foggy window. flushed, burning with all his blood, and you reach a wet hand up to trace his face, just as he had yours. the action makes him slow, and he angles his head into your palm like a cat, nosing at your dripping fingertips until a small laugh huffs from your nose. bakugou watches you quietly, though a smile ghosts the edge of his lips.

the first one of his you've ever seen.

gently, you slip your fingers under the strap of his eye-patch and he tilts his head so you can pull it loose and —

you don't know what you're expecting: another neon bulb, just like the aqua glow that had tracked you in the dark or maybe a dim light, powered by batteries and wires and his mechanical heart; instead you just find an eye, human and destroyed. cloudy, like the sun behind a post-war haze.

"c'mere," you murmur to him, slipping your ankles up to his shoulders as he thrusts into you shallowly once, stuttering through his breath as he sinks all the way in. you wait until his shoulders are trembling, until you're barely able to speak with the whine in your voice. "i'll—go with you—to kamino."

bakugou nods once, eye so full of something warm and soft and human before he kisses you, punctuating each press of his lips with a harsh rut of his hips. he moves his hand to the edge of the tub, gripping the ceramic so tightly that it creaks before his pace increases, as he drives you closer and closer to the end. one you welcome.

you wrap an arm around his neck and dig your nails into his skin and whisper into his ear, encouraging him; "fuck, yes, katsuki, right—oh—" and he shudders, hardly able to steady himself through your orgasm before his own hits him, has him pulling out late to cum on your half-submerged stomach.

he groans lightly and slumps down onto you, devolving into another lazy, messy kiss as his fingers tangle into your hair. lips sliding against your own, just because, like he can't get enough of it.

bright, aware, alive, he quietly murmurs into the heavy, damp space between you, "don't abandon me."

and you fear that you couldn't even if you tried.

two days trail by in charged silence.

eyes are open at all times in the house, ears, too, as the quite invites itself into every nook and cranny. at times you catch even bakugou holding his breath, muting his still lingering wheeze; it's not getting any better, and you hate to think of what that means, but it's not getting any worse, either, and so you take that for what it is.

he becomes — touchy, obviously so. always feeling you in some way; fingers trailing up the inside of your arm or tucking strays behind your ear, thumbing your lobe gently, as if he's afraid to worsen the damage you're still healing from. you share the sleeping bag and he sleeps with his nose in your hair, breath against the nape of your neck.

sometimes he lays with his head on your chest, just listening to the drum of your heart.

hitoshi doesn't speak to you. hardly looks, with bakugou by your side — and he always is. you can't tell if he's still angry or if it's dissolved into something worse; a wound eating up his skin. the silence from him makes you feel guilty, as if there are sides now and you've picked the wrong one. betrayed him somehow.

the remorse never lasts long though, not when bakugou is following close behind you to the barn out back, sighing into your mouth and hugging your body to his, tight, like he wants to breathe through you.

he's very touchy. eager, as if this is something he hasn't had before.

you suppose you haven't either. not like this.

you're coming out of (what used to be) the kitchen when you see it. brushing tangles out of your hair with your fingers, distracted by the shape of his silhouette in the front of the window.

he's peeking through the boards, always on high alert as aizawa has instructed him to be. his back is to you and you count the crescents you've left on his skin, frowning at how easily they disappear into the constellation of his scars.

now that his head wrappings have come off, you can see the new growth of his hair, what was singed off in the blast he's still never told you about. he's a little damp, just like you, fresh from the bath neither of you really took, and his skin looks extra pink and tender, soft.

and there is a little gray symbol on his scalp, faint and ruined, trying to survive among his wreckage.

maybe you gasp and that's why he turns around; you don't know because you still have a hard time hearing and you disconnect completely from your body, ears ringing like they did only nights ago.

he's without his eyepatch. it's still sitting on the counter, where he tossed it before slipping into the water, between your legs as his mouth found yours. insistent. hungry. like he knew what that even meant.

you don't say anything at first. don't even move. and you watch the recognition come to life in his eye, as his hand slowly goes to the back of his head.

carefully, he says, "it's not what it looks like."

when you don't respond, he takes a step toward you, coming up short when you retreat; a marionette of his movements. whatever is wired in him to display pain does, finally.

bakugou sighs, squeezing his eyes shut before trying again. "i'm not—"

"liar."

his expression falters. a glitch, you tell yourself.

"you're a liar." it's such a simple truth and yet it cuts so deep, all your trust blown to bits as he becomes exactly what you feared he would.

a goddamn infiltrator. another fucking hunk of tin.

you feel sick, suddenly, swollen with regret as your stomach churns. the todoroki corporation must be making them differently, attempting to blend them into what remains of the human population by weaving veins and replicating tissue and sculpting muscle and —

"it's not what you think."

what even spills out of him, when he cums? you've never thought to look before, too distracted by the addicting press of his lips, how he strokes your tongue with his own as if he could never get tired of it. there are only so many places you can find to yourselves; the barn is dark and he wipes your skin off with his own shirt; the bathtub is half-full, sometimes murky from the dirt that the water washes away.

"don't—listen, 'm not like them. it's not like that."

he must be programmed that way to protect himself. to lie, to deflect. all the gentle touching is another line of code they've perfected, meant to leave you thinking of nothing else except for how he feels inside of you.

and you fell right for it. lesson learned.

it's not a little flame that identifies him, like the rest of the 'droids, but a small, cartoon bomb. lit, ready to explode.

aizawa keeps a loaded handgun underneath his pillow, and you lunge for it just as he dives for you.

you hit the floor hard, but so does he, and he's damaged, rusted, and you're able to scoot yourself far away from him, smooth material of the sleeping bag hurrying you along.

bakugou — or whatever he is. it is — only rises up on his knees, arm raised in surrender. just like before. just like the last one.

the second he — it — opens its mouth, you're already screaming, furious.

"fuck you!" the safety clicks; even you hear the echo of it, in the silence of the house.

"no, listen," it begs, alarm and panic and fear generating across its face. sickening, how real it seems. "i need your—"

you bark out a laugh, and it's because your cheeks swell with it that you realize they're wet and that your nose is dripping. "what, my help? digging all our graves, or do you even do that? do you even know what that—"

you choke, suddenly, voice breaking as he — it — tries to scoot closer. you should fire a warning shot or — no, you should just kill him. it.

when you shoot this gun, everyone will come running. they might have already overheard your shouting, with how quiet the property is, and you know once they do, it's over for him.

it.

"you have to believe me."

a trick, you tell yourself. meant to distract you, to take your unease away. scripted to find the softest parts of you, to poison.

sickening, how real it felt.

when you close your eyes, you go back to last night, listening to the audible breath that scratches in your ear. that vibrates against you neck, so that you can feel him, that he's there and safe and alive.

him. bakugou.

you can't look. it's hard enough to find your voice. "how long d-do we have? at least tell me that, before they get here."

"i don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about," an echo. a repeat of the lines he's learned to say to you. "because i'm not one of them, listen—"

bakugou — it — goes silent, and when you open your eyes, the barrel of a rifle is peeking in from the other room, only a breath away from his head.

hitoshi rounds him carefully, slipping around the back of him, urging you to move out of his line of sight. so he can blow him to hell, once and for all.

it.

quietly, the voice — one you know, one you've listened to — tries one final time. "please," it says, cloudy eye pinned to you, as he wears an illusionary sorrow. "don't abandon me."

hitoshi watches you carefully, waiting for you to move and —

(bakugou tucks a hair behind your ear, running the pad of his thumb gently across your browbone. just as you'd done, on the night he lay crumpled at your feet.

good to you, good to each other, in a world rigged to blow.)

you don't.

instead you drop your arms and shake your head. surrendered.

"sorry," you croak, running a hand across your face. "my ears, he—just scared me, that's all."

hitoshi doesn't retreat. if anything, his grip tightens, something flashing in his deep eyes. "don't bullshit me, not me. he's fucked and you know it—"

"you're right," you nod, bottom lip trembling as it — bakugou — watches the tears slip down over your jaw and onto your neck. "but we're leaving."

you close your eyes, blinded by the breath of light that flashes behind your lids. the image of bakugou pressing a kiss into your cheeks.

"i have to get him to kamino."

I hope 2023 is good to my mom

Not only do they look the same, but they probably sound the same too

aaahh 😝

♡₊˚🥀₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 ♡₊˚🥀₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king x concubine 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 normal form sukuna (sorry yall but next time ill do his big boy one) 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his darling 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 breeding (!!!!) 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 8.8k

: ̗̀➛ notes: this took a whole WEEK to edit. im so obsessed with this story. it's my favourite thing ive written because i love period movies and dramas and really got to challenge my writing skills to give it more a fantasy-esque element. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

The diligent hands of Lord Sukuna Ryomen’s palace attendants scrubbed away the grime that clung to every inch of your weary form. There were no traces of tears in your eyes, despite the discomfort of the cleansing process.

Perhaps it was the residue of gratitude for an escape from a foster family who saw fit to barter you away for a pittance to fuel their vices.

The water surrounding you had transformed into a murky haze, carrying away the evidence of your former life's hardships.

Yet, amidst this cleansing ritual, you couldn’t shake the puzzling thought of why the guards had singled you out from the other young women within the household. Uraume, the overseer of palace affairs, had arrived alongside them, their presence looming over the proceedings with an air of mystery.

That morning, you were subjected to abuse in front of everyone at the central market, longing for someone to stand up for you. And someone did. They offered you an escape from that hellhole and into a world of luxury.

You weren’t going to complain now that you had accepted this new fate of yours.

“Ya’ got too many scars, girl,” remarked one of the elderly attendants, gently assisting you out of the steaming bath, her hands wrapping a towel around your shivering form. “Our powders will struggle to conceal ’em all. How did ya’ come by such marks?”

“From my foster family,” you murmured, gaze fixed upon your toes as if they held the weight of your past. The plush carpet beneath your feet offered a small comfort, a luxury unfamiliar to your upbringing.

Memories of their harsh discipline flooded back—the blistering gravel underfoot as punishment for daring to voice dissent. It was a brutal introduction to a world where obedience was paramount.

“A wretched lot,” the attendant muttered sympathetically.

Enveloped in a silk robe, she led you into a chamber shared by a cohort of women, a realm far removed from the confines of your previous abode. Here, space was ample—the expanse excessive, with beds lining the walls and a high ceiling adorned with a single chandelier.

As you entered, a symphony of pretty faces and inquisitive gazes greeted you. Women of all colours and shapes reclined luxuriously in plain robes, their hair intricately braided or cascading freely down their backs. Conversations paused, curiosity piqued by your arrival, as all eyes turned to welcome you into their midst.

Beneath the weight of their scrutinising stares, you found yourself shrinking. These women, draped in silk and adorned with jewels, were the king's favoured concubines, a fact repeatedly emphasised during your journey to the palace and even in the fragrant confines of the bathhouse.

Every instinct urged you to rebel, to refuse to be just another ornament in the king’s harem, but you understood the value placed on purity by the monarch.

Unfortunately, your innocence had been cruelly stolen from you by your foster father, leaving you tarnished in body and spirit. Lord Sukuna would have no use for a damaged flower in his garden of perfection.

In truth, you couldn’t even imagine an image of his face in your mind. His Lordship remained a mystery to those beyond the palace walls.

“Here ya’ are.” The attendant guided you to your bed. “That vanity there’s yours to use.” She gestured toward the communal area by the window, where two other young women were preparing themselves. “Once your hair dries, one of my girls will assist ya’ in preparin’ for your audience with His Lordship.” Her touch was gentle as she caressed your cheek. “Rest assured, dear, ya’ safe now.”

You attempted a smile, though the effort seemed Herculean amidst your weariness.

As the attendant departed, her scolding to the rowdy girls fading into the background, you nestled into the comforting embrace of your soft bedding, ignoring the hushed criticisms trailing in your wake.

She’s feeble.

Her hair lacks refinement.

The king would never entertain a lowly pauper.

She’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Their words, like venomous serpents, slithered through the air.

Amidst their degradation, you succumbed to exhaustion.

But your slumber was interrupted by the bustling commotion of handmaidens assembling around you.

Disoriented and scarcely given a moment to collect your thoughts, you found yourself swiftly escorted to the vanity, where the clamour of girls jostling for space filled the air.

They manipulated your locks, weaving intricate patterns into your hair, fashioning a crown braid atop your head while allowing the remaining tresses to cascade freely down your back.

Meanwhile, other attendants removed your robe, their hands moving with practised efficiency as they anointed your skin with fragrant oils, infusing it with the delicate essence of lavender.

Between the flurry of activity, the whispers of your fellow concubines hung in the air like a veil of awe and trepidation. Their eyes were drawn to the scars marring your skin, as they speculated about how the king would perceive your imperfections as repulsive.

Good.

You craved precisely that outcome.

If the king recoiled at your sight, it meant he wouldn’t desire you to bear his heir. If the tales circulating in the town about his monstrous nature held any truth, then he’d likely offer you death as a reprieve—and you’d welcome it with open arms.

Before facing the king, you stole a glance at your reflection, the final moments of solitude before your fate was decided. The powder concealed the imperfections of your skin, rendering it smooth and flawless. Your cheeks and lips bore a muted hue reminiscent of crushed cherries. Delicate white blossoms adorned your hair, woven into your braids by nimble fingers.

As you stood, the other women adorned you in a robe of silky fabric, its floral pattern draping over your form, cinched at the waist to accentuate your curves. Barefoot, you followed them out, the chill of the floor beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth of anticipation and trepidation swirling within you.

“Good luck, pauper,” taunted one of the concubines, her voice dripping with disdain, echoed by a cacophony of mocking laughter.

Palms clammy with nerves, you shifted your gaze to the opulence of the palace corridors. Adorned with countless chandeliers and swathes of velvet drapery, they offered a stark contrast to the blooming back garden. Memories of tending to the earth and nurturing life back at your foster family’s home flooded your mind.

“Quickly now,” one of the maids urged, her voice tinged with urgency. “His Lordship detests tardiness.”

“I apologise.” You hastened your steps to keep pace with the group of attendants.

She halted before a grand set of double doors, guarded by imposing sentinels clad in formidable armour. With a flick of her wrist, the guards swung the doors open. She gently nudged you forward, and only as you crossed the threshold did the doors seal shut behind you.

You blinked, adjusting to the dimness within, scanning the chamber until your gaze alighted upon a pair of crimson glimmers opposite you. “My Lord?” You inclined your head and took hesitant steps toward the source of those fiery eyes.

“Come closer,” his command echoed through the chamber, sending a shiver down your spine. The low resonance of His Highness Sukuna Ryomen’s voice was unexpectedly rich and velvety. You had envisioned a voice tinged with age, but instead, it possessed a rough texture that awoken something within you.

With hesitant steps, you approached until you stood at the edge of his bed, your fingertips grazing the diaphanous curtains that enveloped him in a cocoon of privacy.

“Closer,” he urged, coaxing you to unveil the enigma lying beyond the veil.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you obeyed, parting the curtains and gracefully crawled onto the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets were a blatant contrast to the roughness of your foster house’s. A pang of guilt tugged at your conscience as you realized the irony of finding solace in this luxurious confinement of being his concubine.

“Enough.” His abrupt order halted your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present moment.

As commanded, you obediently settled into your posture, folding your legs beneath you in the dimness. Within his shadowed realm, only the luminous crimson irises pierced through the gloom, studying you with an intensity that made your belly churn. Despite the curiosity burning within you, you restrained the impulse to voice your questions. Instead, you settled in the tranquillity that crowded the space between you.

“What is your name?” His inquiry cut through the hushed air.

“Y/N, my Lord.”

As your name slipped from your lips, he captured it delicately, repeating it like a sacred prayer. Each syllable danced on his tongue, imprinting itself upon the very essence of his being. In that moment, you observed a subtle shift—the shadows that had cloaked the chamber seemed to dissipate.

A soft, golden luminescence filtered through the parted curtains, cascading across half of Sukuna’s face.

You blinked in astonishment.

He appeared . . . young?

The age difference between you and him was not a chasm of decades, but rather a modest gap of no less than five years.

Physically, at least.

His appearance was striking, with locks of hair dyed a subdued pink hue, contrasting with a streak of darker shade beneath. His hair was styled into rugged spikes, lending an air of defiance. Intricate black markings adorned his features, tracing a path from his cheekbones down to his chin, while similar patterns wove across his strong shoulder, cascading over his defined pectoral muscles and sculpted abdomen.

As your eyes fell upon him, your heart quickened its pace, each beat a vicious drumming against your ribs. Gone was the expectation of a lord showing the signs of wisdom, with wrinkles upon his brow and a body marked by the passage of time. Instead, before you stood a vision of breathtaking beauty, defying your preconceived notions and leaving you breathless in awe.

With a graceful gesture, he swept aside the curtains, allowing them to unveil his entirety.

The same markings mirrored the other side of his face and cascaded down the length of his body, a mesmerising display of symmetry. Dark bands encircled his wrists, and his nails bore the same deep hue.

Poised against the headboard, he reclined with an air of effortless elegance, one knee raised as his elbow found a comfortable perch, while the other leg extended out. Though he was unclothed, a veil of silk sheets cloaked the lower half of his form.

“Remarkable,” you unknowingly whispered. Your hand clapped over your mouth. “I apologise, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s lips curved into a sinister grin, his flawless teeth gleaming in the golden light. While many would flee at the sight, you remained rooted in place, unable to tear your gaze away. A delicate flush spread across your cheeks, betraying the undeniable attraction simmering between your legs. He was absolutely divine, and the path of being his concubine suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.

Yet, the reality of sharing Sukuna with ten other women loomed over your thoughts like a shadow. The thought of him spreading his affections among so many others kindled a small flame of jealousy within you, mingled with confusion. Why hadn’t he impregnated at least one of them with the promise of an heir?

“Have you not been schooled in the art of lowering your gaze in the presence of nobility, Y/N?”

Your lashes fluttered as you registered your lapse in decorum, hastily averting your gaze. “Forgive me, my Lord, if my oversight has caused offence.” Surely, he wouldn’t punish you for a momentary lapse of admiration.

Would he?

A gentle touch beneath your chin guided your face upward. His fingers spread across your cheek, the warmth nearly forcing you to curve into his touch. Despite the temptation, your eyes remained obediently downward.

“Look at me.”

Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the delicate patterns etched over his cheek, the fiery hue of his irises, the elegant contour of his nose, and the soft curvature of his lips. Never before had you felt such a rousing desire towards any man. Yet fate had chosen to ensnare your heart with the one most forbidden to you.

“You bear a sadness that weighs heavily in your eyes,” he noted softly, his hand descending to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing the frantic rhythm of your pulse. A low, melodic sound produced from his throat. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

“It does not, my Lord. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me,” you declared with quiet resolve. “You’re quite . . . beautiful.”

Sukuna’s gaze sparked with a mixture of surprise and intrigue at your response.

Suppressing a nervous gulp, you silently reprimanded yourself for speaking so boldly to one of noble rank. Back in the confines of your former life, such defiance would have earned you swift punishment, yet here, in the presence of royalty, it could lead to your demise.

As you prepared to avert your gaze, ready to accept whatever consequences may come, Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense air before you could retreat.

“Don’t.”

In that moment, you found yourself questioning your instincts.

Why did you not cower in fear? Why did your body not tremble in the presence of a man who had slaughtered the lives of his enemies without hesitation? And most perplexing of all, how could you maintain unwavering eye contact with a figure of such formidable power?

“Remove your robe.” His grip remained firm around your throat, his thumb delicately tracing your pulse. “And do not stray your gaze elsewhere.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Your fingers loosened the fabric’s bindings, allowing it to cascade down your frame. The robe slipped from your shoulders, revealing the soft curvature of your form beneath. As it pooled around your lap, your breasts stood exposed to his scrutiny.

A shiver danced across your skin as his eyes traced the contours of your body, a faint smirk teasing his lips.

He brushed back strands of your hair, his touch trailing down your vertebrate. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, brows knitted together in contemplation, fingers repeatedly tracing the ridges of your scars.

“Turn around.”

The dreaded discovery that sent ripples of revulsion through the concubines had finally come to pass. Your scars lay exposed before the gaze of a powerful lord. Not only would he slit your throat, but also those of the maids who had tended to your needs, and perhaps even Uruame, who had brokered your purchase from the bastards responsible for your imperfections.

“Never before have I been compelled to repeat myself for a concubine.” His voice carried a lethal edge as he increased his grip around your throat. “Turn the fuck around.”

Your compliance came in slow, measured movements as you turned away, presenting your back to him in a gesture of submission. His hands gathered the strands of your hair, lifting them aside to reveal the raw truth etched into your skin. His fingers traced the jagged remnants of whip lashes, the seared imprints of cigars, and the cruel reminders of knife wounds inflicted by a foster father turned tormentor.

Silent tears traced a path down your cheeks, as you sat in a state of numbness, your gaze fixed upon the closed door of Sukuna’s chamber.

A tender sensation, soft and moist, grazed your back, prompting a reflexive twitch in your left shoulder.

Turning slightly, you beheld Sukuna pressing his lips against the scar that marred your shoulder blades.

“My Lord—”

“I did not ask you to speak,” he murmured over your skin, sending a tremor through your frame. “Rise onto your knees.”

Obeying his command, you ascended onto your knees, feeling the weight of his hands settle upon your waist. His lips trailed a path of reverence, bestowing kisses upon each mark that scarred your skin, from your marrow to your nape.

Your breath caught in a delicate dance of exhales, a whispered symphony escaping your parted lips. The wet caress of his tongue sent ripples of sensation coursing through your being.

His arm circled your waist, drawing you into the sanctuary of his embrace. A fleeting kiss graced the nape of your neck, followed by the suction of his lips upon the tender side of your neck. His soft hands possessively held the curve of your breasts, cradling their weight.

Your head reclined against his strong shoulder.

With his gaze fixed upon you, his lips glistened with a hint of moisture, while his crimson eyes locked onto your own human-like ones. You dared not divert your gaze as he previously ordered. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, sending lightning strikes through your frame.

Unlike the non-consensual encounter of the past, there was no hint of agony; only a tantalising blend of pleasure that left you breathless, without a protest or helpless whimper. Instead, a sigh of pure rapture escaped your lips, encompassing your body in an embrace.

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he had stumbled upon a long-sought treasure.

His fingertips skated down your torso, gliding toward your centre. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth. Holding his gaze became a daunting challenge as he skillfully teased your sensitive nub, causing your breath to quicken and your chest to rise and fall with each exhilarating sensation.

Sukuna slid his middle finger into you. “You’re incredibly tight, Sad Eyes,” he murmured, the endearment he had bestowed upon you almost provoking a smile. His lips grazed your ear as he continued. “Perhaps I should stretch you out”—he pushed in his ring finger, forcing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat and an involuntary arch of your body against his chest—“so that your cunt is able to welcome my cock.”

You stifled the knot rising in your throat as Sukuna plunged his fingers into you. Such profound bliss seemed inconceivable with mere digits alone.

“My Lord.” Your breath caught as he increased his tempo. “My—” Each thrust intensified the knot in your stomach, threatening to unravel you entirely. You teetered on the brink, dangerously close to staining his fingers with your release. A sharp gasp choked out of you as he struck a wondrous chord deep within. “Please, my Lord. I beg of you—I will soil your hand if you persist—” But your plea dissolved into a cry of ecstasy before you could utter another word.

Sukuna’s laughter danced teasingly in the hollow of your ear, leaving you utterly spellbound.

You were overheated, overstimulated, overridden by the explosive undoing of his fingers. Breathless and consumed by lust, your world spun as he seized your jaw and crushed his lips to yours.

In that electrifying moment, his tongue invaded your mouth, initially startling you, yet you surrendered to the rhythm.

Sukuna leaned back slightly after planting a tender peck on your lips. Exhaling softly, he threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As his lips met yours once more, gentler this time, your hand ventured to trace the contours of his adorned chest.

“You are quite the vixen.” A playful glint danced in his eyes. “How valiant of you to seduce a lord into bestowing kisses upon his concubine.” A broad smile graced his lips, leaving you uncertain whether his words were playful jest or genuine admiration.

“Do you not bestow your kisses upon all your concubines, my Lord?”

“I do not pleasure their cunts, either.”

His speech carried the brashness of a tempest, a departure from the expected decorum one associated with royalty. Sukuna Ryomen defied conventions. It was a trait uncommon among lords, yet one that intrigued you deeply. His demeanour, both in battle and in the intimate confines of the bedchamber, lacked the softening. But you found yourself drawn to his unfiltered honesty, appreciating the absence of cryptic speech.

As you sat before him, considering your next words carefully, a surge of courage emboldened you to reveal your truth.

“My Lord,” you began, your voice quivering with uncertainty, “I . . . I am not pure.”

“Given the sounds you were drawing out,” he quipped with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t have surmised otherwise.” He assisted you in rising from where you rested against his chest, positioning you before him. Observing your solemn expression, he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Was your satisfaction not fulfilled?”

“Indeed, my Lord, it surpassed any expectation,” you confessed, worrying your lip as he sighed impatiently. “But I must disclose . . . I am not chaste.”

Sukuna’s response was subdued, save for the faint twitch in his jaw. He averted his gaze from yours momentarily, reaching for the decanter on his bedside table and pouring himself a measure of spirits.

“Speak,” he instructed, his tone clipped.

“It occurred before I reached maturity,” you murmured softly, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. “My foster father—” Your words faltered as Sukuna raised a hand, a silent acknowledgment of his comprehension of your unspoken anguish.

“I need not hear more.” He swiftly consumed the crimson liquid in a single gulp. “You are dismissed for the night.”

“But my Lord’s desires remain unmet—”

“Leave,” he commanded, his tone final and unwavering.

With a gulp, you hastily gathered your robe around your form, delicately extricating yourself from his expansive bed.

Just as you thought to retreat, a firm hand seized your wrist, drawing you back into Sukuna’s embrace. His lips melded with yours in an intoxicating kiss, causing both your gazes to flutter open when he pulled away. A faint smirk played upon his lips as he adjusted the robe over your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured, plucking a flower from the adornments in your hair and placing it upon his bedside, “you shall grace my chambers without such distracting embellishments upon yourself.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” you replied with a respectful bow of your head, awaiting his dismissal until he gestured for you to depart with a casual wave of his hand.

In the shared chambers, your fellow concubines swirled around your bed, eager to hear of your inaugural encounter with Lord Sukuna.

Each girl shared their own vivid tales, painting scenes of ecstasy under the cloak of darkness, where the king’s touch invoked sensations akin to celestial bodies colliding, or where unfamiliar pleasures erased the boundaries of their throat—whatever that latter entailed.

Though a twinge of jealousy flickered within you, it was swiftly overshadowed by a swell of pride. The concubines pleasured Sukuna in darkness, the same darkness you had willingly entered, before his touch had set ablaze a world of gold for you.

They were merely beautiful means of physical gratification for their lord, devoid of the intimacy you shared—his fingers delving deep into your core. And never had any of them spoken of kisses exchanged. Sukuna had spoken true when you questioned if others received similar treatment.

But why you?

Why, after a mere span of ten hours within the palace walls, did you find yourself, dare you entertain the notion, as his favoured? What magic did you possess that drew him to you, and how had you managed to seduce his lips, his fingers, to meet yours in such an intimate embrace?

“Did he spend himself inside you?” one of the girls whispered, prodding your knee to rouse you from your silence.

“No.”

“Aye, he never does,” remarked a golden-haired girl with a resigned sigh. “He sees to it that we consume some berries afterward, claiming they prevent conception. Strange, isn’t it? Especially if he’s so eager for an heir.”

Another girl hushed her, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone. “Did he take you from behind? That’s his favoured position, you know. He’s had us all that way.”

You stumbled over your words, unsure how to respond.

“And did you savour his taste?” came the next question. “It’s quite rich in sodium—”

“Girls!” A booming voice echoed from the doorway of the bedroom, startling you and the other concubines into immediate attention. You caught sight of the elderly attendant who oversaw your care, hands planted firmly on her hips as she observed the chaotic scene before her.

With a disapproving huff, she pivoted sharply on her heel and departed, leaving a lingering sense of reprimand in her wake.

As the frenzied chatter about Sukuna’s body attributes gradually dissolved into the quietude of sleep, morning arrived with its routine of communal showerings.

Throughout the shared bath, you silently scrubbed away the remnants of the night, indulging your fellow concubines about your previous life in town.

Upon drying off and exiting the bathing chamber, you were met with an unexpected sight: a gathering of the girls clustered around your bed.

Navigating through the throng, you reached your space to discover a resplendent scarlet silk robe embroidered with intricate black floral patterns.

Gingerly lifting the note placed atop the fabric, you read Sukuna’s precise handwriting. Curious glances from the other concubines peered over your shoulders in anticipation.

No distracting embellishments, Sad Eyes.

“What does that mean?” a curious whisper floated through the air, followed by murmurs of intrigue from the other girls. “Why does he call you ‘sad eyes’?”

You clutched the letter to your chest, suppressing a grin as you ignored the questions, the mockery, and the jostling of bodies around you. Your attention was fixated on the magnificent robe gifted to you by His Lordship.

For the remainder of the evening, you slept without any interruptions, seeking to compensate for the countless nights spent battling insomnia within the confines of your foster home.

You observed with a keen eye that none of the other girls were ushered to Sukuna’s chambers; their time seemed to veer toward strolls in the back garden or spent in the dormitory, indulging in wine-fueled scandals about the palace staff, as was their custom.

As the clock struck eight in the evening, a troupe of maids entered the chamber bearing dinner trays. A wave of anticipation swept through the room as the other girls eagerly accepted their meals and accompanying pitchers of water. Your own stomach rumbled in hunger, awaiting your own turn.

But that moment never arrived.

Instead, the maid bypassed your bed entirely, moving on to the next. A surge of apprehension rippled through you as a handmaiden approached, guiding you away from the mattress and toward the vanity.

“What about my dinner?” you asked as the attendants groomed your hair.

“His Lordship has extended an invitation for you to dine with him tonight,” came the reply.

The room fell into a sudden hush.

Dine with him?

The notion sent a flurry of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before you could process further, you found yourself pulled upright, your garments removed to be replaced by the scarlet robe.

Envy flickered in the eyes of the other concubines as they observed, their resentment palpable as they stabbed at their food with exaggerated aggression. It wasn’t your doing that Sukuna had taken an unexpected interest in you.

With no adornments save for a dab of crushed cherry paste upon your lips, you were escorted to Sukuna’s chambers.

Once more, the imposing doors swung open, and you found yourself gently ushered into the chamber. As they sealed shut behind you, the room was flooded with light. Sukuna’s figure stared out at the moonlit gardens outside, clad in a billowing white silk robe.

“My Lord,” you greeted respectfully, inclining your head in deference.

“Draw near.”

Complying with his directive, you approached and stood at his side. His presence loomed over you, his stature commanding and formidable, capable of engulfing you entirely with a single embrace. Not that such thoughts dared to linger in your mind.

“Why is your face flushed?” he asked, his gaze penetrating.

You blinked, attempting to dismiss the telltale warmth creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, my Lo—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna turned your chin towards him, his palm coming to rest against your forehead. A nervous swallow traced its way down your throat at his touch, his eyes trailing down your form, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as they settled upon you in your robe.

“Thank you for your gracious gift,” you murmured, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks.

His fingers trailed through your hair, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes. “I anticipate nothing less than thoroughly enjoying the privilege of removing it off of you.”

You blushed deeper at his statement.

“Come now. I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He took your hand in his with a tug, guiding you towards a doorway. With a simple flick of his hand, the door parted, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond.

Your gaze widened in astonishment. “How did you do that, my Lord?”

“Do what?”

“You opened the door without laying a hand on it.”

Sukuna’s striking blood-coloured eyes cut to you. “There is much about me that will be unveiled in due course, my love. What you perceive is but a guise for my true nature.” His smile, oddly childlike, sent a chill down your spine.

Was he some sort of sorcerer? You’d only heard whispers of human anomalies lurking beneath the earth’s surface or sealed within vessels, but historical accounts weren't exactly your cup of tea.

“I ventured into town today,” he said.

“Oh.” You swallowed hard, recovering from his previous statement. “I hope it was a fruitful trip.”

“Indeed, quite fruitful.”

In the soft glow of the distant hallway, Sukuna’s face came into view, casting a spell of trepidation upon your heart. His features were drawn into a mask of stoicism, his eyes devoid of warmth, and his lips pressed into a firm line, jaw rigid with tension.

Parting the curtains, Sukuna drew you near, his arm sweeping out to reveal a horrifying sight: your foster father, bound to a chair with chains, bearing the cruel marks of torture.

His face marred by countless wounds, an eye cruelly absent, his mouth devoid of teeth, scattered at his feet. His dignity stripped away, his vulnerability laid bare in his nakedness, and his manhood amputated.

The sickening lurch in your stomach threatened to betray your composure. “F-Forgive my intrusion, my Lord, but is he . . . is he dead?”

Sukuna’s response was a gilded dagger from within his robe, its handle decorated with a jewel reminiscent of your own captivating eyes. Nestled within the hilt was the very flower he had plucked from your hair, a twisted token of affection. Upon the blade, your name was inscribed.

“Do as you wish, my beloved,” he whispered, his voice stained with dark fascination, offering you the instrument of your foster father’s fate with a chilling sense of detachment.

You couldn’t possibly bring yourself to commit such a heinous act.

Despite the unspeakable cruelties inflicted upon you by the bastard, the idea of taking another’s life filled you with a trembling dread.

Yet, the itch to end the torment, to rid the world of such a vile presence, simmered just beneath the surface as you stood before him, his life slipping away.

A hand trailed down the back of your head, guiding your trembling fingers to grasp the dagger tightly.

Looking up, you met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression hollow, his features obscured by shadows. This was the face of the Devil that cursed his enemies on their knees and had them willingly submit to death.

With a push from behind, you stumbled forward, drawing closer to your step-father’s prone form.

Glancing back at Sukuna, you were met with an incongruously bright smile. Quite a twisted paradox, His Lordship.

Your step-father sat unconscious, the stench of his bodily fluids assaulting your senses. His wounds oozed with a sickening mixture of blood and pus, his laboured breaths the only indication of life remaining within him. The scene was painfully familiar, a mirror image of the torment you had endured countless times before.

But now, someone had intervened, offering you a chance at liberation, a chance to end the cycle of abuse once and for all.

You glanced back again.

Until Sukuna.

Your gaze reluctantly returned to the true embodiment of cruelty before you. With a steady hand, you raised your arm, wielding the dagger with purpose.

It found its mark in your foster-father’s chest, a chilling silence punctuated only by the sound of steel meeting flesh. Ignoring the strangled cry that erupted from him, you withdrew the blade, then drove it back into his heart.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

His lifeblood painted your face and stained your pristine garments, mingling with the fabric in a macabre dance of crimson. To the untrained eye, it could easily be mistaken for a mere splash of vibrant colour upon your robe.

No one would dare suspect the truth.

No one would dare come near if they knew of your sin.

No one, except Sukuna.

Once the monster over your bed was consigned to the depths of hell, his guts spilling onto the floor around your bare feet, you allowed yourself a moment of grim satisfaction.

With a contemptuous snarl, you spat upon him, a visceral response to the years of degradation he had inflicted upon you for every misstep.

A comforting warmth touched your back.

Startled by the sudden contact, you tensed before easing at the sight of Sukuna’s faint smile.

As he reached to caress your cheek, you instinctively recoiled, lowering your gaze in deference.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” you murmured, “but I cannot permit you to spoil your hands with the blood of this man.”

Sukuna’s shoes entered your line of sight as he tilted your chin upward, his moon-white sleeve wiping away the traces of blood from your mouth and its vicinity. “You appear rather exquisite painted in blood, Sad Eyes. Perhaps I ought to designate you as my prized assassin instead of a mere concubine.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I cannot partake in killing . . . again.”

“You need not worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he drew near. “I will defend you from any who dare cast their gaze upon you, let alone lay a hand upon your delicate form. Those who dare cross that line will face my wrath, their very existence extinguished before your eyes. Not a single tear shall stain your cheeks." His lips brushed against yours. "From this moment forward, fear shall not reside within you. By my side, you shall command fear itself, my love."

That night, Sukuna bathed you in the sanctuary of his chambers, washing away the traces of blood from your skin as you gazed at him with a sense of wonder. It wasn’t the superficial admiration the other concubines whispered about—it was a profound affection blossoming within you, nurtured by power and protection.

He draped you in the luxurious folds of one of his silk robes, summoning servants to prepare dinner. Seated upon his lap, he fed you spoonfuls of rich and chicken, even as your stomach protested its fullness. Soft kisses peppered your neck like a sweet dessert, culminating in one upon your lips before he reluctantly released you to retire to your dormitory.

In the ensuing weeks, Sukuna would consistently send a crafted robe ahead of each meeting—in the serene seclusion of his chambers, where the flickering candlelight cast shadows upon the walls as you dined together.

Over the course of these intimate dinners, he eagerly absorbed your musings, whether they revolved around the narratives of books discovered within the palace library or your adeptness with herbs and plants, nurtured by your profound knowledge.

On occasion, as the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Sukuna would summon you for a stroll in the haven of the back garden. Woven between the fragrant blooms, you’d dance about with childlike enthusiasm, identifying various flowers and tracing their lineage.

Ever the attentive listener, Sukuna trailed behind you, his gaze fixed upon your animated figure. He would only speak when you fell silent, demanding you to continue sharing the familial ties between apples, plums, and the roses they stemmed from.

Within the crevice of your soul, the once withered garden of affection had flourished into a lush wilderness, blossoming with untamed wildflowers and clouds that spelled out his name.

Sukuna inhabited your every waking thought, his intoxicating mouth that worshipped your body left you giggling in delight behind your hands.

Yet, each encounter with a fellow concubine, flushed and eager with tales of their rendezvous with him, felt like thorns piercing your tender heart. Jealousy, like ivy creeping upon stone, entwined itself around your every plagued thought. Your gaze often strayed to the bedside drawer where the dagger lay dormant. The mere mention of his physique by the other women tormented your soul relentlessly.

Why hadn’t Sukuna taken you as he had with every other concubine? You had grown accustomed to his presence, even eager to reciprocate the pleasure he gifted you every evening. You had offered yourself willingly, aching for the intimacy that would bind you even closer to him. But he had not claimed you in the same manner, not entered you fully, not seeded his legacy within you.

Did he question your worthiness? Did he see you merely as a transient pleasure? Were you destined to remain just a concubine, forever denied the honour of carrying his child?

“Why do you remain silent?” Sukuna asked, turning the pages of the book you had suggested to him; he was already half-way through.

You were seated snugly between his legs upon the bed, your back rested against his chest, fingers idly toying with the strands of your hair. “I find myself devoid of words this evening.”

“Hmm.” Sukuna took a leisurely sip of his drink before placing it aside. “Surely you can conjure something. You know well enough that I cannot endure your silence.”

With an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes. “Well, I apologise for failing to provide you with amusement, my Lord.”

Sukuna snapped the book shut.

You instinctively pressed your lips together, silently chiding yourself for the unintended sharpness in your voice.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to maintaining your composure, forcing yourself to take slow, steady breaths. Deep down, you believed that he wouldn’t inflict harm upon you or cast you out of his chambers. But the nagging thought chewed at you.

This was Sukuna Ryomen, and you . . . well, you were merely a shadow in comparison.

“If you crave my touch,” he breathed softly into your ear, “all you need to do is utter the request.”

With a determined resolve, you turned to face him, settling yourself upon his lap. Sukuna regarded you with a quirked eyebrow, a quiet acknowledgment of your unconventional audacity.

“I do crave your touch, my Lord,” you confessed, your voice a hushed plea, “but not only with your hands or lips. I long to feel you in a different manner.” Your gaze drifted down to his pelvis, the unspoken appetite evident in your eyes. “I crave that.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, his gaze piercing as he addressed you. “So, you’ve been withholding your words simply because I haven’t fed you my cock?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at his blunt proclamation, though you had grown accustomed to his coarse mannerisms over time.

“Yes, my . . . Lord.” Your voice carried a mixture of embarrassment. “I’ve endured three long months of anticipation, patiently waiting to share in the pleasures enjoyed by your other consorts. Yet, with the arrival of autumn, I find myself still untouched by the experiences they so openly boast about.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking me to bed you merely for the purpose of becoming a notch in your bragging rights?”

“Never, my Lord!” you protested vehemently, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes. “I would never demean you with such vulgar talk in public. I’ve spun tales to the others, concealing the truth of our encounters. They remain oblivious to the pleasures you’ve granted me.” Your fingers traced the intricate markings on his chiselled abdominal muscles. “If my spoiled state displeases you, if I am deemed unworthy of your touch, pray, inform me now. Regardless, my sole wish is to fulfil His Lordship’s needs.”

Sukuna disentangled your hands from his chest, a gesture that caused a fissure to form within your heart, forcing your body to instinctively withdraw from his touch.

Just as you began to pull away, he swiftly encircled his arm around your waist, tugging you back onto his lap with a firm grip. Before you could utter a single word, his lips descended upon yours, silencing any protest with a passionate kiss.

With a purposeful touch, he skillfully divested you of your robe, revealing the curves of your form beneath. His hands, warm and adept, began to massage your supple breasts, kindling soft gasps from your lips. His own trailed a wet path downward, leaving a bridge of feverish kisses along the expanse of your throat, lingering over the rapid pulse beneath your skin.

As his lips found purchase on the tender flesh of your neck, his actions became more urgent, his touch more demanding. A pinch at your pebbled nipples sent a shiver of sensation coursing through you, followed by the heat of an open-mouthed kiss.

Your gaze drifted downwards, enchanted by the sight of his tongue encircling the sensitive spots, suckling on the swollen buds like a babe. Already, heat was building within the depths of your being, igniting a flame that spread between your legs.

Sukuna laid you back, relishing the delicate flavour of your lips as his fingers skillfully sought out your throbbing clit, stimulating it with unhurried circles.

With practised ease, he slipped two fingers inside you, quickening his rhythm without preamble. Your hand instinctively traced down to his chest, undoing the fastenings of his robe.

“Take it,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Satisfy your lord, my love.”

Your fingers curled around his pulsating cock, the very object of desire that the other girls had passionately recounted. The knowledge of their previous intimacies with him only stoked the flames of envy within you, spurring you to intensify your ministrations.

With a surge of determination, you quickened the pace of your caresses, applying pressure with your thumb upon his sensitive tip while fondling his sacs.

Sukuna’s grin widened against your lips as he reciprocated with equal zeal, slipping a third finger into your slick heat until he was fully engulfed by your swollen core.

Together, you sailed upon the waves of carnal desire, locked in a lecherous race to reach your climax, each vying to be the first to cross the finish line—

Sukuna’s low, guttural moans resonated throughout the chamber.

You had achieved victory.

His essence spilled forth into your waiting hands, his cock convulsing with the intensity of his release. Moments later, you succumbed to your own climax, a soft cry escaping your lips.

With care, Sukuna withdrew his hand from your centre, and you instinctively examined your palm, noting the striking resemblance of his essence to your own.

You tentatively brought your fingers to your lips, savouring the taste of him.

“I did not instruct you to do that,” he growled, his gaze blazing as you tasted him. “But I suppose I’ll permit it.”

“It is salty,” you murmured, almost absentmindedly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you women incapable of discussing anything besides my cock?” he exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension dissipating as he cleaned his fingers with his tongue before tenderly cradling the back of your head, drawing you to sit upon his lap. Your laughter softened into chuckles, a smile playing upon your lips.

“Did I please you, my Lo—”

“Ryomen,” he interrupted firmly. “Only you may address me by my given name.”

“My L—”

“I command it.” His tone left no room for argument.

You affirmed your agreement with a nod, the name Ryomen echoing through your mind. Sukuna had been your private moniker for him, but now, in this intimate exchange, he was Ryomen. Your Ryomen. Maybe one day, you would shorten it to Ryo.

“Very well, Ryomen.” You felt a subtle shift in the air between you. His chuckle rumbled softly. “Shall I turn around for you?”

“And why do you deem such an unnecessary act necessary?”

“Because—” You suppressed the urge to divulge the whispers of the other concubines regarding his favoured position. “Never mind. How would you prefer me to present myself to you?”

“As you are,” Ryomen answered, his grip tightening around himself. “How you managed to have me spend by your hand in under five minutes is a marvel beyond my comprehension.”

Internally, you gave yourself a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Now, my love,” he said, inclining his chin towards his erection, “will you do my cock the honour of sitting on it?”

Licking the grin of your lips, you nodded, rising to your knees. With nimble fingers, you positioned his hardened length at your entrance, gradually lowering yourself onto him.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sukuna’s lips, his hands instinctively grasping your hips. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, enduring the initial sting of penetration. Perhaps every touch of his fingers had been a meticulous groundwork for this pinnacle moment.

As you settled into your seat upon him, you granted yourself a minute to acclimate to the sheer magnitude of him stretching and filling your tight, supple walls.

Sukuna tilted his head back, impatience evident in his eyes. “Will you begin moving at a pace befitting this century, Sad Eyes?”

“Just a moment,” you retorted, your tone tinged with defiance.

“Unfortunately, the sight of your leaking cunt is testing my patience,” he remarked, his gaze lingering provocatively on your flushed form.

Collecting yourself, you affirmed your resolve with a nod before subtly adjusting your position, and swaying your hips forward. His strong hands guided you, aiding your movements as you sought a rhythm. “Gods, you’re—you’re quite large. It’s rather discomforting.”

“Ah, where has the enthusiasm to please your lord vanished, my love?” His laughter echoes through the chamber as he leaned back, amused by your scowl. “I must confess, your defiance is perhaps your most alluring trait. It has crossed my mind more than once during moments of handling myself in the bath.”

Your brow furrowed in dismay.

It was evident that the other concubines possessed far greater expertise in pleasuring him than you ever could. All you could manage was to feign enthusiasm, your movements faltering and disjointed, as you struggled to produce even a fraction of the satisfaction they effortlessly blessed him with. His laughter, which wasn’t helping your cause, bore an uncanny resemblance to the mocking tones of the girls who had taunted you in the past.

You no longer wished to endure this charade.

You halted in your tracks, unable to muster the courage to meet his gaze, your eyes fixated instead on his throat. “It appears . . . that I may not be adequately versed in fulfilling your needs. I shall endeavour to educate myself further before making another attempt. For now, I request permission to retire for the evening, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened as he seized your jaw, compelling you to meet his gaze. “You dare to defy my command to address me by my given name?” His smile remained wicked as he drew your face closer to his own. “Remember, my love, there is a boundary to which I tolerate your rebellion. Do not allow my affections to cloud your judgement. I remain your Lord, above all else. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you managed to gasp out.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Ryomen,” you replied, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

With a swift motion, he released your sore jaw, and before you could even consider easing the ache, his lips crashed against yours.

In that moment, control slipped from your grasp entirely. His hands gripped the flesh of your buttocks possessively, guiding your movements as he claimed you with a primal savageness that left you shaking in his embrace.

“Does it pain you, my beloved?” Sukuna growled, his fingers curling around your nape possessively. “Do you feel the strain of my cock as I breach your tender walls?”

You whimpered softly, your head nodding against the curve of his neck.

“Fear not, my darling. I will diligently train this cunt of yours to accommodate every inch of me, dusk, dawn, and twilight. Your throat, too, shall be honed to fulfil my every whim, wherever and whenever I demand.” With a swift motion, he tugged your hair, forcing you to meet his glare. “And should you dare to entertain thoughts of defiance with any other man beyond the confines of my chamber, rest assured, there will be consequences.”

“Ryomen,” was all you gasped, eyes rolling back as his tip probed the depths of your womb. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your throat before shoving into your mouth, drawing out your own to suckle on. In the heat of the moment, your hands roamed aimlessly, torn between grasping at his waist, clutching his shoulders, or caressing his cheeks.

“Oh, how I love the sight of your breasts greeting me in my face.” Sukuna tightened his hold on each of them with a deadly grasp, savouring the melodious cry that escaped your lips. He lowered his head and teethed each nipple, drawing it out and relishing in the masochism of your sharp nails clawing down his back. “Deeper, my darling. You alone hold the privilege of marking my flesh. Let my scars mirror yours.”

With caution, you shifted your hands to rest upon his firm pectoral muscles before you could accidentally claw out his spinal cord.

Sukuna’s touch drifted from your bruised breasts to cradle your face, guiding your gaze to meet his crimson one.

Encouraged by his comforting presence, you arched your hips forward with newfound confidence. His fingers swept through your hair, pushing it away as he offered reassuring nods.

Now, the reins rested firmly within your grasp.

“Fuck . . .” Leaning back against the headboard, he released soft sighs. Warm breaths escaped his parted lips as you continued increasing your ministrations. Your gaze momentarily flickered to your favourite book resting on his bedside table before returning to his face.

Suddenly seized by an impulse, you leaned forward to plant a tender kiss upon his lips, trailing upward to gently brush against his cheekbones, tracing the intricate markings lining his skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Someone must play the role of the tender one between us, Ryomen,” you answered, mirroring the attention he had given your scars during your initial encounter. With each kiss, you felt his eyes tracing your movements, following the path of your lips as they journeyed across his face, landing upon his nose or the pulse of his neck.

“My beloved,” Sukuna’s voice caressed your ears, drawing your focus entirely to him, “listen closely to my words.”

You halted your movements, a curious expression dancing in your eyes. “What troubles you?”

With a deliberate motion, he guided your hips forward, his gaze unwavering. “Throughout the night, I will fill your womb ceaselessly, and in mere weeks, you shall carry my legacy within you.” Your heart leaped into your throat, fluttering with an overwhelming rush of emotion. “Peril will shadow your every step. Those who oppose us will stop at nothing to eliminate your life and the life of our child. Do you comprehend the gravity of our situation?”

You blinked back the tears, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

“But I vow upon my honour, such an atrocity shall never come to pass. I will sever entire bloodlines if even a single strand of your precious hair were harmed.” His movements quickened as he thrusted into you.

Your grip tightened on his shoulders again, gasping for breath between erratic pants.

“At dawn’s light, all concubines shall be reassigned to palace duties. You need only point out those who have dared to trouble you, though their transgressions are already known to me.” His motions became more intense as he pressed you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. “And when the sun graces the horizon, you, my beloved, shall be proclaimed as my queen.”

Your voice wailed through the chamber as you cried out his name, drowning in the waves of scorching pleasure never before experienced.

Instead of seeing celestial bodies colliding, your gaze met the deep crimson of his irises, those same eyes that had captivated you on that very first night.

“Ryomen . . . ”

With a smile mirroring his own, you tilted your head upward, silently beckoning him to seal the moment with a kiss. As he obliged, his cock pulsed within you, filling you with his warmth until every fibre of your being was tethered with his.

But he didn’t withdraw. Just as he had promised, he intended to keep you close throughout the night, to claim you as his own.

And in that moment, as you laid with him, you welcomed the dawn of a new chapter standing beside him, prepared to reign as Sukuna Ryomen’s queen.

bro almost made me cry 😿

Death Becomes Her

reaper!Yuuji Itadori x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.7K

Warnings: mirror sex, praise, some violent talk, talk of murder and torture, a lil body horror? (injuries are mentioned), a lot of talk about life and death, morbid, idk fam bam this shit is actually extremely soft ok?

a/n: Hello Hi. Are you ready to witness how I singlehandedly made myself fall in love with one Yuuji Itadori? Here's the thing, if there was ever a man that existed to make sure you knew that you weren't as bad a person as you thought while singlehandedly reminding you of how beautiful of a person you are and making sure your last day on Earth was the best you ever had, It's Yuuji Itadori. With that being said, I hope yall enjoy this. Yeet.

Tagging: @cyancherub @galair @boonseren-burner

The last thing you remember seeing before the car plowed into you and sucked the life from your lungs, was a young man with pink hair skulking in the shadows as you strolled down the street. You luckily hadn’t felt or at least remembered the pain and as you now stand looking over your own mangled body, listening to the screams and cries of the mortified people in the streets, you’re strangely calm.

You probably should’ve been paying attention, but it’s typical of you not to. Your mind was on other things. Vicious things. Daydreams of blood and murder and revenge.

The pink haired man strolls casually to stand next to you, hands stuffed in his pocket and seemingly unbothered by the state of your broken carcass. You raise an eyebrow curiously as you stare at him.

“Seen a lot of bloody broken carcasses, huh buddy?” you say nonchalantly, turning your eyes back to your body.

You only say it to yourself, drawing the conclusion that of course he won’t be able to hear you, but you’re shocked when he shrugs and says “Eh. I’ve seen worse.”

You blink in astonishment. You’re also slightly offended. Worse? Worse than your broken neck and your legs turned at opposite 90 degree angles than they’re supposed to fold? You huff and squint at him.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’ you ask, putting a hand on your incorporeal hip.

He gives you a side eye, a tiny playful smirk twisting his lips and he winks.

“At least you’re still in one piece,” he replies.

You roll your eyes and continue staring at your body as hands check your pulse and men shout to others to call an ambulance. If you were actually bothered by the fact that you’re dead and looking at your corpse right now, you would’ve asked how this guy can see you or even speak to you, but it doesn’t matter. You’re dead. His explanation won’t bring you back to life, might as well not waste your breath, or lack thereof.

“So, ya ready to go?” he asks, rocking back and forth on his heels.

You gaze at him again, really take in his features this time. He’s handsome, you’ll give him that. He’s got pink hair and an undercut. He sort of reminds you of a puppy; young, excitable, willing to do anything to get the pussy. There’s something that attracts you to him, like a warm light beaming inside him that makes you feel safe.

But “safe” isn’t what you’re looking for.

You scoff sassily. “Sorry I think I'll be off the dating scene for a little while now. Like, forever it looks like,” you say gesturing to your dead body.

“What?” he asks incredulously, ripping his hands from his pocket and turning to look at you. His mouth drops into a confused “o” and he raises an eyebrow in confusion. “You think I…I’m asking you out?”

“Why else would you be here?”

He continues looking at you like you’ve lost it. “To reap you!” he replies frantically.

You cock a hip, raise a sassy eyebrow, and blink slowly up at him. No shit. You’re not an idiot. Of course he’s here to reap you or whatever.

“What’s your name?’ you ask him and he stiffens and then bows and apologies.

“Sorry! I guess that was rude of me! I’m Yuuji Itadori and I’m here to help you cross over,” he explains.

You smile and tell him your name, reaching out to try and shake his hand. He doesn’t take it, but he nods and replies, “Yeah I know your name.”

“You were watching me before the car hit me,” you say simply and he nods. “You knew I would die.” He nods again, this time, solemnly.

“I woulda saved you if I could but we’re not supposed to interfere. They say it’ll be worse for the soul if we do,” he says, not meeting your eye.

It's a shame. He looks genuinely upset at your death and you believe when he says he would’ve prevented it if he could. You get the feeling he’s tried before and been punished for doing so. It’s an unfortunate situation, especially considering what you’re about to do. You’d hate for someone as nice as him to get in trouble by his grim reaper bosses.

You smile at him, flashing a big bright smile with squinty eyes and deep dimples. He’s taken aback, and you know it. Your smile has always been your most powerful weapon.

“Well thanks for being so kind and honest,” you say, stepping closer to your body. He smiles back, one that matches yours.

“No problem!” he replies.

You bend down toward your body with a wistful smile. “I suppose I'm really going to miss living,” you say sadly. You hear Yuuji sigh sadly behind you.

“I getcha. But death’s only the beginning,” he chirps in a proud voice.

The men checking your body look up at the gathering crowd and sadly pronounce you dead. Some woman you don’t even know starts crying, a guy takes off his jacket and covers your bloodied face, and you hear the sirens of the ambulances rushing to the scene down the street.

You reach a shimmering hand out to stroke your stiff body’s hair and sigh. Yuuji clears his throat but gives you time to accept your new fate. There was so much you were meant to do. You had so many plans, and in mere seconds, they’re all ruined. You squeeze your eyes shut, flashes of your plan speeding through your imagination.

Suddenly you open your eyes, slump your ghostly shoulders and whisper without looking at Yuuji behind you.

“Hey Yuuji?” you ask.

“Yeah, you ok?” he says with concern lingering in his voice. It’s so genuine that it gives you pause, makes you rethink everything but you shake the hesitation from your mind.

“Yeah I’m ok. I just…” you stumble over your words, bite your lip as you continue staring intensely at your dead body. “I’m really sorry about this,” you say finally.

You dive toward your dead body, melding with it right as you hear Yuuji scream “No! Don’t!” and then there’s nothing but deathly silence.

You used to think there was nothing more painful than having your entire family murdered and being shipped away to a tiny ,strict, poor orphanage on the outskirts of the city. Poor and forgotten, like every child under those nuns' care.

Dying and then forcing your soul back into its mangled corpse after being plowed down by a car however, definitely takes the cake. The pain you don’t remember feeling when the car first hit you, is now swallowing you in white hot torment. Everything hurts. Even your eyes hurt.

You’re unaware of your surroundings but there are so many sounds tumbling around inside your head. Sirens? People screaming? Slow pronounced words flowing in the darkness behind your lids. What’s going on?

“Excuse me miss, can you hear me? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

It’s a woman’s voice, firm yet sweet and concerned. You want to do what she says, but your body won’t cooperate. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea at all. How do you expect to get your revenge if you can’t move your fucking hands?

What did you do!?

Another voice in the dark, but this one sounds familiar. It sticks with you, strangely. While the other voices buzz around this one stays clear in your head.

Yes I’m like family! I wanna ride with her!

It’s fuzzy and trying to focus on the voice makes your headache worse so you let go and sink into the darkness. It seems to stretch on for miles and millennia inside your mind. You float there helplessly, replaying the events leading up to your death over and over in your mind.

You’d finally found him. The man responsible for your mother and sister’s death. Five years of planning the way you’d sneak into his home, the way he snuck into yours. Five years of planning the way you’d linger in the shadows and feast on his fear and paranoia. Five years of planning the way you’d make him suffer and beg you for death after you peeled the skin from his bones.

It plays like a film reel across the dark canvas inside your head. The world around you fades away, the woman’s voice a distant memory until there’s nothing else you can see. The fantasy is like shoveling coal in a burning furnace, sustaining your life, too stubborn to move on to the afterlife.

Now that you think about it, that reaper’s face pops into your mind now. He looks solemn and worried, but not worried for himself. You wanna speak to him, apologize again for tricking him and making his job more difficult than it already is. You wonder if you can make it up to him. What would he want?

If he was like every other man in the world, a blowie. But he didn’t seem that way. You remember his warmth, his light and the way his presence made you feel safe and loved.

You suppose you wouldn’t mind giving him a blowie, he was handsome. Muscular arms, big broad chest, kind warm eyes. If circumstances were different he’d be good for you. A long term boyfriend. One you met in high school, started dating, high school sweethearts into college, you break up once but realize you’re meant for each other and find each other again. You know, the real mushy stuff. Your mom would probably love him…

Your mom.

The thought pulls you out of your little fantasy. You’re anything but normal and there’s no way you deserve the sweet domestic life that guy would be able to give you. Not after you’ve dreamed up the horrific visceral images of someone’s torture. You need to stay focused.

You’re not sure how much time passes before you’re finally crawling out of the darkness toward a warm light and a muffled voice in your ears. When you do finally open your eyes, all you see is white. There’s no distinguishing characteristic in the room for you to focus on and it makes your head throb. You don’t know where you are, there's still the muffled voice in your ears, a constant beeping. It smells weirdly clean, no not clean, sterile.

It hits you then, you’re in a hospital. You gaze down at your body, wrapped in hard casts. There’s a mask over your face administering oxygen and you yank it off and take your first breath of fresh air. Scanning the tiny hospital room, your eyes fall on a dark figure leaning against the wall while sitting in a chair.

Pink hair, long lashes, a bit of drool slipping down the side of his mouth as he lounges with his chin propped up on his chin and breathes deeply. It’s that guy, the reaper. Did he follow you to the hospital? Does he intend to kill you? If so, what is he waiting for?

“He’s been here since you were brought in. Said he was a good friend of yours?” She sounds suspicious but you don’t stop staring at him.

Yes I’m like family! I wanna ride with her!

So it was him you heard. Desperate, for some reason, not to cause anymore trouble for him, you speak. “Y...yeah. He’s a close friend of mine. I don’t have any family alive anymore so he’s about as close as it comes to family,” you lie smoothly.

So smoothly it’s almost like it’s the truth. You continue watching him and you’re not sure why your heart is beating faster. The heart monitor next to you increases its steady beat and the nurse catches it. She stares at you, the way your eyes stay glued to him, the way your pupils widen and your fingers fist into the starchy hard sheets on your hospital bed and then she smiles.

“Why don’t I get him a blanket and a pillow? The doctor will be in soon to check on you,” she says, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. You tear your eyes away from him to stare up at her.

“Yeah, please,” you reply. She gives you a quick nod and your lips pull into a tiny smile. “Oh, one more thing!” you say raising your voice to catch her before she leaves the room. She gives you a look and gestures for you to go on. “You said he’s been here since I was brought in. How long ago was that? How long have I been here?”

She gives you a pitiful look. “You’ve been in our care for two months. And uh…” she hesitates and you can see the way she struggles over her words. Again your heart squeezes in your chest, but you take a deep breath and nod for her to continue.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to move anything from the waist down,” she reports.

You knew it would be bad, but hearing it come from the nurse still makes your blood run cold and your heart drop. You swallow the tears that threaten to burst from your chest and look up at her. She’s very pretty, has a very kind face and she almost has this motherly air about her that makes you even more emotional when you think about it.

“I’m so sorry,” she replies when she hears the stuttering breath you intake.

Your eyes grow wide and you’re shaking your head at her. “No please. I should be the one apologizing. You must have to work extra hard to take care of me. I’m sorry for that,” you say kindly.

The nurse looks flabbergasted. “You don’t have to apologize to me. It’s my job honey!”

“Oh… right,” you mutter as you look away from her with an embarrassed smile. Your eyes immediately fall to the man in the corner of your room again, and the nurse gets the hint.

“Why don’t I go grab that blanket for him and give the two of you a moment alone. If you need anything, just press the ‘call nurse’ button. I’ll send the doctor in a few. He’ll want to do a full check over you now that you’re awake.” She reaches down to grasp your hand and squeeze it before she leaves the room and shuts the door softly.

As soon as the door closes, you let the tears run down your face. Loud hiccups and cries fill the room, you’re lucky you have it to yourself, well except for…

“You’re finally awake. Took you long enough.”

Light brown eyes—you swear they remind you of a Labrador you used to play with when you were younger—are burning into yours. He’s leaning over you, so close to your face his nose is inches from yours. He does not look happy with you and that thought kind of makes you want to cry more.

It stupid to be self conscious about the heat pooling in your cheeks or the way your eyes are red and puffy from crying, the way snot is probably pouring down your nose and for goodness sake, your hair probably a tangled mess. You clear your throat then try to push his face away weakly.

“Haven’t you ever heard of personal space dude?” you say sniffling and craning your neck away from him.

He pouts, pursing his lips and knitting his brows together. “The last time I gave you personal space you hopped back into your dead body like a baby kangaroo into it’s mama’s pouch!” He huffs in frustration and you can’t help but snicker.

“A baby kangaroo? Mama? That’s cute,” you tease. He can tell you’re trying to lighten the mood and you get the feeling under different circumstances, he’d buy into it.

“I’m not joking around. You could’ve done a lot of damage. I already had to quickly heal your neck so doctors wouldn’t be suspicious or wonder how—hey why are you crying again?”

His words make the sobs wrack your body fiercely. This is all your fault. All you’ve done is cause trouble since this debacle, and for what? You won’t even be able to get revenge or anything anymore. So what’s the point anymore?

“Look, I'm sorry. I really am. You were like, the last person I wanted to cause trouble for,” you say through sniffles and sobs.

“Then why’d you do it?” Yuuji asks without missing a beat. He doesn’t soften his tone or try to coddle you, and you suppose that’s fair.

“I had to,” you insist.

“No. You had to cross over. Your time is up. You’re living on time that isn’t yours. Who knows what balance in the world you’re wrecking.”

You feel like a kid being scolded by an adult. You wanna pout and stomp your foot, poke out your tongue at him and cross your arms over your chest but that seems silly, especially considering again this is all your fault.

You take a deep breath. “I get that. And I’m sorry but…”

“But what?”

For some reason, you can’t say it. You can’t tell him about the burning need for revenge nestled in your gut. The thought of saying such violent things to someone… someone like him feels wrong. So you swallow the lump in your throat and try to change the subject.

“Why won’t you just take my soul or whatever? Why go through all the trouble of healing me and waiting two months for me to wake up when you could’ve easily just—”

“I wanted to ask you why.”

That’s strange. Why would he wait all this time to ask you a question instead of just doing his job?

“You waited two months, and came here every day for two months, just to ask me why I went back into my own body?” you inquire, squinting your eyes with suspicion.

“No.”

“No?”

“I didn’t come back every day. I just stayed.” He says it simply, like it’s obvious.

That makes your heart do flips in your chest and your stomach feels weird. He stayed with you, waiting for you to wake up. He watched you sleep and stayed here every day just to get an answer from you. The least you can do is tell him. Not like it’ll matter in the long run.

“My family was murdered by a man who’s walking free right now. I was hiding under a bed while my mother was screaming and my sister was motioning to me to stay quiet and not to look. He took everything from me that day and he walked free. And I was left alone in the world with people who didn’t give a damn about me. Do you know how that feels?” your voice wavers while you speak but you manage not to cry through it. It’s the first time you ever spoke about the incident aloud and surprisingly, you feel a bit lighter.

Yuuji stares at you for a long moment. You can see him thinking as he nibbles on the inside of his cheek. Then he shrugs and replies, “Nah I guess I don’t.”

“Exactly.”

He plops down on the bed next to you and it squeaks loudly. There’s something so casual about the way he acts and speaks to you. Almost like you are longtime friends. You don’t mind it, it makes you feel comfortable. “So what, you planned to...kill that guy?”

You lift your chin and purse your lips stubbornly. “Yes. Painfully. I wanted to make him suffer.”

He chuckles, as if the two of you aren’t discussing the fact that you want to murder a man and make him suffer. “You’re...kinda intense, huh?”

For some reason, that makes you pissy. You purse your lips again and quip back in a sassy bratty tone,“If wanting revenge against the guy who murdered my family is intense, then yeah sure.”

“You don’t actually want that, do you.” He means to state it as a question, but it doesn’t come out that way.

You hesitate, your eyes wide. Up until now, you didn’t think about actually going through with it. In a daydream fueled by rage and retaliation, you could picture the way the man would cry and beg for death. But here in Yuuji’s presence, it turns your stomach, it makes you feel sick and nauseous. You turn away from his inquisitive eyes and clear your throat.

He sighs after a few minutes of silence. “Well I can't let you do that.”

You mimic his sigh, you knew he’d say it, but it still leaves you crestfallen. “You could though, right?”

“Yeah. But I'm not gonna.” He sounds determined, but there’s something else lingering in his tone. Like he has something he needs to prove.

It’s silent again as you stare out the window. Yuuji keeps watching you, observing every emotion that crosses or doesn’t cross your face. It kind of makes you uncomfortable. Why is he watching you so intensely? You're self conscious now, tugging at a loose strand of hair and fidgeting with a thread in the scratchy blanket.

He breaks the silence, “If you had one day left to live—and your answer can’t be murder that guy—what would you do?” he asks randomly.

You don’t miss a beat. ”Murder—“

He stops you again. “You can’t murder anyone he loves either. No murder. Think bigger,” He says booping your nose and frowning at you.

You snort and again you’re amazed at how playful the atmosphere is when discussing something as morbid as murder. Seems to be the effect he has on you. “Bigger than murder? You’re serious?”

“Yes,” he insists and the serious but engaged expression on his face makes you play along.

“I’d wanna see the ocean.”

He looks shocked, like he wasn’t expecting something like this and it immediately puts you on the defense. “Really? How come?”

“Not everyone gets the chance to travel all over the world. Especially not someone like me. I’ve never seen it. I’ve never seen a lot, actually. But seeing the ocean has always been the one thing that made me think, ‘I’ve made it.’ ”you explain.

You realize you’ve been staring out the window while daydreaming about the crashing waves and you’re flustered when you turn back to see Yuuji watching you and smirking. “What?”

“I knew it.” he says, a grin spreading wider on his face.

“Knew what?” you say falling back into your pout.

“Why don’t we go see it then?” he says, holding a hand out for you to grasp it.

He’s joking, obviously. So you roll your eyes and look out the window again. “We’re like hundreds of miles away from the ocean, and I can't walk. Unless you plan to wheel me out in the dead of night.”

“Not a bad idea.” You give him a look and he smiles a big goofy dumb smile. “I’m kidding! Would you just trust me though?”

You look at his hand and then back up into his eyes. You don’t know how he does it, but he manages to make you feel like anything in the world is possible, as long as you’re with him. You don’t know how he will pull this off but you do trust him.

You sigh deeply. “Fine,” you say and slip your hand into his.

Yuuji told you to close your eyes and trust him when you took his hand, so you did. But that means you have no explanation on how you’re sitting, cradled in his arms as he stands at the entrance of a very luxurious beach house. Behind it must be the ocean because your ears are filled with the sounds of rolling waves and seagulls.

You look up at Yuuji and feel his arms clutching you tightly to his chest. The hard casts that were wrapped around your legs are gone and they dangle over Yuuji’s arms limply.

“How… How did you do this?” you blink, trying to take everything in.

His laugh shakes your body, you can feel it vibrate through his chest and you inadvertently squish yourself closer to him.

He puts a finger to his lips and winks at you, “It’s a secret,” he grins.

Then he bends down and places a quick peck on your forehead. His lips feel like they’re branding you, they’re hot on your skin, but strangely it isn’t painful. The heat travels through your entire body and washes you in relief similar to soaking sore muscles in a hot bath. It feels so good you can’t catch the groan that suspiciously sounds a little erotic as it falls from your lips.

If he heard it, he thankfully doesn’t comment on it. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Hell before you woke up from the coma you were ready and willing to suck his dick. You shake your head and try to take control of the conversation before the hanging silence becomes awkward.

“What’d you do?” you ask when the heat subsides.

“Don’t be scared, I just healed you. Let’s go in!” he says happily. In one fluid motion he sets you down on your feet, grasps your hand, and leads you into the beach house. He doesn’t give you a chance to ask how you’re standing right now or how you’re able to walk.

Yuuji suggests you’ll feel a bit better if you take a shower and he’s not wrong. The water feels amazing on your skin. The soap you use smells fresh and brisk and with the salty ocean air surrounding you, it feels like you’re in a completely different world.

You make sure to avoid the mirror when you get out of the shower. It’s a habit, a nasty one you’ve picked up over the years of being invisible to everyone around you. You don’t like what you see in the mirror, so you avoid them at every moment. You sigh when you think about how handsome Yuuji is. He’s probably never afraid to look at himself. Why would he be?

You’re ashamed, you feel rotten. You can’t avenge your family but you’re also worried about what this pure man thinks of your soul after confessing that you’d planned to murder someone. It shouldn’t matter that much to you, given you’ve only just met him, but for some reason the way he sees you means everything to you right now.

Sadly, you pad out of the bathroom and into the large bedroom where there is a satin gown lying on the bed and a pair of panties. You assume they are for you and quickly slip them on. A slip of paper next to the clothes tells you Yuuji is on the beach. So you walk toward the patio doors in the room. They lead to a concrete slab and right out to the beach. Further out is the sparkling blue ocean sitting on the horizon.

When you step out on the patio, the scene in front of you feels unreal, like a dream? It matches your daydreams of the ocean perfectly. The rushing waves race each other to the beach then quickly pull back into the expanse of the salty water. With each push and pull, little shells become present and decorate the sand with shimmering specs of light as the sun illuminates them. The air smells salty but fresh and when the wind whips through your hair, the shampoo you used blends with the scent of the briny sea.

It’s breathtaking, you’re left speechless as you stare. Yuuji stands at the shore as the waves flow around his ankles. His back looks strong, his shoulder broad as the blades protrude through his jacket. You lick your lips and bite your lip, it’s a sight you wish you could have ingrained in your memory forever.

You take a wary step into the sand, toward him and before you know it, you’re running to him. He turns when he hears you, and catches you when you trip and stumble into his arms. Yuuji always holds you tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him. Even when he stands you back up right and snorts “Gotta find your sand legs,” he still keeps a tight grip on your waist.

He holds your hand as the two of you stroll down the beach. You wiggle your toes in the sand, feel the cold water between your toes and even get into a tiny splashing fight with Yuuji. Your cheeks ache from how much you’re smiling and by sunset you’re both sitting on a group of rocks near the shore, resting and watching the sun sink in the sky.

“So...” Yuuji starts. You raise an eyebrow and tilt your head.

“So?” you repeat.

“Was it everything you ever dreamed? The ocean and stuff?” he asks, vibrating with anticipation.

You smile again, grabbing a stick to doodle in the wet sand. “Yeah, actually. It was exactly like how I dreamed it would be. The seafoam looks like bunnies hopping on top of the waves and the sunset reminds me of a peach tart my mom made for me on my last birthday before the incident. This was perfect,” you say, whispering the last word as your cheeks grow hot.

Talking about your mom again instantly drags you back into reality and you sigh sadly. The momentary bliss washes away when the thought of you never again being able to enjoy a peach tart from her invades your thoughts. Your eyes sting and you bite your lip attempting to hold the tears back.

You gaze out at the sunset, your mind drifting away with the breeze until you sigh and ask, “Do you think people are born to be doomed?” You don’t look at him when you ask, just keep your eyes trained on the orange glow in the sky.

“No. I think people are born to die so they should live as best they can with the time given to them. Doing stuff they love with people they treasure.” He doesn’t have to think about his answer, almost as if lots of people have asked him this before.

“How long have you been a reaper?”

“Not that long. I died once. It’s how you become a reaper. I got a second chance at life, so I figured, I don’t know, that you maybe needed one too. Even if it is just for a day. I knew you weren’t just a murderer.”

That makes you whip your head around to look at him. “Ha! And how’d you know that?” you snort.

“Well one, the way you look at people. When I saw you the day you died you were looking at all those people trying to help you. Almost like, you didn’t think you deserved their help. Or when you apologized to the nurse for doing her job in taking care of you. Even she was surprised! So I started thinking to myself, ‘She must be a really sad person’.”

Well shit. He saw more than you gave him credit for. You sit there staring at him, confused, shocked but more moved than any of the other emotions. He paid that much attention?

Suddenly he has his hands up in a surrender motion in front of him, chuckling sheepishly as he looks at you. “I.. I don't mean that in a pathetic way or anything! Just that you looked sad.” He stutters nervously over his words but quickly calms when he sees you smile at him.

“Erm...but the big give away was your soul.”

That catches your attention. “What do you mean my soul?”

“It was so bright and shimmery. Especially when you smiled that one time. It surprised me. I’d never seen a soul shine that bright. When they’re that bright, it usually means the cross over is fairly easy.”

He thought you were bright? And here that entire time you were thinking it was him who was warm and bright.

He smiles big at you and points down to the sketch in the sand. You didn’t even notice you’d drawn that much. Then he takes your hands into his large ones and holds them tightly. They’re so warm, and envelop yours completely, like a warm blanket on a cold winter day and you wish his arms were wrapped around you instead.

“Look. Your hands were made to create pretty things, not take lives.” He almost whispers it but he stares into your eyes intently. It makes you want to cry. No one’s ever looked at you like this before.

Your lips part and he leans in just a bit closer to you.

“Yuuji?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Hey don’t worry about it!” His teeth shine like diamonds in the setting sun when he flashes you a big toothy grin.

“Yuuji?” This time you whisper his name, soft and delicate, every syllable hesitant and vulnerable as you avoid his soothing gaze. Your breathing picks up as his index finger draws little patterns around your knuckles. His other arm moves to the small of your back and pulls you into his lap on the rock he’s perched on. And you might have imagined it, but you think his hand just brushed against your ass.

Taking solace in a man as pure as him, it’s not something you think you deserve but the way he’s holding your hand right now, the way he balances you in his lap and holds you close to him, the way he leans in like you’re impossible to stay away from, very slowly makes the idea a little more plausible.

“Yeah?” He inquires breathy, husky, and deep. His breath washes over you, it smells like the salty sea air, like sunshine on fresh dew covered grass and a hint of honey and cinnamon. It’s irresistible, he's irresistible. You can’t imagine how anyone’s able to stay away from him.

“Will you kiss me?” You mumble the request under your breath, staring down at your intertwined fingers, lashes brushing your heated cheeks. He could say no. You’d understand if he did. He is supposed to be taking your soul. Why would he kiss you? And if he decided to, it'd be a pity kiss at best.

He untangles his fingers from yours and lifts your chin with a hook of his finger. His eyes entrap you again and he smiles warmly. He leans in to rub his nose gently against yours then whispers, “Thought ya’d never ask.”

The kiss isn’t heated or rushed. He only brushes his lips against your cupid’s bow before deepening the kiss and slotting his lips between the empty spaces of yours. It’s like putting the last piece of the puzzle in place. Relief washes over you, you hum and relax your tense shoulders when his hand caresses your cheek and he plays with a loose strand of your hair.

He tastes and feels like something you've craved for years now. A warm home, a family, someone to love you and be with you. You can’t help but to reach around and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him in closer to you. The action nudges his tongue into your mouth and he moans when the muscle invades and brushes against your teeth. This is something you haven’t felt before but there’s something in you that needs him, that needs to feel him and his hands all over your body.

You’re not a virgin. You’d lost it in the back of the chapel at the orphanage as a big “fuck you” to the mean nuns there but it wasn’t good. The guy had pumped into you three times before he was quickly pulling out and spilling onto your belly and plaid skirt. You hadn’t even been close to coming and that was your only sexual encounter.

You wonder if Yuuji is a virgin. Surely in two lifetimes he’s had sex before? He seems experienced judging by the way he moves his lips against yours and presses his body against you, though in a playful way. Does he even want you in that way? You tense up as you think about the possibility of him not wanting this.

Whether he’s just that good at knowing what you’re thinking or he wants you just as much as you want him you’re not sure, but he drops his hands to your waist and massages his fingers into your plush skin. His lips move and press harder against you, tongue flicking and pressing against yours as he groans. You pull back from him to catch your breath and his eyes run down your frame.

“You’re beautiful, did you know that?” he says simply and you can feel the way his fingers clench the fabric of your gown.

No one’s ever said that to you before. And you know when he says it, he means it. Yuuji’s been painfully honest this entire time so when he runs a hand up your body, squeezing and caressing everything his hand touches before it wraps around the back of your neck tenderly, you move to press your breasts up against him.

“Yuuji… I want…” you breathe. His fingers curl into the hair at the nape of your neck as he leans in closer to you again.

He lets the tip of his tongue playfully flick against your bottom lip before he replies, “Yeah? Tell me.”

Did you imagine the shift in his pants or the way he bit his lip? Did you imagine the way his chest swelled and his breath quivered with anticipation when you laid your hand over his chest? Gazing into his eyes now, you’re no longer afraid to tell him what you want more than anything right now.

“You,” you whisper and it’s like magic words.

He scoops you up in his arms and carries you back to the house. He cradles you against his chest like a bride being carried over the threshold to her new life. His heavy footfalls on the creaking wood floors echo through the empty beach house and soon you’re bouncing on a big fluffy bed with comfy white sheets. You flop down on the bed with an “oof” and for the first time you giggle a twinkling little sound that fills the room.

“You’re laughing! That’s a pretty sound.”

He looks at you with stars in his eyes, a huge dopey grin that spreads across his entire face. He’s fallen back into that puppy energy and it only makes you giggle more. You scoot back against the lavish headboard and watch him in delight. He quickly pulls his hoodie over his head, tosses it on the floor and pulls down his pants.

Without the clunky hoodie to hide his muscles you can see how broad his shoulders are, how firm his pecs are beneath the shirt stretching over them, the flexing muscles of his arms as he reaches down to grasp the hem and pull it over his head.

Maybe it’s just because you haven’t had the chance or been in the correct mental state to appreciate someone so lovely but, Yuuji is gorgeous. The retreating sun’s rays dance like little sparkles over his bare chest and your eyes trace the lines of his abs down to the dips and grooves of his hips. His thighs are thick and muscular, the boxer briefs he wears cinched around them and you actually lick your lips when you see the bulge of his cock pressed against his leg. You tilt your head and smile as you take him in.

“Hey, you checkin’ me out or something? That’s what I’m supposed to be doing to you,” he says leaning forward with his hands on his hips.

Something in the corner of the room catches his eye then and he bounds over to stand in front of a full length mirror sitting on two sturdy legs. You watch him with curiosity, and can see the cogs in his mind turning as he puts something together in his head.

“Yannow they say if you die in front of a mirror, your soul gets stuck in it forever,” you say, trying to garner his attention again.

He doesn’t turn around but he does grab the mirror on either side and looks over his shoulder to stare seriously at you.

“Nah, that’s just a dumb myth. Only reapers can handle souls. But I can think of something better we can do with this mirror.”

He carries it over to sit by the side of the bed and maneuvers it so that you’re staring at your own huge eyes in the reflection. Then he quickly makes his way around to pull you off of the headboard and turn you so you’re looking directly at your reflection. You’re immediately uncomfortable, turning away so you don’t have to see. He shuffles onto the bed to sit behind you and pulls you to sit between his open legs.

“What are you--”

“Don’t worry. Just trust me, ok?”

Yuuji’s got rough hands, but he has somehow found a way to make them feel soft as he massages your breasts in his huge palms. He pinches your nipples through your gown and you squeeze your thighs together when a rush of heat flows straight to your cunt. You close your eyes and bite your lip, focusing on the way the tip of his tongue draws light patterns over the marks growing darker on your skin.

“Uh uhn. Don’t close your eyes. I want ya to watch,” he says while nibbling your ear.

His hands have found their way underneath your gown and no bra means he’s palming your bare breast. His hands look like specters under the white silk of your gown. Warm calloused hands run down your body and when they reach the hem of your panties, you immediately spread your legs to welcome him.

You can feel his cock on your back, hard and pulsing through the fabric of his underwear as he continues to play with you. Each mewl that drips from your lips makes his cock throb more against your back. You want to reach around to grasp it, feel how hard and thick he would be in your hands but he’s got his arms wrapped so tightly around you, it’s hard to move.

“Y...Yuuji please, touch me,” you whimper.

He’s more than happy to oblige, quickly slipping your underwear down your legs and tossing them aside. He stops littering kisses on the side of your face just long enough to pull the long gown over your head and gaze at your naked body in the mirror. He takes one of your budding nipples between his fingers and squeezes, watching your face and reaction carefully in the mirror.

“You don't know how good you look when your face is all scrunched up like that,” he says in a husky voice.

“Everything about you is so pretty. Your noises are pretty, your tits are pretty, your face is pretty, and…” He lists everything off nonchalantly, like it’s an obvious truth that anyone could see and it makes your cheeks heat and your cunt ache for him.

Then he teases your entrance, pulling your legs further apart and slipping a finger through your glistening folds. You watch him in the mirror, he’s biting his lip as he watches you carefully. Yuuji’s focused face instills an unquantifiable amount of joy and pride inside you.

His tongue poking out the side of his mouth, his knitted brows and the way his eyes keep swiveling to your face and back down between your thighs. He’s determined, completely focused on making you feel good. He rubs wide hard circles on your clit and you push your hips forward to increase the pressure.

“Your pussy is really pretty,” he finishes right as he pushes a finger into your velvety walls.

You gasp and watch his finger sink into your cunt. You bite your lip so hard, it feels like you’ll make it bleed. He kisses your shoulder tenderly but continues to pump inside of you. You’re unsure if his fingers are just that thick or if you’re that tight but the stretch feels better than anything you’ve ever felt.

“Look at how well you take my fingers. You’re amazing, see? Look at yourself.”

Praise from him only makes your cunt squeeze tighter, makes you wetter, makes you want to hear him speak through groans and pants about how well you take his dick. How’s he making you feel this good? How does he know exactly where to rub or thrust to make you yelp and moan? He speaks sweetly in your ear, telling you how pretty you are, how he loves the way you sound but all you can think about is how much you want to feel him, not his fingers.

He’s warm against your back, his breath makes the hair on the back of your neck stand and goosebumps rise to the surface on your skin. His arms wrap protectively around you, running slowly up and down your arms. He nestles his chin on your shoulder, and smiles that big giddy grin at you in the mirror. Your heart skips a beat as it thumps loudly in your chest.

“Don’t blink or you’ll miss it, ” he instructs.

He places a hand on your chest and suddenly you feel weird. He’s still pumping and curling his fingers up inside you but now you’re both hot and cold at the same time, tired and energized, happy and sad. It’s a strange feeling, like you’re being split in two.

You don’t take your eyes off yourself in the mirror. Yuuji is taking death breaths, spreading his fingers out on your chest and chanting something you can’t understand. You’re panting still focused on his fingers spreading out inside you. But then he stops pumping and suddenly there’s a bright ball of light, so bright it almost blinds you.

It’s vibrating and floating in Yuuji’s palm, like a tiny galaxy or a star floating delicately. For some reason, seeing it makes you want to cry but also laugh in joyful glee. You’re mesmerized as you watch it illuminate both you and Yuuji’s face.

It isn’t until you hear Yuuji chuckle playfully that you're broken out of your stupor.

“What...What is it?” you ask with a shaky voice.

“You serious? I thought you’d know your own soul when you saw it. Hmm…well Gojo did say humans are a little blind,” he says, putting a finger to his chin.

“That’s….”

“Mmm hmm. And like I said before, they aren’t usually this bright. Most of the time they shine like a night light in a kid’s bedroom but yours...it’s like a star.” When Yuuji says the word “star’, he says it with so much amazement and adoration it almost knocks the air from you.

You continue to look at it before he chants again and the light slowly fades back into your chest. You're left with your own dumbfounded expression staring back at you. For once, you don’t feel the need to turn away quickly from the sight of your own face. For once, you like the way you look and it mesmerizes you.

“It...it’s beautiful…” you whisper.

“I told ya. You’re beautiful,” Yuuji responds, wrapping his arms around your stomach and pulling you closer to him. He kisses your cheek and moves down your jaw to kiss your neck. He pulls his fingers from your cunt and licks the slick from them. When you breathe out a heavy sigh and tilt your head away to expose more of your neck to him, he nips at your flesh.

Like a dam that’s been broken, your emotions spill out and you twist around and kiss him ravenous and eager. You taste yourself and him and you purr against his lips. The muscles in his arms flex as he holds you close to him, picks you up and places you in his lap so you’re facing each other. He shimmies his underwear down his legs and flicks it to the floor. You wrap your legs around his torso and move to bite and lick his neck.

The heat of your cunt hovering over the head of his cock makes a guttural groan rip from his chest. The sound he makes is one you’ve never heard come from a man before. You can’t believe you’re the reason he sounds this way. But you want more, you want to be the reason he growls and grunts and pants. You want to feel yourself be split on his dribbling thick cock.

As always, like he’s inside your head he pulls your face back to look in your eyes. His hands grasp and knead into the meat of your ass as he holds you right above him.

“Can I? Can I…shit… can I go in?” He asks. His voice raises an octave when you grind your clit against the tip of his dick. You can feel the pre oozing from it, cold against your heat as you tease him.

His eyes are full of salacious lust, he’s craving you, trembling slightly but he doesn’t move until you answer him. You nod, unable to trust that your voice won’t come out as a pitiful mewl, but when he sinks you down slowly both of you cry out in the expanse of the seaside bedroom.

You feel the head of his cock pop past the ring of muscle inside you, and as he pulls you down farther, you revel in the feel of a thick vein rubbing against your sponge walls, and focus on how you stretch open to take him. He feels as if he’s vibrating inside you, enhancing the pleasure you’re already being subjected to. Is this because he’s a reaper? Is it because you feel some sort of connection with him?

In the end it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way he’s panting and digging his nails into your back. The way his eyes are squeezed shut. The way he’s gritting his teeth, trying not to cum inside you just from the feel of your right cunt squeezing the life out of him.

“Shit… I’ve never felt…pussy this good before,” he grits through his teeth.

When your ass has met his balls, and he’s embedded fully inside you, you take a moment to glance over your shoulder at the two of you in the mirror.

The view is sensual and beautiful, limbs intertwined, chests and backs heaving deeply, marks from where he’s bitten you in pleasure. It's an amorous scene between lovers and it blows your mind that it feels this intimate. He notices you looking and grunts.

“Wanna watch?”

He lifts you and turns around as if you weigh nothing, and when you’re once again facing yourself in the mirror, he pulls your legs apart, lifts you, and sinks you back down on his cock slowly. If the feel of Yuuji splitting you on his dick was euphoria, you have no idea how to describe watching it happen in the mirror.

He looks delectable inside you, your cunt greedily sucks him in, your slick drips down his smooth heavy balls, he’s still twitching and trying not to come. He holds tight to your hips and lifts up to thrust inside of you. He starts slow, letting you get accustomed to being so full of him but it isn’t long before he’s ramming up into you, balls slapping against your clit.

The sloppy sounds of wet skin slapping against each other, the long winded groans uttered from Yuuji, and the soft crash of the waves on the beach outside envelop the two of you in a haze of sensuality you don’t dare break out of. You focus on yourself in the mirror, watching him pull out of you just to pull you back down on him. You’re almost there, something you can’t explain tightening, an abundance of pressure that heightens every time his cock kisses that special spot.

There’s a white ring of sticky cum forming around the base of his cock and you reach down to swipe a finger through it and pop it into your mouth. You moan long and filthy at the salty taste of your lovemaking. Yuuji’s fingers are digging into the fat of your hips, he’s whimpering, his thrusts are becoming less controlled and you know he’s close to spilling inside of you. He leans his forehead against your back, chanting your name over and over like it’s a prayer.

“Yuuji I think I’m gonna…” you say through labored breaths.

“P...please…you’re so tight I can’t… hold… anymore…” he says through puffs of breath and gritted teeth.

He’s been holding back for you? He’s so good to you. You’re shaking now, the thing inside you coming to a peak as it tightens and finally snaps, eliciting a high pitched shriek as you convulse and spill onto him.

As you’re squeezing him, he wraps his arms around you, kissing up your spine as he thrusts up into you a final time, pulling you down on him as all his muscles flex and and he pumps a load of cum into your pussy.

You watch it spill out of you in the mirror, oozing down his thighs and balls. He slumps his forehead against your back, kissing down your spine and holding you close to him as he twitches from the aftershock of his pleasure.

You’re both breathing heavily, but he pulls out of you and flops back on the bed, a huge grin staining his face. You lie down next to him, face tucked in the crevice between his arm and chest and take a deep inhale of his scent. If you could stay right here forever you would. But you know that’s not going to happen.

“Thank you,” you whisper and the words flit through the air, wispy and soft as the sun sinks behind the horizon.

“You don’t hafta thank me ya know,” he says, wrapping an arm around your naked body.

“I know but I want to. You did the impossible,” you continue in a small timid voice. You feel him rustle against the blankets on the bed and when you feel his warm breath on the top of your head you know he’s looking at you.

“I think I’m ready now. I think I’m ok to go,” you say, closing your eyes.

Yuuji doesn’t say anything for a long time, just continues holding you, occasionally squeezing your shoulder or running his fingers up and down your spine. When the sun has finally disappeared and the room is dark and filled with the sounds of crashing waves, he sighs.

“It’s time now,” he says solemnly.

“Will it hurt?”

“No, I don’t make it hurt.”

You smile up at him and again he has that astounded expression. “Of course you don’t. You’re gentle and good,” you say, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

He puts a huge hand on your chest and you take a deep breath. He closes his eyes and starts that familiar chant from earlier. You cut him off right before he finishes to quickly say your last thought.

“Wait! I just wanted to say, I know I just met you and you barely know me. But I’ll never have a chance to say it to anyone again, so I figure this is as good a moment as any.” You take a deep breath and then stare right into his eyes.

“I love you.”

And then, you’re floating and your vision is white. It’s so bright you can’t see a thing. You can’t see the beach house or the bed or Yuuji. All you can see are two shapes in the brightness of the light in front of you. They look like they’re approaching you and for just a quick moment you’re afraid. But then you recognize them. The soft eyes and open arms of your mother and sister beckoning to you. Your eyes well up with tears at the sight of them and instantly you reach out to them.

You can hear Yuuji’s voice finishing the incantation but there’s something else in the background. A buzzing monotone tone, blaring like a machine signifying something. An alarm or...no…it’s something else.

Your mother’s voice beckons to you, it’s a sound your heart never forgot. You cry and all you want is to feel her embrace again. You run to her and the world feels like everything is lined up perfectly in place. All the pieces of the puzzle are together, the movie of your life has ended and you have your happily ever after.

The last thing you hear is a whisper that you’re just able to make out before you walk away with your mother and sister forever.

“I love you too.”

Epilogue

The flatline beeps incessantly, signifying the end of a struggle and fight. Yuuji looks down at your body. He smiles and strokes your cheek. Your eyelashes sit perfectly on your cheeks, your skin soft but already growing cold but the most beautiful thing is the little content smile on your lips. You look like a sleeping princess, lost in dreams of the ocean, a passionate love affair, and one man who cared enough to make your last few moments the best you’d ever had.

“What happened?” the nurse asks as she’s the first to arrive in the room.

“She just didn’t wake up,” he says sadly.

“It’s a miracle she survived as long as she did. Living two hours with all of her injuries. Must be some kind of world record. She’s quite the fighter. I’m sorry for your loss,” the nurse says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“It probably felt more like two months to her. She’s at peace now, that’s all that matters,” Yuuji says, grasping your hand.

The nurse leaves to give Yuuji a few minutes to say goodbye while she fetches the doctor. He gently lifts your hand to his lips, kisses it softly and whispers to you.

“I love you too.”

--

Thanks for reading!