𝔏𝔦𝔞 ♱

🦇 - nsfw/suggestive content

✝︎ Bungou stray dogs

Forbidden - Chuuya x f!Reader 🦇

Jealousy - Chuuya x f!Reader

Silent love - Chuuya x f!Reader

misunderstanding - Chuuya x f!Reader 🦇

Sweet husband - Chuuya x f!Reader

✝︎ One piece

Do it again - Mihawk x f!Reader

Buried together - Mihawk x f!Reader

Bite my hip - Mihawk x f!Reader 🦇

Ideal child - Mihawk x f!Reader

High-maintenance wife - Shanks x f!reader

✝︎ Jujutsu Kaisen

jealous wife - Sukuna x f!Reader

come kiss me, my sweet vampire - vampire!Sukuna x f!Reader 🦇

“Kids grow up so fast…”

Sighing wistfully, you watched from the window as Perona carefully bandaged Zoro’s wounds. Mihawk’s training wasn’t gentle or easy; only someone with both a strong mind and spirit could see it through to the end. So far, Zoro hadn’t broken yet.

And judging by how much he’s been improving, you doubt he ever will.

Perona has been growing up too. She’s still the same loud girl who loves pink, but her skills as a nurse have improved; Zoro was no longer bandaged up like a mummified corpse. It was adorable to watch, though utterly ineffective. It took a lot of work to get her to give up her bad habits.

The thought made you smile with a strange tenderness. Neither of them was initially welcome when their presence in the castle was discovered. It had always been you and Mihawk and Mihawk and you, no one else, so the scandalous duo unsettled you at first. You were against their stay, bothered by how much your life would be affected, but for the first time Mihawk had accepted an apprentice— and you didn’t want to take that away from him. 

“My love,” your husband began slowly, leaning against the wall near the window. His gaze first fell on those in the garden before turning to you, his crimson eyes glowed with a mixture of adoration and concern. “I’m afraid you’ve forgotten that the children you’re referring to are, in fact, both adults. Perona is older than Zoro.”

“And more importantly than that, they are not our children.”

A loud sigh escaped your lips at his statement. You knew that, of course you did, but it seems age has softened you, for the affection you felt for them was indeed unusual. Turning away from the window, you mimicked his relaxed pose; the only difference being your wide-open eyes watching him intently.

It was unsettling just how dazzling you found him even after so many years. His black hair slicked back, the well-groomed beard you took pride in trimming every morning. His chest slightly exposed by the open buttons—all that once drove you crazy continues to torment you. Without realizing, you stepped from the wall and walked toward him.

“I know,” you said in a low voice, as if someone other than him might hear you. And maybe they could, who knows what haunts that place? “It’s just that…well, I think I’ve accidentally grown attached to them.”

It didn’t take long for Mihawk to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you slowly toward him. Eager for his touch, you let yourself be led, more than happy to be held in his arms.

A slow kiss landed on your shoulder as your hands rested beneath his chest. The soft fabric of his shirt was a welcome distraction from the eyes watching you so intently.

“But you see,” you continued as you played with the white fabric. “they could very well feel like our children. Zoro is grumpy and fascinated by swords just like you, and Perona… well, she’s the kind of daughter a man like you would definitely have. Unfortunately, my dear, I can’t torment you all the time.”

Finally meeting his red eyes, Mihawk looked at you as if you were crazy. He may not be openly expressive, but his furrowed brows and twitching eyelid indicated just how absurd he found this situation. And you? Well, you did nothing but blink innocently with a slight smile on your lips.

“Frightening.” Mihawk finally managed to say. “Please don’t say things like that again. If we had children, they would be infinitely more polite and civilized, not rude or scandalous like the ones you speak of so affectionately. ”

You could certainly put an end to this delightful debate right now, but it’s strangely pleasant to hear your husband talk about what your hypothetical children would be like. It’s something you’ve never really given much thought to, honestly. Mihawk and you have been together for years, and never, not even for a single moment, have you felt that anything was missing—a child, to be more specific.

What you two had transcended the concept of “enough,” yet what harm would there be in indulging in an innocent family fantasy?

“How can you be so sure?” you teased Mihawk more, curious about what was going through his mind. “As far as we know, if we had children, they could very well turn out to be rude and scandalous just like the ones you speak of so coldly.”

“Never.” The answer was immediate, without any need for reflection. Mihawk was thoroughly convinced of his beliefs. “ They would be our children, raised and educated by us. You would guide them through the dark arts, and I would teach them the sword. ”

“We already do that with Zoro and Perona.”

“Perona doesn’t know how to wield a sword, and Zoro can barely read.”

“But she can read, and he can hold a sword.”

“Nothing more than a shared obligation; they’re here for a reason,” he muttered, beginning to grow annoyed at how easily you found similarities between them. “A child of ours would be gifted with both abilities, not just one.”

The hands on your waist moved upward until they found your arms, covered by the long lace sleeves that veiled your skin. Mihawk caressed the fabric slowly; there was no reason to rush when touching you. Every stroke, every touch, every squeeze filled with love and patience—he was in no hurry to adore you.

You fought the temptation to close your eyes when his lips found your arm. His kisses were always more than just a pleasure for you.

Pleased with the lovely husband you had, you watched patiently as Mihawk’s caresses slid down your arm until they found your hand. There, no fabric prevented you from feeling his warm lips and rough stubble dragging across your skin. A final, lingering kiss was left on your fingers.

“And they would look like you,” he said again in a low voice. “they would have the same eyes and the same hair, the same passion for the unthinkable and the damned. The same smile and the same heart...”

“Mihawk, my love,” the corners of your red lips slowly turned up; you wouldn’t be able to contain the delight that possessed you even if you wanted to. You too were not immune to certain romantic clichés—especially when they came from a man like him. “You speak as if this thought has haunted you for a long time”

“Perhaps it has.” With a knowing smile and an intense gaze, he dared to confess.

Sliding your hands down his neck, your fingers tangled in the black hair as you locked your eyes on his.

“Tell me,” you spoke again. “do you really want to conceive a child with me, bring another poor soul into this corrupt world, condemning them as we ourselves are condemned...”

Each word slipped out in a whisper, heavy with unspoken intent. Mihawk was drawn to the sound of your voice. His eyes followed the movement of your lips and, slowly, he brought his mouth closer to yours. 

“Or are you just trying to stop me from talking about Zoro and Perona as our children?”

At this point, there was no longer any need for teasing or half-truths. In fact, there never had been for him; Mihawk knew exactly what he wanted now, and so did you.

His hands gripped your waist, pressing you to his body. So close—you could almost taste the wine on his lips, smelled steel on his skin. 

He paused just a few inches from your mouth, whispering before claiming your lips. 

“Both, my love...”

take me to bed and rip me apart

synopsis: for years he had not haunted your dreams, but once your marriage was discovered, he returned at last. Now, every thought at night is consumed by him; you dream of him endlessly, and even when the sun banishes the darkness, he lingers in your mind. It is only a matter of time before evil seeps into your home and claims you. He is coming—and he is coming for you.

pairing: vampire! sukuna x f!reader x husband! gojo

wc: 2.4k

content: dark themes, angst, yandere sukuna, repressed feelings, yearning, forbidden relationship, old lovers, sexual tension, jealousy, possessiveness, vampirism as a metaphor for freedom and love, soulmates, cheating, both gojo and reader, ooc, english is not my first language, inspired by various vampire media, especially Bram Stoker's Dracula and Nosferatu.

part two>>

A thin layer of snow covered the frozen lake. 

The forest around it seemed farther away than ever. Its normally tall, imposing pine trees now appearing small from the distance—harmless, with their green needles painted white. 

Gray clouds hid the deep blue sky, blocking the sun from shining. There was no warmth, only the cruel, raw cold of winter—and strangely, it felt comforting. You knew you should head home before day turned to night, but it had been so long since you’d last been there that leaving felt impossible. Not yet, at least. 

That place had always attracted you as if it possessed an otherworldly force. Something insisted on pulling you there. Sometimes it seemed to mourn your absence, always longing for you to return, to stay, almost as if it were saying that this was your place. Perhaps it was.

That forest was your refuge when things at home became too unbearable to handle; the dark waters of the lake you loved to swim in, the sacred silence broken by dry twigs crackling under your feet, the scent of death emanating from its depths — all of that was peace to you.

However, something didn't feel right today.

The lake appeared to stretch wider with each passing minute. The forest grew further away the more you looked. There was something unsettling in the air, making the simple act of breathing painful. Chills ran through your body, but not from the cold—it couldn’t be the cold. Not when the heavy wedding dress with its long sleeves kept you warm.

It was him.

The man, creature, watching you from across the ice.

Not a single muscle had moved. With the thin black coat draped over his shoulders, he watched you motionless, not even his chest rising to breathe. Unconsciously, you mimicked his behavior. The only difference was that you didn’t move because, unlike him, you couldn’t.

Moving felt wrong. Blinking felt wrong. Breathing felt wrong. You feared that if you moved, he would move too. It was like a dance; if your partner goes to the right, you go too.

The desperate throbbing of your heart echoed in your ears. It was a terrible, unsettling sound. Something deep in your mind told you that he thought the opposite. Nonsense, you know he thinks the opposite.

You know his thoughts as well as he knows yours. 

Unable to hold your breath for long, with a trembling sigh you let the icy air fill your lungs. He had returned.

Years had passed since the last time you saw him, countless nights since your sleep had been haunted. Believing he’d left, abandoned you, night after night you struggled to erase his sinful trace from your skin and soul. Such a foolish mistake—as if he would ever leave you.

The absent ring on your finger and the wedding dress that was not yours revealed the reason for his return: he had discovered your marriage. You should have seen this coming. You really should have.

When wedding rings were exchanged and vows spoken that afternoon, something inside your chest bled in agony. As if a pact had been broken, your soul anticipated the punishment.

It was impossible to see his face from that distance, but such a thing was unnecessary. You knew those red eyes were staring at you with lust, hunger. In his eyes, you were nothing more than prey—a sweet deer cornered by a tiger. Desperate, tormented, defenseless. Craved.

“Run,” your mind screamed relentlessly.  You needed to move, to run for your life. But not a single muscle moved. Legs, feet, toes; nothing budged.

A wind that hadn’t howled before suddenly hit you. You hadn’t realized a veil was covering your head until the long fabric obstructed your vision. Desperate because you couldn’t see him, even for a second, your nails cut the skin of your cheek as you pulled the veil away from your face. A small drop of blood stained the white snow beneath your feet.

With your eyes freed, your chest tightened again—he was gone.

Your hands trembled at your sides; even his presence had faded. And you had always felt him when he was near.

Where is he?

Nothing but the whimpering winds could be heard. The frozen lake should have cracked under his weight, but no sound of breaking ice reached your ears.

Where is he?

Your heart pounded in your throat, as if trying to burst free and spill onto the snow for relief. Anything that would make it stop for a second.

Slowly, you turned around, searching for him. One step at a time, reluctant, uncertain, trembling. The fear of not finding him was just as unsettling as the fear of finding him.

Where is he?

Where is he?

Where is he?

Where is he?Where is he?Where is he?Where is he?Where is he?Where is he?Where is he?

That voice in your head begged you to give up on finding him and just run away. Run anywhere, no matter which way, just run without looking back. But would that be enough? Can you escape him? How do you run from the unthinkable?

Abruptly, every question ceased.

The wind no longer blew against your back. A dark shadow loomed and devoured your smaller one. Your breath shuddered out, rising as pale smoke into the air.

Your eyes widened as the realization hit—behind you.

He was right behind you.

Suddenly, like a storm crashing down upon you, his presence was felt again. It was unsettling, horrible, and you didn’t know if he wanted to crush you or merge with you. To destroy or devour you. To drive you mad or possess you.

And his scent was unmistakable too. It was that very same scent that haunted you every single night; blood, death and rain. Just like him, it was embedded in you.

Fearing what he would do to you if you stayed there—fearing what you would let him do—you ran.

Your feet faltered with every step on the ice; the slippery surface wouldn’t allow a clean escape. But that didn’t stop you. Eager to reach the dark forest at the edge of the lake, you forced yourself to keep running. Or to try.

Every urgent movement was in vain; slowly, your body became too heavy to run. It didn’t take long for you to lose your speed.

You were fighting against an invisible force stronger than you. Your legs dragged with exhausting weight, as if the dead themselves were pulling you into the grave. A strangled groan echoed with the effort.

The need to flee burned in your chest; he couldn’t have you again. Not now that you’d finally been able to purify yourself of the sins you’d committed with him. It took God a long time to forgive you.

You didn’t dare look back; it wasn’t even necessary—you knew he was approaching.

Every step he took resonated directly within you. You felt him as if your souls were connected; that thread binding you vibrated when he was near. It was tangled, full of knots, but it never failed to drag you back to him.

There was no way to escape there. The frozen lake was vast, and the forest around it began to seem unreachable. It grew more distant with every slow step you took.

The slippery ice made you lose your balance, and your body slammed against the ground with a silent thud. Your knees ached from the impact. Getting up seemed even more impossible than running; every attempt was followed by an unsteady slide. The moment your foot settled on the ice, it slipped again.

You didn’t have time to try crawling. By grabbing your ankle, a cold hand dragged you effortlessly across the ice.

The view of the distant forest was replaced by the gray sky. He had barely turned you around when the weight of his body pinned you to the ground—the chase had come to an end. There was no escape from your fate, no escape from him.

Sharp, purple nails dug into your cheeks in a painful, possessive grip. He wasn’t gentle as he forced you to look him in the eyes. Blood trickled down your face; the nails piercing your skin were careless, almost malicious. His other hand was used to hold your wrists against his chest, preventing you from scratching his skin in a futile attempt to free yourself.

He loved it when you hurt him back, but there was no time for that today; no appetite for it. You might look like a sweet temptation like this, all messed up and breathless beneath him, but he hadn’t forgotten what you’d done. Taking another as your husband and partner was unacceptable — your soul and body were his to possess, and his alone.

It wasn’t the cursed marks on his skin, the second face, or the long fangs that made you stop squirming; it was the rage burning in his crimson eyes. Your throat ached from the effort of swallowing. Breathing was also painful; every attempt felt like a knife stabbing straight into your lungs.

He brought his face closer to yours slowly, never taking his eyes off yours. His lips parted as his mouth stopped just inches from yours; the fangs became even more visible. White, sharp, long—they never failed to pierce your skin.

For a brief moment you thought he was going to kiss you, and what scared you most about it wasn’t the idea of his mouth on yours, but how, subconsciously, your own lips parted to invite him in.

Disgusting. What were you thinking?

He didn’t say or do anything for what seemed like an eternity. He just stood there, His hand gripping your cheeks and his face close to yours, devouring you with red eyes. Your heart was pounding furiously in your chest; the uncertainty was agonizing.

What would he do next? Take your lips in a lewd kiss like last time? Threaten you with death? Crush your face in his hand and delight in the sound of bones breaking and blood gushing?

Or was he planning to torture you with the wait?

None of the above. The grip on your face softened as he slid his thumb across your skin. The soft, gentle caress was as unexpected as the sun breaking through a fierce storm. Such kindness didn’t fit the evil beast he was.

“Before I finally give you my warning,” he murmured slowly, his harsh voice affecting the core of your mind and soul. You had forgotten the impact that sound had on you. His eyes and voice didn’t match the caress on your skin; they were cold and malicious, and held a restrained wrath. “I’m going to make you taste a little of the sweet pain of death.”

As soon as the words were spoken, the tender touch stopped and the grip from before returned even more intense—more possessive.

Your face was pressed roughly against the ice. A strangled moan echoed across the lake as the snow froze your cheek. There was no care or gentleness in his movements; he wanted your neck exposed as much as possible.

You screamed as sharp fangs tore into your skin.

Your chest rose and fell deeply; the loss of blood made your head spin, and the forest to your left was nothing more than a blur of green and white.

Every sound he made while drinking from you was heard perfectly. The careless gurgling, the wet sounds of blood, his sighs of delight—everything. He was enraged. You know this because this time there were no intimate touches or that slow teasing that drove you mad every time; it was just raw, possessive hunger. And it hurt.

Your face pressed against the ice burned with the cold. Your wrists, held firmly by his hand, were sore, and your nails dug into your palm. The torn skin and pierced veins hurt.

It hurt. It was disgusting. 

Pain. Revulsion. He was repulsive. 

The agony consumed you, raw and vile. 

It was grotesque—so grotesque. 

Immoral.

And yet… 

Good?

God help you, it felt good. 

His devouring was horrifying, brutal, and cruel—yet, it felt unbearably good. Tears fell as you dug your nails deep into your hand. His mouth on you was just as good as you remembered; it felt right, the kind of satisfaction that no one but him could give you. His hunger belonged to you—he belonged to you.

Blood dripped from your mouth as your teeth tore into your lip’s soft flesh, and you cried even more. He didn’t belong to you, and you didn’t belong to him; the wedding ring that should have been on your finger was a daily reminder that your hand and soul had been given to another man. You were no longer his to possess. You couldn’t be.

You tried to hate every second of it as much as you could. You tried to find his warm tongue sliding down your neck repulsive, his weight beneath you oppressive, his jealousy terrifying, but it was no use—you wanted more.

More of him, more of the hunger that consumed him. You wanted the disease that corrupted his soul and his revenge; you wanted the relief that came from being in his arms.

How sinful you were to desire to bind your soul to another man—the devil—instead of your husband. When the time came, God would have no mercy on you.

Unconsciously, or perhaps not so unconsciously, your body arched to press against him. That small yearning for closeness made him stop; he didn’t like your pathetic attempt to demand something. You didn’t deserve his kindness today.

More tears streamed down your face and fell onto the snow beneath you. An anguished whimper escaped your lips as his fangs left your neck—he never denied you anything. Ever since the night you first called out to him, Sukuna had never denied you anything before.

No matter how disturbing it seemed to human eyes or how disrespectful it was to God, he fulfilled your desires with fervor. They were his desires too. 

“I want you to remember this when you wake up.” With his mouth stained with fresh blood, his fangs bared and scarlet eyes gleaming with madness and rage, Sukuna looked like a demonic beast looming over you. The devil incarnate—ready to consume your soul.

“I want you to remember my rage, my jealousy...because I’m coming for you.” His deep voice dripped with a combination of venom and madness; the promise of bloodshed was unmistakable. “When I find you, and I will find you, you’d better have gotten rid of him.”

He leaned close, whispering with his mouth near your lips. 

“And I promise you, my sweet bride, I won’t give him the same mercy I grant you.”

“Shanks!”

You shouted Shanks’s name so loud the whole ship could hear. Seated at the round table, he had a glass of beer by his side and cards in his hand as he played with Beckman and the others. Judging by the unhappy look on his face, he was definitely losing…As always.

However, that unhappiness vanished when he heard you calling for him. Shanks was already used to you yelling his name like that. It didn’t matter if your anger was directed at him or some other poor soul; he always had a broad smile on his face as he followed the sound of your voice and set his eyes on you. “Yes, dear wife?”

Luckily for Shanks, today the target of your anger wasn’t him.

“Tell him I’m not high maintenance!" You stomped your foot on the wooden floor in protest as pointed furiously at Yasopp.

A few minutes ago, he had the audacity to say that Shanks was indeed a patient man, since he would never have enough patience for such a high maintenance wife. You’d have told him he didn’t even have patience for the sick wife he left years ago if it weren’t for the indignation consuming you. How dare he?

And of course, a heated argument between you two ensued until the moment you slammed your fist on the table and stormed out in search of Shanks. This time, he would be the mediator in the conflict between Yasopp and you — but not as captain, but as your husband.

However, among all the scenarios you had anticipated, Shanks’s loud laughter echoing across the sea was certainly not one of them. You stared at him blankly, still processing what was happening. Right beside you, Yasopp wore a smug smile, taking the argument as won. Bastard.

“And why would I say that?” Shanks said after finally stopping laughing. He wiped a tear from his right eye as he looked at you again. “You are high maintenance.”

A shocked gasp escaped your lips. That damn traitor.

“From now on, you’re at the top of my list, Akagami no Shanks.” You delivered your warning with eyes narrowed in disbelief and a sense of betrayal consuming you as pointed a finger at him. He’d chosen a side, and it wasn’t yours. “I hope you enjoy sleeping with Beckman tonight.”

A chorus of teasing whistles sang when the final verdict was delivered. Shanks would be punished, but you’d guaranteed the crew the best entertainment of all: teasing their captain.

They were already planning their little jokes when Shanks set the cards down on the table to grab your arm, stopping you from storming off as you passed him. Neither the threat nor the malicious giggles bothered him. The casual way he acted, as if he hadn’t just said you were a horrible wife, infuriated you even more.

“You don’t need to get upset about this,” he said as he sat you on his lap. Angry, you tried to get up, but his arm around your waist held you back. Shanks didn’t need both arms to be unnecessarily strong. “It’s not a big deal.”

You looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Excuse me? Of course it is!”

“Why? You’re high maintenance, but what’s wrong with that?” The wide smile on his face was replaced by a smaller, more affectionate and gentle one. He used a soft tone of voice too, the same one he used when he wanted to comfort you.

“Sure, you complain about little things and stress over details you can’t control and a million other things, but that’s okay.” Liking what Shanks was saying, you stopped squirming in his lap and now didn’t look away from his eyes. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“No?” you asked shyly, unconsciously snuggling into his chest.

“Of course not,” Shanks reaffirmed, suddenly wishing he had the other arm so he could caress your face. You looked at him so sweetly, the complete opposite of just a few minutes ago, that he felt like he was about to melt.

“And I’m totally fine with you getting upset about these things, and you know why?” You shook your head, waiting for his answer. “Because I’m really good at making you feel better afterward. Let Yasopp say whatever he wants; I love it when you come to me when something’s bothering you.”

Playing with his open shirt, a silly smile followed by a youthful giggle escaped you despite your best efforts. You fought not to smile like a lovesick idiot, you really did, but you lost the battle — Shanks really was very good at comforting you.

Alternating your gaze between him and the crew watching you two, you shrugged, cheerful, as you addressed them with a wide smile.

“To hell with you all,” especially Yasopp, “I have the best husband.”

No need to say that Beckman would be sleeping alone tonight.

mihawk x reader

Mihawk loves bites. 

Not the gentle, playful kind of bite, but the kind that leaves the imprint of his teeth on your skin. 

Those painful caresses were reserved for the privacy of your bedroom; he never acted in such a bestial manner outside those cold stone walls. Only when it was just the two of you, undressed on the bed, covered by black silk sheets, that Mihawk gave in to his most animalistic impulses. 

Pinned beneath his chest, Mihawk showed no mercy on your soft skin, his chest crushing yours and the fresh marks he left on full display for him; your teary, pleading eyes made it hard to resist, hard to control himself. 

You never asked for this. Mihawk would have stopped if you wanted him to, but that never happened, never would. You loved it just as much as he did. 

No gold or wine in the world could provide the same ecstasy he did. His beard scratching your skin, strong hands keeping you from escaping — as if you’d ever want to. His sharp teeth grazed your flesh, his tongue sliding over the wound, It all drove you mad.

Just like you were going crazy now, with your neck burning where his teeth had been just a few seconds ago. If you were whimpering now, was because you already missed his mouth so much — you didn’t want him to stop. 

Leaving the sensitive skin of your neck behind, Mihawk was now making you shiver as he dragged his teeth down your waist, slowly moving down to find your untouched hip. Mihawk rarely teased, but he delighted in the shudder of your body when his kisses lingered too long on your skin, eager for the promise of pain. 

A loud whimper escaped your throat when he sank his fangs into your hip. Mihawk bit you almost like a vampire bit its victim; driven by lust and hunger.

The only difference between them was that Mihawk had never bitten you until you bled. His teeth had never torn your skin, he had never fully tasted you. And you wanted to change that tonight. 

You knew he wanted this as much as you did, maybe even more, so why keep denying yourself? Blood is life, and you wanted to drown and bring him back to life with yours. 

“Harder,” you begged in a whisper as you felt his teeth begin to leave your skin. More, you craved more of that sweet pain, more of him, of his hunger. 

His yellow eyes watched you warily. He knew what you wanted, yet it seemed too good to be true. Even knowing he was married to a little freak, Mihawk still refused to believe you were capable of sharing his same disturbing desire. 

“You’re going to bleed.” Trying to maintain control, Mihawk fought against the urge to give in; he wanted to give you the chance to back out. 

“I know…” The slow reply and the lecherous look on your face sent a shiver down his spine. “I want you to make me bleed, Mihawk… Make me bleed and drink from me.” 

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, my dear.” He warned, but the slow drag of his mouth against the bruised skin of your hip suggested otherwise. Just a little more, you just needed to push him a little further. 

A soft clink rang through the room when the ring on your finger clinked against his as you covered his hand with yours. A sigh escaped your lips as you let his calloused hand slide over your soft skin, always sensitive to his touch, always craving more. 

“We’re already bound by the flesh...” you whispered, knowing that your next words would be his damnation.

“Let blood bind us too”

A storm was approaching.

Fierce flashes of lightning illuminated the entire forest surrounding the castle, revealing secrets the dark woods refused to expose to the sunlight. The distant thunder echoed like a haunting symphony in your ears, and the wind danced with the fabric of your nightgown like a lost child’s soul yearning for a little closeness.

With the heavy scent of damp earth and death in the air, you waited for the storm while enjoying the cloudy night. Hidden by clouds heavy with rain, the full moon didn’t shine that midnight.

Strong arms slowly wrapped around you as a lightning tore through the dark sky. A deep, loved voice spoke behind you; as always, his sharp hawk’s eyes never missed anything, especially when it came to you.

“What torments your mind, my love?” Taking your hand in his, Mihawk kissed the wedding ring on your finger before trailing slow kisses along your shoulder and neck. For him, words were never enough to worship you. “I hope I am the object of your afflictions, just as you are mine.”  

Smiling softly, you rested your head on his chest as you raised your hand to stroke the rough stubble on his face. “Oh, dear, have no doubt — you will always be my agony.”

“However, I was thinking…” You turned back to face the castle garden thoughtfully, a romantic idea refusing to leave your mind. “Isn’t this a lovely place for us to be buried together? Side by side, six feet under… in matching coffins.”

“Cara mia…” Mihawk whispered, drawing your gaze away from the garden with eyes as red as fresh blood staining the white snow. 

“Can you imagine?” you continued, mesmerized by him just as he was by you. “The worms gnawing at the flesh of our lifeless bodies… rotting together for all eternity...”

With your face in his hands and tender fingers caressing your soft skin, Mihawk whispered against your lips before surrendering  to the desire that had consumed his soul since he found you alone on the balcony, watching the cold night — beautiful as a devilish angel.

“Death has never sounded so sweet to me before, my dear.”

Chuuya x reader

Chuuya had never thought about marriage or starting a family before; he didn’t believe he had that right. He still doesn’t. 

But that was until he met you, two years ago.

When he was introduced to you for the first time, it never crossed his mind that anything — whether romantic or merely physical — could happen between the two of you; after all, you were his secretary. The idea of taking advantage of his position as an executive for something like that disgusted him. 

However, among so many hours spent together and sleepless nights, side-by-side investigations and glasses of wine after work, something between you began to blossom; it wasn’t intentional or planned, it…just happened. 

And before he knew it, Chuuya would drape his overcoat over your shoulders if you fell asleep while waiting for him to leave the office or return from a mission; he’d let you take the role of a nurse and tend a wound he got in a tough fight. He knew exactly what you liked and what you hated — Chuuya was the only one whose gift you hadn’t exchanged. 

The necklace hanging around your neck, with its half-moon pendant and small round sapphire, was a gift from him. Seeing you wear it filled Chuuya with pride.

Little things like that — full of quiet care and secret feelings — were responsible for everything that would happen between Chuuya and you. Including the wedding.

Anyone who knew him was well aware of just how extravagant and ostentatious Chuuya was. The unnecessarily expensive watch on his wrist, the designer clothes and shoes, the limited-edition sports car and countless other details left no room for doubt; he loved luxury.

That’s why no one believed it when they heard about the wedding ceremony. 

Instead of a huge ballroom with extravagant decorations and guests, you and Chuuya got married in a small, old church on the beach in some foreign country. 

There were no guests; the ceremony consisted only of Chuuya, you, the old priest, and the image of Christ watching over you from the cross. For you two, that was more than enough.

The old church was near the sea, and as he waited for you to enter, Chuuya listened to the peaceful ebb and flow of the waves outside. The gentle breeze blew through the church windows; the salty scent of the beach seemed to him far more pleasant and welcome than any rare, sweet-smelling flower. 

And if he were a normal man, free from countless repressed emotions and feelings, Chuuya would surely have cried when he saw you walking toward him at the altar. The white dress, accompanied by the long veil trailing down the aisle, made you look ethereal to his eyes — a divine creature, untouched by all the evil in the world. A small piece of peace granted to him by God. 

Chuuya cupped your face in his hands as he looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he never failed to make you feel adored. 

As you stood together before the altar, knowing glances and small smiles were exchanged as the priest led the ceremony. 

That late afternoon, vows and rings were exchanged. Promises of devotion and eternal loyalty were spoken in the presence of God not only as a reaffirmation of their commitment, but also in the hope that a peaceful future would be granted to them. 

At the end of the ceremony, when the priest finally gave the signal to kiss the bride, Chuuya gently pressed his lips against yours, as if he were afraid of waking up if he kissed you too passionately. 

The two of you completed each other: he made up for your flaws, and you made up for his. He brought you back to reality when you got lost, and you did the same for him. 

And for that reason, aware of his fears, you pulled him by the collar of his white vest and kissed him full of love and desire. 

“It’s real,” pressing your forehead against his, you whispered with your shining eyes locked on his. “You and me, it’s all real. Look at the ring on your finger whenever you have doubts… You’re bound to me, Nakahara Chuuya…My sweet husband.” 

The cool metal of the wedding ring on his finger and the words you spoke anchored him back to reality; he wasn’t dreaming — none of it was a dream. You and Chuuya had a whole life ahead of you two to share. 

Now free of fear and determined to be a good husband, he didn’t hesitate to kiss you a second time.  Sweet husband… he loved it, he really did. There was nothing he wanted more than to be good to you, his sweet wife. 

Maybe married life was meant for him after all. 

Maybe.

synopsis: Despite your best efforts to hide that you’re trying on lingerie for him, one careless slip reveals your secret—and Chuuya misreads all the signs that came before. word count: 2.6k

Your room was a messy.

For someone obsessed with organization, that scene was unusual — perhaps even frightening, depending on the point of view. Different types of lingerie, from the most revealing to the most modest, were scattered across the bed, and their respective bags were abandoned on the floor and chairs. 

The rare day off from the mafia duties was spent hopping from store to store looking for something to wear for Chuuya. The episode where you collapsed when he got too close a few nights ago still haunted you — you wanted to wear something pretty when things progressed between you two, not a plain, boring white set. Chuuya was an elegant man and with a passion for fashion, and you didn’t want to disappoint him wearing something dull on your first time. 

You never questioned your beauty, but standing there with your body wrapped in expensive lingerie made you feel a shy thrill run through your veins; the sheer black nightdress went to the top of your thighs, stopping just before meeting the stockings of the same shade, and thin straps fought to support the weight of your breast. The slit in the middle revealed the skin hidden beneath the delicate fabric whenever you moved.

Despite having had countless dates in the past, Chuuya was your first serious boyfriend, and you had never even considered wearing something so intimate and revealing for anyone before him — you didn't know how to deal with it. You knew well his tastes, but couldn't help those questions that kept popping into your mind; men like these things, but would he like it too? Or was it too vulgar? Maybe you should try the long nightgown forgotten in some corner... 

You were looking for the nightdress when the sound of the front door opening snapped you out of your paranoia; confused, you considered for a second the possibility that some idiot was trying to rob you, but the sound of keys jingling made you dismiss that idea, and the realization was even worse; no one had the keys to your apartment except Chuuya. 

Not only your room was a mess, but you were wearing nothing but lingerie. You didn't have time to get changed or tidy up, and also didn't feel confident enough to let him see you like that yet. Determined not to let him into your room, you wrapped yourself in a long robe that was hanging on the chair and rushed out to the living room. Nervous, you slammed the door too hard.

Chuuya was taking off his shoes at the entryway when the loud noise revealed your presence, and a warm smile spread across his face when he laid eyes on you. 

“Hi...” Standing there staring at him would be weird and suspicious, so talking may keep him away until you came up with a solution to your problem. “I didn't know you were coming today.”

“I finished work earlier than expected, so the boss gave me the night off.” Chuuya misses the loving nicknames you used when talking to him, but chooses to ignore it. “I was on my way home when I passed that coffee house you like and decided to change my plans.” 

He held up a bag with the bakery's logo on it. Chuuya was probably the most loyal customer there, and he wasn't even a fan of sweets — however, he always stopped by to buy something for you. 

Forgetting what was tormenting you for a minute, you ran to throw yourself into his arms, almost knocking you both over in the process. Luckily for you, Chuuya was not only strong but also familiar with your sudden displays of affection. Returning the hug, he allowed you to spread kisses all over his face, a slight pink tinge appearing on his ears; being familiar with such acts didn't mean he felt less shy.

“I was thinking, we can stay home if you want, but how about a date?” The question, muffled by the intensity of your grip around him, came at the best possible moment — excited by the solution thrown into your lap for free, you couldn't help but pull away from him to answer. 

“Yes!” You raised your arms in the air celebrating. You weren't the most religious woman in the world, not by a long shot, but a fervent thank you, God  was uttered in your mind. “Let's go on a date! Gimme a few minutes and I'll...”

You hadn't noticed that among all the excitement and enthusiasm, the tie that held the robe around your body had come loose, but Chuuya had; and although the robe still covered most of you, the quick glimpse of black panties under your nightdress and stockings made his pupils dilate until the black almost possessed the brown of his eyes. 

It was Chuuya's silence that brought you back to reality, and in panic you tied it again, trying to hide you no longer secret from him. Evven if you had dressed like that with Chuuya in mind, the uncertainty and fear that he would look at you with disgust consumed your insides — you could handle many things, but didn't know if you would be able to handle his rejection. You were about to spit out anything to justify yourself when a dark look appeared on Chuuya’s face, who had moved his eyes from you to the bedroom door, which you had closed violently before.

“You didn't know I was coming, right, doll?” Those who found him scary when he lost his temper only did so because they had never heard Chuuya use that tone of voice before. Didn't even wait for an answer because he believed he already knew the truth; your surprise and initial behavior when you saw him gave you away. “So who are you using all this for?”

“I... Wait, what?” You could almost see the gears in your brain grinding before you finally understood his question. Things got even worse when Chuuya stormed into the bedroom, determined to face whatever the truth was, no matter how much it would hurt him. 

After your soul returned to your body, becoming one again, you wasted no time in rushing over and grabbing his arm to stop him. Chuuya allows you to push him against the wall, and your heart sinks as he looks at you indifferently, too cold compared to five minutes ago. 

“It's not that! For the love of God, it's not what you're thinking.” Blood no longer circulated in your fingers from how tightly you gripped his coat; needed him to hear you. “There's no one here but you and me.”

“Are you sure? Because you seem too eager to hide what you have there.” 

“I... that... Gosh, I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” You feel your face flush at the revelation you are about to make and took a deep breath before resting your forehead against his chest. Chuuya doesn't move a muscle to hold you against him as he usually does, but he doesn't push you away either, giving you a chance to explain yourself. “Do you remember that night at your apartment, two weeks ago, I guess, when we were on the couch and you leaned over me?”

He just grunts in agreement, no words leaving his mouth in response. Chuuya doesn't understand where you’re going with this, although he remembers the night in question and how strange he found it that you considered an old bottle of wine like that ‘simple.’

“I wasn't talking about the wine...” you confessed in a low voice. “I thought you were going to start something... more, and what I was using wasn't pretty enough. In my defense, I didn't expect anything to happen, you know.” With great effort, you lifted your face from his chest to meet his eyes again. You needed him to know how honest you were being. 

“I'm not wearing this for anyone else,” you whispered without looking away from him. “It's for you, Chuu.”

For a moment, Chuuya did nothing but blink, confused as he processed your words. You were using this for him, him, Chuuya… it was for him — for a while, those words were all that was in his mind. 

Being aware of his trust issues, you took his hand in your and guided him to the bedroom, willing to let him see the reason for your nervousness. No amount of shyness would be worth the risk of losing him.

The messy room was an unexpected surprise for Chuuya, and that alone would be enough to make him dismiss the idea of a hidden lover; that is, if your mess wasn't a mess of lingerie and designer bags lost around the place — what you said earlier hit him twice as hard now.

“There really isn't anyone?” He asked low, but this time he really knew the answer.

“Of course not.”

Despite the heat caused by the scene in front of him, Chuuya felt his chest tighten with the accusation he had made. He knew you wouldn't cheat on him, you had never done anything but be faithful and devoted to him, it was stupid to even consider that for a moment. 

Chuuya approaches, pulling you by the waist to rest his forehead on yours as he meets your sweet gaze. He feels a glimmer of hope as you hold his face in your hands, the gentle caress against his cheek making him feel loved and more guilty.

“I'm sorry about earlier, doll, I shouldn't have said those things. I...” 

“It's okay,” you whispered back. “I’d have thought the same thing if I were in your place. I don't blame you, sweetheart.” 

“But I do.” His hands moved up and down your waist in a futile attempt to push away the guilt by smoothing the silky fabric of your robe. “You once said that a relationship is built-up by trust, remember? And at the first opportunity, I distrusted you even though you never gave me a reason to.”

“There's no reason to be so hard on yourself when even I am not mad at you, love.” You thought it was adorable how he rested his cheek against your hand — how could you be mad at him when he looked at you with such tenderness in his brown eyes? “Misunderstandings happen, it's okay as long as we deal with it, right?”

“Right, I guess...” 

You couldn't help but giggle at his whisper; it was impossible to see Chuuya like that and not feel your chest warm up. “You're so sweet, you know that?.”  

Curiously, even though all the pride he had, Chuuya was easily shy when he received a compliment, and it was even worse when the compliment came from you. In order to take your attention away from his red ears, he decided to change the subject and return to a crucial detail that had been left out. “So, is all this for me?”

“Oh, shut up!” you used both hands to cover his mouth. You were nervous about the return of the conversation that embarrassed you so much, and distracted by his apologies, you completely forgot about the mess of lingerie in your room.

Chuuya freed himself from your hands and turned his face towards the bed, determined to distract you from the compliments he knew you were about to shower on him. He forced himself to overcome his embarrassment and began to stare at the sets resting under the black comforter.

After all the recent events and conflicts, Chuuya would love to say that his soul was completely at peace — and he could have if he hadn't fixed his eyes on a red set accompanied by a garter belt. Fuck, that alone was enough to disturb him.

“Great,” he cleared his throat before speaking. “Because in that case, I really liked that one...” was referring to the red outfit. 

“And that one… also that one... that one too...” you heard him refer to different lingeries until you felt the grip on your waist intensify when Chuuya set his eyes on something in the corner of the bed. “Is that a corset?”

Being surprised by you in something so beautiful would undoubtedly drive him completely crazy, yet there was something even more delirious about knowing that you had spent so much time choosing something to wear for him. He needed the divine to give him strength because his mind was collapsing with so many ideas, especially with that black and red corset. 

“Uh-huh... do you like it?” Chuuya hears your sweet voice right behind him, but he's too enchanted by the corset to do anything but nod his head — he can't stop thinking about how you'll look in it. 

“Yes? And this one?” He was snapped out of his trance not only by your tone, but also by the uncomfortable feeling of his hands being deprived of your warmth. Chuuya fell into a trance as he watched you undo the tie and let the robe slip down your arms to the floor; what you were wearing made him forget how to breathe.

Forget the corset for now; the short nightgown paired with those stockings would be his damnation. And gods, if that was going to send him straight to hell, then let the demons start preparing for his arrival for Chuuya were more than willing to sit down and talk to the devil himself for eternity as long as he could keep the memory of you wearing that. 

Seeing him like that made you think that, perhaps, you had let paranoia and insecurity dominate your mind too soon — no chance that the expression on his face meant anything other than lust. You found it charming the way he reached up to loosen his tie knot as if he was in pain. 

Noticing how he distractedly retracted his hand in the air, you took a few steps until there was no choice but for his gloved fingers to slide down your body. Chuuya didn't know what mesmerized him more, whether it was the soft fabric against you or the sight of your curves visible through the transparency of the material. Or your thighs? Chuuya had a weakness for thighs, and yours were the sweetest delirium. 

Although you knew from his reaction that Chuuya liked it, you couldn't resist the urge to tease him a little. 

“If you don't like it, that's fine...” You were moving away when, too anxious, he pulled you back to him until your cleavage was crushed against his covered chest. Chuuya swallowed hard at the sight of your soft skin exposed so close to him. 

“No...” he whispered, now looking into your eyes. He was so close that you could almost taste the expensive wine in his mouth. “It's beautiful... you're beautiful.”

Now it was your turn to blush. Being complimented was always nice, but being complimented by Chuuya was a completely different experience—it felt so good that you found yourself craving it often. 

“So, so beautiful...” he pressed you against him even more as he traced the curve of your nose with his; you loved the intimacy of the act. “And for me, right?” 

You were the one wearing expensive, revealing lingerie, but Chuuya was the most alluring one between you two. 

You often wondered if he realized how charming and engaging he was, if he knew how difficult it was to have him so close and whispering so sweetly without wanting to give him every piece of your soul and body — and what made this desire even more intense was knowing that Chuuya was not like the others, he would accept everything you gave him and protect it as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. 

“Yes...” you whispered against his mouth. “All yours.” 

Mihawk x reader

Hypnotized by the woman wrapped in his black silk sheets, Mihawk couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Even after years of marriage, he still worshiped you with the same fervor and passion as when he first time saw you under the pale moonlight. The corpse lying stretched out on the floor was forgotten before your morbid beauty, and the scythe used to kill the man made you look like death incarnate; no other being could appear as majestic and ethereal as you when taking someone’s life. 

“Come kiss me, my love.” the velvety sound of your voice drew him like a pirate is drawn to a siren’s song. Mihawk left the door to sit beside you in the empty space on the bed that belonged to him, and with the same adoration of a devoted man, gently took your hand in his to spread kisses from the fingertips to the curve of your neck — he was careful to touch the skin that was still sensitive from recent displays of affection.

“How was your night, dear?” Mihawk stopped kissing you to sink in the delirium that was your eyes as he caressed your face softly with his finger.

“ Terrible!” you said, haunted by the memories still fresh in your mind. “Last night you were unhinged, like a desperate, hungry demon…”

He had acted like a beast, cruel and savage; and your body remembered the irrational way Mihawk had attacked you a few hours earlier — you felt every bite mark throbbing with the most delicious pain; the skin on your hip burned with the intensity which he had dug his nails into it to prevent you from escaping his grip. 

“You frightened me…” whispered, pulling him closer until his weight pressed against you. “do it again.” 

“If I lose, it means I'm dead.” Sukuna showed nothing but disinterest when responding to the sorcerer’s proposal. He saw no reason to waste time on someone who soon would be nothing more than a lifeless body. “Doesn't matter what you do with a corpse.” 

“Does that include… marriage?” Yorozu asked in a forced but maybe genuine shy voice, looking down at the floor as she imagined marrying the men she had loved for centuries. “If I win, I want you to marry me.”

“Do whatever you want.”                           

She was about to speak again when a shockwave ran through her entire body. The sinister presence that had entered the stadium caused her most primitive instincts to manifest, and a defensive posture was adopted instantly. Sukuna was a terrifying force of nature, but she was too in love with him to fear the evil he represented; his wife, on the other hand, was a different story. 

She thought you were far more evil than Sukuna, a creature like you could never love him properly when only malice made up your being, malice that made someone as proud as Yorozu break out in a cold sweat. However, fear aside, she would still face you if it meant having him.

“You want to marry my husband?” venom dripped from your words, the contempt for the idea of someone like her daring to covet him was clear. Your disdain made Yorozu burn with rage, she hated you with all her soul; you were vain and arrogant, not even addressing Sukuna with the respect a wife owed her husband. 

“He’s only married to you because you bewitched him, siren.” Puffed out her chest proudly, as if certain of victory. “But in a very immediate future, death will set him free, and he’ll become mine.”

You just looked at her for a few seconds, amazed at the sorcerer’s courage to act with such confidence. Slowly, the corner of your lips rose in a lazy smile, and cruelty sparkled in your eyes.

“So cute… it’s adorable how you seem to believe you have a future.”

“Oh, but I do.” Boldly, she approached you. “And it’s with him by my side. I’m going to show him what true love looks like, not this crap you call love.”

“I’d love to see that.” You looked at the sorcerer with a superiority that only a being as ancient as you could have. “Go ahead, dear; kill him, bring him back to life and imprison him by your side for eternity.” You leaned close to Yorozu’s face to whisper. “You may try to erase me from his memories, but you can not erase me from his soul."

The sorcerer now retreated as you slowly advanced, intimidating her. Your words struck a nerve and were shaking the other woman's confidence. “Shut up... shut up, you bitch.” Yorozu’s fists clenched against her body and her voice trembled with the hatred that consumed her. You seemed to enjoy her torment, now hurting her not out of possessiveness, but just for entertainment.

“Don't look at me with such angry eyes, dear.” You forced a pout as if you weren't cornering the sorcerer like a wild animal corners its prey. “You know it's true... if you're going to marry him, you need to be ready for the moment where he says my name and not yours in bed. Can you handle that, dear?" You used the same tone a mother would use when talking to a crying baby. 

“I'll kill you!” she exploded, and a wave of cursed energy covered her body. “I'll kill you! I...”

“Go ahead,” you smiled cruelly. “kill me and then tell me: how does it feel to be the last option?”

An angry scream echoed throughout the stadium, and leaving dust behind, Yorozu advanced toward you. 

You were preparing to attack when a hand grabbed the fabric of your dress and threw you back to block and delivered a blow that sent the annoying woman flying across the stadium. Tired of the boring argument and having his presence ignored as if he weren't right there, Sukuna intervened in the fight that was about to happen.

“Enough.” He ordered you more than Yorozu, the sorcerer was easier to control than the hurricane he was married to. His love for you was beyond any human definition, but even after centuries together, still upset him how cheeky and bold you were — he had let you get too comfortable saying whatever you wanted, and for years he had paid a high price for that evil mistake. 

“For the second time she throws herself into your arms, and for the second time you prevent me from killing her, allowing you to be her reaper.” Furrowing his brow, Sukuna turned to you in disbelief.

“For the second time?” he asked. “You weren't even there the first.” 

“But I could,” you folded your arms in protest. “And you would have stopped me anyway. You show her too much mercy, husband.” 

Sukuna could only sigh at your irrational behavior. Countless times throughout their marriage he had been accused of being possessive and jealous when, in fact, those traits belonged more to you than to him. His jealousy at least had a basis, or so he believed.

“You talk as if I would take her in my arms and lie down with her, wife.” He returned in the same sarcastic tone. “I intend to get rid of her as quickly as last time, but your presence delays my goal. What are you doing here?” As always, Sukuna didn't beat around the bush when he had a question. Tired of your refusal to move, he began to approach you himself. 

“Kenny told me you were here with her.” You had so much contempt for the sorcerer that refused to mention her name in his presence. If it was a sin for a poor woman to be jealous of her husband, then may God punish you right now. And severely, because in that case you had sinned a lot. 

“And didn't Kenny,” he hated the affectionate nickname you gave Kenjaku, seeing no need for such affection towards him, “tell you what I came here for?” 

“No.” 

“Didn't he tell you, or did you not let him finish speaking?” He tilted his head to one side with an accusatory raised eyebrow, knowing you too well to fall for that excuse. 

Uncomfortable with Sukuna's accusatory gaze, you stared at your purple-painted nails while feigning indifference; you brought the thumb to your mouth to chew on the flesh and looked up at the sky, sighing as you raised your eyebrows.

“Can’t remember...” You refused to look them in the eye.

“You never change, do you?” He chuckled.

“Well, if you're tired of me, file for divorce, hire a...” You stopped trying to remember the word. It was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't put the letters together. "a..." 

"Lawyer."

"That's it!" You exclaimed happily when the memory lit up your face. "Hire a lawyer and we'll see each other in divorce court: the only agreement I'll accept is one where I get every penny from you."

“Divorce court?” he asked, ignoring the threat of having his assets taken away; everything he had already belonged to you. “You imply that I want to separate, but you're the one who knows so much about it.”

Holding your chin firmly with his fingers, Sukuna lifted your face toward him to prevent you from looking away. “How long have you been planning to separate from me, my dear wife?”

“Let me think...” You pretended to think for a few seconds. “I don't know, maybe since you left me. A thousand years ago, to be more exact.” 

“Still angry about that?” Sukuna slid his hand to your cheek where he felt the cold softness of your face against his warm palm. The two of you had always been opposites, like fire and water, wind and sea — and while he burned, you froze. With his absence, you returned to that point in your life where nothing but coldness surrounded you. 

“Forever.” you whispered, closing your eyes in an attempt to prevent his red irises from seeing what still hurt in your soul. However, you could try to hide as much as you wanted, he knew you inside and out.

“I thought you were dead,” he said, and despite the mocking tone, he spoke to you with unusual gentleness. “Things would have been different if I had known you would come back to me that day.”

“You're such a stupid man, do you know that?” you smiled weakly when heard him click his tongue in offense. You opened your eyes to stare at the scarlet irises you loved so much with love and anger, now using a mocking and amused tone to speak; you wanted to put an end to that conversation. “You know, of all the horrible things you've ever done, leaving me was certainly the cruelest of all. How do you sleep at night?” 

If Sukuna were anyone else, a decent man maybe, he would confess that he found unfair to be accused of abandoning you when he was the one who had been left behind in the first place. He knew how attached you were to him and his absence certainly made you suffer, but would you still condemn him if you knew all the anguish that follow him day after day when he thought you were dead? He could say all that, but didn't want to pursue with that any more than you did. 

“By your side,” Sukuna murmured with his mouth pressed against your cheek before gently grazing the soft flesh with his teeth. He laughed softly when he heard your mutter in protest. “And very well, in fact.” 

“You're the worst.” In a lazy, playful embrace, you wrapped your arms around his neck and sighed as felt his hands move to your waist. You missed him so much. 

“Leave me if you're tired of me,” Sukuna repeated the words you had said to him a few minutes earlier. He made no effort to hold back the wide smile when your fingers tangled in the black strands of his hair in a violent grip; he was going to like what was coming. 

“And throw you straight into her arms?” You really were a jealous little thing. “Not even in your sweetest dreams, love.” 

“So that's a no?” he grunted through his smile, pulling you even closer to him. A little more and their bodies would merge into one.

“Of course it's a no.” You alternated your gaze between his mouth and eyes before continuing. “As if I would let another person have you.”

“You talk as if I was yours, woman.”

“Aren't you?” you whispered, slowly caressing the back of his neck with your fingertips. 

Without saying a word, Sukuna took your lips in a deep kiss that said everything he couldn't; body and soul, he was and would always be yours. 

pairing: nakahara chuuya x reader

Chuuya was loud about many things: his anger, frustration, rage, all the little things that were unstable and turbulent in his life — but he wasn't loud when he loved. 

His love was silent, calm and serene, he didn’t need to scream for you to know how deep his devotion was, how much he loved and revered you. Chuuya used words to express himself only a few times — for him, they were meaningless and forgettable: he believed that there was no word created by men capable of describing every feeling that dominated his soul.

Moreover, he felt the barbarity of the gods firsthand and feared their cruelty if he confessed to you every word stuck in his chest: Chuuya was afraid of losing you if one day he let you know that he was capable of trading his peace to feel your lips against him, that he would renounce his destiny just to live yours — that a war consumed him inside, but he forgot all his anguish and doubt when he was photographed by the retina of your beautiful eyes. Violence was no longer his comfort when he had you. 

However, Chuuya never needed to say pretty words for you to know how he felt. His love was in the little everyday things, like when he woke up first and made your coffee just the way you liked it before leaving quietly so as not to wake you up, how he always answered when you called, how he always listened to you. He showered you with expensive gifts, but only those he knew you would enjoy — extravagant value meant nothing if it didn't make you happy. Chuuya could tell when you were upset about something without even having to ask. 

To be loved by him was to be seen. 

You were never a ghost when you were with him.

Chuuya wasn't perfect, he had his flaws like every human being. But none of that mattered when he always kept his promise to come back to you at the end of the day — you two could deal with any problems as long as he was by your side. If the world perished, but he remained, you could continue to exist; but if the world remained and he didn't, then your place would no longer be on this earth. 

synopsis: Chuuya doesn't know it yet, but what he feels when he sees you with Dazai is much more than just concern, it's jealousy. content: chuuya x reader, jealous chuuya, angst, fluff, he's in love but doesn't know, comfort, english is not my first language, friends to lovers, best friends

Chuuya watched the sleeping city from the rooftop of the port mafia’s main building.

Spent hours there when the need to be alone arose, there was something familiar and comforting about the quiet view that attracted him. That was one of those nights when he longed for solitude, solitude and cigarettes. He really needed one today.

Discomfort grew in his stomach with the sudden approach of Dazai and you. Something similar to physical pain ran through his body every time he saw you together, which lately had been happening more often than he could bear. Can’t say when it started, but Dazai’s presence became constant and insistent, always nearby, always finding a way to monopolize your attention.

The second cigarette was almost finished. He didn’t usually smoke that much, but stress was consuming him inside. The naturalness with which Dazai acted when was around you, behaving as if he belonged there when he didn’t, disgusted Chuuya. That wasn’t his place.

He couldn’t stand anymore being surprised by the sight of the two of them walking side by side, talking as if they were more than close friends. My God, you even laughed at his stupid jokes! Dazai and you became so close that small touches were allowed, no longer flinching or threatening to break his fingers for touching your shoulder or crossing his arm with yours. On the one hand, Chuuya was happy, he understood the depth of your reasons for acting this way and if you allowed that kind of contact, was because Dazai made you feel safe. However, on the other hand, was hard to avoid no to feel bitter with how easily he had won your trust. Chuuya didn’t remember it happening that way with him.

To make things worse, Dazai’s attitude wasn’t just friendly; he knew how the man acted with women he had some kind of romantic interest in, and knew how seductive he was. 

Chuuya had witnessed even the coldest woman melt like ice in the sun before the sweet words and intimate caresses, everything precisely measured and anticipated; Dazai’s flirt was nothing more than an illusion. It irritated Chuuya to know that he used the same method with you, without even having the decency to treat you with unique reverence. 

Since they were fifteen, Dazai had been present — sometimes it seemed like a lifetime. And being forced to work side by side exposed Chuuya to his adventures, especially the romantic ones. No matter how disturbed and suspicious Dazai was, he knew how to make any woman, young or old, fall madly in love with him — and it was always like that, never failed to get whatever he wanted.

And look, Chuuya wasn’t jealous or envious of him, no fucking way. He always found that lifestyle repugnant, fleeting passions meant nothing to him, Chuuya already had enough instability in his life. The girls who were in love with Dazai didn’t interest him, might feel sorry for them, but he didn’t care at all — however, was different with you, who wasn’t a random stranger. You were, are, his best friend.

For Chuuya, what you shared was dear, special, even though he never said in aloud how much you meant to him and how grateful he was for your existence and choice to stay by his side. What you had was his, and only his. Of all the women Dazai could want, why had to be the only one he was afraid to lose?

The idea of that little shit doing to you the same thing that did to all the others drove him crazy. It wasn’t that Chuuya thought the man was incapable of having a real relationship — maybe a little — in fact, contrary to popular belief, Dazai isn’t devoid of a heart and human feelings. 

The two have been together for years, are partners, and regardless of the all fights and arguments, Chuuya would trust him with his life as many times as necessary. And Dazai shared of the same trust. Even with his disinterested and superficial attitude, Chuuya believed in his devotion if the man truly loved someone. But that was the problem, you weren’t this person.

If he suspected for one second that Dazai’s feelings were genuine, that he saw you beyond a challenge — more than someone that would make him feel worth of love only to leave you right after — Chuuya would not hesitate to move away. He might be countless things: stubborn, stressed, proud, but never selfish. Especially with those he loved. If Dazai made you happy, then fine: his feelings were no more important than you. 

Finishing his cigarette, the sound of old metal scraping against the floor hit his ears. No need to turn, the sound of your footsteps was unmistakable. 

“It's freezing up here.” You stopped beside him, hugging yourself against the cold. “What you’re doing here? I’ll tell you, if the answer is ‘trying to get sick” I’ll believe you.” 

“I don’t get sick and definitely don't talk like that!”. Chuuya grumbled about your stupid attempt to imitate how he spoke as pulled a black jacket off his arms and threw it over your shoulders, which were shivering in the cold air. The tug he gave after wrapped the jacket around you was a silent warning to not argue with him. 

“You’re the one who gets sick easily, not me.” And turned back to look at the city below them. Chuuya wasn’t sure if he wanted to be in your company at that moment, was stressed and afraid of being rude without meaning to. “You should go.”

“No way.” Your arms rested on the iron railing that prevented you from falling to the ground. Distracted by the view of the street looking small from where they were, you wondered what it would be like to fall from that height: would it be a quick death, or would suffer among blood and broken bones before finally dying? Probably fast. And ugly, very ugly.

“Dazai and I went to a cafe earlier, I have so much sugar in my blood that I feel unable to sleep for the next three days.” There he was, Dazai again. Didn’t you ever get tired of going out with that idiot? 

“It was a cat cafe, have you ever been to one?” You already knew the answer.

“I prefer dogs.” I would go to one with you.

“Me too, but he insisted and I though ‘why not?’, and turned out to be very fun. Do you know how dogs hate him? It’s the opposite with cats. I’ve never seen Dazai surrounded by any animal before, he looked so cute.” Those words made him take another cigarette from the pack. Chuuya would listen to you yap about anything; the horror books you loved to read, a new movie you had seen and eventually would make him watch too, some singer you were obsessed with, and would listen with the utmost attention and pleasure in the world— but not about Dazai. For the love of God, not him.

“Then on the way back, it started to rain. I didn’t mind waiting for the rain to pass, but Dazai insisted that we share his umbrella and walked me home. You know, I knew I was forgetting something when I left, saw on TV it was going to rain today… Still can’t believe I did that.” Chuuya believed. Carried an umbrella with him when you went out together because he knew that you would forget, you always did.

But it didn’t matter because Dazai took you home. Dazai, who lived in the opposite direction from you, far away. You could have called a taxi, could have called and asked him to pick you up. Don’t you know he would've gone? Chuuya always answered when you called.

Unable to find that damn thing to light the cigarette, he lapped his hands aggressively against his body as searched for the lighter

“Be careful with him.” Unconsciously, the words left his mouth.

“Who…”

 “I know he’s charming and flirty, but that’s all.” Finally managed to find the lighter, but now was struggling to light it. “Don’t expect anything more from him.

Too busy trying to light the cigarette, Chuuya lost the mischievous smile on your face. 

“I don’t understand, he seems very kind to me... Actually, I’m starting to think he’s totally my type. He’s tall, gorgeous, smart,” your fingers were used to count. “funny…”

“Are you stupid or something?” That was not expected. “You have known him just a year less than I have, but have you ever seen him in a lasting relationship before? A real one?”

“No, but…”

“There is no ‘but’.” Chuuya’s voice was calm and cold as he spoke. “Do you really think he will change for you? The most you’ll get it’s a short apology message when he leaves the next morning.” 

You were speechless. Knowing Chuuya’s explosive temper, it wasn’t the first time you teased him to get a reaction, but was the first time he had spoken to you like that. Why was he being so mean? It’s not as if you have feelings for Dazai, you knew that the reason he had approached was only to annoy Chuuya, and even if that weren’t the case, you are not stupid as he seemed to think.

“At least he’s not a fucking jerk like you.” 

Small fragments of metal and glass flew when the lighter was crushed in his hand. 

“I hate you, you know that?” whispered. However, your actions said otherwise. Without saying another word, you gently took the cigarette from his mouth to place the stick between your own lips. Fumbled through the pockets of his jacket in search of a second lighter — he always carried a spare when smoked. 

The cigarette lit on the first try, the flickering orange of the small flame illuminating your face. Chuuya thought that the view of the city was nothing compared to what he was seeing at that moment.

You took a light drag, feeling the smoke fill your lungs, and exhaled immediately. The taste made you sigh; it’s easy to understand why so many people are addicted to that shit. You planned to give the cigarette back to him, who seemed to desperately crave for that little piece of death, but misinterpreted the way he stared at the red lipstick mark left on the paper. 

The look on your face woke Chuuya up. You were pulling the hand away when he rushed to take the cigarette from the cold fingers and wrap his lips around the lipstick stain: inhaled deeply and held the smoke for a few seconds before escaping in a slow release. He didn't want to have spoken to you like that, he really didn't, regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. The target of his anger wasn't you; if anyone deserved to hear such horrible things, it was Dazai. And perhaps himself now. 

“I'm leaving.” You said, walking toward the door. “Call me when you get tired of being an asshole.” 

Chuuya felt a painful ache in his chest. Seeing you leave without saying anything was much more painful; at least when you yelled and argued back, he could tell what was going through your mind, at least you were still there — with him. 

“You deserve someone better.” The words made you stop, turning with furrowed brows and a serious face to him. Chuuya took a last drag before staring at where your lips had touched and dropped the cigarette on the ground.

“That’s not exactly what you were saying three minutes ago.” 

He felt the bitterness in your words and regretted even more that he had exploded earlier, wished being able to go back in time and do everything differently, but that wasn’t possible. He had to deal with the consequences of his temper. 

“I...” Hesitated for a second. “When I said you couldn't change him, it wasn't because you weren't good enough, but because it's him, and you deserve someone better than Dazai.” He walked until stopped in front of you, wanting to look you in the eyes as he got what was tormenting him off his chest. “Someone who treats you with respect, who doesn't see you as a challenge— as a conquest —but who sees how funny and smart you are, how sweet you can be...”

Once again, you were speechless, but now for different reasons. If it had been anyone else, you would have thought you were being a victim of a cruel joke intended to hurt your feelings, but it was Chuuya, and the way he looked at you made it impossible to doubt his words. Without realizing it, you grabbed his shirt and rubbed the soft fabric between your fingers. You should have been angry with him, yelling and telling him to fuck off, but his words hit hard: not because they were sweet, but because he doesn’t say things like that out loud. 

“You should be with someone who will still be by your side in the morning, who suffers at the mere thought of not being by your side...” There was no one else there but the two of them, and yet he spoke softly, as if confessing a secret. “Someone who trembles when they touch you... nothing planned or calculated, just... longing.” Chuuya caressed your face, rubbing the soft cheek gently with his fingers. You didn't miss the slight tremor in his hands. 

You grabbed his shirt as if it were a lifesaving, afraid that you were only dreaming, trapped in a hallucination that would change the way you looked at him forever.

“Someone whose eyes show how much he desires you, how much he worships you... who will never make you doubt the extent of his devotion.” The tip of his nose was cold as it brushed against yours. Neither of them knew when they had gotten so close, except that pulling away was the last thing you wanted. Chuuya whispered the last part, too lost in your eyes to continue. “Someone who will kiss you softly...afraid of not being enough to you…”

Someone like me.

On any other day, that thought would have deeply frightened him, plunging him into denial and internal conflict that would be a torment for days, unable to accept what he felt — but not this night. No, nothing else mattered when he had you so close that he could trace your lips, so close that he could almost taste you. Just one move and he could kiss you as he had described. Just one...  

Just...

A loud crash made them jump.

Standing at the door, Dazai shouted for Chuuya. He was saying that the boss had given them a mission and they should leave immediately, would tell everything he needed to know in the car on the way there.

“Hurry up or I'll leave you behind, you... ah!” Dazai's aggressive behavior changed dramatically as soon as he laid eyes on you, who was facing the city, nervously smoothing your hair back. 

“I have to go...” Chuuya said quietly, just for you. “See you when I get back.”

Dazai was already halfway there, calling out sweetly to you, when Chuuya grabbed him by the collar and dragged the noisy man to the exit, deaf to his angry protests and threats. After what happened, what almost happened, he will not allow Dazai to come near you, not even over his dead body.

Not until you met again.

Synopsis: after being forced to work together, Chuuya cannot stop thinking about you.

Tags: Nakahara Chuuya x fem reader! enemies to lovers, kinda nsfw, he touches himself thinking about the reader, denial, lust and hate, short.

Notes: english is not my first language and this probably suck as fuck, specially the grammar, but its just a test so whatever.

Chuuya was greeted by a cold, dark room when he opened the door.

The black coat was left on the first chair he saw, and the hat was delicately placed on the decorative table in the middle of the room before he collapsed onto the gray couch. It had been a long night, and the soft cushions felt like little pieces of heaven, so comfortable against his back.

The cold temperature of the room contrasted with the heat he felt, as if his body were burning with flames straight from hell. He stared at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. His breathing was deep and slow, like something heavy was weighing on his chest, torturing him. Uncomfortable with the heat, he loosened his tie in an aggressive movement and unbuttoned his vest and shirt, exposing his thin chest to the cold air. On normal days he was a vain man, always well-dressed in the most expensive suit, not a single button out of place. But now he was nothing more than a man sinking in anguish.

Of all the missions he had ever been sent on, this was by far the worst—the detective’s presence had become tormenting. Forced to work together, they had to pretend to be a loving couple, as if months ago they hadn’t tried to kill each other. As if they didn’t hate each other. The worst part was how close they had to be in public, and his body was betraying him; he couldn’t force himself to forget the warmth of your body against his. It had been two hours since they separated, and he could still smell your perfume—it was impregnated on his clothes, on his skin.

Every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by the vivid memory of what some would call the window to the soul, peering into his own. He feared that you would be able to see his aching soul and every secret hidden behind his blue eyes. The darkness you carried in your gaze was mesmerizing, and he refused to look away, fearing he might lose any spark of life that escaped unconsciously. The time they had spent together revealed that he didn’t really know you: everything you had shown him before was nothing but a lie, a mask you built to blend among the living.

He discovered some interesting facts about you: how you had gone to college a few years ago, apparently hated someone even more than you hated him, and were passionate about music and foreign movies. Until two weeks ago, you were just another annoying detective at the agency, someone he would attack without hesitation: you were the enemy. But now he saw you beyond that—you were more human than he expected, perhaps even more than he was.

Seeing you as more than just another rival was a problem, a terrible problem. You had things in common, you laughed together, and now he found you more pleasant than ever. And God, the way you touched him was a nightmare.

He slid his fingers across his bare abdomen, caressing the skin lost in the memory of the hands that had caressed him so delicately before—the way you ran your fingertips across his chest, the smooth caress on his jaw, the way you traced the veins on his wrist. He felt every place you touched burn. The hand that had been hanging on the couch now played with the soft velvet, imitating the way his fingers traced the curve of your waist. He squeezed the fabric with the same intensity he wanted to squeeze the flesh of your curves, wondering what your skin would feel like against his without that stupid dress between you.

He opened his eyes suddenly.

What the hell was he thinking? You were rivals, enemies. You had hated each other for years, not to mention the obvious fact that you worked for organizations with completely different values and purposes. You lived in the light, and he? He walked through shadows and death, fearing no evil—for he was the evil to be feared. His strength comforted him.

He needed to remember that he hated you as much as you hated him. Craving you was wrong, stupid, and he knew you would hate him even more if you knew about the inappropriate thoughts that possessed his mind. You would be disgusted by the idea of the impure hands of a criminal like him tainting your body.

Besides, above all this, he was still a gentleman. It was not, and never had been, in his nature to act in such an animalistic, inappropriate way; he considered himself better than others in that regard. However, at the same time, he was still a man, and the image of your breasts in that neckline every time you pressed against him refused to leave his mind.

No. No.

Even though they were working together, even though he enjoyed your company now that they no longer had to pretend, he still hated you. He needed to hate you. He feared that if he forgot this, he would follow a very dangerous path—a path of no return, a path that meant his damnation.

Forced himself to remember how arrogant and proud you were, acting superior and indifferent whenever you met, and he hated it with all his being. Chuuya hated how, even though he had defeated you before, he couldn’t wipe the mocking smirk off your face. He hated your loud, stupid laugh; he hated your smile and your blood-red lips. After all, why did you need to wear such a dark, provocative color?

He hated your sense of humor, the strange jokes, and the inappropriate comments at the wrong time that earned him disapproving looks for laughing. He hated your sweet perfume that followed him everywhere; he hated how you touched him so intimately, as if you were old lovers with a long history behind you.

He hated that he desired you more than he hated you.

From the mirror attached to the wall next to the couch, he saw the red mark you had left on his neck; that mark was the only evidence of the kiss you had given him. He felt something burn in his stomach as he remembered the moment—you were laughing at a sharp comment he whispered in your hair when you pressed your lips against the sensitive skin below his ear. He didn’t remember or know the reason you did it, but he vividly remembered the effect the small gesture had on him—that it still had.

Chuuya had to grip the belt tightly, fighting the urge to let his gloved hand cover the bulge that was forming in his pants. Almost tore the gray fabric of the couch with the intensity that his fingers dug into the thick velvet. He breathed through his teeth, desperate not to give in; wanted you so badly that it hurt.

Abandoned the back of the couch and brought his fingers to his mouth, dragging his lower lip as he wondered how your lips would feel against his.

He had to stop.

Overcome by desire, his body writhed in agony. The hand holding the belt ended up pushing his pants down a few inches, revealing a rebellious red trail. The thick fabric rubbing against his sensitive skin was enough to take a low moan from him. In his torment, he tangled his fingers in his hair, pulling hard as he tried to control himself, not to succumb—the action made him writhe even more.

Would you pull his hair like this when he...

No.

He couldn't, he had to stop, but the pressure of the palm against his erection gave him the most impure relief. 

A loud sound echoed throughout the room: even alone, he couldn’t help but be noisy. 

He wasn't weak, he didn't fall into temptation easily, yet he desperately needed it now; he needed it so much. Maybe it was everything he needed to get rid of the obscene thoughts — to get rid of his desire for you.

He lost all sanity and rubbed his hips hard against his hand, lost in the pleasurable sensation. But it wasn’t enough, not yet. The belt buckle came undone with the light clink of metal colliding, followed by the sound of the zipper sliding down. Quickly, he removed the glove with his teeth before sliding his bare hand inside his pants. 

He didn't want to think about you during the act. He felt like he was doing something wrong, something dirty, defiling you, but he couldn't help it; you had completely taken over his mind. He imagined your mouth against his, kissing him intensely before dragging your lips down to his neck, leaving red marks on his skin—claiming him. He saw your nails sliding down his stomach until they reached the belt, pulling his body even closer to you.

Chuuya couldn't hold back the loud moan, the hand movements that had been slow before became intense.

He saw you sitting on his lap with your bare breasts against his chest, your soft skin enveloping his chest covered by old scars. He swayed his hips, thinking about you rubbing against his hard member. Would you call for him? 

Imagined laying you on the couch, breathing heavy and anxiously as you watched him crawl between your legs, eager to take you to the limit— to please you. The idea of losing himself between your thighs was enough to push him to the edge. He came with a silent moan and a tremor that ripped through his body like lightning in a stormy sky.

He rested his back on the soft pillows, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling desperately for oxygen; he felt the sweat on his skin as he brushed the hair from his face with his clean hand and could only think about how he didn't feel better. It was a terrible mistake — now, more than ever, he wanted you.