♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧
: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!
: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k
: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)
You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.
“Look at you, Mrs. Ryomen, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.
“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.
The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.
Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.
Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.
Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.
"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.
"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"
"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.
Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.
Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.
“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.
"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.
"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.
"Yes, sir."
As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.
Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.
The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.
In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.
The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.
One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.
Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.
When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.
Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.
Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.
You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.
Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.
Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.
Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.
You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.
Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.
"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.
Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"
You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."
"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"
Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.
How could he not know?
"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.
"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."
Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"
You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.”
He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"
“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.
"Come here."
Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"
"Come here."
With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.
An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.
"Feeling better?"
"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."
Sukuna responded only with silence.
You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.
The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.
In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.
Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.
"I can't—Uraume—"
"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."
"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.
"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."
Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.
The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.
The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.
You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.
"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.
"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.
"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Ryomen."
You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.
"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"
With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.
The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.
The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Ryomen," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."
You drifted into unconsciousness.
The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.
“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.
With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.
"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."
"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.
Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.
His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.
"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.
"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.
He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.
"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.
You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”
"No shit. You pushed an eight-kilo baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.
"Did you want . . . a girl?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."
"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."
Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.
“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.
“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”
“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”
Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."
He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.
"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.
He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.
"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.
You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.
"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."
“Did you fire the last one?”
“I fired at her, yes.”
Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"
He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."
Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”
"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."
“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”
He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”
Up until the kidnapping.
Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.
"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."
Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"
An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"
"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"
You . . . nodded.
“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”
You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"
"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.
"Oh."
All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.
Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.
But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Sukuna. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.
Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."
"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."
"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.
"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."
A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.
“She sleeps like you, Mr. Ryomen.”
“Sukuna,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Sukuna.”
Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Sukuna?”
His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”
You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”
In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.
In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.
The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.
Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"
"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"
Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.
"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"
"Sukuna," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.
Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.
Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"
"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"
"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.
Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.
"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"
"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"
"Not toys. Friends."
Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.
“Papa!”
“Sukuna, come on.”
There wasn’t any winning with his girls.
Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of reluctance that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.
Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'
That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.
"She's asleep," you informed him.
"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.
Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.
"I want you," you murmured.
Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."
"It's late."
"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.
"Please, Sukuna," you whispered near his ear.
How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?
“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.
Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.
“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit.
Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.
“Oh, Sukuna, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit.
Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.”
“Hurry, then.”
Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination.
After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.
Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him.
“Are you close?” you whispered.
“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.”
You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded. “Please.”
Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.
Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him.
Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back.
“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again.
You both snapped in unison.
Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes.
“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.”
You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Sukuna,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.
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— promise you’ll forget me
featured: liyue men x fem!reader
cw: generally gn but uses she/her (an itty bit), pet names, angst, hurt/comfort, a sliver of fluff, mention of character death, a little wholesome if you’re delusional enough (me)
synopsis: “When I die, promise me you’ll forget me. Erase me from your memories, bury me in the past, and live.”
a/n: my 3 babygirls + if I caused anyone any distress from this soft angst then let me know !! so I can continue wrecking havoc :)
── ꨄ︎ Xiao
Xiao stared at you, frozen in place and eyes widening as those words fell from your lips. He was in shock, completely baffled at how casually you uttered those words. As if they meant nothing… he grimly thought, As if you could ever mean nothing. His hands trembled, balling them into fists and digging his nails into the back of his palm. Had his silent affection, loving kisses, acts of devotion, and fierce protection not been testament enough to the impact you had on him? Had you not realized that you wielded the same amount of power over him as his previous master had with his true name? The Yaksha was almost amazed at your ignorance. “How dare you speak so carelessly…” he growled. Xiao was already fully aware of the reality of your inevitable death; it’s a truth that even the Conquerer of Demons, himself, adamantly refuses to revisit. He was bitterly aware that your time in Teyvat — your days together — was on borrowed time compared to his. That’s just the fate of a human's life in comparison to an Adeptus. He knew that the day will come when he would be forced to confront the tragic cycle of life and death once again, and if only for the sake of his Archon, he’ll grit his teeth and face it when the time comes. But to ask him to forget you, to erase you from his memories? You, who he cherishes most of all. You, who stealthily slithered into his heart and made a home in the remnants of his damned soul. You, who he foolishly fell in love with. There was no force in this wretched world that could ever submit him to abandon the little joy he was given in his life. And to ask that of him was to condemn him to a far crueler fate than that of the karmic debt he harbors on his shoulders.
Glowering at the wooden floorboards of the Wangshu Inn, Xiaos piercing eyes flickered up at you. “Do not make such absurd requests of me again.” He sneered. Flinching in surprise, you questioningly glanced at your lover. Shifting your gaze down, you noticed the deathly grip he held on the patio's railing and the cracking lines spreading beneath his fingertips. “Xiao… wait, I didn’t mean to—“ but your words were cut short by the solemn glint in his yellow stare. “There are many things I struggle to comprehend about you mortals, so tell me,” attentively, your ears perked up and your breathing paused as he spoke, “could you forget me so easily if I asked you to? Is your affection for me simply…” biting the inside of his cheek, his expression shifted to one of sorrowful hesitation, “temporary?” Your entire body tensed. Xiao had made a bad habit of hiding his less ‘acceptable’ emotions in an attempt to not burden you — no matter how many times you reassured him — so to glimpse at that fragile vulnerability and find the newly seed of doubt you had planted, it made your heart wrench in your chest. You blinked a few times as each flutter of your lashes only gathered more and more wet droplets onto them. “No! Xiao! I would ne-.. ver….” and that’s when you realized the weight of what you had asked him. Rejected.. I made him feel rejected, You internally groaned. Sighing you carefully took a few steps towards him, “Listen to me,” you softly spoke, “I don’t want you to live in mourning after I pass. You don’t deserve that, Xiao,” and his eyes widened, “I want you to be happy,” softening your gaze, you continued, “I want you to continue enjoying the gifts life brings, no matter how big or small they might be!” Standing in front of him, you reached a hand out to gently caress his cheek and dotingly smiled when he instinctively leaned into your touch. “I want you to keep spending time with humans, and one day you may even find new companions who’ll add to your happiness.” Nonsense, he thought. The Adeptus revers you almost as highly as his Archon and you think some feeble companions could ever compare? Xiao placed his hand atop yours and gingerly kissed your palm. His eyes reflected a tender intensity as he peered down at you, “Our connection is too strong, y/n.” his arms wrapped protectively around you, holding you tightly as if he wasn’t careful enough you’d disappear and be gone forever. Xiao hovered his lips above yours as he rested his forehead on you, and closed his eyes, “No matter what challenges time brings, or what you, yourself, try to do to sever our bond,” pressing his lips on yours, he kissed you as he quietly whispered, “I will love you, always.”
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
417 years have gone by since Xiao last held you in his embrace. And although he was pleased he was able to offer you a long, happy and loving life, Xiao would be blatantly lying if he said he’d moved on from your death. And if not for your last — somewhat reasonable — request, he likely wouldn’t have intervened with the lives of mortals, or reluctantly accepted their friendship. If that was what you truly would’ve wanted for him then he’ll hold his complaints and trust your judgement. It was bittersweet, really. If you were still alive, he knew in his heart you’d be fascinated by these mortals' new technology and inventions; he wonders what you’d say of this new era. And he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips as he thinks of how you’d fawn over these silly contraptions, There’s no doubt you’d be foolishly fascinated by such simple trinkets, he thinks, but archons what he wouldn’t do to see your eyes sparkle with wonder again. And although Teyvat has undergone infinite changes, there is but one acre of land that the Yaksha has ensured remains untouched by humans, Adeptus or demons alike. It was a sort of sanctuary for him. A place of refuge, meditation, reflection, and heartache; but above all, it was where Xiao would religiously visit to honor the love he had, and continues to have, for you — his one and only. The area was radiant, nothing less than one of Liyues hidden gems. The ground was vibrant with lush grass, lively wildlife, and blanketed with all your favorite flowers; flowers Xiao had helped you plant and nurture. What once started as your personal garden ended up flourishing with vines, plants and new ecosystems. It could honestly be described as a mini forest, and the Adeptus wonders if it’s prosperity is because of you. Either way, you would’ve loved it, and that thought alone was enough. Thinking back, Xiao couldn’t believe he was so ignorant. Initially, he thought the whole custom was silly when Morax first casually mentioned it one day. ‘Marriage, is a unity humans practice as well here in Teyvat. It is a unity between lovers — a ceremonial alliance, if you will.’ To him, the idea seemed pointless, but the thought never left his head since. He’s already submitted himself to you in every way, but if his Archon had advised marriage was also a custom between mortals then perhaps you would like to marry as well. So this sacred area is where you both wed. The beaming smile and buzzing excitement you showed that day was forever engraved in his memories. Xiao still keeps the silver ring you slid on his finger with him. Though as of recent centuries he hasn’t worn it as much in order to preserve its integrity, but sometimes, when he’s laying amidst the swaying grass and reminiscing of times gone past, he’ll slip it on and think of you. On rare occasions the Yaksha would even stage a performance, the way he used to when he danced beneath the moonlight as you watched in awe. Whether sunlight warms his skin, rain splashes on his hair and wets his clothes, or strong currents of the wind whistles loudly through the air, he’ll dance to the natural rhythm of Teyvat. A performance reserved only for you. Other times he’ll rest on a bed of soft moss as his honey eyes gaze at the starry sky till morning illuminates the world once more. Simply remembering the sound of your voice, your touch, your laugh, and he’ll wonder, wherever you are in this vast universe, if you think of him too.
── ꨄ︎ Zhongli
The sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the mountaintop of Mt. Aocang. The traditional, delicately crafted teacup Zhongli held was now shattered into pieces in the palm of his hand, and the tea previously filling it was now spilled all over the god's lap. Unaware that his sudden vise-like grip was to blame for its broken state. He saw your lips move and your body apprehensively patting his clothes dry with a cloth, but he couldn’t hear a thing. Zhongli simply stayed in place as his golden eyes stared at you. Yes, it’s true that the former Geo Archon has encountered countless tragic fates and lost several friends and close relationships to the erosion of time. And it’s only been recent, with the reawakening of Azhdaha, that he had to reluctantly reevaluate and reaccept his cursed fate of eternity until the last remnants of his body eroded back into the stones of old. Azhdaha reminded him his future was pitiful. Doomed to solidarity as punishment for being a God. It was for that exact reason that Zhongli heavily contemplated the idea of entering a relationship with a human for a very long time before officially committing to you. However, it was also through that slow-burn romance that an unexpected love blossomed. Its tender passion awoke a primal instinct that had long laid dormant in the depths of Morax’s innate desires — it caught the Archon, himself, off guard. The love of a God cannot be easily earned or discarded. It entails complete submission, adoration, and devotion. Then again, it might be the reason Zhongli wasn’t avoidant of the inevitable outcome of this relationship. He fully accepted the consequences of his decision if it meant enjoying just a moment of tranquility in your embrace. He’d be willing to endure a thousand years of heartache if it meant hearing your voice just once, and he’d suffer through thousands more if even to kiss the fabric that clung to your body.
Zhongli, blinked from his trance and looked down to see you patting his clothes dry with red fingertips and scathed palms from the burning hot tea. Swiftly, he took hold of your hands and took the cloth away from you. He felt a pang of guilt as he carefully cascaded his thumb across the searing flush of your warmed skin. “I do apologize, my love.” shifting his gaze up to you, he continued, “It seems that your request has taken me aback.” Tightening your hold on his hands, you knitted your brows in worry, “Oh.. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” you pouted. Zhongli removed his gloves, and your attention trailed to the geo marks decorating his golden skin. So pretty, you thought. “There is no need to fret, darling.” His voice was deep and affectionate. An obvious difference compared to the usual somber and nonchalant tone he speaks with, and it made your heart flutter knowing it was only ever exposed to you. But then suddenly, his expression turned serious. “However, that request would be a breach of contract, and I simply, will not break it.” Your eyes widened for a moment before quirking an eyebrow up in question. You momentarily tilted your head in curiosity, and the Archon couldn’t help but feel his gaze soften, just a little, in response to your small habit. Fluttering your eyes on him, you asked, “What contract?” What contract? He silently mused, as if the answer itself was blatantly obvious — which to him, it was. Lowly chucking, he wrapped his large hand around your wrist and slipped his fingertips up to caress your palm. Raising your hand up to his lips, he languidly met your gaze with his adoring one. “If you do not recall, then allow me to remind you.” Closing his eyes, he placed a kiss on your fingertip, “I have sworn myself each time I touch your skin.” He placed a kiss on another, “Each time my mind had been desperately surrendered by thoughts of you.” Then another, fluttering his long lashes, he peered at you with half-lidded eyes as his pupils dilated to slits “In every moment our bodies intimately intertwine together amidst the heat of our love.” Gasping at his sudden confession, your heart sped up in a fervent fluster. He leaned in close, “I am bound to you, my love, for all eternity.” Zhongli kissed you once, and then twice. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you in, almost urging you to sit on his lap. Deepening the kiss the Geo Archon could only pray his kisses could hope to portray even a sliver of the love he has for you.
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
And so a millennium has passed, he hums. 1,231 years to be exact. Since your passing, Zhongli counted each year that came and went. Placing an incense down on the shrine he built in your memory, the Archon kneeled before your golden statue and prayed — he’s not quite sure to who, and he’s not sure if there’s anyone listening, but if there is, he hopes it’s you. Today had been an unusual day given that he doesn’t normally visit your shrine so late in the evening, but no matter what he did it seemed like unforeseen circumstances kept getting in the way of his preplanned visit. And after several attempts of trying to untangle himself from piling responsibilities, he sighed and decided it was best to just visit you by the end of today no matter what or who dared get in his way. Which brings us to now. However, shortly after he started his peaceful meditation, he was disturbed by someone’s quiet shuffles behind him. Fluttering his eyes open, his sharp gaze glared in the direction the noise was coming from. Even though it’s location wasn’t necessarily private, this shrine was his personal alter of worship, a private haven, who the hell was foolish enough to intrude on its sacred premises? Snapping his head around, his menacing gaze immediately widened into one of pure shock. It surely.. can’t be..? He muttered in disbelief. “Oh! I’m sorry I-um- I didn’t realize someone was here!” The voice awkwardly spoke, and as they turned to leave, his lips moved before he could realize he was talking, “What’s your name?” Blinking in surprise, the woman sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck, “Ah. I’m h/n, heh.” Walking closer she carefully inspected the handsome man as he stared at her like she was some sort of ghost. “Is this your shrine?” Looking up at the statue she softly smiled, “I’ve been coming here for weeks.” she confessed, and Zhongli slowly stood from his position. It’s her. The depths of the dragons innate need for his mate had violently awoken from its slumber, and he felt the bond he mourned for centuries, suddenly call out to each and every one of his senses. It’s her. Your reincarnation. Lighting her own stick of incense and bowing, the woman — you — glanced back at him, “I found this place by accident, and I bring my own incense to pay my respects as well. But honestly, I don’t know why I come here.” You chuckled. “Maybe it’s because her statue looks similar to me, or maybe … it’s because I can’t help but feel like this place calls to me.” Shaking your head, you bashfully looked away, “Sounds crazy, right?” “No.. no, not at all….” Softening his gaze, he offered a smile. There’s no mistaking it. I can sense her soul, years of longing and heartache clutched his heart, I could recognize it anywhere. And so the both of you spent the evening chatting away over tea the man you came to know as ‘Zhongli’ had prepared, and when nighttime shadowed the streets you both politely took your leaves. Zhongli deeply considered whether or not he should look for you again, but he soon realized he couldn’t bring himself to disrupt the new life you had built — even if it didn’t include him. He told himself he was happy, satisfied knowing your soul had returned even if every cell in his body painfully yearned to be with his lover again. Being given the opportunity to drink tea with you should be privilege enough. It wasn’t until you visited the shrine early one morning that you finally found him. After a brief catch-up, he noticed you nervously shifting, “Is something the matter?” He worriedly asked. With a deep breathe you confessed what’d been on your mind since your last encounter. “Have we met before?” You began, and his entire body froze, “I know this might seem strange but…” and unconsciously his body leaned in closer as his primal instincts begged him to caress your skin once more, but he forced himself rooted. Until you uttered a single sentence and momentarily tilted your head in curiosity that he felt his heart struck, and daresay, even gave the god hope. “I can’t help but feel like…. I’ve met you before, a long time ago.”
── ꨄ︎ Childe
Strumming his fingertips, Childe hummed in contemplation. He’s well aware of the repercussions that come with being 11th of the Fatui Harbingers, and he’s hyper-aware of the vile leverage his enemies would try to obtain when discovering the infamous Harbinger has taken a lover. However, the thing about Childe is that he actually openly welcomes his enemies to try to even get remotely near you. Honestly, your request is just straight-up hilarious to him. But he supposes he can’t blame you. After all, you haven’t a clue of the extent your lover has and, even as you ask, is taking to ensure your safety. It’s stressful, really, but the man loves challenges — “Let them come, let them ALL come!” He manically laughs, before lowering his head, “I’ll kill them all where they stand.” he snarls. Every loud and flamboyant confession, every playful kiss, every subtle caress of your skin, and each lingering touch holds an ulterior motive aside from just affection. It’s a warning. But you never noticed, have you? While you’re pushing him away in a flustered daze, you don’t notice how his cheeky smile and crescent eyes fall the second you turn in a huff and his gaze narrows to a sinister glare — directly locking eyes with the spies creeping atop rooftops. How he never directly answers your questions when he disappears for a few minutes only to return scathed and sometimes even bleeding. Brushing away your worry with a tender smile as he pinches your cheek, “Heh, don’t worry so much!” He’ll coo. Your request isn’t even an option. Childe would die for you, kill for you, live for you. He’ll do whatever it takes to stand above a pile of bloody corpses if only to force them to bow before you. You, the promised ruler of the world he’ll craft. And should you fall, he would build his empire on the blood of millions just to keep his promise.
Childes eyes glimmered in amusement as he threw his head back and laughed. “Hahah—!! You really do have an active imagination babe!” Playfully ruffling your hair, he chuckled, “C’mon now, don’t say such nonsense.” His lips curled into a beaming smile, but you could tell by the edge laced in his words that he meant what he said. Huffing, you smacked his hand away, “I’m not joking, Ajax!” Sighing, you turned away in embarrassment, “I’m being…. I’m being serious, alright?” Pausing, Childe furrowed his brows, “You’re serious?” Rolling your eyes, you marched away feeling flustered and annoyed by your lover's reaction, “Yes! I’m being serious!” Normally, the incredulous stare Childe gave you would’ve made you tease him in any other situation, but as of now it only added to the searing burn on your cheeks. Following behind you, he grabbed your arm to stop you and delicately tugged you to look at him. “Hey, what are you saying?” Turning around, you were met with narrowed blue eyes and a frown, “Are you calling me weak?” And as much as you wanted to stay mad at him, you couldn’t help but crack a smile at his accusatory tone and pouty lips. Intertwining your fingers with his you stepped toward him until your face was only inches away from his pretty glaring eyes. Running your fingertips against his jaw, you lightly traced them across his freckled skin until you reached his messy, orange hair, “The only thing I think you are is dumb.” You lovingly purred. Scoffing he averted his gaze from yours. “Listen, Ajax,” you started, “I know you worry about me, and yes, even though you’re the strongest man I know—“ “Ever will know.” He corrected. Giggling you flicked his forehead, “Ever will know~” you repeated, before you cleared your throat and steeled your gaze, “If I do pass… promise me you’ll live for yourself, okay? Take care of yourself, and no matter what, don’t let my memory hold you back.” Hold me back? He chuckled. Gently placing both hands on your cheeks, he guided your head to fully face him, “Your life makes me feel alive, y/n, and if the day comes — which it won’t,” he sternly emphasized, “your memory will only serve as the reason I fight to survive.” Pulling you into his protective embrace he buried his face in your soft locks, “I’ll keep you safe.”
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
720 days. That’s 720 archon-forsaken days, and sleepless nights. It was clear to all, that a part of Childe never quite recovered the day he found your lifeless body lying alongside the jagged edges of stone slabs resting beneath a mountain cliff side. The image of your body lying still as a pool of your blood gushed from your mutilated wounds onto the unforgiving surface of the rocks became a memory deeply embedded in the Harbingers mind. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t something inside him that had shattered, but instead completely disappeared. Even now, he still feels likes he’s quietly being haunted by the agonizing screams he cried and tears that he endlessly shed as he held your bloody corpse in his possessive and shaky embrace. However, all of that paled in comparison to the unsettling numbness that nestled within his bones and tainted his heart when he caught sight of the item that dropped from your hand as he cradled you. It was mocking. Taunting, even. “The pendant…” he spoke, barely above a whisper. She protected.. the pendant I gave her? His azure stare darkened as the very last of his compassion died right there and then. Now they only harbored hatred and desolation. Reaching to pick up the pendant, Childe carefully brushed the blood staining it with his gloved thumb. This was the gold entwined, jade pendant he had gifted you during the firework showcase of your first Lantern Rite with him. It was intended as a good luck token — a marker of sorts. He promised you that so long as you held this pendant, he would always come to protect you; your lover vowed this. His breath trembled, and his jaw clenched as he glared at it with blurry eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder, Was she waiting for me, choking out a sob his fingers combed through your hair as he rested his forehead on yours and salty tears dripped down your cheek, to protect her? And that thought alone was enough to sever the remaining domestic threads of his heart. For the next two years, Childe spent every waking moment tracking your killer. His obsession only further manifested as time went by. Even his work as a Fatui Harbinger strained, yet none were brave enough to tell him otherwise. Either because of fear, or because the Tsaritsa ordered it so. During that time there were those who argued that Childe had gone on a blind rampage, and others argued the Harbinger became the vengeful embodiment of a man of focus, commitment, and sheer will. To be honest? Neither were completely right or wrong. He never hurt bystanders, yet he never hesitated slaughtering anyone who got in his way. As for those foolish enough to mislead him or hold information? Well, they suffered a fate worse than death. It wasn’t until he found himself deep within the shadowy crevices of the chasm that he finally met your murderer. It was a wretched demon that had ripped you away from him, a crime even death was too good for. The accumulated rage of a fallen God was nothing compared to the murderous hatred he harbored. In the end, Childe came victorious — albeit at the cost of his own life. Sliding against weathered stone, he sat down and aimlessly stared at the curvatures of the chasm. “Seems I couldn’t keep my promise, huh?” He chuckled, “Don’t be too mad at me.” Wincing in pain, he slipped out the pendent he gifted you from his Foul Legacy’s armor as he felt his eyelids grow heavy. Kissing it’s cold exterior, he took a breathy sigh, “Please, wait for me,” fluttering his eyes shut, a line of blood dribbled from his lips as he smiled, “just a little…. longer..”
side note!: new format ! let’s goooooooooo
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