SURPRISE ༘⋆

ೃ⁀➷ “Are you cold?”

—You refuse to sleep with them after a heated argument.

yuuji itadori, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen, (f).

genres + warnings. angst to fluff? | none! |

notes i. I am actually desperate for requests rn.

Yuuji. “Baby?” He would call out to you as he eyes your every moment while you fix your bed on the couch for the night, sadness looms over the pink haired man, his heart slightly stinging as he comes to a realization that the argument was really a big deal to you, “Look I know we’re both mad, but could we not take it this far?”

You halt your movements and looked back at him, “It’s better this way, we need to cool both our minds off.” 

Yuuji brings a hand to scratch the back of his neck, “Baby please.”

You moved your head back towards him, feeling bad to see the guilt plastered across his face. You knew Yuuji had a hard time sleeping alone, after his mother died he can’t help but get nightmares, silly you, how can you be so unaware?

“Okay, you go ahead, I’ll be right there.” You say, sighing also as you began to clean up again.

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

Nanami. “If you sleep here your back is going to hurt tomorrow morning.” The blonde tells you, he watches you closely as you became as stubborn as someone he knows, continuing to lay down your pillow without sparing him a glance, “If you insist, then you take the bed I’ll take the couch.”

You stop your movements, your head slowly looking at him to somehow read his face but it was unreadable at this moment, “I can handle myself, Nanami.”

He squints at his name, where was the usual, baby, honey, and love? 

Without thinking of it he walks his way to the singular couch that was placed beside yours, he sits himself down and you only look at him with a frown, “What are you doing?”

“I’m watching over you, I’m never going to let you fall asleep alone in here.” He says, and in that moment you knew he was being serious.

Sukuna. “What the hell are you doing?” The tattooed man that you call your boyfriend asks as he leans against the door frame, his eyebrow lifting up, his biceps flexing while he crossed it in front of his shirtless front.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You remained the bratty attitude, the argument left a bitter taste along your taste buds and you didn’t like it at all, “I don’t want to sleep with you for tonight.”

You heard nothing from Sukuna’s side so you assumed he had left and left you be, but you suddenly yelp when he suddenly grabs you on your wrist to lift you up from where you were sitting and carries you on his shoulder like a piece of paper, “Wha— hey let me down!”

“Like hell I’ll let you sleep without me... let’s talk in the morning.” He says whilst you tried to do everything you could just so he could put you down, but he doesn’t budge an inch, “But if you insist of not sleeping together, I’ll sleep on the couch instead.”

You feel your heart getting slightly tugged, you didn’t want that. Despite being angry at him, you didn’t like the idea of not sleeping together as you come to think of it, “Don’t bother, like you said— we’ll talk in the morning.”

There is SO much to look at….

i want to comfort sugu 😩

yours, ardently - geto suguru x reader

꒰꒰. SYNOPSIS: suguru crumbles in the presence of genuine devotion

꒰꒰. WARNINGS: reverse comfort, fluff, slight angst (lmk if i missed anything <3)

꒰꒰. NOTE: hello! i'm back (kind of) with my pookie, suguru. i've managed to write this in between dealing w/ school stuff and crying over school stuff. i missed writing sm 😭

Geto Suguru is a man of chaotic solitude. Much like his best friend, he strives in an environment well-lived, radiant and loud. Age and maturity-wise, he could say he’s grown past that childlike impulsivity enough to avoid impending conflicts but he’s still just a man— not immune to the inevitable distraught of life. He used to be a bright-eyed boy with such a positive outlook in all things that come his way. His perspective of the world was reflected in the same sense of warmth that seemed to enshroud his very presence: gentle and kind, full of hope. He was a paragon that even the strongest relied on, his best friend’s moral compass was influenced by him as he was quite sensitive and so in tune to the things around him. 

Though he is not one to talk about the troubles that keep him up at night, you know him well enough to understand that something is wrong. The way he started shutting off anyone else that dares to come close is heartbreaking, even more so with knowing that there is nothing you can do that can fill the void in his heart. He rarely smiles nowadays. His face no longer lights up with glee and when it does, it no longer reaches his eyes— they don't crinkle anymore into pretty crescent shapes. They are both just bleak and empty pools that stare far away into the distance, slowly succumbing to the downward spiral journey of his life, and the possibility of not being able to catch up once he decides to let go, leave and not look back anymore is daunting. 

A soft knock interrupts your musing before you hear Suguru's voice from behind the door. "You awake?"

The sheets make rustling sounds as you hurry to open the door of your bedroom, ready to welcome Suguru in, both in your space and in your arms because it's how you comfort yourself— some sort of assurance that he's still with you. "Can't sleep?"

He only nods his head, making a beeline to your bed and you watch him sigh, his shoulders dropping in relaxation as if the warmth of your bed and your smell that lingers on the pillows are enough to coax him out of his shell. 

"Come, baby." Suguru reaches out to you, hand outstretched in the dark. And even though you can barely make out his figure on the bed, his presence is enough to make up for everything that was lacking when you were alone and wallowing in your thoughts of him.

It does not take you long to occupy the other side of the bed, almost instinctively cuddling up to him and embracing his body so tenderly you feel him slowly easing with you. His arms are quick to wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer as if he’s afraid you would slip away if he doesn't hold you tight. “It’ll be Christmas in a few months.” Suguru mentions, breaking the silence with the low timbre of his voice— soothing as always.

You smile, lifting your head just a bit to get a brief look at his face. “Yeah. Are we still on for that trip we planned last April?”

There is a telltale sign of a smile on his face— through the poor lighting that emits from the barely opened window of your room, you witness the slight upward curves at the corners of his lips, and for a moment you could see a glimpse of hope: a future with him. Everything will be alright.

Suguru doesn’t respond, his eyes just trailing across every feature of your face. Such sad eyes he has, but there is no denying the hints of love in the pretty brown hues of them as he admires you in silence. They even seem a little dim with the absence of it’s usual spark yet it doesn't take away the fact that he's still your Suguru. Your beautiful Suguru.

“Get some sleep, my love.” Your murmur, allowing him to burrow deeper in your arms and lay his head on your chest. The way you caress his hair makes him hum, so tender and full of care that it’s soothing. 

You let the tranquility of the night engulf your entwined bodies under the comfort of your sheets, letting the hours tick by with no care for anything at all but the warmth of your love and the way his breath settles evenly.

“I wish you’d just talk to me, Suguru.” You whisper once you've deemed he’s fallen asleep, your hands still caressing his hair in gentle strokes. “You’re not alone, you know? Share with me your pain.” Your voice falters with the last words you’ve spoken, finding it hard to breathe with the lump in your throat as you try to keep your tears at bay.

“I know you’re strong but you don’t always have to carry all that weight— I’m here. Satoru’s here, Ieri even. We’re always here.” A shaky breath falls past your lips when you feel Suguru’s arms tighten around you, the sound of a conspicuous sob from him almost makes you lose it but not right now. You need to be the one to keep it together and hold him, be his safe space and give him the assurance he needs to be vulnerable.

You resume playing with his hair, pressing a chaste kiss on his crown. "I love you."

And in that moment, Suguru crumbles in the presence of genuine devotion. He feels so ardently cared for, sheltered and utterly weak in your arms. Everything will be alright.

watching the pitt cuz I was bored and finally figured it out

not totally clear but legible

jack abbot is jack abbot , not jack abbott

ohhhhh my babe

sorry for the noise that’s just me barking

just saw the movie....want this tortured baby so i can heal him 😭

Late Night Mends

Pairing: Kid (Monkey Man) x reader

Word count: 2.1K

Warning: 18+ MDNI, mentions of anxiety, injuries, not a lot of spice, some fluff, not proof/beta read lol, does not contain spoilers for Monkey Man.

Note: Absolutely am in love with Dev Patel, he adores the world and fandom love! Also special mention to my friend @mittos who helped with this prompt/story ideas. Go and see Monkey Man if you haven't already! And if you have go and see it again! Also jaan is a Hindi term of endearment. Also can we take a moment for Dev Patel's side profile?! Comments, and reblogs are always appreciated as well! I hope you enjoy!

************************************************************************

It was late, extremely late. It had been a slow night but it was quickly becoming the latest it had ever been without his tired, bloody presence. It made you uncomfortable how late it was becoming, he never took this long to show up after a big match. You bit your nails as you couldn’t help but think about the possibility of where he was and scarily, what condition he was in. 

It was a risky field that Kid was in, especially when he was the losing dog for the overeager, sweaty crowd not to bet on. He took the punches and rarely complained about it, you’d only ever been to one of his fights before and never again. It was too painful to watch, you’d bitten each of your fingernails right down to the beds, and you swore that it gave you a few grey hairs. If you had any, each of them could be traced back to being his fault, you were sure. You loved him, truly adored him, but he certainly knew how to stress you out. 

You’re sitting down waiting for him to arrive. You don’t even realise that you’ve put your hand up to your face to bite your nails but now you know that you must’ve as you’ve been subconsciously biting them as you look out the window waiting, lost in your thoughts. You could think and use that as a distraction but no, the more you think or gaze off, the more you think about him, worry about him and overanalyse every little thing to be analysed, including what would need a magnifying glass to do so. You sigh and rub your face tiredly and also as another poor attempt at a distraction to take your mind away from him. 

It was a ridiculous thought, nothing could distract you from him, Kid lived rent-free in your mind 24/7, no matter what you did or wanted. And now was his prime time for filling your head. 

You rub your face some more and then look up, you can hear the door quietly open and the sound of gentle footsteps start to make their way to you. You look up as you try to glimpse the start of his lean shadow to confirm that he’s really, really, finally here. The light switch turns on as you see his arm stretch out and then he’s standing there in your doorway. 

You look up at him as he stands, he just looks at you for a moment. His gorgeous doe-eyes are wide, he looks exhausted and defeated but there’s a small smile on his face as his eyes meet yours. Ever since you’d known Kid, he had always been a man of few words, which seemed to balance out just how expressive his handsome face was. You liked that though, that his eyes truly were the window to his soul. You did like his voice though as well, you’d have no problem with him using it more. Sometimes he would talk though, about his sweet mother, the stories of Hanuman that his mother had told him and that had vividly stuck with and inspired him still. 

You quickly take him in, there’s sweat in his hair, a cut in his cheek, and his knuckles are bloody as always. You bite your lip as you look at him, chewing over your words so you don’t come across as either a scolding lover or treating him like a patient. 

“Your hands…” You finally say as he steps closer to you and you can see that he made some attempt to cover them with a bit of cloth but the blood is all over his right hand. 

“It’s fine.” He says in a soft whisper, his voice is melodic as always but a little hoarse and deep. He looks down at his hand he tries not to flinch when you take his hand and it’s further proof that no, it really isn’t fine. You sigh and move his hand to check his fingers, it causes discomfort but based on the movement you know it’s not broken at least. It was genuinely impressive that he was still alive, still functioning and not just with everything he’d been through as a young boy, but with the amount of beatings he’d taken at the club. That he’d somehow avoided major damage to his body, that his handsome looks were still intact, and also his teeth. That was a big surprise you had to admit. 

“Sit down.” You look at him with a look of concern, one that he doesn’t like. “Come on, I’ll clean it up.” You say softly.  He runs his right hand, his good hand through his damp but perfect locks and he sighs, sitting down, waiting for you to fix his wounds and to feel your tender touch. 

You’d had the first aid kit ready to go, sitting on the floor waiting for his entrance. You always used it, he always needed it. Your medical background certainly helped, some nights you’d crack a joke that that was the only reason why he was with you. The first time you made that joke his eyes widened at first, and he immediately stuttered to try and reassure her that that wasn’t the case. He didn’t realise that it was a joke. You’d kissed him to reassure him and he kissed you back so sweetly. Now when you made the joke he’d just look at you and give you a small, precious chuckle. You just want to make him smile, make him laugh, bring him joy, and make him feel safe. He deserved that at the very least, especially with his gigantic hug. 

His hand clearly had taken the worst of it, you hold it gently in yours, and his hand twitches for a moment. He’s spent most of his life being devoid of affection. He craved a gentle touch, to feel seen and safe in the company of another. He’d started to find that with you, in the way you looked at him, how you carefully held his hand in arms when cleaning an injury and wrapping it up. You somehow had never noticed it, he figured it was because of how attentive you were to his injuries, to him, and his lips quirked up into a secret smile you’d miss over the irony of you not noticing this because of how attentive you were being to him. 

“You were later than usual.” You say as you clean his bruised and bloodied knuckles. 

“I know.” He whispers as he looks up at you, he’s tired but there’s a small smile on his lips as he knows the scolding is incoming, just what degree is it going to be from you tonight, is the question. 

“I was worried, my fingernails are almost as bloody as your knuckles because of how much I was biting them.” You say as you try to clean his hand gently, noting how his hand occasionally twitches in response.

“Would’ve been quite a match.” He whispers before he looks at your hands, noticing your nervously bitten nails. His cheeks heat up as he can’t help but feel a little bit of guilt about causing you to worry so, he’s spent so much of his life without someone who cares about him like this. You sigh and roll your eyes at his response. 

“You’re going to be the cause of every single grey hair I have in this lifetime.” You say as you treat the knuckle wounds, making sure you’re gentle. “All I do is worry, you spend every night getting beaten, thrown off tables. It’s going to be too much one day. Something will go wrong. Then what?” Kid can’t help but look up at you, it’s a conversation that’s happened more than a few times. “What if it’s your spine or something? I won’t be able to fix that-” “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m okay, jaan.” He says as he looks up at you, his big brown eyes are widened and he’s looking at you with his sad puppy dog eyes, he feels bad for making you worry so much. 

You sigh, biting your lip as you try to stop yourself from saying anything else. He’s too sweet and so you nod and finish cleaning and bandaging everything. After a moment, you cup his cheek as you look at his warm eyes and you go to get him some water to drink. He watches you and continues to as he drinks the water. You two have become quite good at playing a game of watching each other, almost like it’s a sport to observe the other. 

He looks at you, tilting his head which tousles the gorgeous locks he has a little. You sigh and run a hand through his soft brown curls, damp with sweat but somehow miraculously not blood. His hair has always been absolutely perfect. You feel bad for essentially venting your anxieties at him right as he’s come from a long night of work at the club. 

“I only scold because I care.” You say but you’re not sure if it’s him or yourself that you’re trying to convince more as you say the words, but it’s true technically. “It’s a form of doting really.” You say as you look at him as he adjusts in his seated position, looking up at you with his wide, doe-eyed orbs. Even if it was a form of doting, you could never stay mad at him for long when having to look into those gorgeous eyes. They’d melt away any troubles and you’re sure if awards were given out for best brown eyes, he’d win. You hated that he did this, that this was how he had to get by. That he had to take these awful, unhealthy beatings but you love him anyway.

He was freshly bandaged now, he moved his hand up and Kid started to slowly caress your cheek, he traced some invisible line so gently with the pads of his fingertips as he looked at you. His doe eyes were filled with adoration and peacefulness as he concentrated on your beauty. You let him, it was soothing and sweet and you had no reason to even consider stopping this. You were his and he was yours. 

Your eyes glance down at his fingers, and then you put a hand up to cup his cheek and look into the most beautiful eyes you could ever imagine seeing. After he feels your touch his eyes quickly close and he inhales. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever get used to the feeling of your fingers on his face, of how your hair feels against his skin, or your breath, but he knows for sure, that he’ll at least never tire of it. 

His fingers glide down do your mouth and he traces your lips as he looks at them. He tilts his head and before he can even move, you’ve moved your head to press your lips together. There’s something about how gentle his hands are with you, how they feel even after everything that has happened to him and that he does. How it just takes a glance at you for him to melt into a puddle. 

You put your hand back into his hair and run it through his curls as he kisses you back and the kiss deepens almost immediately. He cups your cheek gently as your lips move together in sync and you can’t help but start to tug his locks a little and his hand moves to your waist to hold you close against him. You continue to play and tug his hair as his lips move down your chin and jaw and he kisses your neck. You gasp out and tug on his hair a bit more as you feel his breath tickle your throat between his passionate kisses. You struggle to not let out a giggle as he does this and you feel your cheeks heating up as you tilt your head back so your neck is as exposed as possible for him while he kisses your throat and makes his way to your collarbone. 

He always gets like this, and so quickly. He just needs a little touch, the reassurance of you being there and he feels an all-consuming need to make up for the years of loneliness, the lack of affection, the lack of physical contact outside of a fight he was guaranteed to lose. He has you in his arms and it’s something right for once, if it was a game this would be a victory, some kind of peace.

🩵🩵🩵

五条先生rkgk

「元気出してよ」

☆Art by: illust_man_2020 on twitter!☆

i know im a bit late but i still wanna know why aren't there more spiderman!kenji sato content...this concept was created by a few writers and im obsessed

*this bathtub scene makes me 🫠*

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream, and see the light…

the demon king i want

Pairing: Muzan x f!reader

Content: Your lover, the King of Demons gives you one last day in the sun before bringing you into his world of shadows for eternity. NSFW. penetrative sex, biting, blood, Muzan feeds from you. Yearning, longing, hopelessly besotted Muzan. Violence against a snail. Approx 1.8k words.

Ipomoea Alba

Muzan had already forgotten her name. She was a member of the fading nobility, elderly, desperately lonely, and all too susceptible to his smile. It had been far too easy to influence her, to convince her to denounce her descendants and leave her estate and its grounds to him.

The putrid taste of her blood and flesh lingered on the demon king's tongue, even as her name faded from his memory. Her face was little more than a blurred, grotesque caricature amongst a never ending haze of screaming visages.

And yet, he could recall the name of every flower in her garden. Frilly pink camellias, and vibrant blue morning glories which he had defiantly pried apart to witness their hue. Yellow roses, red lilies, carnations, primulas, apricots with their delicate pale petals. The garden was a paradise. 

And it was all for you. Yours for a single day. 

For what better place was there for his beloved to bid farewell to the sun? 

He watched you through the upstairs window, tucked away in the shadows, eyes narrowed against the agonizing glare. Seething and yearning in equal measure; furious at the world's audacity in denying him the light, for denying him you even if only for a few hours. 

He hadn't quite decided yet if he would keep you human a while longer. The temptation was most certainly there. You were soft and delicate; your mortal fragility delighted and disgusted him in equal measure. Change sickened him, and every day he saw it in you; blemishes caused by the sun, by the chemistry of your body, your mood, your dietary habits, your life. And every day your beauty somehow won out over repulsion. 

Muzan adored you, treasured you, loved you. You belonged to him, and he, against all sense and reason, belonged to you. 

And so it was agreed upon between you that he would bring you to the shadows, to reside with him in the Infinity Fortress. One way or another, you would dwell in darkness, never to leave his side.

Your only request had been one last day in the sun, a plea he saw no reason in denying. 

But as he watched you in the garden, separated from you by the confines of the house, his fists curled into white-peaked fists. The pointed tips of his fingernails drew blood from his palms as you turned your face to the blinding light, eyes closed, smile soft and content, as if receiving the kiss of a doting lover. The flowers he’d admired and sought for you brushed against your delighted form, petals caressing your tender skin with a gentleness he could never hope to replicate. 

And when you’d finished exploring your own personal paradise, you lay back on a gray stone bench and basked in the warmth. Muzan cursed the light then; it was everywhere on you; shimmering in your hair, darkening your skin, flushing your cheeks, altering the very chemistry of your body.

His rage shattered the looking glass propped in the corner, splintered the wood on the priceless antique vanity, and tore the curtains to tatters. He remained transfixed, unmoving, as the room disintegrated around him, the air palpitating with his jealousy. 

Oh how he despised it. That he could not join you in the sun. That you luxuriated in what he could not. Memories from a life centuries ago stung like papercuts pried apart and salted. Pathetically confined. Weak. Afraid to die. Repulsive. He had no sympathy for the boy he’d once been. No, only detestation. 

The moment the sun set Muzan broke free from his homely prison, filling his lungs with the cooling night air. Air as sweet as honey. Many of the blooms had closed for the night, shrinking from him as he passed them by and spitefully plucked them from their stems before tossing them to the dirt. If they saw fit to deny him their brilliance then they would perish. The king of demons would not be denied. 

And then he reached you, still slumbering on your bed of stone. Beautiful, foolish creature that you were, you’d slept through your final sunset. A tiny yellow-shelled snail made its slow path toward you, leaving a glittering trail of silver in its wake. Curling his lip, Muzan sat by your side, flicking the little pest away so hard it disintegrated mid-air. 

An ache bloomed inside his chest as he gazed down at you in your peaceful faux death. So lovely, so hauntingly fleeting. Instead of sickening him, your slow decay fascinated him, beautiful as the picked-clean skull of a deer. Sickness ran rampant, unbeknownst to you; some of it your body fought, some which would, in time, win and consume you. Unless…

Unless he made you a demon too. Goodness, the notion was tempting; to preserve you in a form more perfect than mortality could ever grant you. But then, he wondered, would you be you? Was it not your flawed self he adored? The creases, blemishes, your ridiculous little heart. A heart which would someday fail. 

Muzan cursed the world, because either way he would lose you. 

No… no it wasn’t the world he cursed, but the ridiculous notion of love. He should have been wholly immune to it, but you had bewitched him beyond sense or reason. You moved him in a way he had never thought possible. 

“Do you plan to sleep all night?” he asked gently, his voice rendering the chittering insects in the trees completely silent. A tender brush of his lips against your brow roused you from your slumber enough that you smiled, half-conscious, seeking the touch of his hand. Such fragile little bones, so trusting, your fingers interlaced with his as you drew a full breath and stretched luxuriously beneath him. 

“Muzan…” 

Coming from every other pair of mortal lips, his name was a curse. But not from you. You uttered it with such affection, the sound warm and lovely as it danced on your tongue. 

“You slept through the sunset, my love,” he said, tracing the peaks of your knuckles with the tip of his thumb. 

“I don’t mind.”

“No?” he said, pleasantly surprised. He’d half expected you to beg for another day.

“No,” you replied, sitting to kiss him, your lips so soft and tender, so very warm. “No sunset in the world could compare to spending my nights with you.”

A shiver ran down his spine as you threaded your fingers through his raven curls, pulling him closer to your body. And there was nothing he could do but yield to your unspoken wish. He was as helpless in your arms as any mortal man, so besotted that for a moment he quite forgot his nature. Even his intrinsic sense of self preservation dwindled to nothing as he  melted into your kiss, unaware at first that the soft, low moans filling his ears were coming from himself.

“You missed me,” you said, an unmistakable and endearing hint of affectionate teasing lacing your tone.

Muzan nodded, resting his brow against yours. “I’ve watched you all day, confined to the house when I should have been by your side.”

“I know. I could feel your eyes on me. It’s like knowing there’s a tiger stalking through the grass beside me. Lovely as you are, you make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.”

“Flatterer.” Oh how he adored you. With you he never had to alter his preferred appearance. You didn’t shy away from his fangs or his slitted pupils, you never shuddered when he talked about consuming human flesh. You were simply remarkable amongst your kind, beyond tolerable, and there was nothing for him to do but steal you away and keep you for himself. 

Your thighs wrapped so comfortingly around his hips, the heat of your core pulsing against him as he freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and slid into you with a guttural moan. Fuck, the way you squeezed him, the way your cunt twitched as he suckled on your breast through the fabric of your dress. 

“We’ll walk in the sun together again,” you whispered against his ear as he pumped his hips desperately against you. 

“You and I for eternity,” he promised, wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping your back arched as your head lolled back against the gray stone.

A cry somewhere between agony and ecstasy burst from you at the sharp pain of his teeth penetrating the flesh of your breast, followed by your wanton groan which mingled with his. Your blood flowed over his tongue as your fingers came to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer to you, tugging the curls at the back of his neck. And the knowledge that no one else in the world shared such intimacy willingly was not lost on him. 

You fed him gladly, welcoming the sting of his teeth, lost in bliss as he lapped at the shallow wound and toyed with your clit. His eyes shone crimson as he watched your rapture, captivated by your quickening breath, the pinch in your brow, the way your lips hung slack around your moans of pleasure. Your blood was ambrosia, the way you uttered his name divine. In centuries of living he had never found any evidence of gods until he found you. 

Your orgasm triggered his own, his muscles fluttering and pulsing as he came undone, groaning against your breast, his sterile spend flooding your cunt as your blood flowed between his lips in perfect synchronicity.

And when his pleasure subsided, he released you. Crimson stained the silk of your gown as he pulled back, your eyes half-closed and your smile so utterly heartwarming, for a moment he quite forgot he was a monster. 

“A fitting goodbye to mortality?” he asked. 

You simply nodded, too spent to speak. 

Too lovely to kill. Far too lovely to condemn to shadows. Muzan found himself shaking his head, “Of all the terrible things I’ve done and will do, taking you away from the sun, away from the flowers, may be the one thing which weighs on my conscience.”

His words sobered you instantly, and you sat up, tender hands holding his face as he avoided your pleading gaze. 

“Look up,” you told him. And he did.

On the trellis above you, white flowers bloomed, round and bright, radiant by the light of the moon. As delicate and lovely as any blossom whose petals unfurled by day. 

“Ipomoea Alba,” he said. “They’re called moonflowers.”

“And they only open up at night. They were closed all day, hiding from the sun, and now they’re open just for us.” The gentle caress of your hand against his cheek soothed his restless soul, the brush of your lips against his brow quelled his busy mind. “I’m ready. And I want it.”

And Muzan could never deny you.