He grabbed the soap and worked it into his palms, about to scrub her down with a washcloth. But when he reached her shoulders, his hand halted.
Bruises. Deep ones along her arms, faint shadows on her thighs.
His jaws clenched. Her brows furrowed even in sleep, a soft grimace betraying discomfort.
Was I too rough?
He sighed, then reached for her hand. He couldn’t believe himself—caring for her like this. His palm glowed faintly with hellfire magic, warm, healing, pulsing against her skin. The bruises began to fade, vanishing slowly, tenderly.
***
A fanart of Don’t Dare the Devil chapter 11, by @chainslock_ thanks so much! 🤩 This is so beautiful. 😭
Anyway, for more content on my story (and upcoming stories), you may follow me in Instagram and TikTok! 😁