#Its been nearly that long since I was *Touched*

[fluffylino]

Strawberry Cow ! Chan 🌸🍓🌸

he's not just any kind of hybrid...he's the first ever 'male' cow you've ever met. chan's a sweetheart, even more so when he's milked...

(i was suppozed to write this a year ago and finally here it is, enjoy lovelies <333)

reblogging > liking

-contains mildly suggestive themes

Hybrids were pretty much accepted into this world of ours. they were treated like humans, with respect (most of the time) and accepted into society quite easily.

And somehow you found yourself accidently conversing with one particular male hybrid.

he was handsome.

so incredibly beautiful, it made you question if he was even real.

two horns on either side of his head and a pair of fluffy white ears twitched beneath them. it wasn't a white that hits the eye, it was a white that looked like freshly whipped cream. with soft fur that was slightly longer than usual.

you weren't quite sure what species he was. it was difficult to make out and honestly nervewracking to ask a hybrid that kind of question.

it was almost the same as asking a human if they were a person of colour, as if they were of ethnic descent.

he could be a gazelle? maybe a buck?

but his horns weren't so sleek and thin. they were neither black in colour.

instead his thicker horns were a complete contrast to his dark hair.

a bull, maybe? or did he dye his hair?

you were about to lose your mind.

"I'm actually a cow hybrid..." he let out so quietly, with a nervous smile. Damn, he was too beautiful for his own good.

"I've never seen a cow hybrid" you mutter without much thought.

instantly regretting your statement upon seeing his awkward stance.

"no no i meant i've never seen a cow hybrid as handsome as you" waving your hands dramatically to clear the tense air.

"as...handsome as..me?" he mumbles and you were sure your heart stopped beating.

"oh god it was wrong of me to assume what you are and how you'd prefer to be addressed-"

your voice dying down as you hear him laugh.

its such a soft laugh, it goes straight to your heart. neither mocking nor a loud one. soothing to the ears.

"i'm sorry if i'm so shaky...its been a long time since anyone has ever..complimented me..."

you sighed in relief, letting a smile creep up on your face. his cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink and you knew you looked as shy as him.

The small coffee joint was beginning to crowd and it seemed that neither of y'all liked crowded spaces.

the cow hybrid slowly stood up, straightening his posture and your eyes widened.

he was well built, a good height compared to yours and his muscles were defined enough to leave an imprint on the shirt he was wearing. loosely buttoned up and hanging low on his collar. Black really was his colour...

you mentioned his build, complimenting him to the point his ears were redder than ever. shy little giggles escaping his plush lips. gosh...

his lips made you want to kiss him senseless.

"could we..uhm...be friends or uh more...i mean-" he mumbles, stuttering so sweetly.

"of course, darling. but you never quite told me your name?" you coo.

"I'm chan or...you can..call me chris"

he smiled continously as you told him your name and how you come by here often.

his ear twitching excitedly when the two of y'all share phone numbers. promising to keep in touch in the days to come.

.

🌸

.

Chan was a lot different from your first meeting. considering the fact that nearly a month or more than a month had passed.

you happened to find out how much a hybrid like him had to go through. to you, he was an ordinary cow hybrid. but chan explained how the term 'ordinary' never existed in his vocabulary.

of course you knew he was a male but what did not strike you was the fact that he shouldve been called a bull.

Instead he was classified under cow, making him a proper cow hybrid.

Taking into consideration that he was also a male, made it difficult for him to lead his life as usual. bodily changes and phenomenon occurring during certain periods made the poor hybrid's life tougher.

Cases like him were rare, not exactly non existent.

.

.

His room was unimaginably aesthetic. changing colours that faded to pink and purple, sometimes gold.

one thing you realised was his love for the colour black. laughing when he opens his cupboard. it was a black hole in there with numerous clothes lined up.

making yourself comfortable on his bed, you noticed how on-edge he was. his behaviour much different, extra shy as he sheepishly sat beside you. your backs resting against the wooden headboard.

"why'd you call me here, channie?" you asked, smiling at the way his thin sleek tail swished around.

his eyes gaze at you with such pureness, you blurt out another statement.

"I mean, i'd spend my entire day or even week with you if you wanted! but i just got a bit worried because you called me here oit of the blue, baby"

reassuring him while patting his knee lovingly.

"I..I wanted to come c-clear about myself"

you nodded, urging him to go on. he pauses, looking at you for a few seconds. theres this nervousness in his energy and you scooch closer to him.

"I lactate...almost every four days, sometimes every two days depending on tge weather..." gazing at you sweetly.

"yes, im aware channie"

"you know about-" his eyes widen, surprise in his tone.

"of course I do, did you really think I wouldn't find ways to help you after you told me how hard your day to day life is"

you joked lightly.

"if i don't...milk myself every now and then, I feel full. like heavy.."

you squeeze his hand fondly, interlocking your fingers.

"do you do it manually? or do you use some kind of device?"

from his expression and body language, you could see him grow comfortable.

"manually...pumps are quite the price"

you gasp, wondering if you pried a little too deep. chan takes it as you being weirded out but you stop him before he starts overthinking.

"no no no sweerheart, i was just surprised that you did it manually for so many years"

"i've tried a pump once or twice...but i don't like the feeling...it made me feel like an object..." he pauses, cheeks turning pink as ever before he continues.

"whenever i...uhm my chest swells and gets really sensitive..."

well that was new info to you.

"like mine?" you let out, laughing as his ears twitch and he blinks furiously.

"w-what do you mean-"

"I meant like does your chest get to like my size? i'm pretty average but does yours get bigger?"

the strawberry cow hybrid blushed.

"it depends! on m-my mood and..uhm everything"

.

🍬

.

"Chris?! what's wrong?"

worry filling your mind. the hybrid looked distressed and out of his senses. sweating profusely.

"its n-nothing, I don't feel so good" he tried to reassure although it wasn't quite reassuring to you.

his fluffy ears were lopsided and his tail swished around desperately

you cupped his face gently. his reaction waw everything. nuzzling into your palm. it was obvious. it was happening.

"channie. baby look at me"

you urged, making him focus on you. and only you.

"do you want me to help you?"

"help...help with milking me? p-please?" his tone gentle and he uttered a small plea.

"just place your hand h-here and massage slowly"

his bigger hand held onto yours as he pressed your palm flat on his chest. he was right. his chest was swell and warmer than ever.

"do you mind, baby.."

obediently he held his shirt between his teeth. gnawing on the material. you let your hand run over his toned abdomen. feeling up his tense muscles.

"y-you're so fit, channie" he grunted softly.

his milk running down your fingers slowly. with every massage, more seeped out of his pretty nubs.

unconciously you stuck your tongue out, licking up the droplets that rolled down the expanse of his chest.

"ah don't let it g-go to waste p-please please"

begging you to drink more. his hands squeezing yours. whining so sweetly as you sucked his pumped up chest. his breathing quick and shaky.

god, you wanted to corrupt him...

.

.

.

.

.

.

fuck...part 2?

should i?!

this concept to me, is so hot!!!!!

[ellecdc]

hey elleeeee

could i pretty please do 🐻 the sharing a bed prompt, “cuddling in their sleep” + “waking up with their faces centimetres apart”. with remus but theyre not together just pinNING for eachother and this happens.

consider it done

Remus Lupin x roommate!reader who cuddle for warmth and that's totally it [641 words]

CW: fem!reader, Remus sort of pining, but maybe it's not one sided!?!?, fluff, sort of a continuation from this post

Remus thinks he should perhaps feel a little guilty having taken advantage of the current situation; his original offer certainly hadn’t been a selfless one. 

Was the flat sodding freezing? Yes, it was. Would he have been up worrying all night that you’d died of hypothermia in your own bed? Absolutely. Was it indeed warmer having consolidated every blanket and pillow the two of you owned into one bed and sharing body heat to stay more comfortable? Damn right it was. 

But, it was because of all these aforementioned reasons that Remus felt it was perhaps a touch unethical to be enjoying his current situation as much as he did. 

The two of you were gripping each other’s hands and arms as if you were both afraid the other would simply float away had you not been holding on for dear life. The soft, cloud filtered light bathing your face in its glow; your head resting on one of his pillows he hoped to god smelled like you, now, that was but a few measly centimetres away from his own face. 

He found himself nearly holding his breath as though he was afraid to disturb the peace of this moment, one that he'd been fighting against yet secretly yearning for since he realised how much he enjoyed your presence; perhaps a bit too much to be simply considered roommates, or even just friends. 

He catalogued the way your eyelashes fanned from beneath your closed eyes and kissed the tops of your cheeks, fluttering ever so slightly when something would happen in your dream. He revelled in the way that you seemed to be smiling, even in your sleep; your lips relaxed and pursed ever so slightly as you breathed through your nose. 

Your nose - it was stupid and foolish and silly, but fuck - he loved your nose.

And this might well and truly be the one and only time he got to enjoy you like this, so sue him for what he did next.

He hardly had to move at all, really, he simply pushed his chin forward so that his nose bumped into yours. He was checking, you see, because he knew his nose was cold from the cool air surrounding your nest of pillows and blankets and body heat, but he needed to see if yours was too. He couldn’t in good conscience sit here and admire your nose if you were about to lose it to frostbite, now could he? 

Remus found himself smiling at the fact that your nose, for whatever reason, was slightly warmer than his. Good, he thought, I’d like her to keep her nose. 

“You’re supposed t’be sleeping.” You blurt rather suddenly for Remus’ tastes, still never opening your eyes as Remus rears his head back, though you strengthen your hold on his hands and arms so that he can’t actually move away from you.

“How long have you been awake?” He accuses you instead of admitting he was being a creepy fuck and watching you sleep.

You don’t answer him, though. Instead, you let out a languid stretch before releasing your hold of his hands in favour of wrapping your arms around his torso and slotting yourself against him; legs tangled with his and your nose - colder than the skin of his collarbone - pushing into his neck as you tucked yourself under his chin. 

“Go t’sleep, Rem.” You order him, tightening your hold around his chest as he allows his arms to cautiously encircle you in his own embrace; one hand splayed between your shoulder blades, and the other cupping the back of your head lovingly. 

He didn’t follow your order, unfortunately. But he did spend the rest of the morning wondering, hoping, nearly begging the universe that perhaps this might not be the last time he gets to enjoy you like this.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Y'know what? I think it'd be funny as hell if a human farmer (y/n) befriended a xenomorph. And it acts like a cute, drooling, ..alien dog. And their male Yautja parter tolerates the Xeno while in front or near his human mate. But when y/n disappears. They both are just at each other's throats?

If that's okay, also I love your writing! And I cannot wait to see more! And I hope you have a lovely day/night

Lost Dog

Character: Con'tei (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader with Xeno

Word Count: 1784

Summary: As a farmer on a planet not many know, you live your life contently. Waking up early to go out into the fields and work. It's just yourself and your mate, Con'tei. Until a special alien shows up and worms its way into your soft heart instantly.

Author Note: This is such a funny idea.

Masterlist

Ao3

Ever since that day you stumbled upon an injured Xenomorph, it’s been attached to your hip. Since that same day, Con’tei has wanted nothing more than to tear the alien apart. No matter how many times you asked him to at least be civil with the thing. The Yautja has his own thoughts of the Xenomorph. That being having its head upon his wall. Specifically above the bed. Its nonexistent, lifeless eyes peering down at you. Con’tei was sure to let you of every detail to paint a picture inside of your mind. Every time.

When the Xeno looked up at you, guts nearly splattered across the edge of your corn field, you had fallen. Though it has no eyes, you felt compelled to help it back to your dwelling. Con’tei had been off on a hunt and left you enough time to patch up the creature. Until the Yautja returned and smelled the scent of a hard meat on the property. It took lots of sweet talking to get the male to calm down and listening to your voice.

Finally, Con’tei was able to think clearly after he saw you were okay. No injuries. No smell of blood. Not even fear in the air. The Yautja was more than confused on the what, why, and how. That only grew worse when he only had to take step to the side.

There in the bath tub of the dwelling sat the observing hard meat, just peering at him. You physically had to wrap your arms around Con’tei’s thin waist and pull the newly blooded away.

Worst of all, the xeno morph lept out of the tub when it saw the struggle. Its instincts flaring to life. It thought you were fighting the enemy and rushed out to help. Water dripped down its black, scared hide. Sharp silver teeth were bared at Con’tei. Its long, black tail whipped side to side.

A yelp slipped from your lips. Con’tei pushed you off of him a bit too harsh and lunged at the creature. You fell down to the ground and landed wrong on your wrist.

The two clash for a second when your sharp cry sounded an alarm. Each held onto the other, ready to draw blood. They whipped their heads over to your lying, prone form. One pushed at the other and nearly climbed over each other.

Con’tei reaches you first and kneels down at your side. But, he’s shoved off to the side by a black, skeleton hand. A deep bellow tumbled out of his chest as he reared back up to kill the hard meat somehow in your shared home.

It’s your crying that breaks the two of them up again. They separate once more to rush to your aid. For the moment, they were able to ignore the other. Con’tei’s dark orange hands touches at your hands. One was pinned to your chest by the other. Pain radiating from one. A deep purr vibrated from the Yautja in a comforting manner. His bright yellow eyes scanned over the rest of you. The only thing that was of concern was the wrist you were clutching onto.

Across from you, the xenomorph was whining and nudging its elongated head against your cheek. The move didn’t go unnoticed by Con’tei who snarled and scooped you away from the creature. This nearly became a tug-of-war match until you shouted, “stop it!” Each alien stilled.

“Stop fighting, please! I’m in pain and you’re only making it worse.” Con’tei whimpered and bowed his head in a manner that resembled a kicked puppy. “And you’re not making it any better by flailing around.” The xeno lowered its own head, tail dropping to the ground.

“Now, please, put me down. I think I just pulled a muscle in my wrist no thanks to the two of you,” you snapped at the two of them. The anger mostly coming from the pain sprouting from your throbbing wrist.

One look in your heat gaze had the Yautja listening to you. Your feet gingerly touched the ground. Con’tei was hesitant to let go of you at first. His gaze couldn’t stop flickering towards the creature he was sworn to kill. His muscles twitched as he fought every single cell in his body not to leap over you and slaughter it where it stood.

Instantly, you turned towards Con’tei and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Hey! Look at me, sir,” you demanded. The burnt orange Yautja had to drag his gaze off of the xeno. You had just turned your back to it with little care of your safety. “I know you are freaking internally and externally but let me explain.”

He bristled. Of course, you better explain in why in Cetanu’s name is there a hard meat in your home. And why was is following you around? Why was is it protecting you? His first thought was dismissed when smelled no change to your body. It hadn’t implanted anything into you. Con’tei snorted and crossed his arms.

You couldn’t help the sigh, shoulders sagging a little. “Okay, I deserved that.” Con’tei could agree with that. “But, you must see it from my side. I was working the field when I stumbled across this poor thing, all injured and begging for help.” He was ready to shake some sense into you. “I took it home and nursed it back to health. Now, its like a dog! It follows around and helps me around the house and even in the field.”

His anger flooded back to Con’tei’s mind and nearly blinded him. How could the one person he loves in the universe say such stupidity in the moment? He knew you were smarter than this. Yet, here you were proving him wrong with each word that falls out of your mouth.

The xeno made its point by coming up behind you and nuzzling its ugly face into the crook of your neck. His muscles flexed. “And why do you have it our home? Why isn’t it dead?” Injured, you should’ve had little trouble by exterminating the cursed thing. Why did your heart have to be so big? Why did your luck have to be so terrible?

Your face soured. You stepped back and patted the top of the xenomorph’s smooth, shiny head. It gave a chuff and rubbed against you some more. “Because, it was injured! I had to save it. I wasn’t going to let it die! What kind of person do you take me for to leave an injured creature for dead?” By Paya’s name, if he didn’t love you so much. He desperately wanted to shake some sense into you. Maybe rattle the thought of care for it out of your head.

“Exactly why it should be dead. You had a chance to kill it. Why didn’t you take it?” His hunter mind couldn’t grasp the thought process of your ooman brain.

Those were the wrong words to say.

“I told you! It was injured and I’m not like you. It looked so sad and pathetic. Now, look at it! It’s like a puppy I’ve always wanted. A very…” you trailed off to glance over your shoulder. “A very big, scary puppy who would protect me!”

There was truth to your words. Clearly, it was willing to protect you from someone who could easily kill it. But to leave it to live, Con’tei couldn’t let himself live with that knowledge. Even if it showed compliancy to you at the moment, who knows when its baser instincts kick in and slaughter you or use your body for a host.

Con’tei huffed and narrowed his bright eyes on you. “I said no.” The Yautja was still young and recently gained his clan marking during his chiva against these blasted creatures.

The way your brows jumped at his denial; then, your gaze darkened. Con’tei felt a drop of fear fall into the pit of his stomach. “No? Well, mister, it’s not up to you. You go off on these hunts all by yourself for a week or so. I’m left all alone!” You turned your head and nuzzled against the unforgiving, smooth surface of the xenomorph’s cheek. “What happens if something attacks our home? I can’t protect it to save my life. With it, I could at least stand a chance.”

What were you thinking?! After everything he’s told you about his near failure during his chiva, you had wished for the hard meat to stay. You go against his direct order to protect you keep it!

Yet… the truth behind your words sunk deep into the soft tissue of his brain. The knowledge this planet held many dangers while you sit at home, unprotected and weaponless, churned his stomach. Con’tei gritted his mandibles and looked over your shoulder. The creature had its face turned towards him, chin resting on your shoulder.

He tried to think of ways to convince you. Maybe, he’ll spend what little credits he had to get you a creature to protect you. Something he could train from a young age. Something that wasn’t a hard meat that could tear out your throat in a instant.

When his gaze returned to you, his stubbornness finally cracked. A groan sounded from him. “Little one, I swear…” he trailed off then let his shoulders sag. “Alright, alright. Fine. But, you must have it trained. A collar will be put on it. It will send an electric shock through its body, immobilizing it should it turn on you. I’m warning you, my mate.”

All of his stories he’s told you were fresh in your mind. His near defeat of his own life by these creatures. But, the loneness of sitting in an empty house made life difficult.

A squeal pierced the air. Your arms snatched around his waist. Con’tei jolted at first then let himself settle in your embrace before his own arms return the motion. The hunt had been long and made him long for this affection with you this entire time. What is he going to do with his little ooman who has him wrapped around their tiny pinkie finger?

With a sigh, he lets you go.

“Okay, you two be good then. I’ve gotta go clean up the bathroom!” You blew each of them a kiss before skipping towards the bathroom. The door was closed behind you to clean up the mess the xenomorph had left behind in his wake of protection.

Both of the alien’s watched as the door closed behind you. Then, they snapped their heads towards the other. A second paused the still air. Each lunged at the other in a clash of fangs, claws, and snarls.

[crisiscutie]

The reunion at hand may bring us joy. Pt 1

Pairing: "Fluffy" Sephiroth/Pregnant Darling

A wee distant prequel in the alternate Domestic AU, back when Darling was still on the run from Yandere Sephiroth with the boys.

You gently touched your slightly swollen belly, shaking your head as you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror. There was no denying it now - you were pregnant with your fourth child. This revelation shouldn't have come as a surprise. Something had to result out of those nightly passionate sessions you had with Sephiroth months ago.

Yet with the familiar symptoms and signs, you had acted like nothing was different since you and the boys went on the run. Now that your baby bump had begun to form, ignoring your greatest worry was no longer an option. You covered your eyes and let out a soft sob as you anxiously deliberated your next steps.

You could should be able to handle this one. After all, ten years ago, you had been pregnant with triplets. One more child in the picture was no problem.

But you couldn't even bring yourself to explain to your precious boys why you all had to leave that fateful day. The horrifying atrocities and the true monster their father had become were things they shouldn't and couldn't comprehend. So how the hell could you explain to them that you're pregnant while being on a special mother-sons expedition, celebrating your degradation mysteriously curing itself? The boys were already concerned when you had bouts of morning sickness, but you diverted their attention by promising to take them to the Gold Saucer, since they had begged to visit while you guys were traveling through Corel. They're smart like Sephiroth, though. You won't be able to hide this from them for long. Maybe you could tell them at the Gold Saucer during a quiet moment? You pulled your wool sweater down and slipped your black jacket on for even more cover. It's bad enough being an ex-SOLDIER on the run with three kids. No need to make it obvious that you're a pregnant ex-SOLDIER on the run with three kids.

When you were about to leave the restroom, you heard a groan of distress from behind. You turned around and came face to face with a woman dressed in tattered black robes. She looked to be on the edge of death. Her lifeless, baggy eyes, sickly complexion, and brittle hair nearly sent you into a panic. She reminded you far too much of yourself when you were afflicted with degradation. She stumbled towards you, losing her balance. You immediately reached out and caught her, allowing her to rest her head on your shoulder.

"Miss... are you okay?" you whispered. You couldn't resist the instinctive desire to hold her tightly, as if she were a precious jewel that needed safeguarding. Maybe it was just your natural empathy and decency for a fellow human. Or it's just your pathetic projection.

You tried to support her upright, but in a swift second, the woman summoned all her strength to push you against the bathroom wall, her small form transforming into the towering visage of your dear husband, Sephiroth.

In a slow, robotic movement, he lifted his head from your shoulder. His fuming, slit pupils locked with yours, devoid of the soft, almost-catlike gaze he once wore. Instead, there was only the stare of a snake watching its prey.

He cupped your chin. "You dare to run away? With my children? After all I've done for you. For them," he hissed. You couldn't respond. Were you already beginning to lose your mind? How did he know your location? How is here? As he caught the flicker of fear and shock in your eyes, his slit pupils constricted. Following this, he sneered and slid his gloved hand down your body, opening the jacket and lifting the wool sweater to expose your slightly swollen belly.

"I will reclaim what's mine," he declared, his gloved hand resting on your belly. These were his final words before the robbed woman retook her place. She groaned in your ear once again. A nurse burst into the room and quickly approached the two of you. She pulled the robbed woman away from you.

"Excuse her. She's not feeling well because of the mako poisoning!" the nurse hastily explained to you, shortly lecturing the robbed woman afterwards. You stifled a gasp at them before fast walking out of the restroom. Your gaze darted up and down the streets, clutching your bag close to you.

Fuck. Fuck. The boys. Where are they!? You all can't afford to stick around much longer. But you don't see them anywhere! They should've been here, waiting outside of the bathroom as you ordered. Your panic increased tenfold when you rushed down the dusty road, seeing the bodies of dead Shinra grunts scattered about. You forced your head to keep looking forward, not even noticing the black feathers on some bodies.

Time passed slowly until you found a platform with a gondola, hoping your boys were near since you quietly searched everywhere else. You then heard the familiar whisper of Kadaj calling out to you from behind.

"Mother, we're over here!" He said. They were hiding in small bins, with a white lid over their heads nearby an abandoned clinc.

"What happened?" You asked.

"We don't know... Those men were running after us, so we hid in these bins when they lost sight of us," Yazoo explained. The three came out, their hair and clothing a bit rustled, but no signs of physical injury. But their eyes said it all. They were shaken. Afraid. All supposedly under your watch. Poor Loz was crying silently, keeping his hand over his mouth to keep quiet. You ruffled his hair, giving him an apologetic gaze.

The three hugged boys hugged you tightly, afraid to let you go. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't left you three alone..." You said. Kadaj lifted his head, about to say something before the sight of your uncovered pregnant belly caught his attention. The other two followed after, their fearful gaze turning into utter confusion and curiosity.

Shit. Of course you didn't bother to fix yourself up after that bathroom encounter with Sephiroth. "Boys... I-"

"They can't be far! Split up and search the alleys!" a voice from a distance ranged out, with a tone you recognized to certainly belong to a grunt captain. With quick thinking, you ushered the boys into the nearby gondola and closed the door.

"We'll discuss this later. Just stay quiet for Mother please..." you uttered, maneuvering to the controls. Your sweet triplet boys nodded, immediately sitting down and observing you silently. Thank the planet that they knew when to get serious and follow directions. But alas, mayhap this be evidence of them growing up too fast. Any other child at their age would still be shaken, frantically asking questions, begging for assurance. Just how much more horrors did they witness in your absence?

You slapped the control panel in frustration, which seemed to make it work. The gondola creaked and drifted along the cable lines. You peeked out of the tinted window, seeing more Shinra troops scouting the streets. Thankfully, no one seemed focused on the gondola. You sighed in relief and wiped your forehead as you sat down, sitting opposite of the triplets.

They were still staring at you, their intense catlike pupils constricting as the silence persisted. It was too difficult for you to not think of Sephiroth at this moment. This peculiar aura was all too familiar. Each one was so so similar to him, in each and every way.

Your lips curved into a forced grin, as you leaned forward, talking in your light tone.

"You know, this itinerary of Corel told me about a very special attraction nearby." The boys broke out of their peculiar observant trance, their slit pupils now dilating in anticipation as they leaned forward themselves, meeting you with excitement.

"I-Is it the gold saucer?" Loz asked. You nodded.

"Mhmm!" I was thinking, 'Maybe we could go there sooner.' What do you boys think?" The boys collectively hollered in excitement, littering you in gratitude and requests to go to a specific attention first. You chuckled, sitting back and watching them argue with each other about who gets to where first. Good thing you got them focused on something else for now.

Though your amusement ended quickly when you spotted a black feather stuck in the window's crevice, reminding you of your duty...

Oh, why can't something be easy for once?

[nomairuins]

i just fucking hate having ptsd all of it. so many stupid fucking things send me into fucking hysterics it sucks and i hate it and i dont want itttt anymore i dont want it.

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

Thinking about Eusine's hairstyle in my style tonight ✍️✨

Lil' bonus under the cut ->

[downfallofi]

Vent

[kaedthoughts]

Hehe did wolfy call over their silly lil bunny just to get all shy when I start talking about how I wanna suck you off? Very cute <33

yes, yes he did!

i'm back now, and can still feel the throbbing effects in my cock, even getting a little squirmy at the thought of how it might feel

[mononijikayu]

the other woman — ryomen sukuna.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.” But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.” And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of illness, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 11k words

NOTE: this was always going to be long, because it's heartbreaking. and heartbreaking ones have to be something that has to be expressed well. i listened to this in a audio software like its a podcast and i actually liked it. the other woman by nina simone was the constant in the writing. also, this is the aftermath of ashes of love, which is a series i did about heian sukuna. anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3

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YOU KNEW THAT YOU WERE THIS UNLUCKY. The moment you were born, there would be a bleak fate for you to live. You were an accidental child, and multiple times, your own mother had nearly miscarried. Perhaps even as a fetus, you had always known this. How cursed you were. Even if you had done nothing. 

When your mother brushed your hair as a child, she would tell you of how you were born. She said that when you breathed the air for the first time, you were melancholic in the silence to the world. Somehow knew that you were built for this miserable world. And every day since that day, you knew. You were meant to live life without true joyous jubilation.

It did not help that the day you were born, there was a lone dark star in the morning sky, one which had been considered a bad omen. And with that, the whispers of fate echoing long before you had even had consciousness to know. Your village nestled in the shadowed valleys of Hida province, a place of whispered dread and ancient pacts. And for the longest of times, the once prosperous Hida province was in turmoil. 

And so, in those days, if there was anyone who controlled the ruins of Hida, it was that god-like curse user Ryomen Sukuna. His name alone was a talisman against the unknown horrors that lurked beyond the mountains, a deity whose power and wrath commanded fear and reverence in equal measure. And all either quivered at the sight of him or drew fanatic fervor. 

The Ryomen clan, his kin at one point, were at war—embroiled in brutal conflicts with neighboring clans for so long. And this had been going on before you were even born. The blood had soaked the earth for so long that the soil seemed to thirst for it. And the people were exhausted. 

The clan struggled to maintain control over Hida for a long time now, their influence fraying like an old tapestry torn at the seams. And with that, a power vacuum had long been in existence. The chaos of the era was a tide that threatened to drown them all, and Ryomen Sukuna's protection became the last fragile hope for those who called this land their home.

Your parents spoke in hushed voices of the offerings, the sacrifices made by the villagers to appease their god, the man who can save them,  this man to fear and worship, Ryomen Sukuna. To ensure his protection, they said. For years, the sacrifices continued, the chosen ones becoming mere footnotes in a history written in blood and fear. 

It came upon you rather quickly when you were young and it struck you—that the villagers saw you not as one of their own, but as a piece on a board, a pawn destined for slaughter. A sacrifice to their god. You would be among the countless, one more life to be cast into the jaws of the demon god they all feared.

The day of your sacrifice came as the sky was painted with hues of blood and gold, a cruel irony that did not escape you. The air was heavy with incense and prayer, but there was no comfort in their muttered words, no solace in the chants that pleaded for Sukuna's mercy. They adorned you in ceremonial robes, marked with symbols and sigils, your skin painted with the sacred ink that was supposed to cleanse your soul before the offering.

You were led through the village, a procession of death that seemed to stretch on forever. The eyes that watched you pass were filled with a mixture of pity and relief—relief that it was not them, not their child, not their blood that would be spilled today. Mothers held their children close, men bowed their heads, and the elders chanted in a low, continuous hum that sent shivers down your spine.

At the shrine, they bound you to the altar, thick ropes biting into your skin as you stared at the sky, searching for a sign, a miracle that never came. The high priest began his incantation, his voice rising above the murmur of the crowd. You could feel the cold seep into your bones, the air around you thickening as if the very world held its breath.

And then, you felt it—the shift in the air, the heavy presence that pressed against your chest like a vice. You had never seen him before, but you knew it was Sukuna. The villagers gasped, a collective intake of breath as his form materialized from the shadows, a figure cloaked in malice and power.

His eyes, crimson and unforgiving, swept over you like a cold blade. You felt your heart hammer against your ribcage, fear clawing at your throat. You were nothing to him, just another offering, another desperate plea from a village clinging to survival.

Ryomen Sukuna smiled, a slow, cruel smile that sent a tremor through the crowd. He stepped forward, each movement a ripple in the air, as if reality itself bent to his will. You met his gaze, defiant in your fear, knowing that you were one of many. Countless lives had been given to him, countless souls lost to his hunger.

And now, it was your turn.

  

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YOU HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO MEET THE MAN IN THE FLESH. But before you stood this man, this god, with dark crimson eyes. Taller than any tree, intimidating than any curse. Frightening than hell itself. You could remember when you were younger. The whispers reached you before you even stepped foot in the shrine, everyone has. Tales of Ryomen Sukuna had traveled through the villages like the wind, carrying with them rumors that were both terrifying and tragic. 

You had always known that the man was delighted with the worship of the human people. But they said he had taken no other concubines, that he showed no interest in any woman who dared come near him.

And if he did, they were more likely to be servants than anything close to a concubine. And some were not so lucky. Some spoke in hushed tones, their voices trembling with fear, that he was a monster of unspeakable debauchery, one who had killed the women for even daring to breathe in his presence.

But the truth, as you had come to understand it, was far more tragic. At least from how you see it. The people of Hida knew—oh, they believed—the story was told long ago. There was someone who had been so loved long ago and most of all, by Sukuna.

Ryomen Hiromi, the one who had captured Sukuna's heart, the one he had loved beyond reason. There was another Sukuna a long time ago, many were aware. But there was nothing proven.

If anything, the children of Hiromi reject any notion of such a relationship. But the tale was woven into the very fabric of tales told, whispered among the elders late at night and shared in riddles among the children who barely understood the weight of what they spoke.

Hiromi, they said, had been his sun, his moon, his stars. A woman of beauty and strength, whose laughter could calm the wildest storms and whose voice was like the sweetest song. She had been the only one to ever touch his heart, to see the man beneath the demon god. But she was gone now, lost to time and tragedy, leaving Ryomen Sukuna to languish in his grief. 

No one dared speak her name aloud, not when Sukuna’s rage could split the earth itself. People have seen it. It was said he mourned her loss every day, that his fury was born from the emptiness she left behind. And that was why he would not tolerate any other woman. No one was going to be like her. None would match her wit, her beauty. Why should the king of curses settle for less when he had the world? 

As you lay on the cold altar, the ropes cutting into your skin, your thoughts were consumed by the stories. What kind of man—no, what kind of creature—was Sukuna? You wonder about this paradox of a man, this creature like god.

Did he truly mourn, or was that just another tale spun by terrified villagers to make him seem more human? What was he, actually? You had a million questions, and you know they will never truly be answered.

A gust of wind stirred the trees around you, the leaves rustling like whispered secrets. You heard the shuffle of feet, felt the eyes of the villagers upon you, their fear palpable. Then, you heard his voice. You could feel it all, that powerful cursed energy, coming from one direction. For a moment, you had no words. Only uncertainty.

"Why do they send another?" Sukuna's voice was like a low growl, rumbling through the air with the force of a storm. "Do you think I am so easily appeased, you fools?"

You dared to lift your head, the ropes pulling at your skin as you met his crimson gaze. He was tall, imposing, and every bit as terrifying as the stories had painted him. But there was something else there—something in his eyes that spoke of deep, simmering pain.

"Do you truly want to know why they sent me?" you found yourself saying, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your throat.

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you down then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Speak, then, girl." he said. "Tell me why I should not turn you to dust where you lie."

You swallowed, gathering your courage. "They send me because they fear you, because they believe you will protect them if they give you what you want. But… no one knows what you truly want, do they? No one speaks of her. Of Hiromi."

His expression shifted, a shadow passing over his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. The air grew colder, a chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

"Hiromi is dead." he said, his voice quiet but filled with an edge that could cut through steel. "And no one speaks her name. It is what I command.”

"But you still mourn her…." you continued, unable to stop yourself. "Do you not, my lord?”

His dark gaze bore into you, the weight of it almost unbearable. For a long moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched on like an eternity. Then, slowly, he laughed—a sound that was bitter and hollow.

"You dare ask?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. "What do you know of it all, little one? What do you know about such a life lived?"

You felt a tremor run through you, but you did not look away. "I know enough, my lord." you replied softly. "I know enough to see that your anger is not born of hatred, but of grief."

Sukuna's cruel smile quickly faded, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly swallowed by the darkness. He hated how you said it, you know it too well. But there was no other choice. You were here for a purpose and you must fulfill it. You must. 

"You are bold, little one." he murmured. "Bold….for someone so close to death."

"Perhaps, my lord." you whispered back to him. "But if I am to die, I would rather die knowing who you truly are, rather than the monster they say you are."

He stared at you for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, he stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the power that thrummed through him like a thunder strike.

"Then you are a fool, little one." he said quietly. "For believing that I am anything more than a monster."

But there was something in his voice, something that made you wonder if perhaps… he wished you were right.

For the meantime, you were lucky to have your life, despite speaking so boldly, despite saying her name aloud—the name that everyone else dared not utter. Sukuna’s silence stretched on, his crimson eyes still locked onto yours, unreadable, cold yet burning with something darker beneath the surface. He could have ended you with a flick of his wrist, reduced you to ashes for your insolence. And yet, he did not.

He leaned closer, the edges of his form blurring into the shadows that seemed to ripple around him like stabbing waves in the ocean. His breath was hot against your skin, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. You felt your heart pound in your chest, each beat a drum that signaled your fragile hold on life.

“Perhaps you are simply foolish. Many have died for far less than what you dared to speak.” Sukuna finally said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “Huh, you speak brashly.”

The villagers around you seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his judgment. They looked at you with a mixture of horror and awe, unable to believe you were still alive after uttering the forbidden name. You, a mere sacrifice, a lamb thrown to the wolf, had survived what so many others had not.

“Why do you think I will let you live?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense silence, his tone curious, but with a dangerous edge. “Do you think I find you interesting? Amusing? Or perhaps I see something of her in you, something worth sparing?”

You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation settling in. You had survived speaking out of turn, but you were still bound to this altar, still at the mercy of a being who could destroy you on a whim. Yet, something in his words gave you pause, a flicker of something unspoken that lingered just beneath his surface.

“I do not presume to know your reasons, my lord.” you replied carefully, choosing each word like a step on thin ice. “But if you see something of her in me… then perhaps I am not so different from you after all.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “Not so different?” He laughed, a sound that was both mirthful and bitter, filled with a deep, aching emptiness. “You compare yourself to me? To Ryomen Sukuna? You are a child, a mere mortal who knows nothing of gods or demons, of love that scorches the soul and burns the world to ash.”

“And yet…..” you dared to continue, feeling the tightness in your chest. “If my lord felt nothing, you wouldn’t care enough to be angry… or to remember.”

He stiffened, and for a moment, his expression faltered. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, his aura flickering like a candle flame caught in a strong wind. You sensed that you were dancing on a razor’s edge, but you could not stop now. There was something here, something raw and real beneath the monstrous exterior.

“Enough.” Sukuna hissed, his voice a sharp command. The air grew colder, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “You dare much, human. Too much.”

You pressed your lips together, bracing yourself for the inevitable blow, the moment when his patience would finally snap. But instead, Sukuna’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that did not reach his eyes.

“Perhaps I will spare you.” he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. “If only to see how long that fire burns before it is extinguished. Or perhaps to see if you will end up like the rest—broken, hollow, pleading for mercy where there is none.”

He turned away from you then, his back a wall of power and darkness, his form towering against the dim light of the shrine. The villagers started, stunned, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You will reside in my temple.” Sukuna commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will remain there, under my watch. Let them see what comes of those who speak of things best left forgotten.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mixture of fear and shock. They did not understand why he had spared you, why you, of all people, were allowed to live. Perhaps they thought you were cursed, or perhaps they thought Sukuna had some darker plan in mind. But you knew better. You knew that, in some small way, you had touched on a wound that had never healed, a scar buried deep beneath his monstrous exterior.

And as Sukuna vanished into the shadows, you realized that your fate was no longer in the hands of the villagers, or even in the hands of the gods they prayed to. No, your fate was now bound to his—a god who mourned like a man, a monster who remembered what it was to love.

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IN A WAY, IT IS NOT SO BAD, BEING HIS CONCUBINE. You spent your days in isolation, your life confined within the walls of Sukuna's palace. You were nothing more than a servant, though they called you a concubine. The title meant little, for you were given no special privileges, no adornments, no tokens of affection. 

But it was a life. Your life. And it lived in some comfort, more than what is experienced by the rest of Hida province. You had multiple meals a day, you had rooms to yourself and even servants that address every bit of your needs.

Still, your world was small, your days filled with the quiet tending of the gardens, watching the shifting sky as the hours bled into one another. The flowers you nurtured became your only friends, their petals a fragile comfort against the cold indifference that surrounded you.

Perhaps the peace came from the fact that you did not see Sukuna often, and when you did, his gaze never lingered on you for long. He had no interest, no affection, no fondness to spare. You were simply there, like a shadow in the corner of his realm.

A figure lost amidst the vast emptiness of his domain. And perhaps that was for the best. It was better than being forced into Sukuna’s bed. You think that all women in the harem think that it was better that way.

But slowly, ever so slowly, something changed. His dark scarlet eyes began to linger, just a fraction longer than before. You felt the weight of his gaze like a chill running down your spine.

The other servants noticed it too, their whispers growing louder, bolder. You finally caught his attention. But it wasn’t because he had come to care for you, to see you as anything more than the nothing you were.

No, the truth was much crueler than that.

You were a spitting image of Ryomen Hiromi, the woman who haunted his every step, the ghost who lived in the shadows of his mind. At least that’s what the people say. But you did not want to believe them. Yet, looking at the murals at the glass gardens, the resemblance was uncanny.

It was obvious somehow. It was similar, everything. Your eyes, your hair, the curve of your smile. Every feature, every gesture seemed to remind him of her. And though you knew you could never be her, you had become a cruel echo, a reflection of something he had long lost.

And soon enough, the people talked. Of course, they did. They always talked. You tried to shut them out, but the more they whispered, the more people listened. And the more they listened, the more people spoke.  

“She reminds him of Hiromi, I am certain!” they whispered. “She is nothing but a shadow, a poor replacement for the one he truly loved. She lives in her image, as if she could ever hope to fill her place.”

You became the other woman, even when you didn’t want to be. No, not even that. You were a pale imitation, a mockery of a woman who had captured the heart of the king of curses. Every glance Ryomen Sukuna spared you was not a look of admiration or desire—it was the gaze of a man staring into the past, into a memory that was forever out of reach.

And so, you lived your life as another woman. No, the other woman. To a dead woman. To a love that had died long ago, but never truly left. 

Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the silence was so thick it pressed against your skin like a heavy shroud, you would wonder about her. About Ryomen Hiromi. Who was she, really? What had she meant to him, this fearsome god, this creature of darkness who now watched you as if searching for something he had lost in her eyes, now reflected in yours.

He never spoke of her. He does not want to. He does not dare to. Not to you, not to anyone. Some servants have been here longer than you and they have seen people killed over even a mumble of a prayer for the lady. And so you don’t ask. 

Not even when there were times he would come closer, when his dark eyes lingered on your face, searching, always searching. Yet he will never truly find it. He knew this, as much as you did. But it was as if he was trying to see her again, trying to find her in your skin, in your voice, in the way you moved through the gardens like she once had, perhaps. It was hope, a foolish hope. And yet you cannot escape this foolish hope.

The weight of her memory suffocated you. You were not allowed to be yourself, to have your own name, your own identity. You were always, always compared to her, measured against a ghost that you could never be, never touch. And Sukuna, with his cold gaze and his empty eyes, reminded you of it every day.

"You’re not her, little one." he said once, his voice low, more to himself than to you, as if testing a truth he could not fully accept. “You’ll never be her.”

His words cut deeper than any blade, leaving you with the bitter taste of something unnameable, something that tasted like defeat, or perhaps longing, or perhaps both. You had never wished to be her, to be anyone but yourself. But here, in his domain, under his shadow, you were not allowed that freedom.

You were trapped, forever bound to a life that was not your own, in the shadow of a dead woman who would never release you, and a man who could never let her go.

Days bled into nights, a blur of routine and solitude, and you began to feel like a ghost yourself, haunting the corners of Sukuna's palace, where life seemed to move around you but never through you. The servants kept their distance, wary of your resemblance, as if fearing you might be some ill omen, cursed to echo the tragedy of the past.

And Sukuna… he watched you, always watching, his eyes a deep crimson that saw too much and yet revealed nothing. He was like a storm contained within the fragile walls of the palace, his presence a force of nature that you could neither escape nor fully comprehend. His mood was mercurial; one day, he would barely acknowledge you, and the next, his gaze would linger on you, heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Do you enjoy the garden?” he asked one afternoon, his tone deceptively casual, as if he were simply inquiring about the weather.

You glanced up, surprised that he had addressed you at all. He rarely spoke directly to you, even when his eyes seemed to follow your every movement. “I do,” you replied, careful, measured. “It is quiet there. Peaceful.”

“Quiet…peaceful.” he repeated, almost as if tasting the word. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “Yes, she liked the quiet too. Always wandering among the flowers. Trees too. She’d like that then.”

You stiffened at the mention of her, the ghost you lived with every day, who lingered in every corner of this place. “I am not her, my lord.” you said, a tremor in your voice. You had repeated these words to yourself countless times, but they sounded fragile, almost insignificant when spoken aloud.

Sukuna's expression did not change. If anything, his gaze grew sharper, like a blade pressed against your skin. “No, little one.” he agreed softly, almost mockingly, “You are not her. But you will do… for now.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, refusing to let him see the fear that coiled within you, like a snake waiting to strike. “Why do you keep me here?” you dared to ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why do you watch me as if you expect me to become someone else?”

He laughed then, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You misunderstand, little one. I do not expect you to become her. I know you never can. But you… remind me of her. And that is enough… for now.”

The way he said it, the way his eyes darkened with something unreadable, made your blood run cold. You were nothing more than a stand-in, a living, breathing reminder of something he had lost. A cruel joke played by fate, a shadow dancing in the place of the one who truly mattered. To be kept alive, your village kept alive — because you look like a ghost. 

“I am not a replacement, my lord.” you insisted, your voice firmer this time, surprising even yourself with the strength behind it. “I hope my lord knows that I will not live my life as a mere echo.”

His smile faded, his expression turning serious. “You think you have a choice?” he asked, leaning in closer, his face so near to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You are here because I allow it. You exist at my whim, not because of who you are, but because of who you resemble. Do not mistake this for anything more than it is.”

The reality of his words hit you like a blow, the finality of it sinking deep into your bones. You were nothing to him, nothing but a passing fancy, a painful reminder of a past he could not reclaim.

“I am not her, my lord.” you repeated, your voice shaking with defiance, with a spark of something that refused to be extinguished. “And I will not be her for you. You must understand.”

For a moment, something flickered in Sukuna's eyes, something almost like surprise, perhaps even respect. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he always wore.

“Brave words, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But words mean little here, in my domain. You will learn that soon enough.”

He turned away from you then, leaving you standing alone in the empty hall, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling at your sides. The silence closed in around you, heavy and oppressive, and you knew that nothing had changed. You were still trapped, still living in the shadow of a dead woman, still bound to the whims of a god who mourned like a man.

And yet, deep inside, something stirred—a flicker of defiance, of hope. You might be a ghost to him, a reflection of a lost love, but you were still alive. You were still you, and as long as you drew breath, you would not allow yourself to be consumed by his shadows. Not without a fight.

Time passed slowly in Sukuna’s palace, and with it, your heart began to change. You did not notice it at first; how could you? Day after day, the monotonous routine of your existence lulled you into a sort of numbness. The gardens became your refuge, the sky your solace.

Yet even as you tried to find comfort in these simple pleasures, you found your thoughts wandering back to him—Ryomen Sukuna, the fearsome god, the monster, the man who mourned like a human.

At first, you hated him, hated him for what he represented, for what he had made you into: a replacement, a mere shadow of someone who had meant everything to him. But as you watched him, as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, you began to see more.

You began to notice the things others did not—the subtle tension in his jaw when he was angry, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he spoke of her, the quiet moments when he thought no one was looking, and the mask slipped, just a little.

You were in the garden one afternoon, trimming the roses, when you heard footsteps approaching. Sukuna rarely came to the garden, but today he seemed restless, pacing along the paths with a dark expression on his face. He stopped by the old cherry blossom tree, his eyes distant, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Without thinking, you moved closer. "Is something troubling you, my lord?" you asked quietly, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. You had learned not to provoke him, to keep your words soft and your gaze steady.

Sukuna looked at you sharply, as if surprised you had dared to speak. "Why do you care?" he snapped, his tone harsh, but you had seen the flicker of something else—a fleeting vulnerability, perhaps? “Such matters are none for you to care about, little one.”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I see you every day, my lord.” you replied softly. “I see how you… struggle over something. And I cannot help but… care.”

He scoffed, but it was a hollow sound. “Care?” he echoed, almost mockingly. “You think you understand me, mortal? You think you can comprehend the depths of what I am, of what I have lost?”

You bowed your head, feeling the sting of his words but refusing to back down. “I don’t pretend to understand, my lord.” you murmured. “But I see the pain in your eyes, the way you linger in places she once loved, the way you… look at me.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he turned away, his shoulders tense, his hands unclenching. “You are a fool, little one.” he muttered, almost too softly for you to hear. “A fool to think you can feel anything for me.”

And maybe you were a fool. A fool to care for a man who did not care for you, who saw you only as a shadow of someone else. But you could not help it. You could not stop the way your heart ached when you saw him, the way your breath caught when he looked at you with those sad, tired eyes.

Day by day, you found yourself drawn to him, not by his power or his beauty, but by the quiet moments when he thought no one was watching. The moments when his face softened, and you saw the man beneath the monster, the man who had loved so deeply and lost so terribly.

You saw the cracks in his armor, the places where he had been wounded, and you wanted, desperately, to reach out and touch them, to soothe the pain you knew he carried.

You found yourself thinking of him when you were alone, wondering what had made him this way, what had broken him so completely. You imagined him before all of this, before the darkness, before the loss, and you felt a strange, deep sorrow for the man he might have been.

One evening, as you were leaving the garden, you saw him standing by the cherry blossom tree again, his face turned upward, staring at the pale blooms against the darkening sky. He looked so lonely, so unbearably alone, that you felt your heart tighten in your chest.

Without thinking, you approached him, moving slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. “My lord, look.” you said softly, and he did not turn away. “The blossoms… they’re beautiful this year.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Hiromi loved them.” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you could not quite name. “Fond of them.”

You nodded, your heart aching for him. “I imagine she did, my lord.” you replied. “They’re… peaceful.”

He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the flowers. Then he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She was… my peace.” he admitted, his tone so raw, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten painfully. “And now… there is only emptiness.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to touch his hand, to tell him that he was not as alone as he thought, but you knew he would not accept it. So you stood there, beside him, sharing the silence, hoping that maybe, in some small way, your presence could ease the ache in his heart.

And slowly, painfully, you realized that you were falling into the saddest position in the world. You were beginning to care for him, truly care for him, despite knowing that he did not, and could not, care for you. You were beginning to understand him, to see the depths of his sorrow, to feel the weight of his loss as if it were your own.

You were living as a shadow, and yet… you found yourself wishing, hoping, that someday he might see you as something more. Even if you were just a reflection of a memory, even if you could never be her, you wished, desperately, that you could become someone to him.

But as you looked at him, at the emptiness in his eyes, you knew that day might never come. And still, you could not help but care.

Days continued to slip by in a blur of silent moments and stolen glances, and though you tried to keep your heart guarded, you felt it slipping further and further away from you, like water through your fingers. You had resigned yourself to your fate—a concubine in name, a ghost in truth. You had accepted that Sukuna would never see you as anything more than a mere echo of what he had lost.

But as time passed, you noticed a subtle change in him. It was in the way his gaze lingered on you a moment longer, or how his tone softened when he spoke to you. It was in the quiet moments when you would catch him watching you, his expression inscrutable, as if he were trying to decipher some mystery he could not quite solve.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of crimson and gold, you found yourself in the garden again. Sukuna was there, seated on a low stone bench beneath the cherry blossom tree, his face turned upward as if searching for something in the dying light.

You approached cautiously, unsure if he wanted your presence or not. He did not turn to look at you, but he did not send you away, either. You took it as a small mercy, a silent invitation to sit beside him.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, delicate and unbroken. Finally, Sukuna spoke, his voice low and contemplative. “You are always here, little one.” he murmured. “Always watching. Why?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because I see you, my lord.” you replied quietly. “I see the way you carry your pain, the way you hide it behind your eyes. I… I understand it, in a way.”

He turned to you then, his gaze piercing, searching your face as if trying to find the truth hidden within your words. “And what do you think you understand?” he asked, a note of challenge in his tone.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his stare. “I think you loved her more than life itself, my lord.” you said softly. “And I think losing her broke something inside of you that will never heal.”

He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed—a harsh, bitter sound that cut through the stillness like a knife. “You presume to know my heart, mortal.” he said, but there was no true malice in his voice, only a deep, hollow emptiness. “You think because you look like her, you can speak of love and loss?”

“I do not pretend to be her, my lord.” you answered, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “But I know what it is to lose, to live with emptiness. I know what it means to be alone, even in a crowded room.”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, and you could almost see the man beneath the monster, the one who had loved and lost, who had once been capable of kindness, of tenderness.

“You think you know loneliness?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “You think you know what it is to love someone so deeply that their absence is like a knife in your soul, cutting you with every breath?”

“I think I’m starting to understand, my lord.” you whispered. “More than I ever wanted to.”

He looked away, his jaw clenched tight, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You are a fool.” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words, only a weary resignation. “You should hate me. You should despise me for what I am, for what I have made you.”

You shook your head slowly. “I can’t, my lord.” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why, but I can’t. Maybe it’s because I see the pain in your eyes, the way you look at me… the way you remember her. I can’t hate you for that. I just… I wish things were different.”

He turned to you sharply, and for a moment, there was something raw and desperate in his gaze, something that spoke of a longing he had buried deep within himself. “Different?” he repeated, almost scoffing. “There is no ‘different’ for us. This is the world we have been given, and we must live in it.”

You felt your heart clench painfully, knowing he was right, knowing that no matter how much you wished for it, you could never truly reach him, could never become more than what you were—a shadow, a reflection of a woman long gone.

But you could not stop yourself from caring, from hoping that somehow, someway, he might see you, truly see you, not as a ghost or a replacement, but as a person in your own right.

You sighed, turning your gaze to the blossoms above. “I know, my lord.” you murmured. “I know that better than anyone. But I still… I still want to understand you. I still care, even if you don’t care for me.”

He was silent, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you feared you had said too much, crossed a line you could never return from. But then, slowly, he reached out and took your hand in his, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle.

“You are a strange one, little one.” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. “To care for a monster… to care for a man who has nothing left to give.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you did not bother to hide it. “Maybe I’m just a fool, my lord” you whispered. “But I can’t help it. I can’t help but care for you, even when I know you can’t care for me.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for some answer he could not find. Then, without a word, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it took your breath away.

“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.”

But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.”

And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.

══════════════════

TIME FLEW BY AND WITH THAT, YOU AGED TOO. Slowly, like the steady drip of water carving its path through stone, Ryomen Sukuna began to accept your presence as something constant in his life. At first, it was subtle—the way he no longer sent you away when you appeared by his side, the way he allowed you to linger in his chambers or the garden without a word of complaint.

Over time, it grew into something more. He began to call for you, not often, but enough that you noticed. Sometimes, it was just to sit in silence while he read or stared into the fire, and other times, he would speak to you, his voice low and distant, as if he were speaking to himself rather than you.

He did not love you; you knew that much with painful certainty. His heart belonged to another, to a woman whose name he whispered in his dreams, whose memory seemed to haunt his every step. You were not her, and you never would be. You were a shadow of what he had lost, a pale reflection of a love that had burned too bright and consumed itself in the flames.

But he tolerated you, and in this dark, twisted place where fear ruled and love was a forgotten dream, that was enough. You had learned to find solace in the little things—the way his gaze would occasionally soften when he looked at you, the rare moments when his voice held a note of something other than indifference. 

You knew you would never escape Hiromi’s shadow. Her ghost lingered in every corner of this place, in every whispered word and hushed breath, in the way his eyes darkened whenever he spoke of her.

You were not foolish enough to think you could ever replace her in his heart, nor did you wish to. You had come to terms with your fate, with the cruel twist of destiny that had brought you here, to this palace where the walls seemed to whisper her name.

For the finite years of your mortal life, you would be what you were to him—an echo, a shadow, a living memory of something lost. You could have fought against it, could have railed against the injustice of it all, but you chose not to. You chose to make peace with what fate had given you, to find what small joys you could in the fleeting moments he allowed you to be near him.

There were times when the weight of your existence threatened to crush you, when you longed to scream, to demand that he see you for who you were, not for the woman you resembled. But those moments were few and far between, and you had learned to push them down, to bury them deep within your heart where they could not hurt you.

Instead, you found contentment in the little things—in the way his presence filled the room, in the rare, unguarded moments when he would speak to you of things he had buried deep within himself. You listened to his stories, the ones he told in quiet tones when he thought no one was listening, and you treasured them like precious gems, tiny fragments of the man he had once been.

You learned to be grateful for what you had, even if it was not what you had dreamed of. You accepted that you would always live in the shadow of Hiromi, that you would always be the "other woman"; the one who was not loved, but merely tolerated. And for as long as you had breath in your lungs and life in your veins, you chose to find peace in that.

You sat beside him by the fire, you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you. He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the flames, his expression thoughtful. He did not look at you, but you could feel his presence, warm and solid beside you, a reminder that you were not entirely alone in this world.

You turned your gaze to the fire, letting the heat warm your face, and you whispered, almost to yourself, “I do not ask for more than this. I am… content with what I have.”

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to understand your words. “Content?” he repeated, a hint of incredulity in his voice. “You are content being nothing but a shadow?”

You smiled softly, a hint of sadness in your eyes. “Contentment is a choice, my lord.” you replied. “I chose to be content with what fate has given me. It is not happiness, but it is enough.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are wiser than I thought now, little one.” he murmured. “To find peace in a place like this… it is no easy feat.”

You nodded, knowing he spoke more to himself than to you. You had accepted that you would never be more than a shadow in his life, but even shadows had their place, their purpose. You would be content with that, for as long as your mortal years allowed.

The days passed with a creeping heaviness that settled into your bones, a fatigue that no amount of rest could cure. You began to feel the strain in every step, the way your breath came shorter, the way your limbs feel heavy and uncooperative. At first, you dismissed it as exhaustion, a lingering effect of sleepless nights and endless thoughts that twisted in your mind like shadows.

But then came the coughing fits, each one more violent than the last, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and a sharp pain in your chest. You ignored it at first, waving away the concerned glances of the servants who attended you. You kept your back straight and your face serene, refusing to acknowledge the way your body seemed to betray you.

Yet it grew harder to hide. The pain became more frequent, stabbing through your lungs like a knife with every breath, every step. The first time you coughed up blood, it was a shock—a bright, vivid red staining your hand. Your heart raced as you stared at the crimson stain, panic rising like bile in your throat.

You quickly wiped it away, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, you were alone in your chamber, and you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, willing yourself to calm down. There was no reason to be afraid, you told yourself. It was just a momentary lapse, nothing more.

But it wasn’t. It happened again, and again. You found yourself waking in the night, gasping for air, your throat raw and burning. The servants began to notice the dark circles under your eyes, the way you would clutch your side when you thought no one was looking, the way you moved a little slower, a little more carefully.

There was a day that you sat in the garden, trying to find solace in the soft petals of the cherry blossoms, a violent fit seized you. You doubled over, coughing hard, and felt something wet and warm splatter against your lips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and saw the unmistakable smear of blood.

A sharp gasp came from behind you. One of the younger servants had seen, her eyes wide with fear and concern. She rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she reached out to steady you.

“My lady, oh my!” she whispered, her voice filled with worry. “You’re… you’re bleeding.”

You shook your head, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace. “It is nothing.” you said, your voice hoarse. “Do not worry yourself over me.”

The servant looked unconvinced, her brow furrowed with concern. “I must tell Lord Sukuna.” she said quickly, glancing toward the entrance of the garden as if she expected him to appear at any moment. “He must know—”

“No, no…..” you cut her off sharply, your voice firmer than you had intended. “There is no point in that.”

She hesitated, confusion clouding her eyes. “But, my lady… you are unwell. He should—”

“He would not care, little girl.” you said softly, looking down at your blood-stained hand. “There is no use in troubling him with this. It would make no difference. Sukuna does not love me, nor does he care for me in that way. Do you think he would be moved by something as trivial as this?”

The servant bit her lip, clearly torn between her duty to you and her fear of Sukuna’s wrath. “But… if he knew, he might—”

“Might what?” you interrupted, your voice edged with a quiet resignation. “Send a healer? Take pity on me? No, he would not. I am nothing more than a reminder to him, a shadow of a past he cannot let go. He tolerates me, yes, but that is all.”

The servant looked at you, her eyes filling with tears, but she nodded slowly, understanding the weight of your words. She knew as well as you did that Sukuna’s heart was a barren, desolate place, filled with ghosts and haunted memories. There was no room for you there.

“Promise me, little girl.” you whispered, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “Promise me you won’t tell him.”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her expression tight with worry. “I promise, my lady.” she murmured, though you could hear the doubt in her voice.

You leaned back against the tree, closing your eyes and letting the cool breeze brush against your skin. You knew there was no point in hoping for more than what you had. Sukuna had given you a place by his side, but it was not out of affection. He had lost the woman he truly loved, and you were only a semblance of her—a shadow he tolerated, nothing more.

You were dying, that much was clear. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, a way to free yourself from this liminal existence, to escape the torment of being a living reminder of what he had lost. You could find peace in that, you thought. At least, you could try.

You would not burden him with your illness, with your slow, inevitable decline. You would carry it quietly, with dignity, for whatever time you had left. After all, what was one more life in the grand, cruel scheme of his world? You were just another fleeting moment in the endless march of time—another sacrifice, another offering to a man who had already lost everything he had ever cared for.

══════════════════

YOU DECIDED TO LET FATE RUN ITS COURSE. You let time pass by, letting the illness be hidden in the shadows of low whispers and painful tears in your long suffering days and nights. And sure enough, Ryomen Sukuna had returned from his long and exhausting trip within the next few days.

He had been famished from his trip and sent word that he would be having supper with you that night, which you had obliged without another word. You dressed in your finest, watching the servants prepare the table in your chambers and calmly thanked them one after another as they left.

The evening had settled into its usual quiet rhythm, with the two of you sharing dinner in the dimly lit chamber. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, and the scent of roasted meat and simmered vegetables filled the air.

It was a routine you had come to accept with a resigned sort of familiarity, a ritual that offered a small measure of normalcy in your otherwise constrained existence.

You sat across from Sukuna, picking at your meal with an absent-mindedness that spoke more to your weariness than any lack of appetite. His presence was imposing, yet tonight, he was unusually subdued, his attention focused on the food in front of him rather than on you. And somehow, you were a bit more grateful for it.

As you took a sip from your cup, you looked up at him, your expression earnest. "My lord, do you not think you should be more understanding of your subjects?" you began, your voice gentle but firm. "I must implore you once more to be more lenient with the people. The fear you instill is one thing, but mercy could win you their loyalty and respect."

Sukuna's eyes, dark and inscrutable, met yours. He did not respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as if weighing your words. This was not the first time you had made this plea, and it was not likely to be the last. You had grown accustomed to his silence, to the way he would listen but rarely act upon your suggestions.

"It is not for me to coddle them, little one." he said finally, his voice low and dismissive. "Fear is a more effective tool than mercy. It ensures obedience."

You sighed softly, knowing well that your words often fell on deaf ears. Still, you persisted, driven by a conviction that even the smallest act of kindness could make a difference. "I understand your perspective, my lord,  but sometimes even the harshest rulers find strength in showing compassion. It can—"

Before you could finish your thought, a sudden, sharp pain gripped your chest. You gasped, doubling over slightly, and a violent coughing fit overtook you. You struggled to steady yourself, but the force of it was too strong. Blood splattered onto the table, the vibrant red stark against the white of your kimono and the pale wood of the dining surface.

Your heart raced as you quickly wiped the blood away with your sleeve, hoping to hide the evidence of your distress. You tried to maintain your composure, but your hands were trembling as you looked up at Sukuna, who had gone still, his eyes fixed on the crimson stain.

For a moment, there was a silence so thick it felt like a physical presence. Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze was heavy and unyielding, his red eyes locked onto the blood that had marred the table and your attire. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his silence, a heavy burden that pressed down upon you.

"It's nothing, my lord." you said hurriedly, forcing a weak smile as you tried to brush off the incident. "Just a momentary lapse. Please, continue with your meal."

Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He did not speak, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps surprise, or concern, or something deeper that he quickly masked.

You could feel the tension between you, an invisible thread connecting your quiet plea to his unspoken thoughts. It was clear that your condition had not gone unnoticed, even if he chose not to acknowledge it openly. You had always been a presence in his life, but tonight, the reality of your fragility seemed to cut through the usual indifference.

He took a deep breath, his gaze finally shifting away from you as he turned his attention back to his meal. The silence that followed was filled with the soft clinking of utensils and the low murmur of conversation from the servants who hovered at the edges of the room, their eyes darting to you with barely concealed concern.

You ate in silence, each bite of food tasting like ash in your mouth. The pain in your chest had subsided, but a deep weariness remained, a lingering reminder of your deteriorating health. You glanced at Sukuna from time to time, but he was absorbed in his meal, his expression unreadable.

The conversation you had tried to initiate was now buried beneath the weight of your illness, and you knew better than to press further. The battle for his leniency would have to wait for another day, another time when you were not so overshadowed by your own suffering.

As the meal drew to a close, you felt the oppressive silence settle around you once more. Sukuna’s gaze was distant, his thoughts seemingly occupied with matters beyond the confines of the dining room. You could only hope that, in some small way, your presence had made a difference, even if it was not the kind you had hoped for.

When the servants cleared away the dishes and the room began to empty, you excused yourself, retreating to your chamber with a heavy heart. You knew that your time here was growing shorter, that the end was approaching with each passing day. But for now, you would carry on, finding what small measure of peace you could in the fleeting moments you had left.

And as you lay down in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, you could not help but think of the blood you had tried to hide, of the way Sukuna’s eyes had lingered on it. You could only hope that someday, he might see you not as a mere shadow or a reminder of what he had lost, but as a person who had tried, in her own way, to make a difference in his world.

The next morning, you awoke to a disorienting cacophony of shouts and harsh reprimands. The once-familiar silence of your quarters was shattered by the sounds of chaos from the courtyard. Your heart sank as you stumbled out of bed, a sharp pain reminding you of the night before.

As you made your way through the hallways, the noise grew louder, mingling with the harsh, angry tones of Ryomen Sukuna’s voice. Your mind raced, dreading what you might find. You knew it already. You have seen it in the other households of the other concubines. And you can only know what had caused such a commotion. When you reached the courtyard, the scene before you was both startling and terrifying.

Your servants were gathered in the center of the courtyard, their faces pale with fear and their postures crumpled under the weight of Sukuna’s wrath. He stood at the center of the commotion, his expression thunderous as he raged at them. His anger was palpable, his words a relentless storm of fury directed at those who had failed to inform him of your condition.

Your breath caught in your throat, and without thinking, you stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest. The courtyard fell into a stunned silence as Sukuna’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes dark with a mixture of surprise and irritation.

"My lord, please." you began, your voice trembling as you bowed deeply, your forehead nearly touching the ground. "This is my fault, not theirs. I beg for your forgiveness and mercy for my servants."

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as he took in your contrite posture, his anger momentarily faltering. He regarded you with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, his dark, unforgiving, gaze sharp as he assessed your sincerity.

"It was my decision to hide my illness, my lord." you continued, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I did not want to trouble you or cause unnecessary concern. Please, spare them your anger. They were only following my wishes."

Ryomen Sukuna remained silent for a moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The servants, though still shaken, dared to lift their eyes to you, their expressions a blend of relief and apprehension.

Finally, Sukuna's gaze softened, a hint of resignation creeping into his expression. He took a deep breath, his anger dissipating as he looked at you with a new intensity. "You would take the blame for them?" he asked, his voice low and edged with incredulity.

You nodded, maintaining your bowed position. "Yes, my lord. It was my choice, my responsibility. I could not bear the thought of them being punished for my actions."

Sukuna’s expression hardened slightly, but the fury in his eyes had dimmed. After a moment of consideration, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. You will accept any punishment I shall put upon you.”

You swallowed the bile down your throat. “Yes, my lord.”

“Then I will call for healers. You will see them immediately." He says, as though it was the final verdict. “You will see them, all of them. Do you understand?”

“Yes…yes, my lord.” You whispered back to him.

He turned away from the servants, his gaze now fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity. "Go." he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "See to your health, you foolish girl. Your servants too can go. They will tend to you, no matter what you ask.”

You straightened slowly, a mixture of relief and trepidation washing over you. You dared to look up at Sukuna, meeting his eyes briefly before turning to address the servants.

"Thank you, my lord." you said quietly, your voice filled with gratitude. "You have done nothing wrong. Please, return to your duties."

With a final, respectful bow, you turned and headed back toward your quarters with the help of your servants. As you entered your quarters, you felt like you had lived a thousand lifetimes in that one moment. Your servants were bowing at your feet, asking for your forgiveness. But you had all but shooed them away, telling them it was your duty as their master.

You wanted to be alone right now. At least when you still had the chance. When the healers arrive, you would have a life to yourself any longer. You would be stuck in their mercy, with their potions and their whims.

You must prepare yourself for the arrival of the healers. You groaned lowly as you clutch your chest, a wave of pain hitting one after the other. It will be over soon, that’s what you hoped. That’s what you want. You want to be free from this pain. You wanted nothing more than to be free.

══════════════════

THE PAIN WAS RELENTLESS. The days dragged on in a relentless cycle of pain and futile hope. Despite the best efforts of countless healers, none seemed able to bring you any real relief.

If anything, your condition worsened, each new treatment only seeming to accelerate your quick decline. Ryomen Sukuna’s frustration was palpable; his anger had become a regular presence, casting a long shadow over the already bleak atmosphere of the estate.

You had heard the whispers of the fate that befell each healer who failed to improve your condition. It was a grim reminder of Sukuna’s volatility, a dangerous mix of desperation and rage. The once-bustling quarters were now filled with an air of fearful tension as new healers arrived, only to face Sukuna’s wrath when their efforts proved ineffectual.

On one of the rare days when you felt well enough to leave your bed, you chose to sit by the garden. The fresh air and the sight of the vibrant blooms were a welcome distraction from the constant ache in your body. You had managed to position yourself on a stool under the gentle shade of a cherry tree, finding some small comfort in watching the birds flit about, their cheerful chirping a stark contrast to the turmoil that had become your life.

Sukuna appeared in the garden, his presence as imposing as ever. He walked with a deliberate pace, his gaze scanning the surroundings with an air of detached observation. As he neared, you looked up and greeted him with a smile, though the effort felt heavy, as if each movement was a strain against the burden of your illness.

“My lord.” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “The skies are beautiful today, aren’t they?”

Sukuna stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your serene expression. The silence stretched between you, an unspoken tension that lingered like the heat of a summer day. He said nothing in response, his gaze fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity.

After a moment, he broke the silence. “How is it that you can accept death with such… calm?” His voice was low, edged with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked, taken aback by his question. A laugh escaped you, soft and brittle, more out of surprise than genuine amusement. “Accept death, my lord?” you repeated. “I haven’t accepted death, in truth. But there is no way to avoid it.”

Sukuna’s eyes remained on you, his expression unreadable as he listened. You continued, your voice tinged with a philosophical resignation. “Death will come for all of us, eventually. It’s a natural end to this life. We all must face it in our own time. In that way, we are all freed from the burdens of this world.”

He studied you with a mixture of skepticism and something akin to contemplation. “You speak as if it is an inevitability you embrace, little one.”

“Not embrace, my lord.” you corrected gently, sighing. “But acknowledge. It’s a part of life, as much as the beginning is. We can fight it or we can accept it, but it will come regardless.”

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stoic. He seemed to be weighing your words, his usual fierceness replaced by an unusual quiet. “And you are not afraid, then?”

“Fear?” You tilted your head, considering the question. “I suppose I am afraid of the pain that might come before the end. But fear of death itself? Not so much. It’s merely another step in the journey, my lord. That is what I believe, at least.”

For a moment, there was a stillness between you, punctuated only by the distant chirping of birds. Sukuna’s eyes flickered to the sky, perhaps contemplating the vastness of existence you had spoken of. The anger that had once seemed so consuming in his presence now appeared subdued, replaced by a contemplative silence.

“I see.” he said finally, his tone carrying a trace of grudging respect. “Your words are… unusual.”

You smiled faintly, a tired but genuine expression. “Perhaps. But sometimes, facing the truth can be a way to find peace, my lord.”

Sukuna stood there for a while longer, his presence a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the garden’s tranquility. Finally, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave, his demeanor less harsh than before. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded as he walked away, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

As you sat there, watching the birds and the shifting clouds, you felt a small measure of contentment. Sukuna’s visit had brought a moment of introspection, a reminder of the fragile balance between life and death. Even in your suffering, you found a semblance of peace, understanding that acceptance was not about surrendering to fate but about finding a way to live with it, even as the end loomed ever closer.

And just like that, the day you had dreaded finally arrived. And truly, you were left feeling an unbearable weakness that signaled the end was near. The once-familiar confines of your quarters now seemed like a distant world, and the pain of your illness was a constant, gnawing presence. Each breath was a struggle, each moment of consciousness a battle against the encroaching darkness.

To your surprise, your lord Sukuna appeared by your side as you lay on your bed, his imposing figure contrasting sharply with the fragility of your own condition. He had not been a part of your daily existence in the past weeks, his visits sporadic and his presence usually marked by anger and frustration. But now, he was here, seated beside you in a rare display of stillness.

You looked at him through the haze of pain and weakness, your voice a mere whisper. “My lord, it seems this is my time to part from you.”

Sukuna’s eyes were steady, his gaze betraying an emotion you could not fully decipher. “I know, little one.” he replied simply, his voice holding a note of finality.

A pained laugh escaped your lips, the sound mingling with a shuddering breath. “I only wish… I could avoid being reborn into such misery again. To be the other woman, to be nothing to you.”

Sukuna’s silence stretched between you, a weighty pause that seemed to deepen the divide between you. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “You were something.”

You shook your head, the effort to move even slightly causing a fresh wave of agony. “You lie easily, as you breathe, my lord.” you said with a faint, sorrowful smile.

The silence that followed was heavy and palpable, filled with the unspoken complexities of your relationship. As you lay there, the end drawing closer with each passing moment, you found a strange clarity in the finality of your situation.

“I love you, my lord.” you said softly, the words carrying a weight that transcended the physical pain. “As sad as it is, I do. But I have no intention of having it returned. I hope that, in the next life, I never meet you again.”

Sukuna’s expression remained impassive, but there was a softness in his gaze that belied his usual stoic demeanor. As you took your final, labored breaths, his sigh was a mix of resignation and something deeper, something that spoke to the complexity of your intertwined fates.

“I hope so too, little one.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare touch of vulnerability.

With those words hanging in the air, you felt a sense of release, the weight of your suffering beginning to lift. As your consciousness faded and the pain finally ebbed away, you left behind the world that had been both your prison and your refuge. Ryomen Sukuna looked at your lifeless body, pursing his lips into a flat line.

“Live on in a better life, little one.” He whispered, his fingers brushing against your hair. “May you be loved by someone who loves you. May we never meet again, my other woman."

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - request: angst 1/3 - mama pov

"It's going to be fine."

Simon's forehead touches yours, and you take the opportunity to breathe him in, fingers knotted in his sweatshirt. "I know."

"I know you're nervous, but you don't have to be." You sway together in the silence, his lips moving your temple. "It won't be too long, and when I get back, we'll start packing to move."

"I can pack when you're not here." You mumble, still clinging onto him. You've grown too dependent, too reliant. You should have been livid about the house, about how he was arranging things in secret, behind your back, but you couldn't find it in yourself to hold a grudge. How could you? After everything he's been through, his life compared to yours, how could take a sense of safety, security away from him?

Love is sacrifice, you think. You're not sure, but you're still learning.

And in this moment, these last minutes before he leaves, love feels like a death march.

"I don't want you pushing yourself. You're balancing work and the baby now, don't stress about packing. We'll take care of it together, when I'm home." A tear slips over your cheek, and he swipes it away.

"Will you have your phone?" You ask, hopefully.

"I will. Probably won't be able to turn it on as much as I did last time, but I'll see what I can do, okay?" The house smells like lavender, chamomile, candles and tea an effort to soothe your nerves, help Orion sleep.

It worked for the baby, but not so much for you.

"Hey, look at me." He tips your chin, delivers a slow, sweet kiss to your lips before pulling away. "It will go by really quick." You gulp.

"O-okay." There's something sad in the way he looks at you, a regretful sliver of doubt, filling you with guilt until it runs over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm not good at this, I just can't stop thinking about all the bad things, all the things that could go wrong." The lump in the back of your throat gives way to a sob, its weight choking through your lips.

"Shhh." Simon cradles the back of your head tucks you into his chest, arms wrapped so tight across your shoulders he blocks out the light. "You don't have to be good at this, mama. I'd be a little concerned if you were. I don't want you to get yourself worked up and worry, I want you to focus on taking care of yourself and Orion, okay? I'll be home before you know it, I swear."

"Promise?" The plea is high pitched, weak. A trembling ray of hope against the anxiety and fear churning in your heart. He kisses your forehead.

"I promise."



Your phone rings for the first time three weeks later.

You roll off the bed in an attempt to reach it, still fumbling with the lockscreen when you land on your ass. "Hello?"

"Hey, mama."

"Simon oh my god." Tears spring freely at the sound of his voice. "I'm so happy you called."

"'m sorry, wish I could've called sooner, but-"

"No, no that's okay. I... I understand. Are you... okay?"

"I'm okay, we've been busy, but we're safe." He's nearly whispering, vow low but still soothing, and you close your eyes.

"We miss you."

"I miss you too. Both of you. Little man looks like he's grown two sizes since I left." He sounds sad, and your stomach pitches.

"I know, but you'll be home soon right? You won't be missing too much." There's a long, regretful sigh on the other end, and the two of you lapse into silence until he clears his throat.

"You doin' okay?"

"Yeah, we're okay. I'm okay. Cami has been over a few times, and we've been going to the park and stuff. Gettin' out of the flat."

"Good, that's good." He takes a deep breath. "Listen, sweetheart. We're goin' be a bit longer than expected."

"How long?"

"'m not sure." You try to breathe, sucking in a deep breath, but the air feels sparse now.

“Okay, well. Okay.”

“I’m sorry mama.” Your lower lip quivers.

“It’s okay. I uh… I understand.” You try to endorse your voice with confident, but it only wavers.

“Don’t cry.” He says softly. “Please don’t cry, I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine. It’s okay. Just… be safe okay? Come home in one piece.” He sighs.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[andypantsx3]

𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 : 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑖 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 : 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑣

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: In order to placate your anxious mother, you agree to return to your hometown to participate in a mating run—knowing full well that betas rarely get chased, never mind betas nearly old enough to age out of the practice. You’ve decided to treat it like a vacation, a chance to visit with your childhood friends, the mating run itself a nice relaxing hike.All in all it’s a solid plan—until alpha Todoroki Shouto, your best friend's little brother,steps in and blows it all to pieces. 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡: omegaverse, no quirks au, alpha!shouto, beta!reader, mating rituals, age gap, best friend’s little brother, older reader, afab reader, some class differences, aged up characters, semi-public sex, slight small town romance vibes, background implied dabihawks for some reason, smut, knotting, 18+; mdni! 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ: 7.6k | chapter 4 of 4

Then

“Shouto duty,” was the first thing Touya grumbled as he emerged from his house.

A little shadow with red and white hair peered out from behind him, big eyes staring up at you. Shouto was dressed in a periwinkle t-shirt and khaki shorts in the late spring heat, and he was nearly vibrating with excitement. You reached out reflexively to pat that fluff of hair, and Shouto seemed to lean into your touch like a cat, probably starved of affection from his fussy older brother.

“My lucky day,” you said, grinning at the way it made Touya roll his eyes.

Shouto nearly launched himself off the steps, looking quietly thrilled to be tagging along. He shoved himself in between you and Touya as you walked, as if unable to bear Touya’s proximity to you, making Touya bark out an annoyed, “Oi, watch it.”

Shouto ignored him, turning to you. “Y/N, I have something to tell you.”

You looked down at him curiously. “What?”

“I lost a tooth,” he said, staring up at you seriously. You laughed, knowing most kids would have smiled to show off their tooth gap, but Shouto had always been a little bit more withdrawn, though he was fairly open around you.

“When?” you asked, ignoring Touya’s scoff. “Did the tooth fairy come?”

Shouto nodded. “Last night. I am adding the money to my inheritance for you.”

That made you laugh again, and you bumped his shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Shouto. I think you should buy yourself something with it though. Especially in this weather—it’s good popsicle weather.”

Shouto looked like he was seriously considering this. “Do you like popsicles?”

You nodded. “Definitely.”

He seemed to pocket that information, and you hid a fond smile. That kid was too sweet for his own good, when it came to you. You wondered when his little case of older-brother’s-friend worship would end. You hoped not for another few years, at least.

“Fucking finally,” Touya said when he caught sight of Rumi and Keigo at the end of his neighborhood, his booted steps growing faster, as if eager to get away from the two of you.

You didn’t mind—Shouto was easy company.

“Oi!” Keigo called out to you, waving a skinny arm. You accompanied Shouto over, watching with a little bit of self-satisfaction when Shouto ducked a hair ruffle from Rumi, the look on his face almost reminiscent of Touya.

You were still his favorite, it seemed.

The usual round of arguments commenced about what to play now that all of you were united, Touya snottily vetoing everyone’s suggestions—except, notably, Keigo’s. Eventually you settled on hide and seek, something Shouto could participate in too, since it didn’t involve convoluted rules, and established a set distance you could go.

Finally Shouto was dubbed the first seeker, and the rest of you took off into the surrounding neighborhood.

You immediately beelined for the sprawling oak at the edge of the neighborhood, its thick, leafy branches the perfect place to conceal yourself. Touya, Keigo, and Rumi had long caught on to the fact that you were almost always to be found up a tree, but Shouto hadn’t played this game with you before.

Thirty seconds and one bark-scraped palm later had you settled in your hiding place, just as you caught Shouto’s shout from afar, “Ready or not, here I come!”

You quieted your breath, listening for the sound of his approach. This late in spring, the cicadas were already roaring. The leaves rustled around you in the breeze and you could hear some other band of kids shrieking and laughing, far in the distance.

It was nearing ten minutes on by the time you heard the thump of Shouto’s sneakers approaching, and you could just make out that distinct mop of bright hair through the branches. He poked around behind bushes, peering at eye level, but didn’t seem to think to look up for you. You watched him hunt through the surrounding area, then dash off when you heard a distinctly Keigo squawk not too far away.

You were nearly asleep on your tree branch when you heard his return, and you sat up quietly to watch him again. You were impressed that he seemed to know you were somewhere nearby.

As you watched him rifle around, you wondered if you should drop a hint, just because he’d been so sweet to you earlier. He’d been so adorable insisting he’d save you his tooth money.

You deliberately rustled a branch, leaning on it so it made a loud creak.

Immediately, Shouto’s head snapped up. Two mismatched eyes narrowed in on you, and his face seemed to brighten when he saw you. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth.

“Caught you,” he called up to you.

You stuck a leg down tauntingly. “Not yet.”

Something passed over Shouto’s face, and his gaze seemed to sharpen. “I have, too.” You could almost hear a foot stamp in his voice.

You grinned. “Not until I get down.”

A determined look settled across Shouto’s features, and he prowled over to the tree. You watched him jump for a lower branch, catching it securely before hefting himself up. His arms were skinny, but his movements were sure, intent. In no time at all you were helping lever him onto your own branch, pulling him up alongside you.

“I caught you,” Shouto repeated, settling a proprietary hand on your arm. His hand was warm, and his fingers caught your wrist tightly.

You smiled. “I let you catch me by making all that noise, you mean.”

A tiny frown pulled at Shouto’s mouth. “I knew you were around here,” he said, something almost like a pout in his voice.

You laughed. “I did notice you came back. Those are some good tracking skills—although don’t forget to look up. I’m usually always up a tree, when it comes to hide and seek, and Touya and the others I think have caught on too. They’re probably up their own trees somewhere.”

“I do not care about finding them,” Shouto said. His straightforward tone startled a laugh out of you.

You settled back against the branch, Shouto still gripping your arm firmly. “Should we let them wait, then?” you asked, grinning. “I bet Rumi will come out on her own pretty soon, she’s so impatient.”

Shouto nodded. “I will stay here with you.”

The sincerity of the statement warmed you, the way Shouto’s serious little proclamations always did. He was too sweet for this earth. “Then shall we discuss which popsicle you’re going to get later? I have some recommendations.”

Shouto nodded seriously, and you launched into your nonsense, pleased. The leaves rustled around you, the breeze cool and pleasant against your skin. It felt like time stretched out around you, thick like taffy, slow and lazy and easy in the late spring breeze.

You thought absently that wished you could have a million more moments, Shouto the easiest company beside you, just like this.

Now

The morning of the run dawned warm and dry, sunny with a light breeze.

It was perfect hiking weather, and that was the only thing that kept you in good spirits. You tried not to think about Shouto—about how he was going after someone today, how you’d possibly seen him for the last time before he did. He’d said he’d find your tree, but there was really no guarantee his omega was going to run in the same direction as you.

You ate breakfast on the couch with your mother, listening to her excitedly chatter about your prospects today. You hammed it up a little bit, pretending you had any interest in being chased by an alpha, so that you could milk it later and avoid promises to commit to next year’s run. You hoped it would be enough of a deterrent for her—every year you grew older without a mate, she seemed more desperate to find you one.

You repacked your bags, readying yourself to board your train back to the city tomorrow, feeling mournful. Then you spent the rest of the morning finishing up the small things your mother had let go while you were gone, YouTubing your way through a door knob repair, and some weather stripping replacements. You lifted her air-conditioning into the window, swearing and sweating the whole time and wishing you had even a fraction of Shouto’s easy alpha strength.

After everything was finished, you packed up for the run, placing all your snacks and the sandwich Shouto had helped assemble into a small backpack, stuffing in a water and a book after. Then you scrounged around in your clean laundry for some hiking clothes, settling on leggings and a tee-shirt, no reason to try to impress anyone.

It was late morning by the time you ducked out of your house and started the trek to the preserve on the edge of town. Throngs of people were already gathered when you got there, alphas and omegas alike crowding the entrance. An overwhelming mixture of scents washed over you, the sweetness and florals of the omegas, the tang and spice of the alphas, even the small muted underwash of a few betas.

The overstimulation was nostalgic, and brought to mind your first few runs—the anticipatory hope you felt, the determination not to get caught for some one-time mating with an alpha who wouldn’t prove to be your life mate. It had been years, and you knew the outcome already this time, but some small thrill of anticipation thrummed in your veins regardless.

You kept to the edge of the crowd, sprawling out on the grass until the organizers called for the omegas and running betas to come forward to their starting mark. The alphas and remaining betas would be called to the mark a half hour later, to follow their intended targets into the preserve.

Then the whistle was being blown, and the crowd of omegas around you surged into the forest.

The first hundred meters of the preserve were a tangle of wild trees and overgrowth—omegas typically stayed on the trails until the forest opened up, several paths intersecting and leading away into hills and towards a pond, with the last one stretching towards the coast. This was your usual route and you followed it until the trees thinned out, then stepped off the path to tromp through the woods in the direction of the coastline.

You kept a brisk pace, wanting to get as far in as you could before the alphas were let in. Eventually the spruces and firs gave way to mostly coastal scrub pines amid tall grass, and you could smell the ocean through the trees, hear the crash of the waves against the rocky outcroppings.

You stepped out of the woods along a small coastal path that stretched for miles, and followed it a few minutes more until it flattened out. There was a small meadow laid into the coastline, spanning several square meters of pale seagrass and flowering bushes, shaded by an enormous willow tree—your target.

The meadow had a beautiful view of the shining blue waves through the barren scrub trees, but more importantly it was out of the way, little known to people who did not frequent the coastline trails. The willow was the perfect cover, its trailing fingers and dense greenery more than enough to hide one disinterested beta.

You ducked through the leaves, latching onto one of the lower branches and heaving yourself up. It had been years since you’d climbed anything—the city not exactly chalk-full of great climbing trees—but you were pleased to find it just as satisfying. You scrambled up into the canopy, testing your weight against your designated branch, finding it still held you easily.

Perfect.

You immediately rewarded yourself with a granola bar, settling onto your branch and chewing contentedly, pleased with the temperature. The sun was hot, but in the shade of the leaves and the salty breeze drifting in off the sea, it was perfectly comfortable.

You’d just gotten out your book to read, flipping to the spot you’d last left off at, when the chirp of nearby birds stopped. The meadow seemed to grow quiet around you.

You sat up, alert, at the soft tread of a bootfall close by. Your breath froze in your lungs. An omega, looking for a place to hide? Or some alpha?

Except then a long-fingered hand parted the hanging tendrils of the willow, and a familiar head of scarlet and white hair was ducking inside the canopy.

Embarrassingly, your heart swelled. Shouto had made time to stop in before finding his omega.

“Shouto!” you shouted down, pleased.

Shouto’s face tipped up to you, a tiny smile on his mouth. He looked especially good today, you thought, a navy tee shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, baring the flesh of his biceps, a flush on his cheeks from the warm spring sun. He looked a little taken apart, windswept like he’d run here, and you furiously stamped down on the flash of heat in your tummy.

Nope. No.

“Y/N,” Shouto intoned quietly, his eyes glittering up at you. “Caught you.”

You were momentarily taken aback by the sound of something unfamiliar in his tone, some strange intensity in his voice and expression. It sounded almost like it meant something to find you here, something more than a momentary pitstop on his way to his omega—but of course that was ridiculous.

You waved down at him, smiling and sticking a leg down tauntingly like when you were kids. “Not yet.”

Shouto’s eyes narrowed, a flash of something predatory tinging his handsome features.

In the blink of an eye, he crossed to the tree, dense muscle coiling and pulling beneath his tee shirt as he pulled himself up. This time he needed none of your help, moving with a panther-like grace. He pulled himself onto the branch immediately below yours, close enough that it put him at eye level with the bottom of your chin.

Then he reached out and snared your ankle in one large, warm hand, a smug sort of glint in his eye. The follow up caught you went unspoken.

Another laugh bubbled up out of you. “Alright alright, this time you got me,” you agreed, flexing your ankle in his hold.

Shouto’s mouth turned up, clearly pleased, but he did not let go. A thumb stroked softly along the hollow beneath your ankle bone. A surprised shiver caught you, sliding up your spine.

“You, um, got here so quick,” you said, trying to think past the sudden fuzz of static in your brain. You hoped your voice sounded impressed and not embarrassingly breathy. “Did you at least note which way your life mate went?”

Shouto’s head tilted, his bangs falling into his eyes as his thumb petted across your skin again. “I did.”

You nodded approvingly, tensing against another shudder. “Did they come out this way? You’re probably the first alpha to make it out here but you won’t want to waste too much time.”

Shouto’s mouth twitched, those heterochromatic eyes trailing down your face. “No time spent with you is a waste.”

That made your face warm. You tried to prod him with your foot, but Shouto’s grip was firm. “You’re going to want to save the charm for your life mate, mister.”

“I am,” he said simply, tone sincere.

You felt your brow furrow—now what was that supposed to mean?—when suddenly Shouto leaned forward, abandoning his grip on your ankle. His hands found the branch at either side of your hip, trapping you inside his reach. You stared down at him, stunned with his sudden proximity.

You felt suddenly a little caged in, your breath pulling up short. What was he—?

“Will you come down to me?” Shouto asked, eyes intent on yours.

The ask felt significant, though you had no idea how. And he was so close, so focused on you.

But you had no clue exactly what he would need you to come down for. Maybe he wanted to split lunch or something? You had your sandwich in your bag, and it would be easier on the ground, you supposed.

Although Shouto probably shouldn’t go running around on too full a stomach, especially if he—with his omega, after—if they…

You found you couldn’t think it, your mind shying away like you’d prodded a nerve.

Really, Shouto should be going soon, before any ranging alphas made it this far out and sniped his life mate before he got to them.

With that thought, however, some selfish thing recoiled inside of you. You desperately craved just a few more minutes with him—this achingly familiar boy, this mind-numbingly beautiful man—before he wasn’t really yours to think of anymore. These were the last few moments you’d get to spend with him before everything changed. It took less than a second to make up your mind.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’ll come down.”

You shifted, gathering your backpack and maneuvering off your branch carefully. Shouto gave you just enough space to get down, a hand finding your waist as you steadied yourself. He shadowed you down, close at your back to make sure you didn’t slip.

He was acting the consummate gentleman—but there was a strange tension about him, something about the way he moved and the intensity with which he was trailing you. There was something expectant about it, something almost impatient.

Maybe he needed you to hurry up so he could get going. That was probably it.

You turned to your backpack as soon as he guided you safely to the ground. You’d barely gotten it unzipped, however, when Shouto suddenly crowded into your space, startling you.

You stumbled a reflexive step back, breath whooshing out of you when your back connected with the trunk of the willow. Shouto followed, still watching you with that unnerving intensity.

His fingers dipped under your chin, softly turning your face up to his. His gaze was serious—more solemn than you had ever seen him. You went still in his grasp, heartbeat rabbiting in your chest.

What was with him today?

“Shouto,” you said slowly. “Are you… alright?”

Shouto leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. His slow exhale ghosted over your mouth, thumb stroking across your jaw. It sent a swarm of shudders down your spine, and you suddenly weren’t breathing at all.

“I have dreamed of this moment a thousand times,” Shouto said, his tone reverent. It was almost a whisper.

His tone implied there was something incredibly significant about this moment, but you could not for the life of you think of what. Especially not with his face so close, clouding up your thoughts.

You felt your brow furrow against his, and you opened your mouth to ask him what on earth he could be talking about.

Except before you could, Shouto’s hands took either side of your face. And then he bent his head—and pressed his mouth to yours.

All higher thought immediately evacuated your brain, leaving only a sudden zing of panic and the horrible, wonderful excitement of Shouto’s mouth on yours, of Shouto’s strong body so close to yours. Rough bark scraped against your back as Shouto’s front slotted warm and firm against your chest, and the feeling of all that strength pressed so tightly to you made you dizzy.

“Sho–-? Whuh—?” you said, slightly muffled into his mouth.

But Shouto only took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, soft and wet and so unbelievably hot your brain short circuited. Every single nerve ending in your body lit up as you realized Todoroki Shouto had his tongue in your mouth, and that he was kissing you so thoroughly and meticulously it felt as though this was the last kiss he’d ever be allowed. You heard yourself let out a gasp that turned into an embarrassing moan as he pressed harder against you, pinning you between himself and the tree.

Your mind felt like it was melting, Shouto’s mouth doing terrible things to your thoughts’ coherence. Your hands went to his shoulders, and you found yourself opening up to him, every inch of your skin hot. Every flick of his tongue, every brush of his lips felt better than you could have ever imagined, and you were helpless to do anything but let him have you.

Your thoughts were a puddle when Shouto finally let your mouth free. All you could do was stare up at him, shocked.

“Y/N,” Shouto said, his eyes searching your face. “You came down for me.”

His handsome face wore an expression you hadn’t ever seen before as he regarded you, something almost—possessive? His hands had slid to your waist, his touch hot through the material of your shirt.

Your brain swam. Words, what were words? “I—? Uh, yes—?”

Shouto seemed to understand you weren’t getting his point. “‘If I’m not an alpha, and I have to hide somewhere, I’m going to find the best tree in the preserve and go up it and not come down until I find my life mate,’” he said.

It sounded like a quote, and it took you an embarrassingly long moment to realize it was something you had said, years and years and years ago, when you were both kids.

Was he saying—? But that was absurd. No, there was no way. You hadn’t—he wasn’t—

“But you’re Shouto,” you groped around your thoughts for logic and reasoning. “You’re Shouto.”

Shouto watched you patiently, a white eyebrow raising slightly.

“You can’t mean—?” you sputtered. “No. You’re Touya’s baby brother. I’m too old for you. The first time I held you, you were a baby.”

Shouto pressed impossibly closer to you, a long-fingered hand winding its way into yours. “I am not a child, Y/N. And you are not that much older than I.”

You struggled to think through the feeling of his body pressed to yours. You knew it. You knew he wasn’t a child. But all the same, you’d spent long enough telling yourself he’d been meant for someone else. Long enough convinced that you were too old for him.

Long enough that you were absolutely certain this had to be a mistake.

“You’re off limits,” you told him, trying to press him back. Shouto did not budge, however, as solid as stone under your hand.

“You are my life mate,” he said. He raised your joined hands to his mouth, kissing over your knuckles. An electric jolt went through you at the feeling of that mouth on you again, firm and warm. “I have known my whole life. I am off limits to all but you.”

A storm of emotion churned in your gut, everything from guilt to disbelief to pleasure to relief. To hear it said so plainly, after all this time—you are my life mate—by a man who was already so beloved to you. By a boy you’d loved as a friend, a man who you wanted to love as more.

But you couldn’t—he had to deserve better.

“I won’t take advantage of you,” you insisted.

A small smile pulled at Shouto’s mouth. “I am not a child. And I am an alpha besides. Your alpha.”

You fought down a furious flush.

“But Shouto there’s so many things–!” you insisted. Beyond being older than him, beyond being a staple in his life since he was young. You were quickly realizing so many of the promises he’d made when he was younger, he actually meant.

“Your inheritance—I never meant to accept that from you for real. And your family, they would not like that I—”

The rest of your words were muffled in Shouto’s mouth, as he bent his head and kissed you again. A flick of his tongue turned even that into a muffled squeak instead. Why was he so good at this?

“Much of my family understands what it means to pursue something singularly,” Shouto said against your lips. “What it means to give everything you have in service of pursuit.”

Your stomach flipped. The Todoroki single-mindedness that you had been convinced had skipped right over Shouto. Suddenly years of solemn watchfulness over you, years of following you like a shadow, years of sharing all his toys and his thoughts and promising to take care of you—it all made a terrible, perfect sort of sense.

Single-mindedness. But not as destruction, as Enji’s and Touya’s had been. As devotion—as thoughtfulness, something so uniquely Shouto you wanted to cry.

God how had you missed this?

You rallied yourself for one last defense.

“Shouto. At the very least you need to consider if you’re making a mistake. Alpha-beta couplings are nontraditional—maybe your senses are off here. Maybe because I’m a beta and I was around when your brain was still forming and you liked me then it feels like there’s something but—”

Shouto’s grip on you flexed, and suddenly his determined expression flickered, a crease forming between those perfect brows.

“Do you see me as a child still?” he asked.

You shook your head. Not since you’d seen him prowl across the Todoroki kitchen, miles of sleek muscle flexing, that perfect campfire scent fogging your brain, tall and gorgeous and unmistakably alpha. And especially not since you’d come to understand the expanse of his life—the home he’d made, the job he had, the goals he’d taken.

“Then do you… not want me?” he asked.

Your heart immediately sank, aching with the soft flicker of hurt that crept across his features.

Your hands had shot out to hold his face before you knew what you were doing.

“Shouto, of course I want you,” you found yourself saying. “Who wouldn’t want you? You are perfect. You are so kind and have always been so good. You are sweet and funny and so beautiful it hurts to look at. Of course I want you. But I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Then say yes,” Shouto insisted.

God you wanted to. You wanted to. You had been so jealous this whole week, you realized, of whoever his life mate was going to be.

The realization crashed into you like a wave, knocking you off balance. You wanted all of Shouto’s time, all of his attention, wanted to curl up in his apartment on that plush couch with him and all but bodily fuse to him, never to come apart again. You wanted to spend a million afternoons cooking in that kitchen, running lunches to him at the firehouse, kissing him, laughing with him, indulging in him—in how kind and sweet and good he’d always been.

Your face must have said it all, because Shouto was crowding back into you.

“I am going to be so good to you, Y/N,” he promised, his mouth drawing closer.

You shivered. Some part of you still felt like you needed to resist him, needed to make him see. But the other part of you, the largest part, wanted to melt in his embrace. Wanted to let him kiss you and kiss him back, wanted to thread your fingers in that fluff of hair and sink into the relief of his companionship.

Shouto hammered the final nail into your coffin with the unerring precision of a boy who’d known you for twenty years.

“Trust me to take good care of you,” he said, his voice dipping to a low whisper.

And that was it—the refrain from all those years ago, before you’d ever understood what he was promising you. Even if you were uncertain about everything else, you would always be certain about Shouto’s care. Shouto’s inherent goodness.

Surrendering, you let yourself fall.

“I do,” you told him. “I trust you. I—always will.”

Then you closed your eyes and let him kiss you.

You could feel Shouto’s soft smile against your mouth, feel a renewed intensity in the way he poured himself into you with his next kiss. You almost sagged against him in sheer relief—the relief of knowing, against all odds, that your life mate had found you even across the years that had threatened to separate you.

Shouto kissed you with a startling vigor, leaving you breathless against the willow when he moved down to your neck, pulling your tee shirt wide to suck several very insistent markings into the hollow of your throat.

You leaned into the rough bark as he mapped his way lower, and lower, only startling when he dropped to his knees before you, pressing his face into the crease of your hip.

Your heart shot into your mouth, a shock of heat licking up your spine. “Shouto!” you stammered.

Shouto only uttered your name into the fabric of your leggings, the material thin enough that you could feel the heat of his exhalation on your skin. One of his hands came up to take your calf, the other creeping up into the band of your leggings, carefully pulling it down.

You watched him as he did, stomach fluttering.

He gently helped you step out of your leggings and panties, leaving you bare and vulnerable to him. You would have been more embarrassed if it wasn’t for the way his eyelashes fluttered appreciatively, and the immediate way he ducked his head to press his mouth right to your core.

You muffled a moan into your palm, thunking your head against the tree trunk.

You could feel Shouto’s slow smile as he hefted your thigh over his shoulder, hands grasping your waist. “Mine,” you heard him utter, soft and low, before licking right over you, possessive and deliberate. It made every inch of your skin flush hot, every nerve ending come to life under his mouth.

You could still hardly believe what was happening, even as you muffled more sounds into your palm as Shouto worked you, with the attentive diligence he’d always done everything when it came to you. You could feel those mismatched eyes on you, cataloging your every reaction to what he did.

He learned all too quickly exactly what you liked, and you were a writhing mess within minutes. Shouto pinned you to the tree with an iron arm across your stomach as you arched and screamed, not letting up until you’d come against his mouth, chanting his name like an oath.

He looked very pleased with himself when you were done, his hair ruffled from your hand, face flushed.

He looked too good to be real.

“I want—Shouto, please—” you said, nearly incoherent but apparently utterly shameless now that he’d had you.

Shouto got to his feet to kiss you again and you flushed when you could taste yourself on his mouth. “Come home with me,” he murmured, tone low.

“You don’t want—?” you said.

Shouto shook his head. “Not here. I’ve imagined this a thousand times, how I wanted it to happen. I’ve thought about what you deserve. I’ve thought about how I will not want to separate, after, not even to take you back home. Come home with me first.”

Fire spread across your cheeks at the idea of Shouto imagining it with you, over and over again. The way he said home, like it was both of yours.

“Okay. Okay yes,” you said, breathless.

Shouto helped you back into your leggings and gathered up your abandoned pack, which you’d apparently dropped and forgotten entirely the moment he’d kissed you. He held your hand in his the whole way back through the woods, occasionally cocking his head or scenting the air, and then taking a long detour around some place, like he didn’t want to share your presence with whoever else was in the woods.

The walk was long, but so easy in Shouto’s company, even with this new dimension of your relationship settling itself between you two. It was frighteningly easy, in fact, after everything.

You talked about everything and nothing, reliving the entire week together, Shouto sharing that he’d hoped you’d see him as a man, had taken the time right up until the run to try to be sure. Ears flaming, you’d shared that you’d been gone for him the moment you’d seen him in the doorway of the kitchen. Shouto’s smug look immediately mopped up any of the reflexive embarrassment you felt sharing that.

By the time you made it to Shouto’s you’d also managed to shoot a text off to your mother, and an emergency extension of your time off to your workplace.

Shouto was on you as soon as the door shut behind you, catching your noise of surprise in his mouth.

Your arms came around him, and he walked you back to his couch, following you down onto it and laying himself out over you. The weight of him made you shiver again, the heaviness of all that muscle anchoring you down.

Shouto kissed you absolutely boneless into the cushions of his couch, hands wandering everywhere, skimming under your shirt, calluses catching on the fabric of your leggings. Everywhere he touched felt like it was on fire, your nerves singing with pleasure. Shouto seemed to be trying to take his time with you, but you could sense something underneath that, his usual layers of patience eroded.

Feeling brave, you let your hands wander to the buttons of his pants, working them open. Shouto’s breath left him in a hiss as you wrapped your hand around him, feeling him hard and hot and velvet smooth in your palm.

“Ah… fffuck, love,” he muttered into your neck. He chased it with the soft scrape of his teeth, groaning when it made your grip tighten on him reflexively.

His hips flexed, sliding him through your fingers, flush and full. Butterflies fluttered to life in your stomach, and a hot streak of arousal licked up your spine. Your own hips shifted, lifting up into him, and you realized with a sudden desperation that you wanted him inside you, didn’t want to wait another second.

“Shouto please, please, please,” you found yourself babbling, stroking firmly down the shaft of him.

Shouto’s eyes were dark when they found yours again. “Anything, I would give you anything,” he said, his voice tight.

“I want you inside of me, please,” you said, your face burning with the admission.

The sheer elation flashing across his handsome face quelled any more embarrassment. In what felt like barely a breath, Shouto had you bare to him once more, flinging your leggings and shirt somewhere towards his kitchen. He covered you again, fitting himself between your thighs with another appreciative groan before pressing in.

You were so wild with want that he slid home easily, despite his impressive size. His skin burned hot against yours, and he felt so perfectly right over you, inside of you, that you had to fight down something like a sob.

Shouto looked equally as overwhelmed, staring at your face rapturously. “I have loved you my whole life,” he said, his tone wondering. “You are finally mine.”

Your entire body went hot with his declaration. You had not realized until today that you loved him too. But now that you did, it felt like everything made sense, that all was finally right.

You managed to gasp out as much between Shouto’s thrusts, as his hips bucked into yours, slowly at first, and then faster, more sure. He kissed you everywhere—your face, your neck, your shoulders, layering in soft bites like he could not help himself.

“Say it,” he groaned, mouthing at the underside of your jaw. “Please say it.”

“I love you,” you said. A yelp escaped you when Shouto suddenly seized you around the waist, rolling you on top of him and holding you to him as he levered the two of you upright. The position in his lap only made him sink deeper inside of you, and you hissed with the feeling, your fingernails digging into his back.

“Ah, fuck—Shouto!” you cried.

Shouto’s hands on your waist guided you with an easy strength—your head spun with the reminder of his power, the reminder that you had an alpha—your alpha—inside of you.

“Going to take good care of you,” he panted into your hair, pausing to kiss the shell of your ear even as the snap of his hips undid you. “Going to take such good care of you.”

Your fingers flexed on him, and you could feel your toes curl. You did not know what to do with all of the emotion welling up inside you, the well of your pleasure almost overflowing. He ground up into you, making your eyes nearly roll back in your head, and you fought down a scream when the pad of his thumb pressed to your clit, heightening every sensation.

“Oh Shouto, please—” was all you could manage.

Shouto looked enraptured, drinking in every change in your expression. As you squirmed and writhed under his touch, you felt him start to swell inside of you.

Both apprehension and arousal swirled inside of you, a beta’s body a little less adapted to knotting than an omega’s. But the firm circle Shouto’s thumb was drawing on your clit, and the low murmur of his voice in your ear, began to drown out any other thought.

“I have you, love,” Shouto said. His mouth dragged across your throat, leaving a sucking bruise along the column. Your nails scrabbled at his back as he swelled even further inside of you, starting to catch on your walls and make it harder to press back down on him.

“I have you,” Shouto said again, his voice rough with pleasure. The reassurance that he did, and the knowledge that he was barely managing his own pleasure struck you like a bolt of lightning. Something inside you unraveled and came loose, and you muffled a cry into Shouto’s broad shoulder as your orgasm slammed into you like a tidal wave.

A low swear escaped Shouto, and his knot swelled even further. His hands suddenly seized tight on either side of your waist, holding you down on him as he thrust up into you. You felt a sort of pressure you’d never anticipated, so overwhelming it was nearly painful—but then Shouto’s knot slid into you.

Shouto groaned into your neck, biting down hard. You writhed over him, your pleasure wringing you out until finally you slumped against him, shivering. Shouto eased back, propping himself up on the arm of the couch, you stuck to his chest like a sweat-slicked barnacle.

“That was—so much more intense than I ever imagined,” you said, when you’d recovered your faculty for human language.

You could feel the curve of Shouto’s smile against your neck. “For I, as well,” he said. “Though I had imagined it a great many times—we still have many other fantasies I intend to live out.”

You were embarrassed to feel yourself tighten around him. Shouto hissed, leaning back to pin you with a look—then looked more smug than you’d ever seen him.

“Like that, do you, love?” he asked.

The pet name made your ears heat, and you couldn’t help but pinch him. “You used to be so sweet, when did you get this fresh?” you demanded.

“Fresh is the least of what I intend to get with you,” Shouto informed you seriously. “I take my duties as a child bride very seriously.”

Your jaw dropped open, and you pressed back from him, gasping when it shifted him inside you. “You—! You heard—?”

Shouto’s smile was far too handsome and self-satisfied to be allowed. “That is when I knew I stood a chance.”

Your face burned. You couldn’t believe him. “You’re a menace.”

Shouto leaned into a press a kiss over where he’d sunk his teeth into you, butterfly-light. The touch of his mouth was warm and his campfire scent washed over you, fuzzing your thoughts. His mouth moved up to catch yours, and you let him kiss you until you realized you’d started to squirm in his lap again.

Several minutes later he had you coming on his knot again, locked against him and muffling the sounds of your pleasure into his neck.

He looked, if possible, even more satisfied, and you lifted a hand to thread through the strands of his hair, silky and damp.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you said, several orgasms having made you loose-tongued. You rubbed a strand of his hair between the pads of your fingers.

Shouto turned his head to drop a kiss to the base of your palm. “We have time enough to make you believe it, love.”

Another butterfly took wing in your stomach at the pet name. You wondered if you’d ever get used to hearing him say it.

“I’ll have to figure out my work—I don’t know if they’d let me work remotely all the way from here?” you said, thoughts suddenly shifting. You sort of doubted your company would make the exception for you, and a pang shot through your heart at the idea that you might have to leave Shouto to work in the city on weekdays. At least until you found another job, which might take months to arrange.

You did not want to be separated from him, now that you’d let yourself have him.

A hand caught your chin, thumb smoothing along your jaw. “I do not think you will have enough time,” Shouto said, a slim brow raising slightly. “What with the bookstore opening.”

You stared at him, wondering if you’d just had some sort of auditory hallucination.

“The—what?” you asked.

“The bookstore opening,” Shouto said. His mouth made the shape of the words exactly, and so it could not be that you’d hallucinated. But—

“What bookstore?” you asked.

Shouto’s mouth pressed into a deliberately flat line like he was trying not to smile.

“Yours. Downstairs,” he clarified—which did not clarify at all.

Your mouth dropped open against his fingers, your eyebrows shooting for the moon. “My—? Downstairs—?”

Your mind scanned back over the events of the last twenty-four hours, the first time you’d caught sight of the shop downstairs again as you’d followed Shouto home. The way it seemed so well-maintained, the windows glinting crystal-clear in the soft evening light. Your eyes reflexively dipped to the blonde wood of Shouto’s floor, the very same that had been installed across the floor of the shop, and an understanding suddenly dawned on you.

“I remember everything you have ever told me,” Shouto had said when you mentioned you’d been in love with the shop downstairs.

“No way,” was what left your mouth as you glanced back up at Shouto, disbelief rising.

Shouto was watching you carefully, his handsome face serious. “Your name is on the deed.”

A wellspring of emotion rose up inside you like a geyser, and you slammed yourself back into Shouto, throwing your arms around his shoulders. “Shouto—I. You didn’t need to—there’s no way I can accept—this is incredible, you’re incredible—but I’d be taking advantage—I can’t—”

A warm, long-fingered hand slid up your spine to rest on the back of your head, holding you against him. “I have always been yours,” Shouto murmured. “Everything I have has always been yours. If it is too much now, we can wait. But I, and everything I have, will always be yours.”

You blinked, embarrassed to realize you’d started dripping tears into Shouto’s shoulder. Shouto didn’t say anything, fingers petting through your hair as you tried to fight the emotion down.

“I promised to take good care of you, and I intend to,” he said. Pressed against him, you could feel the way the words rumbled in his chest.

You closed your eyes and shoved your face in his neck, letting him hold you to him. Everything about today felt too good to be true, but you knew with absolute certainty that Shouto had always been too good to be true, himself. And yet you’d told him you trusted it, when he said he’d take care of you.

And you did—you realized you would always trust it, trust the beautiful boy you’d known all your life.

“I’ll need to pay you back on your investment,” you said some minutes later, when you finally found your voice again. You leaned back to look Shouto in the face, trying not to be embarrassed about the drying tear tracks.

“There is no need,” he said, eyes finding yours.

You realized you were still in his lap, though his knot had softened, and you thought you might be able to separate now.

But now you had other plans—and an investment you wanted to enthusiastically return.

“I insist,” you said, leaning forward to mouth at Shouto’s neck.

You caught the flash of his eyes widening, and his head fell back as a sharp breath left him. “I—see,” he said, his voice growing rough as you sucked a careful mark into the skin of his shoulder.

You smiled against his skin. “You will,” you promised, feeling bolder than ever. It felt like you were daring to believe it, that you’d found your life mate, that you really got to have him, that he’d loved you as long as he’d lived.

You wanted to return all those years of love, now that you loved him too.

“I’m going to take good care of you too,” you informed Shouto, hips already flexing over his.

You felt him start to grow hard inside of you again, and he turned his head to catch your mouth. You could feel his smile against your lips.

“I trust it,” he said, his voice dropping low.

You smiled too, grinning against your lifemate’s mouth, intent on proving yourself worthy of that trust.

Though perhaps that could wait until you’d delivered some of the many fantasies it sounded like he’d stored up. There was no reason to rush.

You had the rest of your life together, after all.

[peppermint-toads]

you don’t like doctor’s offices. especially not now. you don’t like the hypnotic hum of the fluorescent lights, the cabinets that’ve been there since the late 80’s, the pamphlets sitting in an acrylic holder telling you that you have options.

options. not anymore. because you’re sitting on the examination table about 16 weeks pregnant, waiting for the doctor.

“the baby looks healthy,” the doctor tells you, barging into the room without a knock. “i’m prescribing zofran for the nausea. the nurse will see you out.”

thank fucking god. you wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of this place. the best part about these visits was the walk home. they are usually quite pleasant. being pregnant in the summertime has its downfalls, but feeling the breeze in your hair and through your thin dress is your saving grace.

it’s just another bonus that you pass your favorite ice cream shop on the way home. you think you’ll have an affogato today, decaf, of course.

it smells like heaven in the shop, that cool, sweet smell from the coolers. your favorite. this is your saving grace, this affogato will solidify the day as a good one, despite the lingering feeling of doctor on you.

ice cream in hand, it’s finally time to go home. the walk is clearing your head already. you eat a spoonful of vanilla and sigh. maybe you ought to stop by the pharmacy for those meds. on second thought, that can be tomorrow’s task. you’ll be alright.

actually, maybe not. because you see simon riley’s stupid, bulking form walking towards you about a block away. fuck. shit fuck. you should hide. duck into the closest shop before he can come after you. but it’s no hope, you’re looking up and you’ve already made direct eye contact. nausea meds sound so good right now.

may as well keep going forward. it’s not like he’ll notice, anyway. you’re barely showing, but your white dress isn’t doing you any favors right now.

you’ll give a polite smile, duck your head, and all will be well. no stopping, no small talk, no—

simon is physically cornering you to a complete halt in the middle of the sidewalk, and there is nothing you can do about it. maybe if you curl your back in a little bit, the bump won’t be as noticeable.

“what are you doing? stop that.”

he is so gracefully referring to your posture.

“i don’t have time for this simon. i’ve got things to do.”

you walk sideways around him, and he follows.

“where are you coming from?”

you can’t help it. “you lost the right to ask that question when you fell off the face of the planet.”

you hear him grunt behind you and smile. great, no snide comments yet.

“you look different.”

shit. he’s jogging, catching up to you and walking by your side now. the breeze is picking up and you shift uncomfortably. the fabric of your dress is clinging to your stomach.

simon looks down, his intent is to see what you’re eating, but he catches a glimpse of your swollen stomach and freezes. he’s nearly swallowed by all the foot traffic.

“simon?” you feel the loss of him by your side. he’s stood still, strangers bumping into him and jostling his shoulders.

great. now you’re backtracking, when really all you want is to be at home, in bed.

“simon, what’s your problem?”

“you’re pregnant.”

time stops for him. he’s the father, no way he couldn’t be. unless you were cheating on him, which he highly doubts considering your heart is the purest thing he’s ever encountered during his time on this earth.

you let out a long, long sigh. “yeah.”

then you’re swaying, trying to keep upright and simultaneously swallowing down vomit. simon watches as the life drains from your face a bit. his hands are gripping your shoulders to stabilize you. his touch feels nice, warm.

“i need to get home,” you tell him with a sad smile, pained to be leaving his soft touch behind yet again.

“i’ll walk you.”

you nod. you don’t have the heart to ask him to take his hand off your waist, feels too good. and he’s keeping the world right side up.

it’s only a short distance home, and soon he’s ushering you up the stairs to your flat. you don’t stop him from doing that, either.

you also don’t stop him from pulling your favorite blanket over you after helping you lie down on the couch.

you don’t even get the chance to tell him to leave because you’re just so tired, and his presence makes you feel so safe. you’re falling asleep and quickly. he lets you.

he sits and watches you sleep for the better part of an hour. when you stir, he’s there, staring.

he’s in your lounge chair, chin resting on his folded knuckles.

“i’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

you’re barely awake and what’s he saying? “huh?” you say stupidly, wiping your eyes of sleep.

“i said,” he swallows, “i’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

you’re sitting straight up now, definitely more awake now. “i couldn’t have told you. even if i wanted to. you disappeared, simon.

he did. but he doesn’t have the time to explain that now. so, he ignores you.

“how far along are you?”

you tell him. he stands from the chair, sitting down right next to you. he asks if he can feel your stomach. you guess so.

things are getting a little too serious for you now.

“right, well. i had a lovely nap, and i’m feeling much better. thank you for walking me home, but i need to stop by the pharmacy and—”

he interrupts you, tugging your wrist when you try to stand. “i’ll go for you. i’ll do it, please. i’ll do anything you ask me to.

you frown down at him. “simon, there’s no point to this. please just go. it’s just… too late.”

simon’s heart is breaking. he didn’t think it could break anymore than it already has in the last few months.

“let me stay.”

he begs. you think there are tears in his eyes, and if you let them fall you know there’ll be no going back. so you sit with him, you let him kiss you with his hand on your stomach. you let him lay you down on the beat up couch he was always pestering you to replace. you let him pull your dress over your head and kiss his way down your stomach. you let him sink into you slowly and pull your calves up to rest on his shoulders. you let him cum inside of you, again.

you even let him go to the pharmacy for you.

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒕����𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 day 31

tags : pwp (without plot), porn with feelings (kind of), cum play, creampie, cum eating, really really MESSY sex (like seriously. im WARNING you), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, slight marking, possessiveness (the needy kind), handjob, slight oral (f), praise, dirty talk, use of pet name "angel". this is generally soft but its uhhh… QUITE filthy whoopsie…, lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 1.8k

an : HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 🥰 i know i haven't been keeping to the masterlist entirely, but i did 100% want to be sure to finish this one req before xavier's birth month ends (and then save the others for my november backlog) 🤍 since the first two fics i wrote for him this month focused on his past selves, i figured it would be apt to end the month with this hehe 🥰🥰 enjooyy~

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

A night under the stars does nothing but solidify his love for you.

It was like stardust.

Speckles of light gathered around his figure, illuminated in such a glow that wouldn't dare allow you to look away. If a few moments ago he'd brought you out for a walk under the stars, that view of the sky was nothing compared to the view in front of you now.

His hair clung to his forehead, beads of sweat visible on his skin. The pace he took was nearly relentless—exertion was clear on his features, yet he was beautiful, nonetheless. You felt your breath catch in your throat when he leaned down. Within seconds, your body was littered with kisses, and marks, and everything possible to convey that you were his.

Like a little bunny marking his territory, you thought to yourself with a smile.

And you didn't mind, truly.

You didn't mind that he'd barely kept his hands off of you the moment you'd gotten back to his apartment, practically dragging you with him across the living room, stumbling throught he bedroom door. His hands were all over you—clothes discarded quickly in a trail, and he was desperate. For your touch, your kisses, your—anything. Everything.

It hadn't taken long for you to be pinned against the bed, his hips rolling sinfully against yours—

And he was beautiful.

You didn't mind at all.

"One more, angel… Can you take another one?"

His breath was ragged. There was a low tone to his voice when he spoke, and it brought a zing of pleasure up your body.

So polite.

Despite the way his tip plunged into your walls with wet, sloppy noises… Despite the way you could feel that sting of sensitivity, and despite the sticky mess that had leaked out of you from previous rounds.

If you looked down, you could see a milky white ring coating the length of his cock. The wet sheen was clearly visible as he disappeared again, and again, and again, and again, right into your cunt—it made you dizzy. The sheets of his bed had been absolutely ruined.

He'd filled you up so much, and he hadn't wanted to stop since he'd started—

Yet he was so polite.

And how could you dare to complain when he felt so good?

Lips parting with shallow breaths, you reached out to cradle his face.

Soft, gentle touches.

Soft, gentle… just like the way he looked at you.

You watched his hazy eyes lock with yours, and it was shocking. Even through all that lust, all that want, all that desire—his gaze held so much love for you, never absent in the way he looked at you, never failing to convey… you.

You, you, you.

"Mine."

A whisper croaked into a moan.

"Mine… mine…"

Every thrust drove your hips deeper into his mattress, punctuated by a quiet whisper of the same words.

A chant, almost.

And he nuzzled against your palm, puffs of breath spreading into your hand as he kissed your skin—almost urging you to allow him to take your fingers past his lips.

His.

You watched him do it.

With bated breath, your eyes latched onto the way his tongue ran over your digits, slowly but surely taking them into his mouth. He closed his eyes when he sucked, fucking you to the very same rhythm that his tongue enjoyed the taste of your skin.

His.

"More…" It was your turn to speak, this time.

Wonder laced with your voice as he smiled, pulling away from your fingers.

It was easy, how he directed your gaze downwards, trailing a hand over your skin and pressing over your stomach.

A groan fell from your lips, and he sighed.

"More? When you're so full of me..."

He pulled out so you could see him pulsing, the redness of his tip causing you to clench around physically nothing. It made your heart jump—but that wasn't just it. Your eyes trailed back up to meet his, and the mischief in them had you swallowing thickly.

Watch, came a silent command, giving your thigh a little squeeze.

And you felt it.

Your eyes widened as you watched him cum all over your entrance, the warm liquid pooling over your mound. He fell forward with a moan, pumping his hand, hips bucking forward to brush himself against your sex but never quite doing more than that—

It didn't stay that way for long.

He pushed it right back in with a lewd squelch, barely giving you space to react, and it was enough to pull another orgasm out of you, body arching off the bed with ecstasy.

He didn't stop.

He hadn't stopped, not since all of this had even began.

He'd gather as much of his cum as he could just to stuff it back in; "Mine," he whispered, another quiet chant with every shallow thrust that he could muster, words barely heard over the wet sounds that continued to resound in your head.

He nestled himself back deeply into your sensitive walls before he kissed you.

Lazy thrusts continued to his cum inside you, and he was so—so lost in the pleasure, so much that you could feel it. And the mere thought that he could do that—drown in how much you made him feel—it sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

He was being so dirty.

And yet, despite that, the way that he kissed you felt so tender.

Chants of "mine" turned to "i love you".

I love you because you're mine; you're mine because I love you.

You are mine to love.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, feeling him deep, his hips still moving languidly against you. "I love you more," you half-joked, a soft laugh falling from your lips.

He shook his head. "I love you most."

He would leave no room for argument.

His lips ghosted yours, teasing a kiss, before he rest his head beside you, panting against your cheek. "M'lucky to have you. Don't want anything else… Just want you… Just want to stay with you, just… just want us…"

"Mhm, and you have me."

Your hands reached up to run through the soft strands of his hair.

"I have you?"

"You have me," you nodded. And you smiled. "I'm lucky to have you, Xavie. I wouldn't trade this moment for anything else in the world, and who cares anymore about the stars in the sky when I have you, just as you have me…"

Softly, he laughed, nuzzling against you—

"The stars must be jealous knowing you're by my side."

You felt him twitch at your words, and you could have laughed—would have—if he hadn't pulled out of you then.

Anything you had to say for yourself quickly melted into a whine as he started dragging his cock up your body, curling himself into you as he rubbed it against your stomach. You could feel the stickiness of his cum follow through, and with slow, careful breaths, you moved a hand downwards to cage around his length, keeping him between your palm and your stomach, forming a sort of opening for him to rut into.

It didn't take long for his movements to become desperate.

His whole body shuddered on top of you, arms struggling to hold his weight so as not to crush you. His breath stuttered; barely-coherent babbling fell quietly from his lips, eyes rolling back into his head—

He looked so beautiful.

He groaned into the space above your head, fisting the sheets to stay steady, bips moving quicker and quicker and—

Part of you wondered how on earth he could take it—so insatiable. So much desire for you that he couldn't help himself in your presence; he'd let you jerk him off like this and have you bask in the low grunts and whimpers he would let out at the stimulation…

It wasn't long before he was releasing.

You tilted your head to avoid it hitting your face, but truly, you didn't mind—not even as the thick ropes of his cum coated your body, spilling over your breasts, your neck, your chin…

He had so much.

And everytime, you would think to yourself that this was really how far he wanted you.

"Xavier…" you whisper.

And when he collapsed down against you, he slid back down to kiss you sloppily.

Your eyes closed.

Despite the sticky feeling so blatntly obvious between your bodies, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back.

"Mmh… love you so much, angel…" he groaned into your mouth, kisses open, and messy, and raw.

I love you, too.

You said it in the way your hands tangled into his hair, even as he slid further down, tongue tracing nearly every inch of your body. "S'dirty, Xav…" your eyes rolled back as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, sickling at it before pulling at it with his teeth.

"Mmh. Cleaning."

He tilted his head to meet yours, darkened eyes holding a serious expression—

Your body jolted.

His fingers joined the exploration of your skin, tracing your curves and scooping up his cum only to reach back down and stuff it right into you.

"M-mmph—?!"

Shh— Despite your shock, the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He would have said; It's okay, angel, just let me take care of you.

And slowly, slowly, he traced his tongue down over your stomach, before he sighed.

His head rest against your thigh.

His expression looked light; blissful. He breathed against you, eyes drawn right towards your cunt, watching the cream that oozed out of you with some sense of admiration... He wasn't doing anything, not really—and perhaps to anyone else, he'd simply seem tired.

But you knew that wasn't the case.

You were proven right when, every so often, he would break the spell by shoving his fingers right back into you as if determined to keep you full of him. Each thrust of his fingers was more surprisingly timed than the last, and he was successfully in pulling a gasp from you each time he did so.

"X-Xavierrr…" you whined this time.

"…My pretty angel."

The only reply you'd get was another sigh of seeming satisfaction.

This time, he raised his eyes to look at you, trailing up over your body to your face, and the lovedrunk little smille he have you made you melt.

"Beautiful. The most magnificent, most ethereal star in the sky… Here, with me, mine."

…The stars must be jealous knowing you're by my side.

He said it with his eyes. Your own words, right back to you.

But his gaze carried within it a certain mischief—he nuzzled your thigh, and before you could think, he leaned over to place a quick kiss right at your clit. The sudden stimulation where you were so sensitive had you jumping, and his tongue had the audacity to dart out and lap lazily around your folds.

"Hnnh—w-wait! Wait, Xavier, too much, too much—!"

His eyes sparkled.

Oh, he wasn't done with you yet.

"One more round?"

an : stays you know where the title is from right 😉

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[bugboybuck]

Halligan tool

uh, does that count as one word prompt? One item prompt?

Evan's about five drinks in, flushed red with his curls all mussed up and a damp spot of spilled beer on his shirt, when he collapses into Tommy's lap at their booth on his way back from the bathroom and announces with no preamble, "Babe, did you know Halligans were invented in - in nine-teen-forty-eight?"

He's so fucking cute. Tommy's not drunk - tries to drink less these days, because hangovers at forty are no joke, and he's long past his clubbing days - but Evan had wanted to go to a gay bar as part of his big queer life experience, so here they are. Evan drunk and flushed and relaxed, Tommy so smitten he thinks he'd follow this man to the grungiest WeHo bars in existence. His legs are gonna go numb if Evan stays in his lap much longer, cus Tommy's man is certainly no twink, but Tommy just wraps his arms around Evan's waist and raises an eyebrow. "Were you on Wikipedia in the bathroom?"

"There was a line," Evan explains. "Two - two guys were fucking in the only stall."

Ah. That explains why he looks a bit pinker than he did when he left. Tommy quests an exploratory hand over the crotch of Evan's jeans, hidden in the low light of their booth at the back of the the bar, and decides he'd definitely enjoyed whatever he'd heard in the bathroom. Tommy is instantly more interested in following up that line of enquiry, but —

"Babe, stop it, I'm trying to tell you something important!" Evan says, shoving Tommy's hand away. Tommy takes it back, holds it up in the air in surrender.

"About Halligan tools?" he checks. It's been a while since Tommy had to carry that classic bit of firefighter gear, but anyone who's ever worked in a firehouse knows them like an extra limb, a family member, something you could find by touch memory alone in the dark. Evan's Wikipedia spirals are cute, but Tommy can't imagine he has a brand new piece of information to tell Tommy about a metal rod nearly one hundred years old.

"Right," Evan agrees. He's sliding off Tommy's lap a bit, holding on with one hand gripping tight at the base of Tommy's neck. "Yeah, I just thought about it. About - okay, like, you know how a Halligan is like, the best thing you could ever have in a crisis? It can do a bunch of shit, like, all the basics, just by itself. It's got the claw, i-its got the blade, it's got the, what'dya call it, the pick. So it's, it's not like it can't do shit on its own, you know. But - but then, right, you combine it with a flathead, and they just fit together so perfectly? Like, they interlock and everything, they're designed for it. And then you've got an axe and a Halligan, so its even better, like, you can do even more shit, but, but, they fit together so well they're actually like, one thing when they're together? So we just call them the irons?"

Tommy looks at Evan from two inches away. They're bordering on five months together and everything still feels new, fresh, insane and invigorating and like no relationship Tommy has ever had before - the sex alone is certainly making him feel ten years younger - but at the same time, it's more settled than anything Tommy's ever had either. It feels like they know each other more than they should at this point; like it's been so easy to understand each other, to creep towards that feeling of deep and terrifying love. Tommy doesn't have a clue why Evan sounds like he's writing love poetry about firefighting equipment right now, of all times, but Tommy would listen to him do it forever.

"That's a nice way of describing it," Tommy says, smiling fondly at Evan. Evan's breath smells like beer and he's uncomfortably heavy and hot in Tommy's lap, but Tommy wouldn't trade an inch of their shared space. He runs his hand through Evan's sweaty curls. "I'd buy you a fancy new Halligan for your birthday if I wasn't a little worried I'd come home to find you in bed with it, based on how romantic you're talking about it. And I feel like that would hurt."

"Tommy," Evan complains, which gets Tommy to laugh, which makes Evan snort with laughter too. One of his broad hands thumps into Tommy's chest like a reprimand, then stays there. "You're not listening!"

"I'm listening, baby, I'm listening," Tommy assures him. He slides one hand back over the seam of Evan's jeans, just enjoying how he's so flushed and broad and squirmy. "What else about Halligan tools?"

"What I'm trying to say—" Evan pauses. Tugs on the back of Tommy's neck and looks right in his eyes, those big round baby blues drilling into Tommy's soul, his pink lips in a pout — "What I'm trying to say, Tommy, is I think I'm a Halligan and you're my flathead axe. I - I want to fit together with you, 'cus we make each other even better. And we're good on our own, but when we're together, I dunno, I just - I feel like we're a whole new thing. Like we need a new name. Like I was designed to fit into you. Do you get it?"

And Tommy —

"I get it," he says. He doesn't mean his voice to come out so cracked, kind of caught in the surprise of Evan, his incredible, ridiculous boyfriend - who doesn't tend to wax romantic but can make a homecooked meal or a thoughtful gesture or an offered errand feel like a declaration of love any time - confessing to him via an analogy about a titanium rod. It is so Evan that it's insane. He makes everything circle around the things he loves — his job, helping people, his family... and, lately, that list maybe includes Tommy. And Tommy has never been top of anybody's list before. He pulls on Evan's curls. "Have I mentioned lately that I fucking love how your brain works?"

Evan leans down and kisses him with a flushed, sloppy mouth.

Tommy kisses him back, and wonders if Evan also remembers that when a Halligan and a flathead axe are interlocked, they're not just called a set of irons. Sometimes, people call them a married set.

But Tommy figures he'll hold off on mentioning that for a few more months. At least until he convinces Evan to move in.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Spending the night at Simon's for the first time and him waking up to you in nothing but his oversized t shirt

Request from here

***

Eyes blinking as light filtered through his closed lids, Simon began to stir as the first bit of the days brightness filled the small bedroom of his tiny apartment. Slowly those thick, long limbs of his stretched their compressed muscles back to life as the blood flowed through them.

Turning over, he was surprised that there wasn't another body laying next to him under the covers; your bright eyes and warm smile were what he had planned to gaze upon, but there was no one. That put him a little on edge, this being the first time you'd stayed over at his shitty little apartment, but he tried to keep calm until he was fully awake.

Simon moved up onto his elbow as he lay on his side, his large hand rubbing the rest of the sleep that lingered from out of his eyes. He looked about, trying to find any signs of you: your discarded clothes from the night before lay in a pile on the floor right next to your shoes, your earrings still sat on the bedside table, and as he checked the mattress with his hand he found that it was still warm. It was obvious you were still around, he just had to go and find you.

A full yawn passed his lips before he heard the sound of clinks and taps, bangs and rustling coming from towards the kitchen area. So that's where you'd sulked off to, making breakfast no doubt.

God you were too fucking much, he wasn't used to all this sweetness, but he wouldn't change it for anything.

Carefully and quietly he moved out of the bed, scratching at the sparse covering of hair on his bare chest before he stood and straightened his sweatpants around his hips. He was hoping he could surprise you by showing up to catch you in the act.

With easy steps, Simon walked out of the bedroom towards the kitchen and what he saw standing there amidst pots and pans, a stack of toast and a pile of bacon to your right, it took his goddamn breath away.

The expectation was to find you naked, since the only clothes you had were still on his bedroom floor, but that wasn't what he found at all. Your hair had been pulled up, a few stray hairs poking out around your hairline that hadn't been secured and it looked like the only thing you had on was one of his old baggy t shirts.

As you moved, Simon could just see a peak of the underside of your ass pop through the bottom of the shirt, playing peakaboo with him the longer he looked. The lines of your legs, looked even longer as the shirt sat just below your hips. Those juicy limbs looked good enough to eat, bare and glaring back at him.

Fuck, you had never been more beautiful to him; it nearly made his goddamn heart stop beating. Being a big man had its perks and this was one of the best ones he found, that you were able to wear his clothes.

In that moment as he watched you happily go about your work, looking like a comfy dream, images of you doing this full time flooded Simon's mind and his stomach flipped excitedly at the thought. If there was anyone that could make that rough and brazen military man soft, it was you.

And maybe it was about time he let someone do it...

There was a sudden warmness against your back as two bulky arms wrapped themselves around your from behind, making you jump a little at the surprise. " 'mornin, luv," Simon's husky voice hit your ears before his kiss touched your cheek. "See you've made yourself at home."

You leaned into him, enjoying the warmth he still had from being wrapped up tight in the covers moments before. "I just...I wanted to do something nice for you, make us breakfast," you said, giving the eggs in the pan currently in your grasp a flip.

"Pretty sure you do more than enough for a bastard like me," he chuckled as one of those thick mitts moved down and cupped lightly over your sex. "This is all I need to stay well fuckin' fed."

Immediately the heat rose in your cheeks, flushing your face bright red.

"But I meant my shirt," he continued, secretly smiling from ear to ear at how quickly he had you blushing. Certain, heavy movements from his hands flitted across your torso as he rubbed over the lines of your curves through the familiar fabric of his clothing.

"Oh, sorry," you quickly apologized, thinking you had possibly overstepped, "I hope you don't mind, I just needed something and it was just there in the top drawer and..."

Another kiss on your cheek shut you right up. "Look fuckin' good like this, luv," he purred in your ear, his low, gravely morning voice making you shiver.

"Really?" you asked, glad that he wasn't mad you'd commendeered his clothes; in reality you knew it would be nothing, but this being the first time you'd done this, you still had some giddy nervousness about everything.

"Ya look like a fuckin' picture to me," he reiterated, those full lips moving down to your next now as he leaned more against you. "I thought I looked good in this thing, but it ain't nothin' compared to a fuckin' vixen like you."

You giggled playfully at all the sweet praise. Nearly missing the eggs being done, you turned off the stove and set the aside until you both were ready to eat. "Please, I look like hell."

"Bullshit," he said as he turned you around, picked up you, and placed your butt on top of the nearest countertop. He slid in between your open legs, letting his hands run down your side from where he had lifted you, sliding tenderly over the shirt. He was right, you were naked save for the shirt and that did something to his still sleepy brain.

Greedily he tilted his head and leaned up into you, embracing your mouth fully with all of his and making your lips dance together. Feverish and sloppy Simon connected with your lips again and again, making your still sleepy brain flatline.

If you could wake up every day like this it would be a fucking living dream.

His kisses would not let up as he pulled you in closer, his hands running over the curves of your back as he stole your lips with a lazy intensity.

"Breakfast is gonna get cold," you groaned with eyes closed, mouthing the words against his parted lips.

His hips bucked into your own. "Nah, my breakfast feels mighty fuckin' warm to me, luv," he said as he kept right at it.

[leviathanspain]

your porcelain doll

anthony bridgerton x reader, colin bridgerton x reader

synopsis: you needed him to see you

a/n: just go with it 😭😭 it was late and i was high

you had been everything anthony had wanted in a wife. educated and from a high society family, hips perfect for bearing children, he could not have asked for more.

yet anthony neglected you, his wife, his viscountess. he would prefer the promiscuous girls from the opera and brothels, than you, his darling, porcelain doll wife.

when he felt the rare urge to dote on you, perhaps the guilt that had made its monthly appearance, anthony would call you his doll, admiring how perfect you have been in this marriage.

“sweet,” his voice was husky as he brushed back the flutters of your hair. he had surprised you by coming to bed at the same time as you. captured between his arms as your dress began to slip down your body, you smiled weakly. you could smell her perfume on his neck, and you felt nauseous. you had walked away, feeling the burn of his touch on your skin.

in your dreams, anthony bridgerton was the noble viscount that you had been promised. completely and utterly enamored with you, making love to you, worshipping you endlessly.

but when you woke up, finding the space next to you, cold and empty, you knew it was a never ending nightmare. one where the viscount would never love you.

you had been married to the viscount for nearly a year and you had yet to meet his second younger brother, colin bridgerton. you had only heard of the man through anecdotes and stories shared by the bridgerton family.

you loved to be around the bridgerton family, especially the dowager viscountess, violet. when in her and his family’s presence, anthony treated you like a wife, as if he loved you.

but as anthony grew busier, and you were pushed aside more and more, your time with the bridgertons had been cut in half.

only when you received a letter addressed to the viscount and viscountess, a rare instance, from colin bridgerton, you knew that once again the bridgerton family would reunite.

you knew that daphne and her children would be present, and as much as you loved them all, her children served as your constant reminder that you continue to fail in the one thing that he asked for.

your entrance was welcomed warmly, daphne standing to greet you, and violet offering you the seat beside her. you felt overwhelmed with their love, and you felt starved of any affection or attention. anthony had hardly said two words to you since presenting his brother’s letter.

as the rest of the bridgertons filed in, you let your eyes wander and try to find the mysterious bridgerton.

you knew it was him, he had been sitting by the piano, lips moving quietly as a finger traced the page. you had heard from eloise and her friend penelope that colin loved to sing, and had a rather good voice. the piano was something that daphne excelled in the most, but you could assume the musical talent ran in the family.

violet had called over her traveler son, “you must meet your brother’s wife!” his wife, your identity seemed to disappear the moment you became the viscountess, that even the dowager failed to notice.

your heart pounded in your chest as the strapping man walked towards you. from what you knew, he was closer to your age than anthony was, and had seemingly gotten stronger overseas.

being gone long, colin did not forget his manners. a bow and a kiss to your hand that nearly left you weeping, colin introduced himself and welcomed you into his family.

his eyes strayed and you felt flushed. colin bridgerton had not been the boy that the family told stories of, he had not been the young boy caught in a vicious scandal, at least not as he was now.

you had walked into the drawing room to search for your missing brooch. dinner was finishing up and you had excused yourself early to do your searching. you had pushed the doors open and found colin bridgerton, who had earlier excused himself for breather, sitting with his feet up on the table.

you stepped back, “i apologize, mr. bridgerton-“ you pulled away and colin shook his head, “please, stay. and call me colin, you are family.” he looked at you in a way that felt-

you sat down, finding some solace in the understanding that there was nothing wrong with a woman sharing a conversation with her husband’s brother. a recently traveled man with many stories to tell.

as colin neared close to you, eyes shining brightly as he went on and on about his travels, you could not stop yourself as you kissed him. a deep kiss that you felt immediate shame for, pulling away until he pulled you back in, his teeth nipping at your lips.

colin had known how anthony treated you, his brother still sent letters whenever he could, and none of them ever had anything to say about you, even when asked. colin could have pushed you away, knowing that it was the right thing to do. but your kiss had been nothing like colin had imagined. better, and it had left with such a rage towards his brother.

anthony could have counted on his fingers how many instances you had embarrassed him. your early excusal had sent him into a quiet rage, leaving early had not been approved by him, and now as he went searching for you to take you to bed, anthony could not find you.

he had heard soft chatter coming from the drawing room. anthony pushed the doors open as soon as he heard the rare sound of your laugh. he found his brother next to you, tangled in a kiss with your hands meshed against his body.

you turned at the sight of the door creaking and you felt immediate shame. the idea of adultery had never crossed your mind, but now as you had committed the act, nonetheless with his own brother, you remembered why you did it in the first place.

his voice broke as the words came out, emotion filled with rage, a quiet rage that floated off of him, “y/n- what is this?”

you felt sick, eyes muddled with tears as you shook your head, “this marriage is rotten, bitter,” you felt your mouth suddenly dry, “it had consumed me inside and out, not even my womb bears the bastard sons you’ve given your many whores, and i hope i never do.”

there, staring at the furious face of his brother, colin could now see the true nature of your relationship. there was an intensity in anthony’s eyes that made colin fear the worst. he stepped in front of you, eyes blazing at his own brother, “you do not realize your mistake, colin.” anthony seethed, thoughts rushing through his head.

you looked at your husband, regret filling a pit in your stomach. you would not return to your bed, where you feigned ignorance when he would not come to bed. “anthony, go.” you whispered, you were shaking, and for the first time, it was as if anthony had seen you, you were more than his porcelain doll, to be seen and not heard, to be beautiful and innocent.

the viscount was speechless and he exited the room, a heaviness lingered in the air as your mind rushed to your very few options. colin had seemed to sense your distress, perhaps your shivering like a leaf that tipped him off, “y/n, we will take care of you.” there was reassurance that you hadn’t expected- and you remained in awe of colin bridgerton.