#ashes of mourning life

[deathdiet]

Drowned in sorrows Mourning the life Which sleeps eternally...

[festering-remains]

God Macabre - “Ashes of Mourning Life” from The Winterlong... (1993)

“What man can't understand Won't be accepted… The macabre weakness of fear For the silence beyond life…”

[margareturtle]

Rip Livia Blackthorn and Max Lightwood

The TWP gang would’ve been just too powerful with y’all as a part of it 💔😔

[spiritofpassionfruit]

A–Aventio TGCF idea?? Wherein Civil God Veritas Ratio meets the infamous Ghost King Aventurine during his first mission cuz cuz like— The "live for me" paralels?!? The one who has all the luck partner as well?!? The villain who was actually not the Villain this whole time!?!? The loving humanity a little too much it causes their downfall !?!?!?

Rant AU in the tags proceed with caution

[quietwingsinthesky]

obsessed with the idea of the doctor and the master standing together in opposition to gallifrey post-end of time. less in it being the reality of the situation, and more in it being what the master perceives it to be in the immediate aftermath of being. well. told he was going to be disposed of. the combination of that rejection with the doctor choosing him, the way that sets them up with a common enemy. but where that enemy for the master becomes gallifrey in the abstract with the council as the face of it, the doctor never sees it that way, never thinks of it as the two of them against their own world. the doctor, crucially, kept count of the children. when he saves gallifrey, it isn’t about the master at all, not to anyone but the master themself. because how are they supposed to take the doctor choosing gallifrey over them as anything other than a betrayal.

[usagimen]

it's cute to think if sayuri wasn't a sorcerer she would have been classically trained in ballet. most likely studying dance in college with the hopes of opening her own studio up.

[haikyuustuffs]

So apparently there's a new Haikyuu mobile game!??

Why am I just now hearing this??! Unfortunately I can't get it to run properly on my phone... since it's not actually available in my country I guess.

I did get it to download via slightly not-safe-for-phone methods, but it just kicks me back to the play store and won't run past the opening screen :(

Has anyone been able to try it yet?? (Or if anyone wants to casually slip a pal a functioning apk link.... That works too 😅)

[headspace-hotel]

Nature is healing.

I burned the Meadow a couple weeks ago. At first it looked like nothing but charred ashes and dirt, with a few scorched green patches, and I was afraid I'd done something terrible. But then the sprouts emerged. Tender new leaves swarming the soil.

My brother and I were outside after dark the other day, to see if any lightning bugs would emerge yet. We had been working on digging the pond. That old soggy spot in the middle of the yard that we called "poor drainage," that always splattered mud over our legs when we ran across it as children—it isn't a failed lawn, and it never was.

Oh, we tried to fill in the mud puddles, even rented heavy machinery and graded the whole thing out, but the little wetland still remembered. God bless those indomitable puddles and wetlands and weeds, that in spite of our efforts to flatten out the differences that make each square meter of land unique from another, still declare themselves over and over to be what they are.

So we've been digging a hole. A wide, shallow hole, with an island in the middle.

And steadily, I've been transplanting in vegetation. At school there is a soggy field that sadly is mowed like any old field. The only pools where a frog could lay eggs are tire ruts. From this field I dig up big clumps of rushes and sedges, and nobody pays me any mind when I smuggle them home.

I pulled a little stick of shrubby willow from some cracked pavement near a creek, and planted it nearby. From a ditch on the side of the road beside a corn field, I dug up cattail rhizomes. Everywhere, tiny bits of wilderness, holding on.

I gathered up rotting logs small enough to carry and made a log pile beside the pond. At another corner is a rock pile. I planted some old branches upright in the ground to make a good place for birds and dragonflies to perch.

And there are so many birds! Mourning doves, robins, cardinals and grackles come here in much bigger numbers, and many, many finches and sparrows. I always hear woodpeckers, even a Pileated Woodpecker here and there. A pair of bluebirds lives here. There are three tree swallows, a barn swallow also, tons of chickadees, and there's always six or seven blue jays screaming and making a commotion. And the goldfinches! Yesterday I watched three brilliant yellow males frolic among the tall dandelions. They would hover above the grass and then drop down. One landed on a dandelion stem and it flopped over. There are several bright orange birds too. I think a couple of them are orioles, but there's definitely also a Summer Tanager. There's a pair of Canada Geese that always fly by overhead around the same time in the evening. It's like their daily commute.

The other day, as I watched, I saw a Cooper's Hawk swoop down and carry off a robin. This was horrifying news for the robin individually, but great news for the ecosystem. The food chain can support more links now.

There are two garter snakes instead of one, both of them fat from being good at snaking. I wonder if there will be babies?

But the biggest change this year is the bugs. It's too early for the lightning bugs, but all the same the yard is full of life.

It's like remembering something I didn't know I forgot. Oh. This is how it's supposed to be. I can't glance in any direction without seeing the movement of bugs. Fat crickets and earwigs scuttle underneath my rock piles, wasps flit about and visit the pond's shore, an unbelievable variety of flies and bees visit the flowers, millipedes and centipedes hide under the logs. Butterflies, moths, and beetles big and small are everywhere.

I can't even describe it in terms of individual encounters; they're just everywhere, hopping and fluttering away with every step. There are so many kinds of ants. I sometimes stare really closely at the ground to watch the activities of the ants. Sometimes they are in long lines, with two lanes of ants going back and forth, touching antennae whenever two ants traveling in opposite directions meet. Sometimes I see ants fighting each other, as though ant war is happening. Sometimes the ants are carrying the curled-up bodies of dead ants—their fallen comrades?

My neighbor gave me all of their fallen leaves (twelve bags!) and it turns out that piling leaves on top of a rock and log pile in a wet area summons an unbelievable amount of snails.

I always heard of snails as pests, but I have learned better. Snails move calcium through the food chain. Birds eat snails and use the calcium in their shells to make egg shells. In this way, snails lead to baby birds. I never would have known this if I hadn't set out to learn about snails.

In the golden hour of evening, bugs drift across the sky like golden motes of dust, whirling and dancing together in the grand dramas of their tiny lives. I think about how complicated their worlds are. After interacting with bees and wasps so much for so long, I'm amazed by how intelligent and polite they are. Bumble bees will hover in front of me, swaying side to side, or circle slowly around me several times, clearly perceiving some kind of information...but what? It seems like bees and wasps can figure out if you are a threat, or if you are peaceful, and act accordingly.

I came to a realization about wasps: when they dart at your head so you hear them buzzing close by your ears, they're announcing their presence. The proper response is to freeze and duck down a bit. It seems like wasps can recognize if you're being polite; for what it's worth, I've never been stung by a wasp.

As night falls, bats emerge and start looping and darting around in the sky above. If the yard seems full of bugs in the day, it is nothing compared to the night.

I'm aware that what I'm about to describe, to an entomophobe, sounds like a horror movie: when i walk to the back yard, the trees are audibly crackling and whirring with the activity of insects. Beetles hover among the branches of the trees. When we look up at the sky, moths of all sizes are flying hither and thither across it. A large, very striking white moth flies past low to the ground.

Last year, seeing a moth against the darkening sky was only occasional. Now there's so many of them.

I consider it in my mind:

When roads and houses are built and land is turned over to various human uses, potentially hundreds of native plant species are extirpated from that small area. But all of the Eastern USA has been heavily altered and destroyed.

Some plants come back easily, like wild blackberry, daisy fleabane, and common violets. But many of them do not. Some plants need fire to sprout, some need Bison or large birds to spread them, some need humans to harvest and care for them, some live in habitats that are frequently treated with contempt, some cannot bear to be grazed by cattle, some are suffocated beneath invasive Tall Fescue, Kentucky bluegrass, honeysuckle or Bradford pears, and some don't like being mowed or bushhogged.

Look at the landscape...hundreds and hundreds of acres of suburbs, pastures, corn fields, pavement, mowed verges and edges of roads.

Yes, you see milkweed now and then, a few plants on the edge of the road, but when you consider the total area of space covered by milkweed, it is so little it is nearly negligible. Imagine how many milkweed plants could grow in a single acre that was caretaken for their prosperity—enough to equal fifty roadsides put together!

Then I consider how many bugs are specialists, that can only feed upon a particular plant. Every kind of plant has its own bugs. When plant diversity is replaced by Plant Sameness, the bug population decreases dramatically.

Plant sameness has taken over the world, and the insect apocalypse is a result.

But in this one small spot, nature is healing...

[witchywcmans]

PLEASE, EAT. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ after you've been bitten by a sea serpent, you know the consequences are either death or the possibility of turning into one yourself. thankfully for you, laios touden is the devourer of all things monster and he is dedicated to getting that venom out of you. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ sex pollen-adjacent, cunnilingus + fingering, praise, breath play (kinda, if you squint), semi-public sex, multiple orgasms. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 3k

song inspiration ━━ too sweet, hozier / more than friends, isabel larosa

author's note ━━ this is the first time I've ever written and posted an x reader one-shot on here, so please be gentle with me lol. I usually only write x oc fics bc I'm a yapper and I love creating characters. but alas...I was perusing the laios x reader tag and wanted to read something with this plot, couldn't find it, so I figured I'd just do it myself 🫡

🪽 part i: PLEASE, EAT. / part ii: FORBIDDEN FRUIT. / part iii: TOO SWEET.

This was definitely one of the worst situations you’d been in.

You had joined Laios’ adventuring party just a few months prior. They had found you on floor 3 of the dungeon, shivering and mourning the loss of your father. His body, dead in your arms, and beside him lay the lifeless body of a ghoul you had killed. At first, the party’s leader, Laios Touden, had only been interested in taking the ghoul's body so they could use its bones for utensils after the flesh rotted off. But it was Marcille who noticed the tears in your eyes, how you trembled from the cold, and suggested they take you in. You almost declined, not wanting to leave your father’s body, but knowing he’d soon turned into a monster left you with only one option. Your father had been with you for the past twenty-five years of your life, and now, you were leaving his dead body in a dungeon to travel with a group of strangers.

You soon came to appreciate your new party, though, and you felt your father’s spirit within each of them. Marcille had his kindness, Chilchuck had a comparable wit, Senshi was gifted with excellent cooking skills, and Laios … well, you were still figuring that out. And surprisingly, it was Laios who you began to connect with the most. His knowledge of monsters was unmatched, and he had a passion for learning how to prepare them while they traveled deeper into the dungeon. He was overtly blunt, much like you, and possessed similar advanced fighting skills due to both your fathers' teachings.

Sometimes … sometimes though, you found yourself staring at him more than you should have. His face was abnormally perfect, as if he’d been carved by an artist. His tousled ash-blonde hair reminded you of a lion, and his eyes … sometimes you could’ve sworn they were made out of gold, shimmering like molten lava. Each time you thought this way, you smacked yourself when no one else was looking. I mean, Laios was your friend, your party leader. Having a crush, especially in circumstances like these, was unethical. You had always been focused on one thing: helping your party and making it out of this dungeon alive, for your father. You wouldn’t let a little crush deter you.

Everything had been all well and good until today, when you and your party reached the end of floor 4. When Laios had struggled to fight off a sea serpent, you joined him in the lukewarm water, using your crossbow to shoot the creature in the head. Finally, Laios was able to step in to slice the serpent’s head off … but not before the creature could snap its jaw, tearing one fang down your hip. You jumped back, screaming as you felt the venom seep into you instantly. Some said sea serpent venom would kill you immediately, others said it turned you into one of them, cursing you to haunt the waters with them as penance. As soon as the head was cut, Laios carried you away from the water, and the last thing you heard was Marcille cursing him out before you were rendered unconscious. 

You were woken up – hours, maybe days later – by a drop of water hitting your face every few seconds. Lifting your head from the makeshift tunic pillow, you took in your surroundings. You were at the entrance of floor 5, in a damp corner of cobblestone, while water dripped down onto the floor every so often. There was a moist bandage covering your side where the serpent’s fang had cut into you, part of your tunic ripped to shreds. Hunger boiled in your stomach, making you groan and rub your head. Laios was sitting just a few feet away, a small fire in front of him to keep warm. Marcille had to have helped him with that; there was no way to craft a fire in an area this damp.

“Am I dead?” You asked softly. 

Laios immediately turned in your direction, his mouth lifting in a smile. “Of course not.”

Your stomach did flip flops as you took in his smile, hunger consuming you. You needed something to eat – bad. Your body felt hot and sweaty, and you wondered if it was just from the humidity, even though Laios didn’t look affected. Sitting up, you informed him, “Well, that was one of two options my father said would happen from a sea serpent bite. Which means …” You lifted the bandage up, noticing the gills that started to form on the healing wound. A turquoise hue surrounded the gills, almost like a bruise. “Oh, fuck,” you muttered.

Laios stood, looming over you while asking, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the other option,” you replied, too hungry to cry. “The bite is –”

“– Turning you into a sea serpent,” Laios finished. “Honestly, I thought that was just a myth. But when the bite didn’t kill you …” His mouth twitched, tongue darting out to wet the corners of his lips. “We have to suck the venom out. That has to stop the mutation.”

Your head snapped up. “Huh?” 

But as soon as your eyes met his, you started to wondered if what you were experiencing was hunger after all. Perhaps … a different kind of hunger. Laios stared down at you, the sparkling gold replaced by a dark hazel. It was just you two in this little corner of the dungeon, but you suddenly felt exposed, so naked, under his gaze. Your body was hot all over, sweat sticking to uncomfortable places. And your thighs … a burning need emerged between them, soaking the thin linen of your undergarments. This had to be a symptom of the bite, but it suddenly didn’t matter anymore. Your worry had been replaced by an ache that only he could fix.

No – absolutely not. You couldn’t. You shouldn’t. You were turning into a sea serpent.

But the need between your legs still throbbed.

“It’s like when a snake bites you on the surface,” Laios said, crouching down to your eye level. His closeness made your heart rate pick up. You realized then that he had shed his armor, kneeling in front of you in just his gambeson, which clung to his muscles and wide frame. “A sea serpent is part snake. Sucking out the venom should stop the mutation. You’ll probably experience symptoms from the bite for a few more hours, but they’ll stop eventually.” 

He started to peel back the bandage, taking a look at the gills forming on your hip when you gripped his wrist. Immediately, his skin burned, making you even more hot. You ripped your hand away from him, and with sweat trickling down the side of your face, you said, “Don’t you think this is … weird? Maybe Marcille should do it.”

“Marcille and the others just went back to another part of the level to find dinner. They won’t return for an hour, at least. This can’t wait.” He inspected the turquoise gills with concern, before his eyes snapped back to yours, noticing the way your black pupils filled almost the entire iris. “Do you not trust me?”

“Of course, I trust you. It’s just …” What exactly was the reason again? Oh, yes, it was pulsating hunger dripping between your legs from the bite, and you were terrified how you’d react the second his lips wrapped around your wound. The symptoms would just get worse. But he was right – this was the only way. Fuck, this had to be the most embarrassing thing you’d ever experienced. 

“Fine,” you finally relented, lying back down on the cobblestone. You did your best to get comfortable, but the makeshift pillow hardly provided much cushion between you and the floor.  “What should I do?”

“Nothing, just lay back and let me take care of it.” Laios lifted your tunic a smidge, and just the tenor of his voice made your ache even worse. “We’re just gonna … get this out of the way. And then …” His fingers hooked on the waistband of your pants, and you immediately clutched his collar. If you touched his skin again, you were sure to moan.

Laios looked from where your hand was gripping him and back to your eyes. “Your pants need to be off so I can have better access to the mutation. It’s on your hip.” You swallowed hard, knowing he was right, and your hand started to slip off his collar. “We’re friends, right?” He asked.

You nodded weakly.

“Good,” he smiled again, and you struggled to hold back a plea for him to touch you. He pulled down your pants, tossing them to the side. For a moment, he paused, taking in your soaked underwear and running his fingers over the mutation on your hip. He licked his lips again, and then said in a rather blunt tone, “You’re so –”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, snapping your eyes shut to prevent further embarrassment.  Though you had never minded Laois’ occasional lack of social cues, this was one of those moments you needed anything but. “Just get the venom out.”

Laios tugged your underwear down a little to see if the mutation had spread. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he informed you, lowering his head to your hip. “I’ve read that these bites can have a multitude of internal symptoms. Nightmares ... sweating … fever …” He ran his tongue over the gills, making your breath hitch instantly. “… And especially, arousal. Neat, huh?” He chuckled, and just his warm breath on the gills made you even more wet. “Don’t worry, I got you,” he assured before finally wrapping his mouth on the wound.

Your body burned even hotter than before as soon as his lips touched your skin. He sucked the venom out of you, spitting out blue globs every other second. His hands gripped your side, digging into your flesh and leaving crescent shapes from his nails. As you felt the gills start to close up, you couldn’t help but moan and arch into nothing. This felt better than any time you masturbated … any time you imagined your party leader above you … Fuck, who would’ve thought sucking sea serpent venom out of you would feel this good? Thank the gods the rest of their party was off catching dinner. You couldn’t deal with them possibly hearing this.

It surprised you when your orgasm flooded through you like a crashing wave. As Laios finished sucking out the last of the venom and the mutation closed, your arousal came to a definite peak and you let out a whine. You grabbed his arm, cumming from absolutely no stimulation.

Laios didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he was mostly preoccupied with inspecting the area. You opened your eyes, your cheeks tinged pink, and saw the globs of venom to the left dissipate to nothing but water. You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I’m sorry, I –”

“The mutation closed. I was right!” Laios looked down at you, a big grin covering his face. “How do you feel?”

“Well, I definitely don’t feel a second set of lungs on my hip anymore.” You lifted your hand when you noticed a trickle of blue staining his lip, wiping it away with your thumb. “But I … my body is still …” The ache inside you had simmered slightly, but it was still there, lingering underneath the surface. 

This was genuinely humiliating. Maybe you should’ve just decided to turn into a sea serpent after all.

Laios grabbed your wrist before you could pull away from his face. He leaned into your palm, running his long nose down to your inner wrist. “Your skin is so warm. I can still smell how aroused you are from the serpent bite.” His eyes burned into yours, keeping your hand close to his face. “I can help. Do you need another release?”

Your cheeks got even more red when he acknowledged your orgasm. Shaking your head, you said, “I couldn’t ask you to do that. I can just –”

“I’d be honored to,” he replied, quite gruffly and persistent. His fingers tugged your underwear down with precision and ease, despite the damp fabric clinging to you. He spread your legs wide and placed them on his shoulders. Lowering himself down, he inhaled the scent of your climax and hooked his arms around your inner thighs. He smiled up at you – your pretty face red with embarrassment – all dopey-eyed and grateful. “You lot like to call me the devourer of monsters. Perhaps I should devour the last bit of monster out of you.”

He inhaled again, groaning like he typically did when he was hungry. His hot breath against your achingly wet pussy made you whimper with desperation. “You smell so good down here,” he whispered. “I’d wager you taste even better.”

You gasped as soon as he dove between your legs, licking a stripe through your folds, tasting your recent orgasm. He flicked his tongue over your clit before sucking on it with feverish excitement. Slick gathered on his tongue and he whined, needing more. So much more. You were the most delicious meal he’d ever tasted. Better than any monster, better than anything on the surface. 

“So good,” he muttered into your pussy, lapping against your clit, doing anything that would get him more of your arousal. “You taste so, so good.”

You whimpered out his name and attempted to close your legs, but he held them opened with all his strength. His arms wrapped around your thighs went tight, bruising the sensitive flesh. Your jaw went slack while your own hands scrambled for purchase, eventually landing in his cropped hair. You tugged, hips bucking against his face, making him groan even more. This allowed him to hold your hips a little higher, and his tongue finally dipped into your leaking entrance. You heard him grunt the second he plunged his tongue deeper, his nose nuzzling your clit. 

He devoured you like a starved man. He devoured you like you were a boiled scorpion, or roast basilisk, or – even better – like sweet, delicious homemade cheesecake. 

“Laios,” you whined, feeling your fever dissolve with each lap of his tongue. “Laios, it’s … fuck – it’s okay, I feel –”

“Need more,” he muttered, his voice low and laced with need. He was practically humping the stone floor as he buried his tongue as far as it could go inside you. Your hips couldn’t stop bucking forward, riding his face as you felt your orgasm building at the base of your stomach. Laios was completely transfixed. He wanted to be here, nestled between your thighs, for every meal. He’d take you away from the rest of the group before dinner, lapping away to the sounds of your pleas and whimpers, so help him gods. He’d do this every day, every night, whenever you wanted, for as long as he was alive. Fuck monsters. He could survive off the taste of you for the rest of his life.

Slipping his tongue out of your hole, he went back to sucking on your throbbing clit and feeling your legs start to tremble. You had to be close to another release, and he was desperate to taste it. He paid all his attention on your clit, snaking one hand up and sinking two fingers knuckle-deep into your entrance in tandem. “Fuck,” you moaned, tugging on his hair once again, “fuck – gods, Laios. I – I’m s-so close –”

“Please,” he begged, smearing your slick all over his mouth. “Please, you’re so good. Need to see how you taste when you release on my tongue.” His own hips continued to buck against the floor.

You choked on a cry when you finally came all over his tongue. He groaned, loud and drawn out, when he finally got a taste of your sweet climax, knowing that it was him that brought you to this point. The orgasm felt long, like the ocean bringing you in and out, and your whole body trembled. He continued lapping at your clit as it pulsed under his tongue, his fingers curling inside you through your orgasm. When you finally breathed out and started to come down from the high of it all, Laios stayed between your thighs, allowing his tongue to gently swirl your clit. Maybe if he continued, he could taste a little more of you …

You found your voice, hoarse from overstimulation. “Laios, please, you have to stop,” you begged, yanking his head up from between your legs. His mouth was covered in your slick, and then he was giving you that dopey expression again, making your heart clench. Your body was no longer hot and sweaty. Laios had completely cured you of the sea serpent bite with that expert mouth of his. He unwound his arms from your thighs, bringing his fingers that were still covered with your wetness to his mouth, tasting the last of your orgasm. You watched him, eyes wide and cheeks blushing, until he was looking at you again with those golden doe eyes.

“That was amazing,” he said, like he was in a haze. When your eyes flickered down, you realized he was hard in his pants, but it wasn’t like he even noticed himself with the way he was staring at you. “We should do that again sometime.”

He stood up, and you scrambled to pull your clothes back on before the group came back. You stammered, “It’s okay, uh – we don’t have to. Especially if you don’t want to. We could just –”

“I want to,” he cut in, a determined look in his eyes. “What are friends for, right?” 

[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."

[prognostik-a2]

tags 1 / ?

[arthurslesbian]

gwen believed her but arthur didn't :(

[novaursa]

Cregan Stark Masterlist

main list

- NSFW Alphabet - explicit 18+

- The Silent Game - When your family took the side of King Aegon II, the usurper, you felt the need to support the rightful Queen and your husband, the Warden of the North. No matter the cost. - mature 16+

- The Weight of Ice - You try to lift Cregan’s ancestral greatsword which he wields with ease. It doesn't go as planned. - mild 13+

- The Wall - Cregan takes you to see the Wall, and Silverwing comes with you. - mild 13+

- The Wolf's Desire - After the Dance, Cregan took position as the Hand of the King until the realm under your younger brother’s rule is stabilized. But Cregan's thoughts today are far from establishing order and justice to the capital. - explicit 18+

- Fox in Wolves Den - You were instructed by Larys Strong to spy the northerners, to thin their ranks. But today you faced the Warden of the North himself. - mature 16+

- Winterfell's Warmth - Cregan takes you to be his wife, a fire to his ice. And it's not long until smallfolk notice just how much Lord Stark is devoted to his Targaryen bride. - mature 16+

- Daisy - Heavy with your and Cregan’s first child, you get suspicious when your husband starts to sneak out to see Daisy. - mild 13+

- The Cold Embrace (1/2) - When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to the Warden of the North as an alliance offering, your world crashed. Because you knew one thing: dragons die in the North - and not even honorable Lord Stark could change that fact. - mature 16+

- The Cold Embrace (2/2) - As time passes, snow begins to melt. - explicit 18+

- Valyrian Bride - When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon. - mild 13+

- Valyrian Bride (Continuation) - mild 13+

- Valyrian Bride (Final Chapter) - mature 16+

- Valyrian Bride (dragon eggs) - Cregan was expecting a quiet day. But nothing is ever truly quiet with his dragon-blooded children. - mild 13+

- Valyrian Bride (dragon's bath) - You invite Cregan to join you in a warm bath. - mature 16+

- Valyrian Bride (nameday) - Cregan notices his wife and children doing strange (well, stranger than usual) things for him throughout the day. - mild 13+

- Winter's Solace - Specters of the past came back today once more to hunt you, but Cregan holds them back. - mature 16+

- The Cycle - Cregan leaves with his duty to the Wall and you are left alone with a choice Larys Strong brings. - explicit 18+

- The Cycle (one for the price of two) - alternative scenario - Explicit 18+

- The Cycle (justice) - Cregan delivers justice for your son and Grey Ghost. - explicit 18+

- The Frozen Throne - You and Cregan win the Dance. - mature 16+

- The Gullet's Price - The day you received the news about the death of your brother, another life was lost. - explicit 18+

- Dreams of Fire - You brought gentleness to the harshness of the North, and Cregan finds himself warmed by your presence. - explicit 18+

- The North's Fiercest Catch - You challenge Cregan to hunt down a dragon. - mature 16+

Works (velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark) below are listed in chronological order:

- The Dragon and The Wolf - Rhaenyra sends her daughter instead of her son to fly North. You. - mature 16+

- A Union of Ice and Fire - After your mother, Queen Rhaenyra, approves of the marriage between you and Cregan Stark, you marry under watchful eyes of gods of old. And one week later, a raven arrives carrying dark news. - explicit 18+

- The North Remembers - You return to Dragonstone, where you mourn with your family as you receive the message from Cregan. - explicit 18+

- The Heir of Ice and Ash - A little less than a year into your marriage with Cregan, you give birth to your first child. - mature 16+

- Fires That Never Freeze - You receive the news about Rhaenys' death at Rook's Rest, before Jace arrives as he secures the Twins. - explicit 18+

- The Wolf's Flame - When you take your son flying, Cregan keeps fires warm for your return. - mature 16+

- Hour of the Wolf - Cregan keeps his promise to you, and delivers Northern justice to the South. - mature 16+

[i-smoke-chapstick]

‘SAILOR SONG,

-THEPENGUIN!SOFIA FALCONE X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; You run into Sofia at Berto’s funeral. You’re the only one who can calm her down.

⋆ tags/warnings. sofia falcone x female reader. ANGST AND COMFORT!! Might make this a series if anyone likes it enough <3 she’s my literal BABY im so in love with her it makes me want to kms! she deserves SO much better i just wanna give her a hug (and a kiss). slight homophobia mentions, past relationships (but unclear), THE HANGMAN!!!!! Based on 1x2, bertos funeral ! she is my girlfailure wife and i need her

♫ “Begging, baby, would you please? / Do the things you said you'd do to me. / And when we're getting dirty, I forget all that is wrong / I sleep so I can see you 'cause I hate to wait so long.” Sailor Song by Gigi Perez

High tides. That’s what Gotham is, after the haunted return of the Batman. At least, that’s all you see around you now. Theres blood in the water, and the sharks have all come to hunt.

You think it’s all bullshit. The bat, the Riddler, this fucking funeral. You hardly knew the man, and you know it’s a waste of time. Everyone dressed in black here is only cutting their losses. It’s all out of fear. Berto was unabashedly himself. And that was weak. He tried too hard to be his father.

You scan the funeral, which might as well be a party for some of these fuckers, and hold your breath. Okay, maybe you’re more upset than you’d like to admit. Nihilism appeases the soul where optimism does not. You’d only had very few conversations with him, but he was…nice, to some extent.

It’s a day of mourning. And that’s what you do. Memories come to you in unsafe and ungrateful waves, alerting you of every interaction you’d ever had with the man of the night.

“Hey, so,” He scratched the side of his head with his index finger. “Wha- What’s up with you and my sister?” A bitter smile on his face, nose scrunched in faux curiosity. You’d known better. You grew up your entire life in Gotham, and you had known a thinly veiled threat when you’d heard it.

“Sofia?” You’d asked, lighting a cigarette. The sunset flooded through Italy’s streets. It wasn’t your first summer here. You took a long drag of smoke, thinking of how to phrase your answer. The Falcones weren’t stupid, none of them were, not really. “Nothing.” You settled on, dabbling it out in the ash tray. “Why?”

You’d expected some bullshit to fly from his mouth. The family…That you were an outsider. That whatever the two of you had going on was distasteful. A woman and a woman. Not a good look in the papers. Weak willed woman frolicking together in Gotham’s underground. You expected him to insult you, and her. What would their father think?

But Alberto didn’t say anything like that.

“If you hurt her,” He began, and you felt yourself visibly recoil. “I’ll have to, you know,” He motioned with his hands, forming a gun with his forefinger against his temple, and a pew sound. “Pop your top.”

Returning to yourself, you find it in yourself to be greatful. For Alberto, not ratting the two of you out. Whatever you two had…was more than the both of you ever managed to let on. Small touches here and there, kisses when you played house. Laughing underneath streetlamps, painting her nails. And then she got locked up in Arkham. Your best…friend.

And now she’s finally released. Idiots with poster boards outside begging for her return to the loony bin. She’s somewhere in this house, on the same floor as you.

You mindlessly sip on your glass. Alchohol is your real friend tonight. The undergrounds in shambles, the entire city is. What’s stopping you from leaving? You don’t know. Not until you see her.

She trails in the room, and the first thing you hear are overwhelming whispers. You don’t pay attention to them, how could you? Her hair tied up messily, sticky bangs and beads of sweat on her forehead. Her makeup is neat, but just barely smudged.

She’s bug eyed as she enters, chest heaving in…anger? fear? She pays much more attention to the whispers than you do, you realize.

“She’s crazy,” You hear from behind you. Faces hide behind there glasses and hands, leaning down and gossiping amongst themselves. It makes you sick. She makes you sick. Even more so, as she seems to lose herself. It starts with a small bite, digging at the finger food, before she picks up heaps of it in her palms. Over and over and over again…

“That’s enough,” You whisper, sternly, grabbing her forearm. Her mouth almost drops open with the food, eyes widening even more. She stops chewing, and for a moment, it seems everything and everyone is finally scilenced.

She doesn’t say a word in her shock, her arm falling down. She lets you guide her out the room, and the both of you ignore the comments from passerbys.

When you finally reach an empty room, you close the door. Her blood runs cold, and she’s perpelled to the edge of the room, like a cornered and vulnerable prey animal.

“What are you doing here?” Sofia drawls, clearing her throat. Her cheeks are tinged pink from embarassment, and her nose twitches in frustration.

“I knew him too.”

“No, you didn’t.” She remarks, firm in her stance. Her jaw is clenched tight, and you sigh. You make your way over to a couch, sitting down lazily. It doesn’t feel how it used to.

“Yeah, I didn’t. But I got an invitation.”

She ignores you. Straight to the point.

“You’ve heard. What they are saying about me, out there.”

“Hard not too.”

She scoffs, letting out a hmph noise. She turns away from you, blinking.

“Well. Do you believe it?” She tests, arms crossed. You feel your eyebrows scrunch, and you give her a once over. You want to scream at her, that she isn’t crazy. That whatever she’s done isn’t her fault, not completely. But you can’t claw the words out- not after not seeing her in years.

“You do, don’t you?” She continues. She stops pacing the room to take a seat parallel to you. You bite your tongue.

A beat of silence, and something in her dark eyes takes it as your final answer. Theres something deeper, darker swirling in them you can’t quite place. She’s not the same girl you knew as a child.

“No,” You whisper, finally, and watch her perk up. “You’re not crazy.”

She stays silent as she looks at you disbelievingly. Like you’re saying it simply to appease her. You find it in yourself to let the tension melt away, leaning back into the cushions.

“You don’t need help.” You affirm, and her expression is unreadable. “You aren’t broken. Or whatever those fuckhead doctors told you in Arkham. You’re just…” You trail off, needing to word this right. “You’re just your fathers daughter.”

You expect her to ask ‘what thats supposed to mean?’ but she doesn’t. No…she looks too vulnerable in this light to fight back against you. Again, silence sounds, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake.

It’s only when she speaks, voice trembling, do you see her resolve break.

“Why didn’t you visit me?” It’s quiet, almost a whimper, and her voice breaks. “In Arkham?”

There it is. The question you’d been dreading, mostly because you didn’t know the answer yourself.

Her eyebrows are pulled together, nails clenched into her own skin. You go to tear them from her palms, opening them up to find the marks. She doesn’t say a word. She makes no move to push you away. She’s too tired. She’s greiving, her father, her mother, her brother, her sanity.

You lean down, and press a gentle kiss to her nails. A strangled sound is ripped from her at the action, and you notice how her eyes turn glossy. You decide to ignore the question for now, watching tears finally slip from her eyes. She’d been holding them in for what felt like forever. But not with you, she finds, she could never hide anything from you.

You pull her in, embracing her for all its worth. She immeadiatley falls into you, open mouthed sobs against your shoulder. You hug her tight, and it feels blissful. After so long of only seeing her on TV reports and pictures, touching her, feeling her, is heavenly. Just like it used to be.

She still smells the same. Her makeup runs as she cries into your shoulder, and you gently hush her. You pet her head and hair, cradling her like she’s fragile glass about to break. She’s yours. You’re hers. You always have been.

Rocking her back in forth, you place a kiss on her forehead. When she leans into you, you place more. Soft little pecks across her skin, to her head, wrist. You kiss all her tears away as they fall. Sweet and salty, wetting your lips. You feel her try to catch her breath.

She pulls away from you, hair messy. Her lips are parted, and her pupils blown, and theres a silent promise in the air between the two of you. I’m with you. Im on your side. I am the woman who wants you to win.

Her hand trails to your cheek, and she looks at you worshipfully. Her eyes flit to your lips, as if asking, begging for just one.

You nod. You could never deny her anything. She leans in, tentiavley, before connecting your lips. Memories flash through your head. She tastes the same, acacia honey and cigarette smoke. Besides yourself, you deepen the kiss, and she responds tenfold.

Her hands thread through your hair with a gentle tug, as if there is a feral need buried underneath her skin, to possess you. Remind herself you are here, and you are hers, not an illusion. Not a nightmare. She would kill for you.

You have to almost fight her to part for air, pulling away with heavy breaths. She doesn’t let you get far, resting her forehead against yours.

For better or for worse, she has stuck her claws in you. You realize she will not let you go. Not tonight. Not tommorrow. Not ever.

Breath intermingling, her body heat radiating against yours, you can’t find it in yourself to care.

You stay like that, unanswered questions still plaguing the silence. You’ll answer them one day. For now, you choose only to lose yourselves in one another.

You regret not telling Alberto the truth before he died. She’s not nothing to you. She’s everything.

[vendetta-if]

Early Access Update is now Live! 🎉

Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the inactivity. A lot has been going on in my personal life. First, a close relative of mine passed away not too long ago and I decided to take a little break to mourn and process. And then, once I started working on the update again, I found out that I had to overhaul the coding for the Hangout system despite my best to try salvage it. So, yeah, suffice to say it's been pretty stressful couple of months.

I'm so happy and relieved to be able to finally start sharing the update I've been working on. This update is a big one, bringing 27K new words into the demo, bringing the overall word count to 384K words!

Some new stuff to expect from the update (without spoilers 🤭):

Some changes and options additions in Ash's Hangout.

A whole new section and new scenes added at the end of Ash's Hangout.

A (promised) brunch with Rin 😉

The early access to the update is now available in my Patreon and Ko-Fi. There are other goodies also coming to my Patreon and Ko-Fi in the next few days in addition to all the stuff that has been posted in previous months. So, if you're interested or simply want to support my work, please, do check the pages out 🥰

As always, for those waiting for the public update, it'll be released on August 20 😊 So, mark your calendar 😁

Also, I'll start answering asks again tomorrow (since it's already 4 AM where I am at the time of writing this post 😅).

[writing0305]

All he needed.

Pairing: Homelander x F!Reader.

Summary: After two years of being together, you dissapeared from Homelander's life. Vought had told him you killed yourself but one file left on his desk by someone unknown, told him a different story. And when he sought you out, he was surprised to see you alive and well, with an eight month old son, blonde hair and blue eyes, just like his father.

Warnings: Heavy swearing. Blood and murder. Mentioning of smut. Mention of suicide

You were with Homelander for only a short two years. But it was the best fucking two years of both your and his life. You adored Homelander before you even started working for Vought. You always offered him kind smiles when you saw him. And he could hear the way your heart skipped a beat when he was near.  You were taken with him from the start and he was taken with how much you adored him, how much you loved him.

At first, Homelander would only watch you through the walls of your office. He could watch you for hours, but honestly, you never did anything exciting at work. So then he began watching you at home. He watched through your walls as you danced around in nothing but a shirt and panties while making dinner. He watched you dress, watched you bath, watched you whenever you pleasured yourself, and even watched you sleep.

He couldn’t get enough of it. Of you. And soon he was forcing his way into your life. He forced Stillwell to make you his personal assistant and you were all too happy for the job. He made sure you had to follow him around the whole day, except when he was out fighting crime. He made them move your office next to his own so that he could comfortably watch you through the wall.

And then one day he showed up at your apartment. He invited himself in, made friendly talk and even stayed for dinner. Being with him for your whole workday, made you two close, and then suddenly he was at your apartment every day after work. You got yourself into the habit of cooking for two and always having fresh milk in your fridge. He seemed to quite enjoy the beverage.

One night you admitted to having a crush on him when you were younger and not before long you were laying naked across the bed, being fucked senseless by the supe. Your relationship developed fast and strong after that. Homelander moved you into his penthouse in the Vought building, so you’d truly be around him nearly 24/7. This created a co-dependency for you.

To Homelander, it truly seemed like you enjoyed his company. You didn’t mind having him around all the time. You didn’t mind listening to him rant. You always praised him and agreed with him on everything. You were truly just perfect.

And then you just had to go and fucking kill yourself.

When the cops found your burned car, there was barely anything left to identify you with. That’s what Vought told Homelander. It was believed to be suicide because of the cans of gasoline that were found not so far from your car.

For a whole year and five months, Homelander mourned you. He was confused, heartbroken and angry. He didn’t understand why you had to leave him. Was he not good enough? Were you not happy? He gave you fucking everything and you just ripped his dead and cold heart right out of his chest.

That’s until one faithful day when things changed. He stepped into his office, finding a brown file on his desk. He sighed in irritation, thinking Ashley had dropped it off. He wasn’t even going to bother with it until he saw the red stamp on the file. ‘Highly confidential.’

His eyebrows furrowed and more irritation filled him. Was Ashely that fucking incompetent to leave a highly confidential file on his desk. He sat down and opened the file, eyebrows furrowing when he was met with your gaze. The photo pinned to the inside was not one he had ever seen before. Your hair was shorter than it was when you were still alive.

His eyes scanned over the file, reading only a few words that stuck out to him.  Two simple words struck something inside him. ‘ Witness protection.’ He read it over and over. Nowhere did it say why you were in witness protection, but it gave the exact date you entered the program through Vought. Exactly seventeen months ago.

He was raging by the time he reached Stillwell, who happened to have her infant son in the office with her. He demanded to know why they lied to him, where you were, and why you left. At first, she was reluctant to speak, but with one flick of his red eyes at her son and she began speaking. She told him where you were, but spun a story that you were scared of him and begged her to help you get away.

He didn’t buy it but soon he’d get his answers. Within minutes, he was in front of a cabin, tucked away far away in the middle of the woods. He stared at the house, noting the zinc inside the woods that obstructed his vision.

Inside, you were walking barefoot through the house, still in your pajamas. Your blond-haired blue-eyed  baby was in your arms, dressed in a blue onesie, his blue blanket in one hand and his dark red pacifier between his lips.

“Alright buddy, let’s get breakfast in that belly.” You coeed to Noah and the eight-month-old registered the word ‘food’, and an excited spark slipped into his blue eyes. You carefully placed him in his highchair and he grabbed for your shirt. “You can have milk after you’ve eaten.” You said you pulled his hands off your shirt before walking around the kitchen, serving him a bowl of yogurt with mashed banana.

You smiled at the baby when he grew even more excited when you brought the food over to him. You only got into feeding him a few bites before your front door was slammed open so hard that it ripped from the hinges and fell with a thud to the floor.

A gasp slipped from your lips at the sound and your eyes widened. Noah began wailing and you shushed him softly as you picked him, cradling his head against your chest. Your heart beated painfully in your chest as you heard the slow thuds of footsteps approaching down your hallway.

There was no back exit through your kitchen. There was only one way in and out, and that was through the same hallway the footsteps were approaching from. You slowly backed up as the footsteps grew closer, but you froze in your steps when a familiar tall and blonde supe stepped into your kitchen.

Your chest clenched at the familiar face blankly staring back at you. ”John?” You whispered as your eyebrows furrowed, confusion filling you just as much as it filled him. His gaze darted down to the baby in your arms, and his eyebrows knitted together. “Oh my God…” You let out a soft sigh, a relieved sigh. “You found me.” You said softly as the smallest smile tugged at your lips and tears filled your eyes.

“Y/n…” He whispered as he continued to stare at you with furrowed eyebrows. Stillwell’s story and your reaction to his presence didn’t match up.  “I…I don’t understand.” He muttered softly as his eyebrows furrowed even more. His gaze darted towards Noah when the baby sniffed softly, his blue eyes still full of tears. “Whose that?” He asked as he pointed at the baby.

“Noah.” You replied with a soft smile as you glanced down at your son, wiping his tear-stained cheeks. “Our son.” You informed Homelander as your gaze returned to him.

His eyes slightly widened as his gaze shot towards you. He was silent for a long while as he just stared at you. His head cocked to the side and he opened and closed his mouth for a second, unsure of what the fuck to say. He was silent for another second again. “Our…our son?” He repeated softly as his eyebrows furrowed.

You slowly nodded your head as your gaze diverted down to the floor, tears pooling in your eyes. “I’m sorry.” You whispered as you shook your head, your gaze returning to him. You loved Homelander with all your heart, but at that moment, you felt scared of him. Scared of his reaction.

“We have a son?” He repeated as he raised his eyebrows, slowly and hesitantly taking a small step towards you, his gaze darting down to Noah. “I have a son?” He whispered.

“Yeah.” You replied softly as you nodded your head and slowly approached him. When you stood toe to toe, Homelander hesitantly reached out and to the baby from your arms. He cradled Noah in his arms, staring down at the baby who was a mirrored image of him. The perfect creation of him. “I’m sorry.” You repeated as you lowered your gaze, wiping the tears from your eyes.

Homelander’s gaze returned to you. He silently stared at you for a long time, listening to your heartbeat. It didn’t sound like the heartbeat of a woman so scared she had to fake her death to get away. It sounded like the heartbeat of a woman broken.

“They told me you were dead…and then they told me you ran away because you were scared of me.” He informed you, eyeing your face closely to see your reaction. Homelander was so deeply hurt by everything he had found out in the past few hours. He didn’t know who or what to believe.

You looked shocked at this, your eyebrows furrowing and your lips parting as your gaze darted towards him. “They told you that?” You asked softly as your gaze darted around, slowly shaking your head in denial.

“Why did you leave?” he asked, and you could hear a hint of anger slip into his voice. Anger towards you. Because for what fucking possible reason could you have left him for. “Why did you leave with my son?” He asked as his eyebrows furrowed, his gaze darting down to Noah.

You sighed softly, sitting down at the kitchen island, running a hand through your hair. “I was going to tell you I was pregnant when I found out.” you began speaking. “Somehow Vought found out and found me before I could get to you. They didn’t want you to know because they were scared your priorities wouldn’t be them anymore.” You explained as you turned your head to look over at him. “They gave me three options. They kill me before I get the chance to tell you. They keep me locked up until I give birth and take the baby, raising him like you were, and threatened to kill me if I told you. Or I leave, live in isolation with my baby.” You informed him and his lips twitched into a snarl as his grip gently grew tighter on Noah. “I know how much you suffered…I couldn’t do that to him.” You said softly with a shake of your head as you glanced at Noah.

“Vought…Vought made you do this?” He questioned softly, his voice a low growl and his eyes briefly flicking red as his gaze diverted away from both you and Noah.

You nodded your head and he inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry.” You whispered as you got up to your feet and slowly approached him, gently placing a hand on his muscular bicep and he slightly relaxed underneath your touch. You didn’t leave because you were scared of him. He just knew that was fucking bullshit.  “I wanted to tell you, I wanted you to be part of it, of everything, my pregnancy, the birth, his life. All of it.” You whispered as your gaze turned to Noah and you ran a hand through his blonde hair. He was quite peaceful in his father’s arms.

“They said…they said you left because you were scared of me,” Homelander muttered in a low voice, and you could still hear the hint of anger. But his anger wasn’t directed at you anymore. Now it was directed at Vaught and every fucked who lied to him. “They said you wanted them to fake your death.”

“No.” You immediately denied it with a shake of your head as you reached out to cup his cheek in one hand. “I loved you…I still love you.” You whispered as he leaned into your touch. You sighed softly and your gaze flicked towards Noah for a brief second again. “I tried to take him and leave when he was a few weeks old, to go and find you.” You inform Homelander in a soft voice. “So many men with guns showed up. They didn’t point their guns at me to get me to come back, they pointed their guns at him.”

Homelander’s lips twitched into a snarl again as he thought of his son being put in danger. He didn’t care if the kid had powers or not, he fucking despised the thought of anyone even thinking of hurting his son. First, they wanted to fucking take him away from his mother, raise him in a fucking lab, then they DID take him away from his father and pointed guns at him. Someone was going to fucking die today.

“Who knew?” He asked in a low voice. You looked at him hesitantly. His voice was trembling with anger and his blue eyes flicked red again, like a broek light flicking on and off, constantly. It was like he had no control, or he was dangerously close to losing it.

You breathed deeply, hesitant to tell him. You knew he was close with Stillwell because he had her pressed nice and firmly underneath his thumb. “Stillwell.” You whispered and he inhaled sharply again. “She gave the orders, made the threats.” You informed him and Noah was immediately shoved into your arms. “John?” You muttered in confusion as he spun on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen. You hastily followed after him as he stormed out through the broken door and flew off. “John!?”

You let out a soft sigh as he disappeared into the sky. You felt confused, wondering where he was heading. Surely he wouldn’t kill Stillwell. Were you and a kid he’d just met a few minutes ago truly more important to him than a woman he’d worked with for years, a woman who gave him whatever he wanted and always had his back?

You waited there by the broken front door for a long time before you went back into the kitchen, calling the men who patrolled around the woods like guards, keeping you and Noah in like caged animals, but no one answered. You were supposed to always call them if you needed something but after five missed calls you figured you'd have to fix the door yourself.

You finished feeding your son and got him dressed in a saige colored green shirt and brown overalls before you dressed yourself in a plain blue t-shirt and some black leggings.  You sat on the steps of your front porch, silently staring at the broken door. Noah sat a few inches away from you, playing with his toys.

He crawled his way toward you, dumping a few pieces of his toys on your lap. He leaned against your thigh as he played, using your legs as a play area. You smiled down at the boy, running a hand through his hair. “It’s okay buddy.” You whispered. “Me and you, we’re gonna be okay no matter what happens.” You assured him.

There was a loud woosh in the air, followed by a thud on the ground, your head shot towards the side, eyes widening at the sight of Homelander, standing a few feet away from you, covered in blood from head to toe. The sight made you gasp.

You slowly got up to your feet and picked Noah up in your arms. “John…” You whispered as you slowly approached him, lips parting as your gaze drifted over the bloody man before you.“Who?” You asked softly, knowing not a drop of the blood that covered him, was his.

“Stillwell.” He muttered in a low voice as he blankly stared ahead of him, his eyes looking dead.

Stillwell was already writing a form of resigning and packing her bags when Hoemalnder found her. He could have made it quick for her, lazering her head in. But he made it as painful as possible. He dragged it out for as long as she could take before she choked on her own blood. When he left her house, Madelyn Stillwell was barely recognizable. She was scorched into almost nothing.

You slowly nodded your head. You shifted Noah onto one hip and with your free hand, you placed a hand on Homelander’s shoulder, almost flinching at the wet and cold patch of blood that stuck to his suit, smearing onto your palm. “Let’s go inside.” You insisted as you let him inside. “You can clean up in the bathroom.”

You washed your hand, scrubbed it until the skin was burning and red then you waited in the living room as Homelander cleaned himself in the bathroom. Noah was sitting on the floor, nibbling on one of his toy cars.

You glanced up when you heard Homelander’s footsteps approaching. He was clean now, his blonde hair damp. His face was blank as he sat down on the couch opposite yours. Noah’s attention was drawn to Homelander and he abandoned all his toys and crawled towards his father.

Homelander stared at the baby who now sat by his feet. He was unsure of what to do when Noah lightly slapped his leg. Hesitantly he reached out and picked up his son, resting Noah on his lap. Noah’s interest immediately went to Homelander’s cape, pulling and biting at the fabric. Homelander didn’t even care about the drool now on his cape. He watched his son in awe.

You slowly got up from the couch you sat on and moved to sit next to Homelander. “I’m sorry.” You whispered as you looked at him, a frown tugging at your lips. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t let them do to him what they did to you.” You muttered softly as you shook your head.

“You’re a good mother, Y/n,” Homelander replied as he wrapped one arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. You leaned into his touch like you always used to do. It brought strange emotions forth in Homelander. Having a woman who loved and adored him and a son. A fucking family. HIS family. “He’s lucky to have you.”  He said softly as his gaze turned to Noah.

“Now he has you too.” You whispered as you turned your head to look up at Homelander, his gaze never leaving Noah. Never had you seen the man so much in awe of something or someone. Your gaze also turned to Noah and you pursed your lips. “They ran tests on him when he was born.” You informed him softly and he tensed up for a second until you continued speaking.  “He’s like you, but he hasn’t shown any of his powers yet.” You explained as you looked back at Homelander again. “He’s a real gentle kid actually.” You said as a smile tugged at your lips.

A smile tugged at Homelander’s lips as well. He felt proud knowing his kid was like him. He turned to look back down at Noah again, gently running a hand through the baby’s hair. “He looks so much like me…” He noted softly as he let out a soft, pleased huff.

“He does.” You agreed with a nod of your head. “I took so much comfort in that.” You admitted softly as you smiled sadly. For the past eight months, Noah was all you had of Homelander. Of the man you loved with all your heart.

“Vought’s not going to hurt you or our son.” Homelander assured as his hold on you tightened and he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “And they won’t take either of you away from me ever again.” He promised softly as he leaned his head against yours.

After fixing your front door and informing you that all the guards around the woods were dead, Homelander spent the entire day playing with his son. They played with toy supes, and cars, watched cartoons together, and played a little outside. After eating dinner and getting a bath from his father, Noah was beyond tired. You let Homelander put the baby to bed. It was the least you could give him after he missed eight months of his son’s life.

You sat in the living room, looking up when Homelander returned to you. “He sleeping?” You asked softly as he sat down next to you, shifting to lay his head on your shoulder as he closed his eyes.

“Yeah.” He replied softly as he slowly nodded his head.

 “You really knocked him out.” You said softly as you let out a soft chuckle, a smile tugging at your lips as you leaned your head against his.

“I couldn’t let him go.” He spoke softly as he inhaled slowly. “I just wanted to spend every single second with him.” He said as he turned his head to look up at you, his face barely an inch away from yours.  “I’ve missed so much.” He whispered.

You sighed softly, reaching out to brush your finger across his cheek. “Now, we all have so much time together.” You whispered as you offered him a small smile, cupping his cheek. “I’ve dreamt of this day for so long.” You admitted. “Wondering how it would be if you found us…meet him.” You muttered before sighing again. You silently stared at him for a second before resting your forehead against his. “I love you, John.”

“I love you.” He replied as he reached up to cup your cheek as well before pressing his lips against yours in a yearning kiss. Now he had all he ever wanted. A family. A son. And a woman who loved him. He had it all. All he needed. And fucking pray for anyone trying to take it from him again.