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mononijikayu · 2 months ago

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love is the law, religion is taught — ryomen sukuna.

"And what does that make me, my lord?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Sukuna looked at you again, his smirk returning but softer this time, almost wistful. "It makes you the only one who matters. Out of everyone, every woman in these lands. You are the only one that matters above them. Behind me.” And behind that, behind Hiromi. You whisper in your head.

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, forced parenthood, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, toxic relationship, depiction of suicide, depiction of suicidal ideation, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, 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: 20k words

NOTE: when i was writing this, i thought it wouldn't be this long. but when i ended up writing more and more, i just couldn't stop. i ended up writing this as a sort of prequel to the other woman's latter parts. if people are aware of me from other websites or just here, you know i write a lot. this 20k usually was my usual writing. but i feel like people like a lot of short stories. i'll post about that some time else. i'm gonna be sorry for breaking more of your hearts like this. the reason this took so long as me drafting multiple times. and then my exams. so, it just...this will be a read. anyway, i love you guys!!! thank you for your birthday wishes. see you later <3

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YOU COULD FEEL THE YEARS IN YOUR BONES. You had been Ryomen Sukuna’s concubine for nearly ten years, a role that once filled you with dread and uncertainty. Over time, however, the nature of your relationship shifted. Unlike the others who served him out of fear or obligation, you had managed to carve out a space for yourself in his world—one of strange but growing trust.

It wasn't love, at least not for you, but it was something. Ryomen Sukuna treated you differently from the others. He sought your company more often, and the violent edge in his voice seemed to soften when he addressed you.

What set you apart wasn’t just your demeanor or willingness to adapt—it was your face, the way you looked almost identical to Ryomen Hiromi, the only woman your husband Sukuna had ever loved.

At first, you didn’t know why he lingered in your presence or why his temper cooled when you were near. It was only after overhearing a conversation between two of his most trusted advisors that you realized the truth. You looked just like her—the woman whose memory still haunted him. You had become a ghost of his past, a stand-in for the love he had lost long ago.

As the years passed, you began to understand Sukuna in ways no one else could. He never spoke of Ryomen Hiromi to you, but in quiet moments, you saw the flicker of something softer in his gaze.

Perhaps he found comfort in your presence because you reminded him of her. Or maybe, in some twisted way, he had come to care for you—not as the woman you were, but as the reflection of someone long gone.

Even so, you knew where you stood. You were the favored concubine, yes, but the specter of Ryomen Hiromi loomed between you, casting a shadow over every fleeting moment of tenderness. You were not her, and you never would be. But in this cruel, tangled relationship, you had become the closest thing Sukuna allowed himself to care for.

You had long since come to terms with your place in Sukuna's world, understanding that his affection for you wasn’t truly yours. Still, it made life easier, gave you a strange sort of power in a place where others lived and died on his whims.

Once in a blue moon, sometimes, you both sat together for dinner. It was a rare occasion, that was for sure. Ryomen Sukuna often eats alone, served by his most loyal servant Uraume. But there were times when he would ask you to join him. It was often late at night, Sukuna didn't sleep well. You doubt he ever does.

As the sun set and the air turned cool that night, Uraume had come to your chambers and told you that Sukuna summoned you to his chambers to sup with him. You were surprised. But you immediately dressed with the help of your servants and as soon as the last of your satin ribbons were tied to your hair, you rushed out towards his chambers.

When you had arrived, the servants had been tense. It is usually like that when your lord Sukuna does not get what he wants. You apologized to them quietly, as quietly as possible for your lord husband not to hear. You would rather not have him do so. He does not like anyone, anything he owns lower themselves. You told them to leave, to go away. You would rather that it be you in that room alone with him. It would be easier.

It was one of those rare moments where he wasn’t looking to dominate or torment. Instead, he seemed pensive, sitting by the window, staring out at the horizon. Trays of food were scattered with luxurious food and luxurious ceramic tiles of alcohol. It was not for your husband. He does not need such sustenance.

It was for you, even with your small appetite. You could feel a bile rip through your throat. You purse your lips, walking inside the room and slowly lowering yourself, to bow. His crimson eyes flickered to you as you entered, and the smallest of smirks tugged at his lips.

“You're late, little one.” he said, his voice deep and teasing, though there was no real malice in it.

"I was making sure I looked presentable, my lord." you replied calmly, accustomed to his games. "I didn't think you'd appreciate rushing in disarray with your servant.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, but you had learned to discern when that sound held genuine amusement. He urges you forward from your bowing position and you stand up, moving towards him and sitting on the silk pillow as gracefully as you could.

"You always did know how to play the part. Perhaps that's why I tolerate you more than the others."

You sat across from him, not too close, but not far enough to seem distant. "Or perhaps it's because I remind you of her."

At this, his expression shifted. His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought you had overstepped. But instead of lashing out, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering on you. You looked over the meal and started to plate for your husband, even if he does not eat it. And then yourself. You slowly moved your sleeve away, carefully as you took the alcoholic beverage and started pouring it upon silver cups, first for him and then on your own.

"You think you're clever, little one?" he said, his tone neutral, betraying nothing. "But tell me... do you believe that’s all you are to me? A ghost of someone who no longer exists?"

It was a question you had pondered many nights alone in your chambers, alone and cold, unable to sleep whatsoever. You wanted to believe that over the years, you had carved out a space of your own in his cold heart, but the truth was undeniable. You were Ryomen Hiromi’s echo, the closest thing he would allow himself to love again. But how much of you, the real you, did he see?

"I don’t pretend to know what goes on in your mind, my lord." you said carefully, holding his gaze. "But I know I am not her. And I know you don’t care for me the way you cared for her."

Silence hung heavy between you. Sukuna's eyes, burning with something unreadable, bore into yours before he spoke again, softer than usual. He uncharacteristically lets his hand move towards the table and slowly takes one of the silver cups full of sake and raises it to his lips. He downs it slowly, letting the cool smooth taste echoes on his throat.

"You're right, little one." he admitted, surprising you. "You're not her. You never will be. Best remember it, hm?"

His words were sharp, meant to cut, but they didn't sting the way they once might have. You were used to those words. And so you do not speak. You let him say what he does and slowly let yourself consume the warm flavorful broth.

Sukuna looks towards you once more, watching you eat some meat. Silence echoes through the room. Instead, they hung in the air like a truth neither of you could avoid. And yet, as he turned his gaze back toward the setting sun, his voice grew quieter.

"But you're the only one who's come close."

It wasn’t an admission of love or devotion—you already know that your lord Sukuna wasn’t capable of that, not anymore. You were used to it. And yet, even if it was something you were used to it — you were still pained by it. But it was the closest you would ever get to understanding his complicated feelings for you. It was all that was left in his pitch black heart that never belonged to Ryomen Hiromi. You swallowed the last of the meat.

"And what does that make me, my lord?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna looked at you again, his smirk returning but softer this time, almost wistful. "It makes you the only one who matters. Out of everyone, every woman in these lands. You are the only one that matters above them. Behind me.”

And behind that, behind Hiromi. You whisper in your head.

He rose from his seat, approaching you with the predatory grace that always reminded you of the monster he truly was. He cupped your chin, tilting your face up toward him, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. You could feel your breath hitch hotly as his gaze burned your own. You purse your lips, trying to maintain control of yourself.

"But never forget, little one." Sukuna continued, his tone dropping. "You are here because I allow it. You may remind me of her, but you are still mine to control."

You held his gaze, unflinching. "I haven’t forgotten, my lord."

For a moment, the two of you remained like that for a moment. It was as though you were both locked in a silent struggle of power, emotion, and unspoken understanding. Even after ten years, it was just that way. Finally, Sukuna released you, stepping back as though the moment had never happened.

"Good." he said, turning away once more. "Now leave me for the night, little one. I’ve had enough of this sentimental nonsense for one night."

You nodded at him. You drank the last cup of alcohol and let the bitterness burn you. Soon after, you rose without a word, bowing slightly before you made your way to the door. Just before you left, you paused, glancing back at him one last time.

"I wish you a good night, my lord."

He didn’t respond, his attention already back on the horizon. But as you left, you couldn't help but wonder if somewhere, buried deep within him, there was more to his feelings than even he understood.

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THE PEOPLE OF HIDA VIEWED YOUR HUSBAND LIKE A GOD. They always have, for as long as you could remember. The grand hall of Ryomen Sukuna’s temple buzzed with the presence of those who had come from all corners of Hida.

The heavy doors swung open to let in petitioners, men and women alike, who approached with heads bowed low, their faces masked with fear or desperation. Some came seeking mercy, others with requests for blessings or favors only Sukuna could grant.

They dared not meet his eyes as they offered up their pleas, knowing that their fates rested on the whims of the man seated high upon the throne.

And there you sat, just below him, on a fine mahogany chair that had been made specifically for you, a symbol of your status within the temple. The carved wood was smooth beneath your fingers, but no amount of comfort could erase the tension simmering beneath your skin.

Sukuna's gaze swept across the crowd with indifference, his presence towering over all as his blood-streaked eyes flickered lazily between the petitioners. You could feel the immense weight of his power bearing down on the room, as though his very presence could crush anyone at will.

But what irked you the most wasn’t the groveling or the constant fear that filled this place. No, it was her.

Directly in front of you, standing tall in the center of the hall, was the statue of Ryomen Hiromi. The woman who had haunted you from the moment you became Sukuna's concubine. The resemblance between you and her was striking—uncannily so.

The cold, lifelike stone eyes stared straight ahead, almost as if they were judging you, just as she had judged countless others. The figure of Hiromi was positioned so that it faced not just Sukuna, but you as well, creating an eerie sense of being under constant scrutiny. Her hands, carved with impeccable precision, reached out in a serene pose, like a goddess looking down on humanity.

It was not just this one statue, either. There were others scattered throughout the temple—statues, paintings, carvings—each one depicting Hiromi in a different light. She was revered here, just as much as Sukuna himself.

The woman Sukuna loved most, the woman you could never truly become, was enshrined in every corner of his temple. Her image lingered like a ghost, haunting you, reminding you that no matter how close you sat to his throne, you would always be second to her.

Sukuna’s voice echoed in the chamber, deep and commanding, as he passed judgment on the next petitioner, his words casual as if human lives were merely tokens to him. You barely listened, too distracted by the sensation of Hiromi’s stone eyes watching you, bored at you with those haunting eyes..

You couldn’t escape her. Not here. Not ever.

Your eyes drifted from the petitioner at Sukuna's feet back to the statue, a chill crawling down your spine. It was too perfect. The way it captured her beauty, her serene expression, the very essence of what made her Ryomen Hiromi—everything that made her more than just a memory for Sukuna.

You wondered, in your darkest moments, whether Sukuna had commissioned these statues himself, making sure they were as accurate as possible, preserving every detail of the woman he loved more than life itself.

The thought gnawed at you.

The crowd shifted again, and you could hear the low murmurs of the people waiting for their turn to kneel before Sukuna. A faint breeze from the temple’s high windows stirred the air, and the faint sound of bells chimed in the distance.

And still, the statue stood, unwavering, staring at you with those lifeless eyes. It was as if Ryomen Hiromi had never left, as if she lingered between this world and the next, a permanent fixture in Sukuna’s heart, never allowing you to forget that you were only here because of her.

“Next.” Sukuna’s voice boomed, pulling you from your thoughts.

Another petitioner shuffled forward, trembling as they knelt. Sukuna watched them with a bored expression, waiting for them to speak.

You didn’t look at him. Instead, your gaze flickered back to the statue—always back to her. She was everywhere. No matter where you turned in this temple, in this life with Sukuna, Ryomen Hiromi was there.

Her presence was eternal, and it was driving you mad.

It wasn’t as if you truly hated Ryomen Hiromi. How could you hate someone you had never met, someone who existed only in the memories of others and in the cold, flawless statues that filled this temple? No, hatred wasn’t the right word. But her presence—her haunting, ever-present likeness—gnawed at you in ways that went deeper than resentment. It was painful.

Painful because every time you looked at her, it reminded you that you would never truly be seen for who you were. Sukuna’s gaze might fall on you often, but you knew the truth. He wasn’t looking at you—he was seeing her. You were a reflection, an echo of the only woman he had ever truly loved. And that knowledge burns inside you, slowly and constantly.

The way her statues were placed, almost reverent, made it clear just how important she was. To the people of this land, Ryomen Hiromi was no less a god than Sukuna himself. Her beauty, her grace, her presence—immortalized in stone—became a legend, a tale passed down from generation to generation. And you? You were simply the woman who bore her face, destined to be a stand-in for a love long lost.

You couldn’t escape it.

Even now, as you sat in that carefully crafted chair below Sukuna’s throne, the image of Hiromi loomed over you. Her delicate features seemed to accuse you, her eyes hollow but full of judgment. It was as if she were silently asking: Why are you here? Why are you in this temple, sitting at his feet, when you could never be me?

Your fingers tightened on the armrests, a subtle but instinctive reaction to the thoughts swirling in your mind. You knew it wasn’t logical to be angry at a statue—at a dead woman whose only crime was being loved by Sukuna—but the feeling still crept in. You had no reason to despise her, but the weight of constantly living in her shadow was suffocating.

Another plea for mercy echoed through the hall, but you barely registered it. Sukuna’s voice was deep, dismissive as he granted or denied requests with a wave of his hand. This was his world, and Hiromi was as much a part of it as you were. More, even. She had her place in his heart, in his temple, in the minds of the people who worshiped them both.

But where was your place? Were you always to be nothing more than a reflection, someone to remind him of what he had lost? And what pained you more was that even after nearly ten years by his side, you hadn’t found an answer to that question. Sukuna had grown accustomed to you, perhaps even fond of you, but you knew that in the deepest recesses of his heart, it was Hiromi’s memory that still held sway.

It hurt in ways you couldn’t explain.

You weren’t her. And no matter how long you stayed by Sukuna’s side, no matter how much you tried to understand him, to navigate the storm of his power and wrath, you could never be her.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your gaze, away from the statue, away from the memory that plagued you. The hall was filled with voices, but none of them reached you. Sukuna’s voice, sharp and dismissive, barely registered in your ears.

The weight of Hiromi’s existence pressed down on you, heavier than the stone statues that surrounded you, more oppressive than the walls of the temple that bore her likeness in every corner. For a moment, you allowed yourself to wonder—a dangerous, fleeting thought—what would it have been like if she had never existed?

If Ryomen Hiromi had never crossed Sukuna’s path, never claimed the part of his heart that was now lost to time, would his gaze fall upon you differently? Would he see you, truly, and not the pale reflection of the woman he had loved so deeply? Could you have been someone significant to him in your own right, not simply because of your resemblance to her?

The thought lingered, bittersweet, filling you with a longing you barely allowed yourself to acknowledge. It was tempting, imagining a world where Hiromi had never been. Where you, instead of living in her shadow, might have been the first to carve a place in Sukuna’s heart, the one to leave an indelible mark on his soul.

But it was a foolish thought, and you knew it.

Hiromi had shaped him. Her love—or perhaps the memory of her—had molded him into the man he was now. She wasn’t just a figure of the past. She was the cornerstone of this entire existence, the silent foundation upon which Sukuna had built his empire, his throne, his identity.

The cold stone likeness of her didn’t just haunt this temple—it haunted Sukuna’s very being. It influenced his every thought, his every action, even the way he looked at you.

You weren’t just living in her shadow. You were her shadow, a reflection of something he could never truly let go of. And no matter what you did, no matter how close you came to him, you would always be caught between the person you were and the ghost of Hiromi.

And the worst part? You couldn’t hate her. Not really.

You wanted to. In those quiet, agonizing moments when you felt Sukuna’s eyes on you, knowing he was searching for traces of her in your face, you wanted to hate Hiromi with all your being. But how could you? She had been everything to him. Her love had meant something so profound that even in death, she lingered, casting her long shadow over the living. Her presence was woven into the very fabric of Sukuna’s existence.

But more than that, you owed her everything. Without Hiromi, without the love that had marked Sukuna so deeply, would he have ever taken notice of you at all? Would he have seen something in your face, something in your eyes that reminded him of the one woman he had ever loved?

Without Hiromi, you might not even be here. Her memory had brought you into his life, kept you by his side for nearly ten years. The recognition that you shared her likeness had made you his favorite, the one concubine who had stayed when so many others had come and gone. In some twisted way, Hiromi had paved the path that led you to this place, to this seat below his throne, to the strange, fragile bond you now shared with him.

But living in her shadow—it was a torment all its own.

Every statue, every carving, every whispered prayer to her image reminded you that no matter how close you came to Sukuna, you were not her. And you never would be. The affection he might show you was born not out of love for you, but out of a love that had long since died with Hiromi. You were the echo of something that had ended, a reflection of a life he had lost.

It was a strange, agonizing paradox. Without Hiromi, you would have nothing, no connection to Sukuna at all. But because of her, you would also never have everything. You could never be the woman he truly loved, no matter how long you stayed at his side.

And so, you sat there, beneath Sukuna’s throne, as the statue of Hiromi looked down on you with cold, indifferent eyes, her presence an inescapable reminder of the role you played in his life.

A role you hadn’t chosen, but one you were bound to, for as long as Sukuna wished it.

You snap back to the present as Sukuna’s deep voice rumbles through the hall, breaking through your swirling thoughts. “What do you think?” he asks, his gaze shifting from the kneeling man before him to you. His expression is unreadable, cold and calculating, as always, though there’s an edge of curiosity in his tone.

You blink, focusing on the man who trembles at Sukuna’s feet, eyes downcast, waiting for his judgment. The hall, filled with the murmurs of the petitioners, goes quiet in anticipation.

“What is his crime?” you ask, your voice calm, though you feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on you.

“He stole, little one.” Sukuna replies, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice as if daring you to suggest otherwise. “From one of my temples.”

You sigh softly, leaning back in your chair, your eyes narrowing slightly as you assess the man. His clothes are tattered, his hands dirty and worn—clearly a sign of the hard times that have plagued the land recently. The famine had hit Hida hard this year. Crops had failed, and many of the people were barely surviving, struggling just to feed their families.

“The famine has been hard on all, my lord.” you say quietly, though there’s an edge of empathy in your words. You weren’t excusing the man, but you understood the desperation that drove people to do things they wouldn’t have otherwise done. Hunger was a cruel master, and you’d seen its effects firsthand in the villages.

“That does not mean he is entitled to steal, little one.” Sukuna counters, his tone sharp, though he doesn’t seem angry—more like he’s making a point. “There needs to be justice.”

You purse your lips, knowing Sukuna’s sense of justice could be harsh, final, and unyielding. He ruled with an iron fist, and mercy was not something he granted easily. But you also knew he valued your opinion, at least in his own little ways. After all, you were the one concubine whose voice he truly listened to.

“Then chain him to me, my lord.” you say, your words surprising even yourself. You sit up straighter, meeting Sukuna’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “Let this man serve me in the Vermillion hall. My private garden needs tending. Let him work under my watch so that he may learn a lesson. Let him toil in the hardship of life for his mistake, rather than meet more... final end.”

The man at Sukuna’s feet looks up, his eyes wide with shock, perhaps hope, though he dares not speak. It was almost rare for anyone to be heard speaking with such authority in this hall the way Ryomen Sukuna does.

It was rarer that your voice was heard with such a loud echo. The other woman speaks, they all must think. The rarest words from her lips. Mercy, the virtue of the woman she could never replace, echoing in the stone sight of her.

The hall remains silent, as if everyone is holding their breath, waiting for Sukuna’s response.

Sukuna’s eyes linger on you, studying you for a long moment. You can feel the weight of his power in his gaze, the way he considers your words, turning them over in his mind. He is not a man to grant mercy lightly, and you know the risk you’re taking by asking this of him.

But after nearly ten years by his side, you’ve come to understand how to navigate his moods, his whims, and his sense of order. You knew when to have him indulge you, even when it was not an occurrence you repeated frequently.

Finally, a slow smile curves at the corners of his mouth. It’s not a warm smile—it never is—but it’s a sign that he’s pleased. “Very well, little one.” he says, his voice carrying the authority of his decision. “Let him serve you in the Vermillion hall. He will tend your garden, as you wish. But if he steps out of line—if he falters, even once—you will bring him back to me. He shall meet his end in the hands of his lord. Do you understand?”

There is no mistaking the threat beneath his words. You nod, accepting his terms.

“Thank you, my lord.” you say softly, turning your gaze to the man who has been spared, for now. He looks up at you with a mix of relief and fear, clearly aware of how close he came to a far more brutal fate.

Sukuna leans back on his throne, watching you both, as if amused by the small victory you’ve won for the man. But you know better than to think Sukuna was softened. This was merely a moment of indulgence, granted to you because of the peculiar bond you shared.

As the guards move to take the man away, you return your attention to the grand statue of Ryomen Hiromi, standing in front of you, her stone eyes as cold and distant as ever.

In the shadow of the woman who had everything, you had won a small victory today. But the haunting presence of Hiromi lingered still, reminding you that no matter what you did, Sukuna’s heart would never truly belong to you. And no matter what – your kindness would never be as beloved by the people who revered the stone that was left.

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YOU ENJOYED THE PRIVILEGE OF PRIVACY. Every day, you enjoyed the distant life you had lived here in the Vermillion hall. The Vermillion hall had been a gift from Sukuna, presented to you on your fifth year in his temple.

It wasn’t grand in the way his own halls were, but it was yours. A quiet, secluded enclave within the sprawling temple grounds, removed from the constant presence of the other concubines and the weight of Hiromi’s looming statues.

In the years prior, you had only been given a selection of rooms within Sukuna’s own quarters, close enough for him to visit whenever he pleased. Though his visits were rare, those rooms had been a symbol of your availability to him, a reminder that you were under his thumb, always within reach.

But as time passed, and your bond with Sukuna evolved into something more complex than mere possession, he decided to give you something more. Vermillion hall became yours. It was a gesture that left the other concubines seething with jealousy.

They already despised how close you had become to Sukuna, how often he lingered by your side, and now they had another reason to resent you. You knew that their hatred ran deep, festered in the corridors of his temple, where whispers of favoritism and betrayal echoed in the dark.

To pacify them, and perhaps to create some distance between you and their hostility, Sukuna had given you the Vermillion Hall. It wasn’t a grand act of love, nor was it some romantic gesture. It was practical. The gift served to ease tensions, to quell your growing discomfort, and to offer you a reprieve from the suffocating dynamics of the temple’s inner court.

In Vermillion Hall, you had your own household. Your own space, away from the eyes that burned with envy. Your own garden, tended by servants who answered only to you. There were pleasantries there, comforts that softened the harshness of your life with Sukuna. The hall was peaceful, serene, and for the first time in years, you had a sense of autonomy, a place to call your own.

You were aware of what the gift truly meant. It wasn’t love, not even affection in the way one might hope. Sukuna had never cared in that way. His gestures, while grand, were always calculated.

Vermillion hall was an offering of peace, a way to keep you satisfied, pacified. It wasn’t an act of affection but of convenience. With your own residence, you were removed from the tensions of the other concubines. You were out of the way, kept at a distance while still under his control.

And yet, you were grateful. Despite knowing the reasons behind it, you cherished the hall because it afforded you something you hadn’t realized you craved so deeply—freedom.

You were far enough from the other concubines, from their petty schemes and cruel glares. Away from the prying, stone-cold eyes of Hiromi’s likeness, always watching you from every corner of the main temple. And, perhaps most importantly, you were away from Sukuna’s immediate reach.

Here, in your quiet refuge, you could breathe without constantly feeling the weight of his presence or his demands. The distance didn’t erase your bond with him—Sukuna could summon you whenever he wished, and you would always return—but it allowed you moments of solitude, moments to reflect and gather yourself.

In Vermillion Hall, you found a strange sort of peace. Away from the tempest of Sukuna’s world, you could finally be alone with your thoughts. And in that space, you realized how much you had craved this separation—how, even in your closeness to Sukuna, you had always yearned to be free from the shadow of both him and Hiromi.

The garden at Vermillion hall was your sanctuary. It had been from the moment you first stepped foot into it, surrounded by delicate vermillion petals, fragrant herbs, and the soft hum of nature’s presence.

Sukuna had forbidden the servants from tending to it, decreeing that it was yours alone to care for, a space untouched by others. It was a strange sort of gift—one that granted you solitude but also burdened you with its upkeep.

In the beginning, you had relished the challenge, pouring your time and energy into every plant, every blossom. The act of tending the garden gave you purpose, something to pour your hands into when everything else in your life felt dictated by Sukuna’s whims. It was an escape, a place where you could breathe and let your thoughts wander.

But as the years passed, you found it harder to keep up with. The garden grew wild, sprawling beyond what you could manage alone. The weight of maintaining it, along with the complexities of your life in Vermillion hall, began to overwhelm you. What was once your refuge now became a reminder of your isolation, each untended leaf and overgrown vine whispering of the loneliness you felt within these walls.

That was when Sukuna granted your request—begrudgingly, perhaps—and allowed you a servant. The man who came to you, your new gardener, was named Hironobu. His name meant “gentle abundance” and it seemed to suit him perfectly.

He was a quiet, unassuming figure, with a calm presence that filled the garden like a steady breeze. He wasn’t like the other servants, who always carried a quiet fear of Sukuna in their eyes. There was something different about Hironobu, a certain calm that put you at ease in a way you hadn’t expected.

At first, you barely spoke to him, unsure of how to navigate the strangeness of having someone else in your once-private space. But as days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, you began to find comfort in his presence. He tended to the garden with care, never overstepping, always leaving space for you to do what you wished. But slowly, you began to rely on him more and more. His hands, though calloused, were gentle with the plants, and you found yourself watching him sometimes, noticing the way he seemed to move with the rhythm of the earth.

Conversations began to bloom between the two of you, small at first—a comment about the soil, a shared observation about a plant’s growth. But over time, you began to talk about other things. Life. The temple. The world beyond its walls, which felt like a distant dream. Hironobu listened more than he spoke, his quiet presence a balm to your often lonely existence.

You found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Not in the same way you were tied to Sukuna, but in something softer, something more human. Hironobu didn’t see you as a concubine or as someone living in the shadow of Hiromi. He saw you as you were—a person. A soul, just like him.

There was no pretense with him. No judgment. Just quiet understanding.

In the afternoons, you would find him in the garden, kneeling by the plants, his fingers brushing against the earth as if he were communicating with it. You would sit nearby, watching him work, feeling a peace you hadn’t known in years. It was a strange thing, this growing connection between the two of you.

You weren’t sure when it had started—perhaps from the very first time he smiled at you, or perhaps later, when you noticed that being with him felt different than with anyone else.

With Hironobu, the garden began to feel like a sanctuary again, not just from Sukuna or the other concubines, but from your own loneliness. The space that had once been yours alone became something shared, and in that sharing, something beautiful blossomed—a quiet companionship, a bond that grew in the shadow of the vermillion blossoms.

For the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t completely alone. Hironobu was there, steady and calm, tending to the garden as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And with each passing day, you found yourself growing closer to him, drawn to the gentle abundance of his presence.

One late afternoon, as the sun began to dip beyond the horizon, casting long shadows across the garden, you found yourself kneeling beside Hironobu. He was carefully pruning one of the flowering shrubs, his focus entirely on the delicate task. You watched him for a moment in silence, taking in the way his hands moved with precision, the soft rustle of leaves under his touch.

“You’ve done wonders with this place, Hironobu.” you finally said, your voice breaking the quiet. “I barely recognize it anymore. It feels… alive again.”

Hironobu glanced up, offering a small smile. “It was always alive, thanks to your good work, my lady. It just needed a little bit more care.”

You could feel warmth brush against your cheek as you nodded, brushing your fingers along the edge of a flower petal. “I couldn’t have managed it on my own. I’m grateful that you’re here.”

There was a moment of quiet between you, the air filled with the soft hum of the garden’s life. Hironobu set down his tools and wiped his hands on a cloth, then looked at you with an expression that was both kind and thoughtful.

“You speak as if you’re alone here, my lady.” he said quietly. “But you’re not. Not anymore.”

His words settled between you, a truth that you hadn’t fully realized until now. The loneliness that had once pressed down on you had lifted, little by little, ever since he arrived.

“I suppose… I’ve gotten used to being alone.” you admitted, your voice softer than before. “It’s been that way for so long. Even when I was with lord Sukuna, surrounded by people, it was always the same. The others… they hated me. And lady Hiromi……” You hesitated, glancing at the distant temple where her statues stood in silent vigil. “She’s everywhere.”

Hironobu’s gaze followed yours, but he said nothing for a moment. Instead, he sat back on his heels and watched you with a gentle patience that you had come to value. You could tell that he had some fondness for Hiromi.

Who wouldn’t? His parents must have told her of the good deeds of Ryomen Hiromi. You were but a nobody and Hiromi, she was immortal to the people, to the land. You were an outsider to these people.

“Do you resent lady Hiromi, my lady?” he asked quietly, his tone free of judgment.

You shook your head, though the truth of it weighed heavily on you. “No. I can’t. How could I? Lord Sukuna loved her. And she is kind and generous, she was genuine, I am sure. But I…..I’m… I’m only here because I remind him of her.”

Hironobu’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes thoughtful. “And yet, he chose to keep you close. To give you this hall, this garden. That’s not something he does for everyone, my lady. You are important to our lord.”

“Maybe.” You sighed, the weight of your situation pressing down on you once more. “But it’s not love. I doubt it was. Not like it was with lady Hiromi.”

There was a long pause as you both sat in the quiet of the garden, the only sound the soft breeze moving through the leaves.

“Do you wish it was, my lady?” Hironobu asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to look at him, surprised by the question. His eyes were steady, sincere. It wasn’t the first time you’d wondered that yourself. Would it be easier if Sukuna truly loved you? If you weren’t just a replacement for a woman who was no longer here?

But as you looked into Hironobu’s eyes, the answer felt more complicated than it ever had before.

“I don’t know, Hironobu.” you admitted, your voice quiet. “Maybe at first, I did. But now… I’m not sure it matters.”

Hironobu’s expression softened, and he nodded as if he understood. “Love doesn’t always come in the way we expect it to, my lady.”

You met his gaze, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. There was something about the way he said it, the way his words felt more like an invitation than a simple observation.

“I suppose not.” you murmured.

A comfortable silence fell between you again, and after a few moments, Hironobu stood and extended a hand to help you up. You took it, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours, and for a moment, you stood there together in the quiet of the garden.

“Shall we finish up for today?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded, but as you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. “Hironobu?”

He paused, looking at you curiously. “Yes, my lady?”

“I don’t think I could have done this without you.” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “Not just the garden. Everything.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You’re not alone anymore, my lady. I hope you may remember that.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding, a quiet understanding passing between you. As you walked back toward the hall, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted. Not just in the garden, but between you and Hironobu as well. The distance that once separated you felt smaller, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps, in the gentle abundance of his presence, you had found something you hadn’t been looking for. Something that, unlike the garden, wouldn’t fade with time.

══════════════════

YOU STARTED TO ENJOY GARDENING WITH SOMEONE. As the days passed in the garden, you and Hironobu grew closer. His laughter filled the spaces that had long been silent, echoing in the air like a sweet melody that danced among the blossoms.

Each shared moment became a thread weaving into the fabric of your existence, bringing warmth and light into your life. The garden, once a sanctuary of solitude and melancholy, transformed into a vibrant tapestry of color and life under his gentle care.

You found yourself eagerly anticipating his visits, counting down the hours until he would arrive, a basket in hand, ready to tend to the plants that flourished under his skilled touch.

The sunlight seemed to brighten when he stepped through the gates of the vermilion hall, illuminating not just the petals of the flowers but your heart as well. Each time he smiled, it felt as though the world around you bloomed anew, and you began to notice the small joys that had previously gone unnoticed—the way the sun filtered through the leaves, the gentle rustle of the wind, and the songs of birds fluttering above.

Conversations flowed easily between you, often starting with the mundane aspects of gardening—discussing the best ways to prune the roses or debating which herbs to plant next. But as you both shared stories and laughter, the dialogue deepened, revealing layers of your souls. Hironobu spoke of his childhood, his dreams of becoming a skilled gardener, and the joy he found in nurturing life. You opened up about your life in the temple, the challenges you faced as Sukuna’s concubine, and the bittersweet longing you felt for freedom.

“Do you remember the first time you showed me how to care for the orchids?” you asked one day, recalling the way he had patiently guided your hands, teaching you the delicate art of nurturing the fragile blooms.

Hironobu chuckled, a warm, rich sound that resonated in your chest. “You were a quick learner. I think you were more excited about getting your hands dirty than the flowers themselves!”

You smiled at the memory, the image of dirt smudged across your palms and the way his eyes had sparkled with amusement. “Maybe I just liked spending time with you,” you replied, your heart racing at your own boldness.

His gaze softened, and you could see a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something that hinted at unspoken feelings. “I like spending time with you too. You make this place feel alive. It’s more than just the plants; it’s the way you see beauty in everything, even in the shadows.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, filling the hollow spaces within your heart that had long been empty. You found yourself blushing, the warmth of his gaze igniting a spark of hope in your chest. In those moments, the weight of your circumstances seemed to lift, if only for a while. You felt cherished, seen, and—dare you think it—truly happy.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks, you were reminded of the solitude that lingered beneath this newfound joy. While Hironobu brought a lightness to your life, there was still an underlying ache, a reminder that this connection, as precious as it felt, existed in a world defined by shadows.

One afternoon, as you and Hironobu knelt side by side in the garden, tending to a patch of vibrant marigolds, he paused, his hands resting in the soil. “You know,” he began thoughtfully, “it’s strange how life brings us together in unexpected ways. I never imagined I would find such joy in tending a garden, especially one that belongs to someone as remarkable as you.”

You glanced at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. “It’s not just the garden. You’ve brought joy into my life, Hironobu. I can’t remember the last time I felt this… alive.”

His eyes met yours, and in that moment, the world outside the garden faded away. The towering walls of the temple, the looming presence of Sukuna, and the whispers of the other concubines—all of it seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you, surrounded by the fragrant blooms and the warmth of the sun.

“I wish I could give you more than this, my lady.” Hironobu said softly, his expression earnest. “You deserve to be happy, to feel free. This garden is a refuge, but I want you to feel that way outside of it too.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the weight of longing and affection intertwining within you. “I… I don’t know what the future holds for me, but right now, I’m grateful for this moment with you, Hironobu.”

One evening, as the sun set in a blaze of oranges and purples, you were gathering a basket of freshly picked herbs when Hironobu approached, his expression unusually serious.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” he asked, his tone almost hesitant.

You set the basket down and nodded, your heart fluttering with curiosity. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

He took a deep breath, his hands clasped together in front of him. “I want to apologize for what I’m about to say, my lady.” he started, his voice steady but laced with a hint of nervousness. “I know it may change things between us.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Hironobu, what do you mean?”

He shifted his weight, glancing away as if searching for the right words. “I’ve grown fond of you—more than I intended to. I can no longer pretend that it’s just admiration or friendship.” He paused, his gaze finally meeting yours, filled with an earnestness that made your heart race. “I’m in love with you, my lady.”

The world seemed to pause at his confession. The weight of his words hung in the air between you, and your breath caught in your throat. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.

“I know you are married to lord Sukuna, my lady.” he continued, his voice low and filled with regret. “And I never intended to overstep my bounds. But I had to tell you, because hiding it would only cause me more pain and I would not be fair to you, my lady.”

You took a step back, your mind racing. “Hironobu, I—”

“Please, my lady.” he interrupted gently, raising a hand to stop you. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just needed you to know how I feel. You deserve to know that you’ve brought joy into my life, more than I could ever have imagined. And if you cannot return those feelings, I will understand. I just… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your heart ache. You felt a mixture of emotions—surprise, fear, and an undeniable warmth that surged through you at his words.

“I never wanted to put you in this position, Hironobu.” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve enjoyed our time together so much, but I… I’m married to lord Sukuna. You know how he is.”

“Of course, my lady.” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t change how I feel. I just thought… perhaps there was a chance you might feel the same way.”

You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation crashing down on you like a wave. Sukuna was a force of nature, and while your relationship with him was complex, it was rooted in years of shared history—of loyalty and duty.

But here was Hironobu, his honesty and vulnerability laid bare before you. He was a breath of fresh air in your life, and the connection you shared felt like a balm to the wounds of your past.

“I—” you began, searching for the right words. “You make me feel seen, Hironobu. Happy. But this isn’t simple. I can’t just—”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured, my lady.” he said, stepping closer, concern etched on his features. “I expect nothing. I only wanted to be honest about my feelings. And take care of you, my lady. You deserve that much.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of your emotions almost overwhelming. “I appreciate your honesty. It means a lot to me, truly. But I can’t deny that this is all very complicated. I never intended for this to happen.”

“I understand, my lady.” he replied, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and sadness. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that I’ll be here for you. I care about you, and I want to help you in any way I can. I will be your servant, for as long as I live.”

In that moment, something shifted between you. The air felt charged with unspoken possibilities, and though the path ahead was uncertain, the connection you had with Hironobu felt undeniable. You might not have the answers now, but there was a warmth in the garden that promised a new beginning.

“I see.” you said softly, your heart pounding.

“My lady, I adore you. I always will.” Hironobu said, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll always be here, tending to the garden—and to you.”

As he turned to leave, you watched him go, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and excitement. You couldn’t help but wonder what this new chapter might hold, not just for you, but for both of you. In the garden’s gentle embrace, you felt a sense of hope begin to bloom, fragile yet persistent.

══════════════════

YOU THINK YOU’VE NEVER BEEN THE PERSON TO PRAY. But in the past ten years, you found yourself finding relief in prayer. It reminds you of your mother’s piety, of your father’s mumbling whispers to the gods, your brothers and sisters sitting beside you.

You haven’t seen them in ten years. But you wish they were well. And even if you don’t see them anymore, this gives you relief.

You knelt in the inner sanctum of the temple, bowing your head in prayer before the statue of Bishamon. Your lips moved silently, asking for a clear mind, but no matter how hard you prayed, you could not banish the thought from your head—Hironobu, your loyal gardener, had confessed his love to you.

It had taken you by surprise. You were Sukuna's concubine. You could not be with Hironobu. And yet, he made you happy in a way you hadn’t known was possible, and your heart was torn. To tell Sukuna was out of the question. If he knew, he could kill Hironobu without hesitation. You shivered at the thought.

The flickering light from the temple’s lanterns cast shadows on the walls, their soft glow doing little to soothe the turmoil raging inside you. How could something so pure—a love untainted by power and possession—be so wrong? How could you feel joy when the very thought of it put Hironobu’s life in peril?

Your mind returned to that moment, the way his eyes had softened when he spoke his feelings, the tenderness in his voice. He had always been gentle, always there with a quiet presence, nurturing the garden you so often found peace in. And now, he wants to nurture you. But you were Sukuna’s, bound to him by fear and something you could never quite define as love. Duty, perhaps. A twisted form of devotion. But love? That was not something you could claim to feel for the man who held you in his iron grip.

A soft breeze swept through the temple, brushing against your skin like a whisper, and you closed your eyes, imagining for a moment what life might be like if things were different. If you could run. If you could be free. But such thoughts were dangerous, reckless even, and you knew you would never act on them.

Just then, you heard footsteps behind you, a familiar presence that made your breath catch. Sukuna.

"I didn’t know you prayed," his voice cut through the silence like a blade, deep and commanding, bringing you back to the harsh reality of your situation.

Your heart raced as you slowly rose from your knees, turning to face him. He stood in the dim light, towering over you as always, his gaze sharp and penetrating.

"I did not take you for a pious woman," Sukuna continued, his eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing you.

"Piety is a comfort, my lord," you replied quietly, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. "It eases the soul to have someone that listens."

Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward the statue of Bishamon for a moment before returning to you. "Hm," he muttered, unimpressed, though his gaze lingered on you longer than usual. "Then do you pray to me?"

You blinked, taken aback by the question. "What do you mean, my lord?"

Sukuna stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his eyes dark and intense. "Am I not a god?" he asked, his tone low and dangerous. "Your god?"

For a moment, your breath faltered, but then you gathered yourself. You had to be careful. You had to choose your words wisely. A soft, almost bitter smile tugged at your lips. "My lord," you whispered, meeting his gaze with a quiet defiance, "do I not worship you already? Does my entire existence, my suffering, my love for you—" your voice grew quieter, but sharper, "—is it not enough worship for you as my god?"

Sukuna’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. His gaze remained locked on yours, and for the first time in your life, you saw something close to uncertainty flicker in his eyes.

But you did not feel victorious. You felt hollow. Because no matter what you said, no matter how sharp your words were, you were still bound to him. Still trapped.

And Hironobu? He would never be yours.

The silence between you and Sukuna stretched on, thick with tension. His gaze remained locked on you, unyielding, as though searching for something deeper within you—some trace of weakness, some sign of betrayal. But you stood tall, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t let him see your turmoil, couldn’t let him suspect that anyone had stirred your heart, least of all someone as lowly as a gardener.

Sukuna’s lips curled into a smirk, though there was no amusement in his eyes. “Careful with your tongue, woman,” he said softly, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable. “There are limits to even my patience.”

You bowed your head slightly, a gesture of submission. “Of course, my lord. Forgive me if my words displeased you.”

He watched you for a moment longer, his gaze piercing through your very soul, before turning away, his crimson robes trailing behind him as he walked toward the temple’s entrance. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, thinking he was leaving, that the conversation had come to an end.

But then he stopped.

“You seem… distant, little one.” Sukuna remarked, his voice casual but laced with suspicion. He didn’t turn to face you, but you could feel his eyes on you, even without seeing them. “Something troubles you.”

Your heart froze. Did he know? Could he sense the conflict within you?

“No, my lord.” you replied quickly, too quickly, the lie on your lips before you could think. “I am merely tired.”

“Tired? This does not seem to be you, little one.” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. Slowly, he turned to face you, and the way his eyes bore into yours made your pulse quicken. “I don’t believe you.”

Your throat tightened as you scrambled for something, anything, to say. “I—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna took a step closer, closing the distance between you in an instant. His hand shot out, grabbing your chin with a roughness that made you wince, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I am not someone who tolerates deceit, little one.” he growled, his face mere inches from yours. “If something weighs on your mind, you will tell me. Now.”

The air around you felt suffocating, your mind racing with thoughts of Hironobu. You couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t. The truth would mean death—for Hironobu, perhaps for you as well. But Sukuna’s grip tightened, his impatience growing, and you knew you had to give him something.

“I am troubled, my lord. you admitted, your voice shaking slightly. “But it is not something that concerns you, my lord.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but still suspicious. “Everything about you concerns me. You belong to me.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “It is only… the weight of my life, my place here. Nothing more.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your chin loosening slightly. “Your place is exactly where I put you, little one.” he said coldly, his fingers trailing down your neck in a way that made your skin crawl. “Do not forget that.”

“I haven’t, my lord. You must not have to worry.” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, he seemed to study you, searching your face for signs of rebellion, of disobedience. But then, slowly, he released you, taking a step back. You wonder if it was relief or it was disappointment you truly feel — knowing that he does not ask, that he lets you go. You purse your lips in a tight line. But you know that he does not wish to notice it.

“Good.” he muttered, turning away once more. “Do not forget who holds your life in their hands.”

With that, he strode toward the exit, his presence leaving the room like a dark cloud finally lifting. You stood there, frozen, the echoes of his words reverberating through your mind. He didn’t know. Not yet.

But how long could you keep this secret? How long before Sukuna’s suspicions became too great, before he began digging for the truth? You had already slipped too close to the edge today, and it terrified you to think of how much closer you might come tomorrow.

And Hironobu… how could you ever look at him again, knowing the danger your feelings for him brought? Knowing that Sukuna’s wrath could fall upon him at any moment?

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away. There was no room for weakness. Not here. Not in Sukuna’s world. But in the quiet recesses of your heart, where Sukuna could not reach, the thought of Hironobu lingered—like a fleeting ray of light in a dark, unyielding storm.

══════════════════

YOU HAD EXCUSED YOURSELF FROM DINNER EARLY. And you could not take too much food when you were in Sukuna’s chambers. That had concerned Sukuna, even if he did not want to show it. You were a human being after all. And if anything was wrong with you, it concerns Sukuna. You were his. You were a part of him.

And if a part of him was unwell, he must ensure its settled. Ryomen Sukuna had not meant to stay long when he visited Vermillion hall, your residence. He had come for something trivial, something that now seemed insignificant as his eyes fell upon you.

He stood in the shadows, watching from a distance, concealed by the thick trees lining the garden. You didn’t notice him; your attention was entirely on that servant, that Hironobu. He could feel the air punched out of his chest.

The way you smiled at him, laughed softly at something he said—it was a smile Sukuna had never seen on your face before. Genuine, unguarded, free. Happy. In the truest sense.

That wretched low life Hironobu knelt beside you, tending to the flowers, his hands moving carefully as he spoke to you. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitation. No, Sukuna could understand it. It was the tenderness he had when he looked at Hiromi. He looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.It was love. It was adoration. It was devotion. Sukuna’s chest tightened painfully, and his fists clenched at his sides.

What was this feeling? A tug, something sharp and bitter gnawing at him, growing stronger the longer he watched you with Hironobu. He wasn’t used to this—this strange, almost foreign sensation. He knew anger, jealousy, possession. But this… this felt different. More unsettling

He wonders now, if he’s ever seen that smile on your face when you look at him. If you’ve ever truly been happy in the grace of his existence. But somehow, within the depths of what remains in his heart, there was pain. There was jealousy. There was anguish. There was grief. And he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he felt like this. His heart had long died. Died with his beloved Hiromi and yet….

His face contorted into a scowl, his jaw tightening. He turned sharply on his heel, his robes whipping through the air as he left without a word. The sight of you with Hironobu left an acid taste in his mouth, and though he hated to admit it, it bothered him in a way he could not explain.

That next morning, he summoned you to break his fast with him—even rarer than supping with him.

When you arrived, the room was dimly lit from the shading silk, the atmosphere thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Ryomen Sukuna sat at the head of the long table, his scarlet eyes dark, his expression unreadable.

You felt a cold knot in your stomach as you approached him, the air between you tense and charged. You were not hungry. You could not feel any pleasure knowing that he was staring at you that way.

“My lord, I greet you with fervent devotion.” you said softly, bowing slightly before taking your place at the table. He didn’t respond immediately, simply watching you with that same piercing gaze that always made you feel exposed.

The silence stretched on, oppressive and heavy, before he finally spoke. “I visited Vermillion Hall last night.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The way he said it, the deliberate pause—it sent a wave of dread washing over you. “I… I was unaware of your visit, my lord.” you replied carefully, trying to keep your voice steady. “You must forgive me if I had not noticed.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Clearly.”

You shifted in your seat, sensing the trap closing in around you. There was a tension in Sukuna that you had rarely seen, something simmering beneath the surface. You remained in your position, feeling a bile stuck on the edge of your throat.

You could feel the sweat fervent on your palm as you gripped your kimono tenderly, hoping he would not notice the tension and fear in you.

“I saw you, little one.” he continued, his tone low and almost too calm. “With that lowly thief of a servant...what was his name....ah yes, Hironobu.”

Your blood ran cold at his words.

You knew what your husband was like.

You had made a mistake, you knew that well.

“I saw how happy you were with him, little one.” Sukuna said, his voice tightening ever so slightly, though his expression remained controlled. “Smiling, laughing, as if there were no worries in the world. It’s a wonder I’ve never seen you look that way with me.”

His words stung, even though you knew better than to show it. You lowered your gaze, knowing you were walking a very fine line. You knew him too well. He considered you a part of him, the god he is.

And everything, it has to be about him. Your existence was taught to worship him. Loving him was the law, even if he would not give it back. And you could not have the same, you know that.

“I—he was simply tending to the garden, my lord. We merely… spoke as we often do. It was a mere passing laugh and enjoyment.”

“Is that all?” Sukuna asked, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “Because from where I stood, it seemed more than that, little one.”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly as you clenched them under the table. You couldn’t lie, not to him. But the truth—how could you explain the way you felt with Hironobu without damaging yourself?

“My lord, I beg for your understanding.” you began, carefully choosing your words. “Hironobu is kind and loyal to me, to you. He tends to the garden and offers his company when I walk, to ensure that he could care for you in caring for me. Nothing more, my lord.”

Sukuna’s eyes flickered with something dark and unreadable. “Kindness?” he sneered, leaning back in his chair. “Is that what makes you smile like that? Is that what makes you laugh so freely? How easy are you, little one? Do you offer such a thing to everyone, is it necessary, little one?”

“My lord—”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his voice cut through the air again, sharper this time. “Do you think I am blind? That I cannot see what’s happening under my own roof?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him, meeting his furious gaze. He wasn’t just angry. No, there was something deeper, something more dangerous. Hurt. Betrayal. You wonder why he feels this way. He had it clear even ten years ago that his heart had died. And that he was a god.

Because how could that be? Ryomen Sukuna was not someone to feel such things, to be vulnerable to them. And yet, as he stared at you, the fury in his scarlet eyes was laced with something raw.

“Answer me, little one.” he demanded, his voice low and threatening. “Is he more to you than just a gardener?”

The truth was clawing at your throat, begging to be let out, but you knew what it would mean. Hironobu would die. Sukuna would never allow it, would never tolerate even the hint of disobedience or disloyalty from you. And yet… Could you lie to him again?

“My lord,he is nothing but a servant tied to me to grace your glory.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You know…you know I would never betray you, my lord.”

He watched you for a moment. It was then where Sukuna stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he rose to his full, imposing height. He stalked toward you, his scarlet eyes blazing, and you felt a cold sweat break across your skin.

“If I find out otherwise, little one.” he growled, his hand grabbing your chin, tilting your face up to his. “Hironobu’s kindness won’t be enough to save him. And you—” his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “—you will know exactly what it means to displease me. You know me the best out of those fools in the concubine hall, do you not? You must know what I am willing to do.”

His grip on your chin tightened for a moment before he let you go, leaving you breathless, terrified, and more trapped than ever. You tried to calm yourself, you know you cannot show more. You cannot appear weak, not like this.

Sukuna’s wrath hung over you like a storm, and as he turned and walked away, you were left with the suffocating knowledge that your secret was on the verge of unraveling.

As Sukuna stormed out of the room, the sliding door nearly breaking along the path he left behind him, you remained frozen in your seat. The air was thick with his lingering presence, the scent of incense mixing with the oppressive tension that still hung over you. Your hands, resting in your lap, trembled uncontrollably. You felt the weight of Sukuna’s warning, his threat echoing in your mind.

Hironobu.

The thought of him twisted your heart painfully. You had always known the danger that came with even the slightest hint of affection for another man, but Sukuna had never been this close to the truth before. His suspicion was like a sword dangling over both your heads, ready to strike at any moment.

You rose from the table slowly, your legs unsteady beneath you. The silence of the grand dining hall was suffocating, every step you took feeling heavier than the last. You could barely think, barely breathe. All you could do was replay Sukuna’s words in your mind. The anger, the possessiveness—and something else. The hurt.

Could it be that Sukuna, the mighty king of curses, had actually been wounded by what he saw? You had always believed that you were just another possession to him, another piece in his vast collection of power and control. But tonight, there had been something deeper in his voice, something almost vulnerable.

And that terrified you even more.

When you reached the privacy of your chambers, you collapsed onto the bed, your body trembling from the weight of the evening. Your heart raced as you tried to steady your breath, but it was no use. Every time you close your eyes, you see Hironobu’s face, his warm, gentle smile—and Sukuna’s cold, furious gaze.

What were you going to do? You couldn’t abandon Hironobu. The thought of him being killed because of you, because of a love you couldn’t deny, was unbearable. And yet, if Sukuna found out, there would be no mercy. Not for either of you.

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts, and you quickly sat up, brushing away the stray tears that had escaped. “You may enter.” you called, trying to keep your voice steady.

The door creaked open, and to your surprise, it was Hironobu who stepped inside. His expression was calm, as it always was, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest tighten. Tension passes through you as much as fear does. You cover yourself with the blankets, as though to shield you from the vulnerability you feel for him.

“You shouldn’t be here, Hironobu.” you whispered, panic rising in your throat. “It is not allowed. This is not…..It’s too dangerous.”

“I know, my lady.” Hironobu replied quietly, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and knelt beside you, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. “But I had to see you. I heard that lord Sukuna summoned you and everyone was whispering about him. He was mad, and I was worried that he could harm you, my lady.”

You looked into his eyes, the warmth and sincerity in them a stark contrast to the cold, terrifying presence of Sukuna. For a brief moment, being with Hironobu felt like a balm to the storm raging in your heart. But the danger was too real, too imminent.

“My lord will not hurt me. You must know this.” You wonder if you were saying the right words. Ryomen Sukuna has hurt you. He always has, even if he does not lay a hand on you. “You must trust that.”

“My lady, still—”

“Hironobu.” you began, your voice breaking slightly. “Lord Sukuna saw us in the garden the other day.”

Hironobu’s face paled, but he didn’t let go of your hand. “What did my lord say?”

You shook your head, feeling tears prick at your eyes again. “He’s warned me. He said he saw how happy I was with you, how I smiled while we gardened today. He asked if you were more than just a gardener and servant to me.”

Hironobu’s hand tightened around yours. “And what did you tell him, my lady?”

“I told him I would never betray him. That we are only enjoying the garden together.” you whispered, the weight of your words heavy on your tongue. “But I don’t know how much longer I can keep him at bay to keep you safe. He’s watching us, Hironobu. I do not want him to hurt you, over your kindness and friendship and I fear for you—”

“I won’t let him hurt you, my lady.” Hironobu interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “I’ll leave if I have to. I won’t risk your life.”

“No, no.” you said quickly, gripping his hand tighter. “You can’t leave. That would only make him more suspicious. You are bound to me as a servant. My lord will be suspicious.”

Tears finally spilled over, and you tried to wipe them away, but Hironobu cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks softly. “We’ll figure this out, my lady. Do not be afraid.” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “We have to be careful, even in our friendship, but I won’t let him take you away from me.”

The intensity of his words made your heart ache, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his touch, to forget the danger, if only for a fleeting second. Being with Hironobu felt like a sanctuary, a place where you could be free from Sukuna’s suffocating grip.

But as much as you wanted to stay in this moment, you knew it couldn’t last. Ryomen Sukuna’s shadow loomed over everything, and no matter how careful you were, it was only a matter of time before he would find out the truth. One way or another, even if you had rejected Hironobu, Sukuna will end up being angry. And he would kill him. He would kill him and that would break you.

“I’m afraid, Hironobu.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. Not having a life of my own.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re stronger than you think, my lady.” he murmured. “We’ll find a way, even if it means we have to run.”

You shook your head slightly. “He would find us. You know he would.”

Hironobu didn’t argue. He knew the truth as well as you did. Ryomen Sukuna’s reach was vast, his power unmatched. There was no escaping him, not really.

But for now, in the quiet of your chambers, with Hironobu beside you, you allowed yourself to cling to the hope that somehow, some way, you could protect the fragile love you had found. Even if the world around you was crumbling.

The door creaked again, but before you could react, a cold voice sliced through the air.

“I told you, little one.” Sukuna’s voice was low, deadly, as he stepped out of the shadows, his eyes burning with fury, “there are limits to my patience.”

Your heart stopped.

You felt frozen in place.

He had seen everything.

The room felt as though it had been plunged into icy darkness the moment Sukuna stepped forward. His presence filled the air, suffocating, his crimson gaze searing into both you and Hironobu. The warmth you had felt moments before vanished, replaced by a cold, gnawing dread that clawed at your throat.

You stood up quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. "My lord—"

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to you, and the fury in them made your blood run cold. His face was a mask of controlled rage, but there was a darkness beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

“I warned you, little one.” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, each word like a blade slicing through the air. His attention shifted to Hironobu, who had risen to his feet but made no move to defend himself. There was a strange calm in Hironobu’s expression, but you could see the tension in his body, the readiness for whatever was to come.

“My lord, please.” you begged, stepping forward, your voice trembling. “Please don’t hurt him. He had done nothing wrong.”

Sukuna’s eyes snapped back to you, narrowing. “Do you think your pleas mean anything to me now?” His voice dripped with contempt. “You’ve lied to me. You betrayed me. And for what? A mere gardener?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay calm, to keep speaking even though your heart was breaking with fear. “He didn’t—he didn’t do anything wrong, my lord. This is my fault.”

Sukuna’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Your fault? Oh, I know it’s your fault. You allowed this to happen. You let him think he could take what is mine.”

Your breath hitched. The possessiveness in the god Ryomen Sukuna echoed in his voice was suffocating, and you knew he was on the edge of doing something irreversible. Desperation clawed at you as you stepped closer, falling to your knees before him.

“Please, my lord. Please. This is not….” you whispered, bowing your head, your hands trembling as you reached out, barely daring to touch the hem of his robe. “I beg you—don’t hurt him. He… he only cares for me. It’s not his fault.”

Sukuna stared down at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was silence—an unbearable, suffocating silence that made your chest tighten with fear. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, terrified of what you might see in his eyes.

“I should kill him where he stands,little one.” Sukuna said softly, though his voice was filled with venom. “I should make you watch as I tear him apart, so you understand the price of defiance.”

You gasped, your heart shattering at the thought. “No! Please, my lord, no!”

But before you could continue, Sukuna moved faster than you could react, his hand shooting out and grabbing Hironobu by the throat. The sound of Hironobu’s breath choking in his lungs was like a knife to your heart.

“My lord, please. Please, please—Sukuna!” you screamed, rushing to your feet, your hands trembling as you reached for him. “Please, no! I’ll do anything—anything! Just don’t kill him!”

Sukuna’s grip tightened, his gaze never leaving Hironobu’s face. “Anything?” he repeated, his voice cold and mocking. “What makes you think you have anything left to offer me, after this?”

Tears streamed down your face as you fell to your knees once more, your voice breaking. “I’ll take whatever you impose upon me, my lord—I’ll never speak to him again! Or any one else I swear to you, my lord! Just… please, don’t take his life. It’s my fault. I should have known better. I’ll do anything you ask, my lord. Just spare his life. He had done nothing wrong.”

Sukuna’s grip on Hironobu’s throat loosened slightly, but his eyes remained locked on you, watching your every movement, every tear that fell from your eyes. His lips curled into a cruel smile, but there was no warmth, no mercy in it. He was enjoying this, owning you.

“Is that what you think will save him?” Sukuna asked, his tone soft, dangerous. “Your submission? Your devotion? Little one, I own you. I do not give your submission. You give it willingly. You know that.”

You nodded frantically, your voice a desperate whisper. “Yes… yes, my lord. But I swear to you. I swear, my lord. I’ll submit to you in every way. I won’t resist, I won’t fight. I would continue to be devoted to you, only you. Just spare him, please.”

Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze flickered between you and Hironobu, his hand still wrapped around the gardener’s throat. The tension in the room was unbearable, and you could barely breathe as you waited for his decision. You feel like you were going to collapse, as you stopped breathing waiting for him to say anything.

For what felt like an eternity, Sukuna said nothing. The silence was deafening, the weight of his power crushing you under its force. You knew that he could kill Hironobu in an instant, with a single flick of his hand. And yet… there was something holding him back.

Finally, Sukuna’s fingers released their hold on Hironobu, and he stepped back, letting the man fall to his knees, gasping for breath. But the danger hadn’t passed. Sukuna’s gaze was still fixed on you, dark and dangerous.

“Get out of my sight.” Sukuna snarled at Hironobu. “If I see you near her again, I’ll tear you apart without hesitation. And there will be no more mercy.”

Hironobu, though clearly shaken, managed to stand, casting a glance at you, his eyes filled with both relief and sorrow. You gave him a small, trembling nod, urging him to leave while he still could. Without a word, he turned and disappeared through the door.

The moment he was gone, Ryomen Sukuna’s attention snapped back to you, and the full weight of his fury descended upon you.

“Don’t think for a moment that this is over, little one.” he said, his voice low and menacing. “You think I’ll just forget this? That I’ll let you off with a warning?”

You looked up at him, your body trembling. “I know… I know you won’t, my lord.” you whispered. “I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit. Just… please…”

“Please?” he mocked, leaning down so that his face was level with yours. “You think you can still make requests of me after what I saw today?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I beg your mercy.”

Sukuna’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, and he reached out, tilting your chin up so that you were forced to meet his gaze. “Mercy, huh.” he repeated, his voice soft, but laced with malice. “You think you deserve mercy after betraying me?”

You shook your head slightly, tears still streaming down your face. “No… I don’t. But Hironobu—he didn’t deserve to die for my mistake.”

For a moment, Sukuna simply stared at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and something darker, something possessive. Then, he released you, standing up straight once more.

“You will never see him again. Never again. And not anyone.” he ordered coldly. “You will stay at my side when asked where you belong. Know your place. And if you ever defy me again, I won’t hesitate to kill him—and you.”

You nodded, your heart breaking as you whispered, “Yes, my lord.”

══════════════════

YOU HADN’T TALKED IN A WHILE. Somehow you think you had forgotten what your voice sounds like. Silence has embraced you, as much as the darkness of the once vibrant Vermillion hall.

After that fateful night, everything changed. You isolated yourself in your chambers, the once-vibrant world of your garden now forbidden territory. Hironobu had vanished, leaving only a painful absence that lingered like a wound that refused to heal.

And there were whispers from the other halls of the temple that Ryomen Sukuna had killed him. You had expected it more or less. But it did not make it any easier. You wept in the silence of your halls.

And you had refused to eat, refused to change your clothes or wash yourself. Days blurred into one another, and the weight of your choices crushed you beneath their unbearable load.

Sukuna did not come to you. He did not summon you to his side. For a time, it felt as though you had become invisible to him, a ghost haunting the halls of the palace. At first, the silence seemed like a blessing; a reprieve from his suffocating presence, from his cruel words and piercing gaze. But as the days wore on, it began to gnaw at you. The solitude was maddening.

The garden that had once been your sanctuary became an unbearable reminder of what you had lost. You couldn’t bear to see the flowers Hironobu had so lovingly tended, the very space where you had felt fleeting moments of happiness. The very thought of stepping outside filled you with dread. You had no desire to face the world, not like this, not without him.

You were trapped—trapped between the suffocating control of Sukuna and the hollow, aching void left by Hironobu’s absence. Every breath you took felt heavier than the last, until even breathing felt like a burden you could no longer bear.

For a time, you thought it would be better to die.

The thought came slowly at first, creeping in like a shadow at the edge of your mind. But the more you dwelled in your isolation, the more it seemed like a mercy—a release from the endless torment of your existence. You had lost everything that mattered. The love you had found with Hironobu was gone, stolen from you by Sukuna’s wrath. And Ryomen Sukuna… he had broken you. His control, his possessiveness, his cruelty had shattered whatever was left of your spirit.

One night, the darkness in your mind swallowed you whole, and you couldn’t fight it any longer.

You had waited until the moon was high, the Vermillion Hall silent. You like to think that Sukuna had ordered everyone to leave you to your loneliness. But it was too late at night. No one came to your chambers anymore. No one would stop you. With shaking hands, you found a length of silk, soft and delicate, and tied it to the ceiling beam.

The precious gold and vermillion silk had been a gift from Ryomen Sukuna long ago. It was the very name of the hall he had gifted you. One of the hardest silks to find and make. It was a symbol of his wealth, his power. And he gifted it to you, a small echo of ownership to you. How ironic, you thought, that it would be the instrument of your final escape.

Tears blurred your vision as you fashioned the knot, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You stood on the edge, your heart pounding in your chest, and for a moment, you hesitated. But the pain in your heart, the unbearable ache of everything you had lost, pushed you forward.

In the cold stillness of that moment, you stepped off the edge.

You woke in a haze, your body weak and aching, the dim light of dawn filtering through the curtains. You weren’t dead. Somehow, impossibly, you were still here. Confusion clouded your mind as you tried to move, but your limbs feel heavy, your throat raw.

And then you saw him.

You weren’t sure the first time.

But you let yourself look again.

Ryomen Sukuna was sitting beside your bed, his presence unmistakable even in the pale morning light. His expression was unreadable, his dark crimson eyes fixed on you with a strange intensity. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You couldn’t speak well anyway. Your throat hurts.

You had never seen him like this before—silent, unmoving, almost still as a statue. His gaze roamed over you, lingering on the dark bruises around your neck, the evidence of your desperate attempt to escape.

“Why?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, but there was something else there too—something you couldn’t quite place.

You turned your head away from him, shame and sorrow overwhelming you. You force yourself to speak, even if it hurts. “Because… I can’t live like this anymore, my lord.” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’ve lost everything.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something passing over his face. “Everything? Do you think I would allow you to take your life without my permission?”

A pained bitter laugh escaped your lips, though it hurt to do so. “I can’t even die on my own terms?”

Sukuna leaned forward, his hand gripping the edge of the bed with barely controlled rage. “You think death would be an escape from me?” he hissed. “You belong to me, even in death, little one. Running away, it will not save you from me.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you couldn’t hold them back any longer. “I belong to no one!” you cried, the words tumbling out in a flood of pain. “Not anymore. Not after what you’ve taken from me.”

For a moment, Sukuna was silent, his expression dark and unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, his voice softened, though it remained cold. “You’re a fool.”

You turned to face him, your eyes red and swollen. “Why? Because I dared to want something else? Because I dared to love someone else? Even as a friend? My lord, I suffered for your sake. Being devoted to you like it is a law. It was…it was just a friend. A friend. And I cannot even have them. What am I to you, my lord? More than…more than someone who suffers worshiping you.”

He stared at you, his gaze penetrating, but he didn’t answer immediately. His fingers brushed against the bruised skin of your neck, and you flinched, but he didn’t pull away. There was a strange, almost possessive tenderness in his touch.

“You think this makes you free?” Sukuna murmured, his voice low. “You’re more mine now than you ever were before, little one.”

You shuddered, his words striking deep. “Why?” you whispered, barely able to hold back the sob in your throat. “Why do you care?”

Sukuna’s eyes burned with an intensity that made you tremble. “Because you’re mine, little one.” he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. “And I do not let go of what is mine so easily.”

There was no warmth in his words, no comfort. But for the first time, you saw something raw in his eyes—something that looked dangerously close to vulnerability. You swallowed hard, your throat aching from both the bruises and the tears.

“Then why did you come?”

Sukuna’s expression shifted ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something like regret, though he would never admit it. You know that too well. Ten years of marriage to this cruel soul, this cursed man turned god — you would never hear those words of comfort. Not even if you asked.

“Because I won’t let you die, little one.” he said, his voice steady but quieter than you had ever heard it. “Not like this.”

You stared at him, your heart aching with too many conflicting emotions to name. In that moment, you realized something. You were trapped, not just by Sukuna’s power, but by the strange, twisted bond that tied you to him. He would never let you go. Not in life, not in death.

And that thought was more terrifying than anything else.

══════════════════

YOU COULDN’T HELP BUT STARE AT HIM. You weren’t fully recovered from your injuries just yet, but the healers had let you return to your daily life. You had just finished attending to your lord Sukuna in the audience hall. You stopped as he appeared before you, as you changed into more leisure clothing.

And you were unsure what he was saying to you. But the weight of Sukuna's words hung heavy in the air, his gaze as piercing as ever as he stood before you, his expression unreadable. He was not giving you anything, but orders. And you’re curious. As much as you were surprised.

“You will take care of the child, little one.” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Your breath caught in your throat. “A child? I know nothing about children, my lord.”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of amusement in the corner of his lips. “You will learn.”

For a moment, you stared at him, searching his face for any sign of the usual cruelty, but there was something different this time. This wasn’t a command born purely from spite or possessiveness. It felt heavier, more deliberate, as if he had considered this for a long time. You felt the familiar helplessness rise within you, the sense that you were powerless to refuse him.

“I… I will do as you ask, my lord.” you whispered, defeated. The words felt hollow, but they were the only ones you could manage. Sukuna merely nodded, his expression hard, before turning and leaving the room.

Days passed, and the dread settled deep in your bones as you waited for the child to arrive. You didn’t know what to expect, but Sukuna’s commands were absolute. There was no running from this.

And then, one morning, the child was brought to your chambers.

You stood at the door, frozen, as the small figure stepped forward. Your breath hitched in your chest as you looked down at the little girl before you. Her features were delicate, her long hair falling softly over her shoulders. She couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, but there was something far older in her gaze.

The child looked up at you, her eyes startlingly familiar—crimson, like Sukuna’s. They stared into you with a haunting intensity that made your heart skip a beat. But it wasn’t just Sukuna’s eyes that made you pause. No, there was something else, something that chilled you to your core.

The girl’s face, though youthful and innocent, bore the unmistakable likeness of someone you thought you’d never see again.

Ryomen Hiromi.

Your heart clenched painfully, and the room seemed to spin for a moment. It was impossible, and yet… the girl standing before you had Hiromi’s face—her soft features, her kind eyes, but mixed with the piercing gaze of Sukuna. You’ve seen enough of her statues all around the temple palace that you’re too certain.

You swallowed hard, struggling to comprehend what you were seeing. Your chest felt tight as memories of Hiromi flooded your mind, of the woman you had once known, the one who had been so important to Sukuna.

Ryomen Sukuna entered the room behind the child, his presence like a storm cloud looming over you both. He regarded you with cold detachment, though there was something in his gaze that suggested this was not a simple matter for him either.

“This child…..” Sukuna began, his voice calm but commanding. “is Hiromi’s daughter. The child she lost long ago.”

You stared at him, shock rippling through you. “Hiromi’s… child?”

Sukuna nodded. “I found her soul.” he explained, his voice low and steady. “It was not easy, but with the help of a… trusted friend, I was able to bring her back. Her body grew anew, and now, she is here. Alive. For me to keep, as her father.”

Your mind raced, struggling to grasp what he was saying. Sukuna had brought the child back from the dead—had found her soul and, through some dark means, restored her. And now, this little girl, this child with Sukuna’s eyes and Hiromi’s face, stood before you.

And to be her father? Not only that, but to force you to be a mother. To raise her, knowing how much the ghost of her mother haunts you already. You do not know what to do. You could feel your lips still reflect a gaping hole, wide open in shock.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Why have you given her to me? Her mother’s kin still lives, my lord. Would they not want to know—”

Sukuna’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It does not matter what they want. You will raise her, little one.” he said simply. “You will care for her as if she were your own.”

You took a step back, overwhelmed by the weight of his demand. “But I don’t know how to care for a child, my lord I—”

“You will learn. You are not half–witted, aren’t you?” Sukuna interrupted, his voice sharp. “There is no other choice. I have willed it. And you shall follow it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You wanted to argue, to refuse, but you knew it was futile. There was no escaping Sukuna’s will. He had given you this child, and there was no turning back now.

The girl stood quietly between the two of you, her small hands clasped in front of her, watching the exchange with an unnerving calmness for someone her age. Her eyes—her father’s eyes—bore into you, as if she already knew more than you did, as if she carried the weight of her past life with her. Her mother’s face haunted you already. Why? Why must you be haunted like this?

“This was Hiromi’s child. And I cherish her.” Sukuna said again, more softly this time, as if the words held a deeper significance for him. “Now, she is mine. Mine own daughter. You will raise her for me.”

You could only nod, the enormity of it all crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Sukuna’s presence was suffocating, but the child’s gaze was what unsettled you the most. It was as if Hiromi’s spirit lingered within her, a ghostly reminder of the life Sukuna had shared with her, of a woman who had meant more to him than perhaps you ever could.

And now, you were tasked with caring for the last piece of Hiromi that remained in this world—a child born from tragedy, resurrected by Sukuna’s dark power.

“What is her name?”

He stops for a moment.

“Chiharu.” He says in response. “Ryomen Chiharu.”

“Very well, my lord. I will… do as you ask, my lord. I shall care for your child.” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked down at the little girl. She met your gaze with those unnerving eyes, and you felt a strange chill creep up your spine.

Sukuna lingered for a moment longer, his gaze flicking between you and the child before turning to leave. As he walked away, his parting words echoed in your mind.

“Do not fail me in this.”

Days turned into weeks as you adjusted to the new rhythm of life with Chiharu, the little girl now under your care. At first, it felt surreal to be responsible for someone so precious yet so fragile, a living reminder of a past life you could barely comprehend. But as time passed, the weight of your circumstances began to feel lighter, replaced by a sense of purpose you hadn’t expected to find.

Young Chiharu was a curious child, with a spirit that seemed undaunted by the complexities of her existence. She often wandered the halls of the palace, her footsteps soft against the cold stone floors, exploring every corner with wide-eyed wonder. It was in those moments that you found yourself drawn to her, your heart softening as she chartered away, her laughter ringing like music in the otherwise somber atmosphere of the palace.

Every evening, you would sit together in the garden in the Vermillion hall—the one place you had once avoided. Underneath the lush foliage, you would share stories, and slowly, you learned more about her.

Chiharu would speak of her dreams, her favorite flowers, and the little things that made her smile. She spoke of animals she wished to have, tales she had heard of distant lands, and the kindness she hoped to find in a world that had been cruel to her before.

As you listened to her, you found yourself revealing bits of your own life, your own fears and desires. With each passing day, the bond between you grew stronger, entwining like the vines in the garden. You shared laughter and quiet moments, and you began to feel a warmth blossom in your heart—a sense of family you had thought lost to you forever.

It was during one of these serene afternoons that Chiharu turned to you, her bright scarlet eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Mama.” she said softly, her small hand reaching for yours.

The word felt foreign, yet sweet on her lips. Her mother was someone that she will never get to know again. You knew were not her mother, you knew that too well. But you felt a swell of warmth in your chest at the sound, as if she had bridged a gap that had long remained unfilled. You were not born to be a mother, you knew you would never be one. And yet, in her eyes — you were. You were born to be her mother.

“Yes, my sweet little flower?” you replied, your heart fluttering at the connection that had formed between you.

“Why did lord Sukuna name me Chiharu?” she asked, her gaze steady and curious.

You paused, contemplating how to answer her question. “Chiharu means a thousand springs, little flower.” you explained gently. “It’s a beautiful name, one that speaks of new beginnings, renewal, and growth.”

The little girl tilted her head, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “But why did he choose that name for me?”

Your heart ached at the thought of Sukuna’s motivations. “I believe he saw something special in you. Perhaps he wanted to honor your connection to your past, to lady Hiromi. You are her child, Chiharu. And in a way, you are also a part of your lord father.”

“But you are my mother.” You hear little Chiharu whisper.

You did not know what to say.

You try to recover from her words.

You smile, for her sake, you think.

But you smiled for your sake too.

“We are both your mother.” You whispered back to her, putting her stray hair against the back of her ear. “But I am the one here at this moment, little flower.”

You watch her eyes brighten at the thought. “Truly?”

“Truly.” You smiled wider at her.

“What about my father?”

“Hm, what about my lord, little flower?”

Chiharu’s brow furrowed. “Do you think he loves me?”

The question caught you off guard. “I know he cares for you. That’s what I believe. In his own way, he has love.” But none for me.

Her small face lit up with a smile, though it was tinged with innocence and uncertainty. “I want to make him proud.”

A lump formed in your throat at her words. “You already make me proud, sweet flower. And that is what matters most.”

The connection between you and the young girl continued to deepen, woven through shared moments and quiet revelations. You discovered that Chiharu had a talent for painting, her little hands creating vibrant images that brought life to the entirety of the Vermillion hall. And you could not help but find joy in such revelations.

You encouraged her to explore her creativity, and soon, the once-dim walls of your home were adorned with her colorful drawings, depicting flowers, animals, and fantastical creatures. Even if the servants were concerned, you waved such words away. The Vermillion hall looked brighter with the scarlet flowers she drew everywhere.

Ryomen Sukuna would occasionally visit, his presence like a thunderstorm that cast shadows over your peaceful existence. When he did, Chiharu would run to him, her bright scarlet eyes sparkling with delight.

Despite the tension that accompanied his visits, you could see that he had a soft spot for her—a fleeting warmth that illuminated his otherwise cold demeanor. He adored this young girl, more than you know. He had given her such warmth more than anyone you had ever seen.

One evening, as dusk settled over the Vermillion hall, Ryomen Chiharu presented one of her paintings to Sukuna, her little hands trembling with excitement. “Look, lord Sukuna!” she exclaimed, holding up a vibrant depiction of a cherry blossom tree, the one standing in the middle of your never–ending gardens. “It’s for you!”

Sukuna studied the painting, his expression inscrutable, but you could see the flicker of something in his eyes. Perhaps pride, perhaps surprise. “You’ve done well, little blossom.” he said, his tone low and steady. “You had captured the lady’s cherry blossom with exquisite likeness.”

The child beamed at his praise, her cheeks flushed with joy. “Do you like it?”

“It is… acceptable, little blossom.” he replied, and though the words were blunt, there was a hint of approval lingering in his gaze. “I am certain that you will make more.”

You had wished that this was your life.

That you live forever in this moment.

But you knew better than to wish for that.

As the night deepened and the shadows in the grand hall stretched longer, Sukuna rose from his seat, his presence overwhelming as always. You called for Chiharu, who hesitated, her tiny face scrunching up in a pout. She clung to you, reluctant to leave, her voice soft, "I don’t want to go. My lord doesn’t come often anymore… I want to tell him about my day."

You knelt down, brushing your fingers through her hair and smiling gently. "He’ll come tomorrow, just like he promised, little flower." you reassured her, though a small part of you doubted the certainty in your words. She needed that hope, even if it felt fragile.

With one last glance toward Sukuna, Chiharu allowed herself to be led away by the servants, her footsteps fading down the hall. Silence settled between you and Sukuna, thick and awkward at first. He didn’t look at you immediately, instead gazing out into the night through the open windows, as if lost in thought.

“You take good care of her, little one.” Sukuna finally said, his tone gruff but softer than you expected. It was strange hearing thanks from him—it sounded unnatural coming from the King of Curses, yet there was sincerity in the rough edges of his words. "For that… I thank you."

You blinked, the weight of his gratitude sinking in. It felt strange, almost surreal. Sukuna, of all people, expressing appreciation. You inclined your head, accepting it quietly. "It’s nothing, my lord. She deserves the best care."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable this time, though. Instead, it felt like a mutual acknowledgment of the one thing you shared—a fondness for Chiharu.

You’ll never love me. you thought, the truth of it sitting heavy in your heart. But you didn’t need to say it aloud. You already knew. Still, the small moments like these, where his walls slipped just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something more, were what you held onto. You treasured whatever you could get, however fleeting.

Sukuna’s gaze finally met yours. It was sharp, piercing as always, but there was something softer lingering beneath his usual coldness. "I’ll come tomorrow. Like I promised."

And for tonight, that was enough.

After he departed, you drank a little.

It was better to mourn what could not be early.

When Chiharu returned, well bathed and dressed for the night, the two of you sat together beneath the cherry blossom tree in the garden. She had to dry her hair before she could get some rest. Her small hands clutching the other painting she had made tightly.

“Do you think he really liked it?” she asked, her voice soft.

You smiled gently at her, cupping her face in your hands. “I believe he did. He may not show it, but he cares for you in his own way. You are a light in his life, little flower.”

Her eyes sparkled with hope, and for a moment, you felt a sense of unity in your small family, a connection that defied the darkness surrounding you.

As the petals fell around you like confetti, you realized that despite the chaos of your circumstances, you had created a sanctuary for both yourself and Chiharu—one filled with laughter, art, and the promise of new beginnings.

And in those moments, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could carve out a piece of happiness amidst the shadows.

══════════════════

IT WAS JUST ANOTHER NIGHT. But it was still something that caused you grievance. As night fell and the palace was shrouded in silence, you found yourself restless, wandering the dimly lit halls, your thoughts heavy with the weight of your circumstances.

Chiharu slept peacefully in her little room, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the window, casting soft shadows on her innocent face. You paused to watch her, a smile tugging at your lips, but it was quickly overshadowed by the familiar ache in your chest.

The truth was inescapable: no matter how much joy Ryomen Chiharu brought into your life, the shadow of Hiromi loomed over you like a specter. You couldn’t shake the feeling that everything she represented was a constant reminder of your own insignificance in Sukuna's world.

Hiromi had been the one to hold Sukuna's love, the one whose memory seemed to linger in every corner of the palace. She was the woman who had given him a child—a child who was now the light of his life, while you remained in the dark, clinging to scraps of his attention. It was a bitter thought that twisted in your mind, gnawing at your heart.

As you lay in bed, staring up at the intricately woven patterns on the ceiling, you couldn’t help but compare yourself to Hiromi. She had everything: his love, his devotion, a child who would carry a piece of her with her always. And what did you have? Nothing but the remnants of Sukuna’s affection, which felt more like an obligation than anything else.

You turned onto your side, burying your face in the pillow, trying to drown out the thoughts that haunted you. But the more you tried, the louder they became. You could still hear the echoes of his voice from earlier, the way he had looked at Chiharu with an intensity that made your heart clench.

He was a monster, but he was her father—someone who had chosen to resurrect her from the depths of despair. He had given her a life filled with warmth, while you were left with the remnants of a hollow existence.

“Hiromi has everything in my lord Sukuna.” you whispered into the darkness, your voice trembling. “A dead woman, and I have nothing.” Tears slipped from your eyes, soaking the fabric of the pillow. “She gave him a child, love, and he keeps it. And nothing of me.”

You couldn’t understand why it hurt so much. You had wanted to be close to Sukuna, to carve out a space in his heart that felt like home, but every time you looked at Chiharu, you were reminded of your failure. You were the one who existed in the shadows, the one who couldn’t compete with the memory of a woman long gone.

You closed your eyes, squeezing out the tears that felt like a dam breaking within you. Each drop felt like a piece of your heart spilling out onto the floor, a tangible reminder of your torment. You were grateful for Chiharu, but the bittersweet reality of your situation consumed you.

After what felt like hours of battling your own thoughts, you finally rose from your bed and made your way to the garden. The night air was cool against your skin, and you could hear the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. As you stepped into the moonlight, you were enveloped in a quiet stillness, yet it did little to ease your turmoil.

You found yourself standing beneath the cherry blossom tree, its delicate petals fluttering like whispers in the wind. It was a beautiful sight, but it only deepened the ache in your chest. You remembered how Chiharu’s eyes had sparkled with excitement when she painted that tree, how her laughter had filled the air like music.

But even as you admired its beauty, you couldn’t escape the lingering shadow of Hiromi. “Why do you haunt me?” you murmured, your voice breaking as you gazed up at the stars. “Why can’t I escape your memory?”

You sank to your knees beneath the tree, your fingers brushing against the cool earth. “I don’t want to compete with you.” you whispered, your heart aching with the weight of your confession. “I just want to be enough… for him, for Chiharu.”

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves above you, and in that moment, it felt as though the world held its breath. You could almost hear Hiromi’s laughter, see her warm smile—a gentle reminder of the life she had once lived.

A tear rolled down your cheek, and you let it fall, feeling the weight of your grief and jealousy wash over you. You had tried so hard to be strong, to forge a bond with Chiharu, but the reality of your situation loomed like a dark cloud, threatening to engulf you.

As you knelt there, surrounded by the whispers of the night, you could feel Sukuna’s presence looming in the back of your mind. He was a force of nature, a tempest that left destruction in its wake, and you were caught in the storm.

“Will I ever matter to you?” you asked softly, the question lingering in the cool night air. The silence answered you, an empty echo of your unfulfilled desires.

The moonlight bathed the garden in a soft glow, but no matter how beautiful it was, the ache in your heart remained. You rose to your feet, wiping the tears from your face, knowing that you had to keep moving forward—for Chiharu’s sake, if not your own.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and you would face them with the strength you found in your love for the little girl who had unexpectedly entered your life. But tonight, in the shadow of a woman you could never compete with, you allowed yourself to grieve—grieve for what could never be, for the love that felt so far out of reach.

As you made your way back to your chambers, the weight of Hiromi’s legacy still pressed on your heart, but you clung to the hope that perhaps, one day, you could carve your own place in this world—one that belonged to you, and to Chiharu.

══════════════════

YOU WERE EXHAUSTED FROM THE WORK ALL DAY. But as the lord summoned you, you were inclined to attend to him. That is just how it was. It has been two years now, since Hironobu, since Chiharu had come to live with you.

And a lot had since changed with the way you and Sukuna existed together. Perhaps, it is what it is. This is all that is left. You think you would like to be content with that.

The evening was cloaked in a haze of amber light as you and Sukuna sat across from each other in the dimly lit chambers, the air thick with tension. A selection of fine spirits lay on the table between you, remnants of a night that had spiraled into a blur of laughter and inebriation. But the laughter had faded, leaving behind a bitter residue that clung to your heart.

You raise your glass, your hand slightly unsteady as you downed another shot, the liquid fire coursing down your throat. It was supposed to be a moment of camaraderie, an attempt to bridge the growing chasm between you. Instead, it felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustrations that had been building within you.

Sukuna watched you with a bemused expression, but there was a glint in his eyes—something predatory, something that made your heart race. Fueled by the alcohol and the raw emotion coursing through you, you slammed your glass down on the table, the sound echoing in the silence.

"You took everything I have!" you slur drunkenly, your voice breaking as the words tumbled out. "I gave you everything I had, and I am miserable because of it!"

Sukuna’s brows furrowed, and for a moment, the playful smirk slipped from his face, replaced by a flicker of confusion. But you pressed on, the anger and despair and somehow bitter laughter mingling in a toxic blend that fueled your fury.

"You made me miserable with you! The one shot of joy I have in my life—someone who could care for me—and you take him away from me? What have I done to you to make me suffer like this, my lord?"

The room seemed to spin, the walls closing in around you as the weight of your words settled heavily in the air. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free, cascading down your cheeks as you fought against the sorrow that threatened to engulf you.

"I regret you, sometimes! Everything of you, I regret!" you cried, the confession tearing from your lips like a wounded animal. A laugh escapes you. “Ah, I am driven mad. I thought….I thought to be content but somehow, I kept thinking and thinking. The questions of what if I had chosen some other path.”

Sukuna’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he took in your words. You could see the tumult of emotions playing across his face—anger, frustration, maybe even hurt. But he didn’t speak, and the silence hung heavy between you.

“You think this is easy for me?” he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I wanted to hurt you?”

You shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest. “You have no idea what it’s like! To live in the shadow of someone who came before me! To feel like I’m constantly competing with a ghost!”

The bitterness of your words filled the room, and you could see the flicker of something deep within him. A flicker of regret? Anger? It was hard to tell. What could there be left between two people who don’t talk? What could be left between two people who don’t understand each other well, and yet pretend they do?

“You think I don’t suffer too?” he challenged, his voice rising little by little. “You think I don’t care about you?”

You paused, the anger momentarily dissipating as you searched his face for any hint of sincerity. But all you saw was the monster—the god, the force of nature that had swept into your life and turned everything upside down.

“Then why do you make me feel like this?” you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice cutting through the tension. “Why can’t you just let me be happy? With Hironobu… with Chiharu… with anyone?”

A shadow crossed Sukuna’s face, and for a moment, it felt like you had struck a chord. But he quickly masked it, his expression turning cold once more. “Hironobu is nothing to me. He is weak, a distraction.”

“That ‘distraction’ makes me happy!” you yelled, frustration spilling over once more. “He cares for me in a way you never could! He makes me feel like I matter!”

Sukuna’s gaze hardened, but beneath that facade, you could see the conflict churning. You took a step forward, your heart racing. “I don’t want to be your pawn anymore. I don’t want to be a part of your world if it means losing everything I love!”

The air crackled with tension as the two of you faced each other, the weight of your words hanging between you. And then the dam broke. You collapsed into tears, the alcohol amplifying your emotions as you fell to your knees, sobs wracking your body. The tears spilled unchecked, your heart breaking under the weight of it all.

“I hate this!” you cried out, your voice muffled by the floor. “I hate feeling like this! I hate you!”

Sukuna stood frozen, a statue of power and control as he watched your breakdown unfold. But as your cries filled the room, something shifted within him.

He took a step closer, his presence looming over you like a storm cloud, and yet, despite the turmoil, you felt a flicker of something more—something like concern.

“Get up, little one.” he commanded softly, his voice low and steady. “You’re stronger than this.”

But you shook your head, your heartache spilling over. “I don’t want to be strong anymore. I just want to be free.”

There was a moment of silence as you both stood at the edge of a precipice, and for the first time, you could see the weight of your shared pain reflected in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” he said finally, the words heavy with unspoken understanding. “You know it well, little one. I will never set you free.”

You didn’t know if he was apologizing for Hiromi, for Hironobu, or for the pain you both carried, but it was a start. You slowly rose to your feet, wiping your tears, though the hurt still lingered in your chest. You think that it doesn’t matter anymore. It never does.

Sukuna stood before you, an imposing figure, but in that moment, you could see the man behind the monster. The flicker of vulnerability lingered in the depths of his gaze, an acknowledgment of the bond that tethered you both to a past neither of you could escape.

“I may never be what you want me to be, little one.” he murmured. “But I won’t take away your happiness again.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for sincerity, and for the first time, you felt the hope of a fragile truce forming between you. It was a small step, but it was a step nonetheless, one that could lead you both out of the darkness and into the light—if only you could find the strength to keep moving forward.

The air was thick with unspoken emotions as you and Sukuna stood facing each other, the weight of your words still hanging heavily in the silence. His gaze bore into yours, a mix of intensity and something softer that made your heart race. You felt as if you were standing on a precipice, caught between the fear of falling and the desire to soar.

“I want to believe you, my lord.” you said quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying the storm of emotions still raging within. “But you have to understand… every time you pull me closer, it feels like you’re pushing me away. I can’t live like this—constantly afraid of losing everything.”

Sukuna’s expression shifted, a flicker of regret passing over his features. “I never meant to hurt you, little one.” he replied, his voice low. “But my world is not kind, and I can’t…..I can’t be what you want me to be. I cannot be kind to you.”

“But that’s just it!” you exclaimed, frustration bubbling up once more. “You’re so powerful, yet you let this darkness consume you! You wield it like a weapon, and I’m the one left in the crossfire! Why am I always suffering for your sake?”

He took a step closer, the space between you diminishing as he searched your face for understanding. “I am a monster, little one.” he said, his voice raw. “I have done terrible things—things that haunt me. But I never wanted to drag you into that darkness. You deserve to be happy. But….it is not meant to be. And we are…we are stuck together, whether you like it or not, in this cage.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re the one who keeps me from it?” you challenged, your heart racing. “I’m so tired of living in your shadow, of feeling like a mere afterthought in your life. Every time I see you with Chiharu, it reminds me that I am just a placeholder—a ghost of a memory that doesn’t matter.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you feared you had pushed too far. But then he reached out, his hand brushing against your arm, the warmth of his touch igniting something deep within you.

“I don’t want to lose you, little one.” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “You’ve brought something into my life I never knew I needed. But it terrifies me. And I just….I will not let you go.”

You felt your breath hitch, a rush of emotions swirling within you. “Then show me, my lord.” you pleaded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that I matter to you. Don’t make me feel like I’m just a convenience. I want to be more than that.”

His gaze softened, and for a fleeting moment, the god before you was just a man—a man struggling with his own demons, much like you. “I don’t know how anymore, little one.” he admitted, vulnerability lacing his words. “But I will try.”

The sincerity in his eyes pierced through the haze of your hurt and resentment. You had spent so long fighting against the current, desperately trying to find your footing in a world that seemed intent on pulling you under. But standing here, facing Sukuna, you realized that maybe—just maybe—there was a chance for something more, something real.

“I’m scared too, my lord.” you confessed, your voice trembling as the weight of your emotions threatened to crush you. “Scared that you’ll change your mind, scared that I’ll lose everything again. Or maybe you would kill me. But I can’t keep hiding from you. I cannot keep finding ways to escape you.”

The sincerity in your admission hung in the air between you, a fragile thread woven from the strands of your broken heart. Sukuna’s expression darkened as he processed your words, his usually confident demeanor faltering just slightly. He nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

“I know that too well, little one.” He brushes your hair away from your face. “I know it all.”

His voice was steady, almost soothing, but the underlying tension crackled like static in the air. You took a deep breath, a sense of resolve building within you. “I want to believe you, my lord.” you said softly, each word laced with the weight of your doubt. “But you know that you are not speaking true… you lie as easily as you breathe.And I drown loving you like its law and hating you for how you taught me to love you.”

The admission feel like a heavy stone between you, and you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps regret, perhaps anger. But you didn’t back down. You needed him to hear the truth, the raw, unvarnished reality of your existence.

“It’s as if you’re a tempest.” you continued, your voice rising with the heat of your frustration. “One moment you’re this powerful force, sweeping me off my feet, promising me the world, and the next, I’m left to drown in the chaos you create. You wield your power like a weapon, and I’m the one caught in the crossfire.”

His jaw clenched, and you could see the internal struggle etched on his face. “I never meant to hurt you, little one.” he said, but the words felt hollow, echoing through the chasm of pain that separated you.

“And yet you’re the architect of my suffering.” you challenged, your heart pounding in your chest. “You brought me into your world. And all I’ve known…is misery. You say you want me by your side, but you torture me. You kill me, everyday.”

The vulnerability in your voice cut through the tension like a blade, and you saw his expression shift. There was something there—something that hinted at the turmoil he carried beneath his godlike exterior.

“You’re not just a concubine to me.” he said, his tone softer, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered. “You mean more than you know.”

“More than what?” you spat, your anger flaring up once more. “More than a passing fancy? A moment of respite from your endless hunger for power? I am not a toy for you to play with, my lord. I’m not just a distraction from your demons, your misery. You want me to believe that I matter. You’re using me to fill the void left by Hiromi.”

The name hung in the air, heavy with the ghosts of the past, and you could see the shift in Sukuna’s expression—a flicker of pain, a crack in his facade. “You don’t understand…” he started, but you cut him off, needing to vent the storm of hurt and betrayal swirling within you.

“Understand what?” you cried, your voice breaking. “That I’m just a shadow in the light of a dead woman? That every moment I spend with you is tainted by her memory? You keep her close, a constant reminder of what I can never be. She gave you a child, love—everything I yearn for from you these past few years but can’t have. I feel like I’m drowning in your past while you expect me to be grateful for whatever scraps of affection you throw my way.”

For a heartbeat, the silence swallowed you both, the air thick with tension and unshed tears. Sukuna’s eyes bore into yours, a tempest of emotions raging beneath the surface—frustration, desire, regret. “I don’t want to lose you, little one.” he said, the words almost a whisper.

“And yet you keep pushing me away, my lord.” you shot back, your heart aching with the truth. “You think you can keep me at arm’s length, and I’ll just accept it? You can’t keep pulling me in with one hand while pushing me away with the other. I need to know that I am more than just a fleeting moment for you!”

“I’m trying!” he shouted, his voice rising, but the urgency in it didn’t mask the vulnerability. “You don’t understand the things I’ve done, the things I’m capable of! I’ve been alive for a long time, and you are the first to accept what I am. I am trying to keep you, little one. I need you.”

His raw honesty pierced through the fog of your emotions, and you felt your heart crack a little more. “Let me go, my lord.” you whispered, the weight of your own words settling heavily on your chest. “Let me be free of this burden you’ve placed on me. I want to be happy, but I can’t find that happiness in the shadow of your misery upon me.”

“I can’t.” he replied, desperation lacing his voice. “I won’t. You’re a part of me now, whether you want to be or not.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks as the reality of your situation sank in. “But I’m not sure I want to be part of this… this nightmare anymore.” you said, your voice breaking. “I’m tired, my lord. Tired of fighting for a love that feels more like a battlefield than a sanctuary.”

With every word, your resolve crumbled a little more, and you felt the exhaustion wash over you like a tide. The weight of your feelings, the burden of past traumas, and the constant strain of navigating the unpredictable depths of your relationship with Sukuna were too much to bear. You wanted to be strong, to stand your ground and fight for something better, but fatigue was clawing at the edges of your consciousness.

You could see the struggle reflected in his eyes—an intense mixture of determination and sorrow. But even in the heat of your argument, you sensed that his heart was also heavy with burdens he carried alone. You took a shaky breath, desperate for release from this tumultuous cycle of emotions.

As the exhaustion settled deeper into your bones, you felt your eyelids growing heavy, the fight within you slowly extinguishing. “I just—” you started, but the words faded as you succumbed to the comforting darkness that beckoned you.

“Just rest.” Sukuna murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos of your thoughts. “You need to let go for a moment. I’ll be here when you wake.”

His voice wrapped around you like a cocoon, and despite the turmoil of your heart, you found solace in his presence. With one last shuddering breath, you finally surrendered to the pull of sleep, the weight of your burdens slipping away as your consciousness faded into the comforting embrace of oblivion.

In the morning, you know that nothing will change.

In the morning, you will still be miserable with him.

In the morning, you’ll love him like he is the law.

In the morning, you’ll worship him as religion taught.

In the morning, you’ll never be able to be free from him.

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temis-de-leon · 28 days ago

Text

When they don't know you as well as they thought they did

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor (x reader, separately)

Main Masterlist

C/W: the boys are crushing on MC and it's implied MC is crushing as well, but there isn't any established relationship. Just friends feeling things for their friend, very common. Self-insert, perhaps?

A/N: this is just fluff, very silly, a little ooc maybe, but I'm not sure. I just wanted to make something fun and lighthearted after the recent news.

No one is surprised anymore at the firmness the brothers speak with when they call you part of the family. Between the pacts and the unsolicited free therapy, it’s only fair, and only an idiot wouldn’t be able to see the affection running through the House of Lamentation.

Still, there are instances every once in a while where, although it’s difficult at the beginning, the boys have no other choice but to accept the fact that you have a completely different life back in the human world and they may not know you as good as they would like.

It starts with the small things; embarrassing conversations where their ignorance gets you to laugh like a maniac more than a couple of times. There they are, blushing in self-consciousness while you cackle uncontrollably because they believed some urban legend about a faceless suited man with freakishly long arms.

Then, slowly, but surely, it turns into more personal things about you, like your irrational, downright, phobia of lizards or the fictional characters you’re surprisingly attracted to.

(Some of those aren’t human, which makes them all feel a strong sense of hope, but you don’t need to know that).

The brothers learn about your studies, favourite subjects and what you’d like to do with your future, even if it sounds hopeless or unlikely. They also keep every bit of information about your friends and family; little comments that you let go here and there and help them understand why you are someone they love so much.

The whole situation evolves in such a way that inviting them to your birthday party in the human realm seems to be the obvious next step.

‘It’s so I can celebrate it with all my loved ones’ you say, and they really can’t deny your offer after that.

So, after a few awkward introductions and half-truths about their origin, everyone is happily talking to each other and eagerly waiting for their turn to be with you.

Lucifer, who has had a special interest in your family for a while, finds himself chuckling in understanding when your mother complains about the occasional mess in your room. In your defence, he feels obligated to partially throw his brothers under the bus and blame them for keeping you in a constant state of disarray, but then she says something that… perplexes him.

You don’t like perfection? His eyes open wide at the revelation and your mother chuckles, misinterpreting his expression. She doesn’t know who he really is or what he represents, after all.

Just how vast is the veracity of that statement? Does it refer only to a state of mind or do you apply it to everything else?

Thankfully, he doesn’t have time to feel too anxious before he remembers the little details. When your triumphal smile shone in the dimness of his room that time he made a silly mistake in chess, ultimately granting you the win; or when the Anti-Lucifer League managed to leave his hair unkempt for an entire day, which got you to shamelessly look at him for longer than any of his younger brothers would’ve ever liked.

Not being perfect isn’t something he would ever do consciously and he had always found solace in the fact that you like him despite his mistakes. However, knowing you actually like him because of those mistakes? Perhaps letting those cracks show in his façade isn’t so bad as long as it is for you.

Not far from him, Mammon chats with your human best friend. There’s an air of competitiveness between them, both wanting to be the ultimate best friend, but it all stays light-hearted. There’s no real threat when Mammon gets to be your first demon, you know? It’s a unique position!

But he still makes sure to assert dominance by stating he would’ve made the perfect party for you, better than the one you’re currently enjoying; with food and decorations from the Devildom and the Celestial realm included, matching outfits and, of course, keeping everything hidden so you can have the best surprise of your life. He had thrown a lot of those with Asmo’s help back home, so he knows you love them!

Or he thinks you do, at least.

Your friend sniggers harmlessly when they hear that last part, pointing at him with an infuriating smartass attitude, and immediately shatters Mammon’s reality.

What the heck do they mean, you don’t like surprise parties? He’d done a lot of those back at the Devildom and you’d never complained, appreciative as you are, even helping him do the same for other’s birthday parties!

Sure, you had always looked dumbfounded by the loud cheering and the confetti after stepping through the door, but that was part of the fun… right? You would tell him if you wanted him to stop, wouldn’t you?

He feels a pang in his heart when the idea of you being uncomfortable for his sake appears in his mind, but it doesn’t make sense. While you undeniably treat him better than anyone else in all of the realms, you still correct him when you see fit and him making you unhappy on your own birthday would be one of those occasions.

He trusts you to confide in him when things are wrong just as much as you trust him to do his best. That’s what friends are for, after all.

And where else would Levi be if not hidden in a corner playing with his DDD?

He had tried mingling with people at the party, or at least tried hanging around them, he swears, but conversations became repetitive and boring and then he received a notification for a daily reward from one of his apps, so, of course, he had to sit down to collect it. Then minutes passed as he completed minigames to power up his cards and… you get the idea.

So when a friend of yours walked towards him, complimenting the pins and badges on his bag and the faint music coming out of his headphones, sure, the evening started going way smoother.

He talks enthusiastically, just like any other time his interests are mentioned, wildly gesturing with his hands and letting the little bubble around them be full of their eager exchange. However, a casual lament from his companion stops him right in his tracks.

It’s a shame you don’t like anime…? His first reaction is to laugh, enumerating everything you’d watched, and later commented on, with him under a blanket in the tranquillity of his room, but the utter surprise in your friend’s face leaves him speechless.

You really don’t like it? But… But he’s made you see so many things! Did you like any of them? Did you lie to his face when you said you enjoyed them? He would’ve never chosen a best friend like that; you were not like that and he refused to believe the contrary.

Also, would a liar buy merch on their own like you did? Would they watch the best episodes again or listen to the soundtrack on repeat when they had a bad day? This new revelation only makes him aware he was the one to change your perspective of the fine arts and he’s damn proud of that.

You are still getting an earful when you get back home, though.

Satan thinks the kid is a young cousin of yours, but he really hasn’t been paying attention to anything in a long while. How could he, when the enthusiastic toddler had taken their mother’s phone just to show him the family cat’s pictures and videos?

A Mackerel tabby cat, too chubby for his own good but not enough to be actually concerning; playing with feathers, blinking slowly, bumping his head against legs and shoulders, meowing sweetly and, basically, opening his heart in half and making it roam inside his chest like a butterfly.

What a good party.

He mentions all the stray cats behind his house, obviously leaving behind the name of the House of Lamentation and the Devildom, and all the times you’ve gone with him to feed them and play. Satan even shows pictures on his DDD and stops with an adoring expression when you appear on the screen, sitting on your toes with a kitty on your knees and smiling past the camera, straight at Satan.

However, what he hears next takes the air right out of his lungs. He sits down and clutches his pearls and the kid stares at him in anxious confusion, clearly witnessing but not understanding the severity of his distress.

Who, in their right mind, doesn’t like cats?

He remembers the first few times you had accompanied him to his route, intimidated and slightly lingering behind. Initially, he had assumed it was due to the novelty of your friendship or a possible fear of Devildom fauna, but nothing against cats!

Were you afraid of them or just plain uninterested? Why keep going with him if you weren’t as fond of them as he thought you were? Wouldn’t it be because of him, would it?

A warm feeling covers him like a blanket, makes him search for you with his eyes and then immediately blush when you excitedly wave at him, point at the kid and mouth ‘Cute cat!’

Yeah. Very cute.

On the other hand, Asmo hangs out with the people responsible for the decorations of the party and compliments them on their work. The colours are well-coordinated, there’s nothing out of place and the distribution was thought with all the guests in mind.

Although he hasn’t been able to help in that regard, he’s made sure you would be the centre of attention that evening; a complicated feature coming from him, but he had never minded sharing the main spot just as long as you were the one by his side; and everyone knows that.

You look cute and pretty and hot in your outfit, a style that both compliments and pleases you. You also worked together in your makeup for hours before getting to the party.

However, taking that much time might have been due to scrolling through social media and gossiping so much, but never mind that. Everyone agrees you look incredible and that is more than enough for him.

It isn’t until one of your friends mentions how weird it is to see you wearing makeup that he dares take his eyes away from you to stare at them in disbelief.

He would’ve never guessed that given that one of your favourite pastimes together is makeup as a whole: going shopping, watching tutorials, following trends, doing your own next to each other, doing each other’s… And, even if he wants to use it, his charming power is useless against you, so he knows you do your makeup because you want to and not because you feel forced by him.

Whether it’s something you share because you enjoy it or something you enjoy because you share it with him, he isn’t sure, but he can swear on his precious damned soul that makeup isn’t a need for you.

It’s just a bonus to your beauty.

Sitting at one of the tables, Beel is simultaneously talking to your older sibling while gulping down an entire plate of bite-sized snacks; thankfully, whatever apprehension anyone felt at his hunger died hours ago and now the conversation flowed more naturally, mainly centred around you.

As much as he loves having you near him and his brothers in the House of Lamentation and thinking of you as another member of the family, he is very interested in knowing how your human family is, especially your siblings. It’s another way of relating to you and making him feel closer.

Plus, he gets to know stories from your childhood you may never tell him on your own; anecdotes that will stay at the table he is currently sharing with your sibling.

Unfortunately, they reach a point where, although he wants to keep asking questions about you, doing so with a mouth full of food might end up with Lucifer’s scolding of the year. Also, he really wants to make a good impression.

So your sibling begins asking the questions. Surprisingly, they start with his tattoo; dark red curling around his muscles and almost going unnoticed under the colours of dusk. Beel smiles without giving it any importance because it really doesn’t have it, but forces himself to stop gulping down food when your sibling throws a fun fact about you.

You find tattoos attractive?

He feels an instant burning on his cheeks followed by the rapid beating of his heart and a knot in his stomach, but there’s also a faint unpleasant sour taste in his mouth.

You’ve never asked him about his tattoo, barely sparing a glance at it when you worked out together or he took off his jacket.

He wonders if you don’t like it or if you think it doesn’t look good on him because all he can remember is the focused look in your eyes while looking at his and the curve of your smile growing bigger as you listen to whatever he says, even when it is entirely about food, and…

You know what? He doesn’t really mind. He is fine with things as they are.

As both a friend of yours and a fellow younger brother, Belphie respects your sibling’s decision to spill your darkest secrets and thoroughly enjoys the air of comradery between them.

Don’t worry, he won’t let it go past actual serious matters; if you want him to know any of that, he’d rather have you telling him yourself when you’re ready and not get betrayed by your sibling. Silly and harmless pieces of information, however? Those are more than welcome.

And he already has a favourite.

You need to hug plushies to sleep? Tell him more. He doesn’t judge you for feeling the need to hug toys or pillows while sleeping. Actually, he understands.

Do you have a favourite? Is it in the human realm or is it in your room back at the House of Lamentation? While he can recall seeing that ugly zombie iguana on your bed, he’s never seen you cuddling it while sleeping and, other than that, he doesn’t remember seeing one, so he wonders if you hide it somewhere when you know he’s going to your room; but what about those times he enters uninvited?

Does that mean you left your preferred plushie in your room in the human realm? Does that mean that you don’t actually need to hug anything to sleep?

Whenever you share a bed, which is pretty frequent, Belphie can sense an invisible barrier between you that he’s dying to break. It’s nothing physical, given that only he knows how truly comfortable your lap and your chest are, but it’s obvious in the way your hands hesitate to bring him closer.

Shy and indecisive, while you don’t reject his advances, he’s still unsure what your feelings on the matter are. He’d initially thought you weren’t used to having anything so close to you while sleeping, but… now… Maybe he has to assure you that you can hug him as hard as you want.

Belphie is just as good as any plushie, after all; if not better.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

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laterreurofficial · 5 months ago

Text

LT Doodle Stream Recap/Questions!

(Part 1/Part 2)

Hello everyone! Wisteriasymphony here. Yesterday the LT hivemind had the wonderful experience of our first doodle stream together!

For the purposes of cataloging all of the questions we answered on our stream (because somebody doesn't know how streaming works yet *COUGH COUGH*), I'm going to be answering them all here!

La Terreur takes place in 2002, and the events of the timeline last about a year. Of course, it's a retrofuturistic cyberpunk-y 2002, which explains later developments like the alliance ring and so on.

They're the same au! Miracle Exposure has just been a tag Silu has used to categorize talking about the effects of the miraculous, but it all happens within LT.

Hawkmoth is already a pretty solid design as is. Shadowmoth and Monarch will probably get overhauls later on, but why fix what isn't broken? Hawkmoth is already just the right amount of gross and creepy and fancy and bald, so no need to revamp that.

The consensus to far is that Felix arrived before the quarantine was instated, but he could easily have bribed officials into letting him into Paris if he needed to. The quarantine is mostly to keep people in, and if some idiot with a death wish high-paying member of the british aristocracy is willing to give money to a dying city just for a ticket in, then why wouldn't they let him?

@gaussiansphere put it quite nicely in the stream when he said that the heroes aren't trapped in Paris physically, but mentally. There's nothing theoretically stopping Ladybug from blowing a hole in the defenses of Paris and going on the run, but she has a moral obligation to protect her city. Everyone else feels roughly the same way, though we did discuss the idea of having the concept of migration fit Max better by virtue of his big goals in life involving getting out of Paris.

Also, the miraculous will likely be passed out differently. We're not following exact episodes, only storylines.

On a similar note....

Ladybug will probably alternate who she gives all of the minor miraculous to multiple times over the course of the story. She would find it ridiculous to pass them out to people "for keeps", as @sillysiluriforme put it, and before a certain point in the story will favor adult holders over teen holders. (Not saying why this changes though heehee, spoilers.)

MUCHAS GRACIAS!!!!!!!!!! Los ships no son un foco de La Terreur, pero.. Adrigaminette 100% mejor del mundo JAJAJAJA XP. de lo contrario es lo mismo que el canon.

Opinions de los kwamis hacia sus portadores es q los ven como niños. Son indiferentes a la humanidad en realidad. Los kwamis también los vicios q usan sus portadores para obtener. (Adrien huele a tabaco Y queso apestoso :/ Marinette no se afectada porque Tikki quiere el sabores dulces en su vaporizador).

#wispanol arc hehe. also YES you saw that right English audience, the kwamis are smokers. Marinette has to ask Luka's bandmates for vapes because the closest bodega to her house is run by a sweet Chinese grandma who her mom likes talking to, so if she bought from there she'd be absolutely screwed. Adrien just buys all of the tobacco as Chat, though.

We're not planning on having Aspik show up in LT, at least as far as we have planned. If he did, however, his rat eating desire would definitely go through the roof. He'd probably try and time his rat-eating specifically for when he's Chat Noir, just to make things easier for himself. (Until he eats one as Adrien by accident and has to live with the mental baggage for the rest of his miserable little life...)

Well.. there are a lot of characters that really don't need redesigns! Or where redesigns would be extremely minimal. Marinette's dad only really needs to get proportional legs and then that's it, and the same philosophy extends to most of the other minor characters.

Here are some of @clemnoir's designs for the rest of the class, though!

In fact, her lovely annotations somewhat answer another question we received....

We haven't figured out everyone yet, but the scholarships group so far is: Kim, Max, Ivan, Rose, Nathaniel, and Mylene. Adrien, Chloe, Sabrina, Alix, and Marinette are all paid tuition.

There could be! The ancient miraculous are indeed destroyed, much like the infinite amount of others like them, Bearinette and Lambdrien are just explorations of what it would be like if they hadn't been. The bear and lamb miraculous are not canon to LT, nor would any future ancients be. If we get any good ideas, you'll see them.

[wis is biting all of her fingers to prevent herself from talking about the coyote....]

The big issue Marinette has with being Multimouse is that she's no longer respected as the leader, at least as much as she's used to. Because she sees Ladybug as more of a responsibility than fun superpowers, her side effects are more psychological by consequence, whereas Adrien's are more physical. She also feels some sense of jealousy towards Scarabella, as well as general insecurity over not being the leader when she's Multimouse... but despite this she continues to use the Mouse Miraculous more often than in canon just for the sake of "training" Alya.

Silu dice muchas gracias!!!!! ...No conocen sus identidades fsgdss. Exposición al milagros del raton causa disocociación, duplicación no literal para Marinette jajaj. (Pero, no puedo decir si dos Marinettes aparecen en LT..... tal vez, tal vez no? huummmm)

Tambien, ellos comiendo ratones en privado. Nadie los trae en su almuerzo. Todos ellos tratan con sus síntomas en secreto.

Violence and misery and horror and class dynamics. I'll get into it more in Part 2, but characters' relationships to power is a huge part of this AU, both of the magical and non-magical variety.

#wis speaks #mlb la terreur au

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noyasmashing · 6 months ago

Note

Daichi getting dommed by his girlfriend?! Since he's in the police maybe his girlfriend is a detective or some form of government official that works with the police all the tine!!!

★ BAD BOY. daichi!

౨ৎ :: masterlist. reblogs are appreciated.

• warning: daichi + fem!dom reader, male penetration/fingering, mommy kink, cum eating, daichi has the “asian flush”

Daichi really wasn’t the one to drink. Actually, he shouldn’t be drinking. He lacked the enzyme that broke down alcohol once consumed. He wasn't suited for it, plain and simple. However, there were exceptions to his rule.

More often than not, he found himself holding a drink at parties, and tonight was no different. After months of tireless investigation, the combined efforts of the police officers and detectives had finally paid off, solving a particularly complex case. As a well-deserved reward, the team decided to treat themselves to a celebratory night out. They reserved a cozy private room at a highly-regarded restaurant, famous for its exceptional craft cocktails.

Their boss, in a thoughtful gesture, had arranged for everyone's drinks to be pre-ordered and paid for, ensuring that the team could relax and enjoy each other's company without worrying about the bill.

Daichi's concern about his metabolic issue flared up as he was handed a cold drink. However he disregarded it. After all, it was only natural that he felt compelled to partake, he didn’t want to seem stuck up, or rude. He started out with small sips, attempting to feign enjoyment.

No one had even noticed, he had gone almost the entirety of the party without even finishing half. Fortunately, everyones attention was diverted by a heartfelt speech from their respected superior officer, acknowledging the team's hard work and dedication.

As the party continued, Daichi's attention was divided between the celebratory speech and your persistent touch. Initially, the gentle rubbing of his thigh was a reflexive response to his coworkers' congratulations. But as the atmosphere mellowed, your hand remained, sending sparks of sensation through his body. The fleeting touches near his upper thigh were maddening, making him feel like he was losing control.

You couldn't help but notice his gaze lingering on you throughout the night, his eyes drawn to the subtle details of your attire - the short skirt, the blouse that teased just enough to hint at what lay beneath. It was clear you were deliberately drawing attention to yourself, and Daichi couldn't help but be captivated by your presence.

“Shall we take care of your issue in the bathroom?” you whispered in Daichi's ear, your voice dripping with teasing intent.

As he tried to maintain a stoic expression, you couldn't help but giggle at his failed attempt to hide his emotions. His temples flexed in frustration as he remained silent, his grip on your hand tightening under the table.

“You know we can’t do that.” He reasoned, tuning to meet your gaze, just for a moment.

You purred out, “Suit yourself,” in response, your eyes never leaving his face. Before smoothly turning to another detective and launching into a conversation about a different case you were working on together.

Daichi turned to look at his own friends, but struggled to process any of their words, his mind consumed by a maelstrom of inappropriate thoughts. In a desperate attempt to shake off the tormenting sensations and clear his mind, Daichi turned his attention to his drink, downing the remaining contents of his glass with a swift motion. The sudden rush of liquid warmth doing little to calm his racing thoughts.

As he struggled to clear the unpleasant aftertaste of his previous drink, Daichi's eyes fluttered open to find the group surrounding him, refilling their glasses.

Before he could process the situation, the room erupted into a chorus of cheers and toasts, and someone was pressing another glass into his hand. With a sense of obligation, Daichi reluctantly accepted the offering, not wanting to be rude or spoil the celebratory atmosphere. As he added the new drink to his already-lively mix, Daichi couldn't help but lament the fact that he had now consumed two cocktails.

As the surprise toast came to a close, the room began to empty out, with many people saying their goodbyes and departing the restaurant. Daichi noticed your growing impatience, and he felt his own unease mounting. He tried to sound nonchalant as he suggested, "Uh, m-maybe we should get going?" His words were laced with a subtle sense of desperation.

Your hand had been resting on his knee for a moment, but then it drifted away, your gaze flicking to your watch as if checking the time.

You nodded curtly, responding with a, "About time," and turning your attention back to him. "Do you have the keys?" you asked, your tone tinged with a hint of concern as you took in his flushed appearance. Without argument, Daichi handed over the keys, preparing to bid farewell to his coworkers and make a hasty exit.

As you both rose from your seats, Daichi's hand instinctively reached out and grasped the back of your jacket, his fingers digging in slightly as he struggled to steady himself. The sudden movement left him feeling lightheaded, and his face flushed with embarrassment as he realized his mistake. You, however, merely raised an eyebrow and tried to stifle a chuckle, indulging in a discreet caress of his backside as you did so.

You were well aware that Daichi was one of those people who didn't handle his liquor well, and the signs were all too clear. "It was nice seeing you, Chief," you said with a charming smile, shaking his hand firmly as you bid him farewell. Daichi nodded mutely, his eyes fixed on yours with a mixture of fear and distraction as your wandering hand continued its gentle exploration of his body. He was too intimidated to say anything, too preoccupied with the sensation of your touch to speak up.

Once you two were out of the restaurant the cool night air hit Daichi like a train. His breathing came in short, ragged gasps, and he stumbled slightly as he walked to the car. “Why did I park so far away.” He groaned, facepalming when he remembered his decision from earlier that day.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, your voice low and concerned as you raised an eyebrow in inquiry. The crunch of gravel beneath your feet was the only sound breaking the silence as Daichi hesitated.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Daichi stammered, finally turning to face you with a flush rising up his cheeks.

You shot him a concerned glance. "Did you drink too much or something, Sawa? You're breathing heavier than normal," you remarked, wrapping your arm around his waist to steady him as you walked towards the car in the dimly lit parking lot.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I felt rude not drinking, and then...of course, there was you..." He trailed off, his words hanging in the air as you approached the car, the silence between you thickening like fog.

But before he could break free and make his way to the passenger seat, you pinned him against the sleek, freshly washed car you had purchased together. The new sedan's gleaming surface reflected the dim parking lot lights, creating a sense of intimacy as you leaned in, your breath warm against his ear.

"What about me?" you whispered, your voice husky with desire. "Don't tell me you were turned on in front of your coworkers." you cooed, your knee gliding up to nestle against his groin, the movement deliberate and sensual.

His breath hitched, and he found himself grasping onto your jacket with an anxious intensity. "So-so what if I was?" he questioned, his voice trembling as he felt his heart pounding in his ears, his body burning with a sudden, intense heat.

His eyes widened as you made the bold move of pulling open the second-row door, revealing the dark interior of the car. "I can't wait till we get home," you whispered, your voice low and seductive, "and I don't think you can either." With that, you guided him into the back seat, the motion smooth and deliberate.

The effects of the alcohol were plain to see on him once you sat down beside him. You could almost hear his racing heart, his face a deep crimson, and the most captivating sight of all was his ragged breathing, as if he'd run a mile.

It was the most intoxicatingly vulnerable you had ever seen him, and by God, it was incredibly attractive. Once you closed the door behind you both, your lips crashed together in a sloppy, frenzied kiss. One that was full of fervor and desperation on his part.

Without hesitation, you started to undo the buttons of his shirt. "I think you're going to need a little discipline for overindulging, don't you?" you whispered into his ear, taking a gentle moment to nip at the lobe.

He let out a soft moan, his head nodding in agreement as you spoke. His apologies tumbled out in a slurred, endearing manner. Daichi was typically contrite and apologetic for his mistakes, so it was unusual for him to receive punishment like this, it made him excited.

"Actually," you said, pulling back to gaze at him with a playful smile. His eyes, still glassy from the drink, met yours, and he stared at you with a dazed expression. "You know what? You're adorable when you're tipsy. Kinda like when I finish fucking your brains out.”

He felt his body flare with heat at your words. The only thing his mushy brain could get out was a “please!” His whole body starting to tremble with anticipation as the desire burned within him. Your words conjured vivid images in his mind, leaving him breathless and unsure of himself. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of emotions, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts: plead, sob, or surrender. Your gentle teasing was torturous, leaving him helpless and at your mercy.

"Please? What do you want, sawamura?" you asked, your tone softening as you reached out to gently push him down onto his forearms.

He looked up at you with half-lidded eyes and wet lips. "F-fuck... fuck me.” he forced out, his breath catching in his throat as your hands ran gently along his chest, tracing the curve of his nipples.

“I don’t have my strap with me, darling.” You sighed, your hands tracing a gentle path along his torso. His abs contracted and relaxed, shifting beneath your touch. As you spoke, he let out a disappointed sob, his head tilting back in surrender.

“Don’t be greedy, my fingers will do just fine.” And with that, he was suddenly being flipped on all fours, his perky ass presented to you, the fabric of his clothes now inches from your face.

“Y-yes.. yes ma’am, sorry ma’am.” He relented, arching his back in attempts to appease you. You released a contented hum, then unfastened his belt and slowly slid down the zipper of his dress pants.

As soon as his undergarments were removed, his throbbing cock sprang free, glistening with precum that dripped down onto his dress shirt, a rather unfortunate turn of events.

Not to mention his hole, which clenched in eager anticipation of whatever you had in store. Your initial move was to spit on it, which was fortunate, as you would have needed lubricant anyway. He let out a soft "Ahh" of pleasure, sinking deeper into position as he did so.

You leaned forward, your body pressed against his, as you guided two fingers into his mouth from behind. "Open," you commanded, and he complied.

He struggled to resist the urge to suck on your fingers as you roughly explored his tongue, making him gag. A muffled string of moans escaped his lips, accompanied by a gasp as you withdrew your fingers.

"I'm supposed to be punishing you," you scoffed, "but you're responding like this is some kind of reward." you added, scoldingly. You then proceeded to line your now-wet fingers with his tight hole.

"Relax," you instructed as your fingers slid into him. Ordinarily, you would have taken your time to ease him into it, inserting just one finger to begin with. But the circumstances didn't allow for that level of finesse. Instead, you established a rough and demanding pace, one that had him groaning and whimpering into his palm.

"Slow down!" he pleaded, his words slurred with a mixture of protest and pleasure. Despite his plea, his hips continued to move in tandem with your pace, practically fucking himself on your fingers.

You couldn't help but laugh at the drunken scene unfolding before you, one hand rising to make a harsh, stinging contact with his exposed ass. His skin was hot to the touch, and his entire body seemed to vibrate with excitement.

His light pants were now a canvas of moans, his cries of pleasure and pain mingling in a chorus of ecstasy. The stifling air in the car grew thick and heavy, the windows fogging up.

"I wonder how the team would react to seeing you like this," you sneered, your voice dripping with disdain. "Knowing that I fucked you in the back of your car, and you took it like a good slut."

You dug your fingers deeper, searching for his most sensitive spot, and he winced in response. "Stoppp," he drunkenly begged, his voice muffled by his hand. You couldn't help but snort in derision at his demand.

"If you want me to stop, then why are you dripping allll over the seat?" You taunted, your gaze flicking down to the damp fabric. "Somebody's going to have to clean this up, you know."

He paused, his mind processing your words as a wave of tension washed over him. Though you couldn't see his physical response, you sensed it with certainty - his cock was twitching at your rather harsh degradation.

"I'm gonna cum, mommy." he whimpered alas, his voice trembling and nasal, in a tone that was foreign to you. He rarely addressed you with such endearments, so you knew that the alcohol must have loosened his inhibitions. "I'm gonna cum b-because your being so mean to me." he stammered, his words punctuated by sniffles.

"Hmmm," you murmured, slowing your movements deliberately. You couldn't help but appreciate the way his ass looked, supple and inviting as it yielded to your fingers. You didn't want this moment to end too soon. "Perhaps I should make you wait until we get home," You suggested, your voice low and sadistic with a hint of amusement.

He let out a despairing "Hmph" and a muffled string of "no"s as he struggled to force your fingers deeper inside him. To his frustration, you took a firm hold of his hips, preventing him from generating any friction through his own movements.

"You tell me, sawa, how bad do you want to come?" you asked in a calm, measured tone, tracing small circles on his hips and barely pumping him with your fingers.

As you gazed at him, you could see his Adam's apple bob up and down, his ear that angled towards you flushed a deep red, while his face remained mostly hidden behind his arm. The tremble in his voice was palpable as he hesitantly spoke up. "I... I want to so badly. I need to. My head feels all fuzzy, I can't take it! Please. P-please. Please, Mommy. Let me have this."

It was an understatement to say you were surprised. You had rarely witnessed Daichi so beset by neediness. Maybe his “Asian flush”, a hallmark of his vulnerability, only added to his desperation. You were certain you wouldn't be treated to this sight again anytime soon, so you intended to savor every moment of it.

"Lay on your back f’me. I wanna see your face." You urged in a gentle tone. He almost let out a sob when you detached from him, but your words steadied him. He shakily flipped onto his back, propping himself up on his forearms to gaze up at you. The agonizing seconds it took to reposition yourself felt like an eternity to him. As you finally resumed the motion, he let out a guttural moan, as if begging you to accelerate the pace. Unbeknownst to him, you added a third finger to the mix. Your gaze was transfixed on his face, drinking in the sight of his features twisted in a mix of pleasure and strain.

His labored breathing morphed into soft moans, his nose wrinkling as a single bead of sweat slid down his forehead, tracing the messy contours of his hair. The sight was almost mesmerizing, and you couldn't help but notice that your gaze was heightening his arousal. "You're so pretty, sawa, go ahead and come for me," you coaxed, abandoning any notion of this being a punishment.

But how could you be cruel to your lover when his throbbing cock quivered against his abs, as if begging for release? It was a pitiful yet endearing sight, one that tugged at your heartstrings. Just as your other hand reached out to claim his cock, he burst forth with a ragged cry, his semen coating his torso and the open expanse of his shirt.

A soft, whispered "Thank you, mommy" escaped his trembling lips, as his eyelids remained tightly closed, his gaze shut off from the world.

It took him a moment to collect himself, his breathing still ragged as you withdrew your hand from his under side. He anticipated a trip to the baby wipes, so his tiny whimper of surprise was all the more adorable when your warm tongue made contact with his skin instead. His eyes flew open, taking in the sight of you lapping up his semen.

His initial reaction was a gasp, which turned into a stunned silence as you pulled him in for a kiss mere seconds later, the taste of his own come mingling with yours on his tongue.

He eagerly swallowed everything you gave him, determined to prove he could handle it, just like he handled three of your fingers.

You pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva connecting the two of you, your mischievous glint hinting at the tease that was to come. "I should make you lick the seat clean," you said, your tone playful and unrepentant. Though he winced at the humiliation of the task, he couldn't deny the desire to submit to your whims.

#sub haikyuu #dom reader #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #dom!reader #sub character #sub!character #haikyu x you #haikyu smut #daichi sawamura #daichi x you #daichi x y/n #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi x reader #sawamura daichi #haikyuu daichi #daichi smut #hq daichi

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whispersoftheton · 9 months ago

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Anthony bridgerton x wife!reader. Maybe his wife has quite a childlike innocence that the women of the ton take to be weirdness and they tend to isolate her but she never knows why. Maybe they’re newly married and she decides to invite some of the ladies for tea but no one shows up and she’s upset because she’s confused and Anthony comforts her and joins her for tea instead to cheer her up.

Hey! Thank you so much for requesting this & for being so patient! This wasn't meant to be this long but it sort of took on a life of its own. I hope you enjoy it <3

Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none just comfort :)

Word Count: 1.1K

Every square inch of Aubrey Hall's walls flourished with the season's most stunning flowers, the gardens lush as far as the eye could see. The breeze did little to cool you off from the summer heat as you sat under the tent, sipping your afternoon tea overlooking the meadow alongside Violet Bridgerton. It had been a tedious day of tending to various duties around the household, and you were expecting company from some ladies of society later that evening. It seemed your schedule had been considerably more than full since your wedding a few months ago. Rather frankly, you were just as exhausted as you were delighted in your new marriage to the Viscount. Keeping up with the Bridgertons all while being the latest lady of the house proved to be quite the task. Sure, your introverted preferences to stay within the walls of your home with a good book or spend quiet time in the gardens studying the plants were different than the interests of the ladies of the ton. However, you always tried your very best to keep everyone surrounding you in good spirits while performing your obligations, always looking toward Violet for approval, wanting to stay within your welcome. She was the Viscountess before you, after all. You could only dream of living up to her in your new position. Overseeing every small detail runs smoothly across your home, not to mention the impending weight on your shoulders due to the responsibility of Anthony's sisters coming out in the following seasons. You didn't know how long you could keep this facade up if you were being honest with yourself. But you had standards to upkeep, ways in which the Viscountess held her own beside her husband, and the last thing you ever wanted to do was let Anthony or his family down.

The sun blared upon the exquisitely green grass; surrounding the field on the outer edges were countless trees with blossoming flowers overflowing the gardens. Springtime at Aubrey Hall, indeed, was like no other. You turned your attention toward the Pall Mall game. Your husband stood before his siblings, mumbling something you were sure was some tease towards Eloise, making you smirk. Anthony turned toward the field and adjusted his grip on the mallet before making his final shot. A generous mix of disappointed grumbles and cheers erupted from the handful of Bridgertons as he made the final winning score. Half of them scrambled to debate the shot while the other half stood by, giggling toward them.

Anthony left his siblings to argue among themselves over the game he now reigned as champion over. Eloise was clearly bitter and left feeling she had been made a mockery over this loss after spending her spare time practicing for this very moment. Anthony placed his mallet on the stand alongside the others and approached you. He graciously extended his hand toward you, motioning you to go with him before the both of you bid goodbye to his mama and slipped out of sight and into the grand home.

"Eloise is taking quite hard, isn't she?" You said as he guided you through the doors. "She must have thought her practice would allow her to best you once and for all."

"Having hopes of besting her older yet clearly more skilled brother? Unlikely, my love." Anthony taunted, evidently still on a high from his victory. You stood in the main room while Anthony poured himself a drink, beckoning you to join him before you politely declined.

"I cannot. I am having the ladies over for tea shortly, and I cannot be anything less than perfection for their arrival." Anthony wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in for a brief kiss. Enough to have you wrapping your arms around his neck and yearning for more as he pulled away just enough for your noses to brush tenderly against one another.

"No moment in time exists in which you are not perfection, my love." Anthony's smile warmed your heart as you relaxed against him. "They will love you as much as I do; I am sure of it." His validation and loving gaze melted any lingering stresses still dancing around in your head. All that was left was to check off some last-minute preparations, and the tea could commence.

The late afternoon sun cast dispersed shadows across the cobblestone path. Anthony strolled into his home since returning from a lengthy afternoon of business meetings and running several errands around town. Anthony had hoped to come home to you excitedly telling him of your afternoon tea with the ladies of the ton. Instead, he found the halls seemed eerily calm for this time of day. He entered the main room and caught you sitting quietly on one of the sofas in a far corner. You curled up beside the unlit fireplace, twirling your fingers anxiously in your lap when you felt Anthony take a seat beside you.

"Sweetheart." Anthony paused before placing his hand in your lap. You didn't know if it was for comfort or to stop you from fidgeting. His warmth was welcome either way. "Is something wrong?" He cautiously asked.

"No one came." The words strained from your throat. "I know your mama and sisters left this morning on a day's travel, but I hoped-." Your voice broke before resuming. "I hoped at least someone would have-." Tears brimmed your eyes, and scattered tears stained across the top of your dress, some still falling down your cheeks. Anthony's hand cupped your face, his thumb gently preventing the tears from their continued flow. He took your hands in his and placed a lingering kiss on your knuckles before standing before you and offering you his hand. Without another word, Anthony dragged you along the halls and out into the gardens. Various flowers bloomed around you, and he brought you to one of the rarer flowers now flourishing on the property.

"What are we doing here?" You questioned while admiring the intricate patterns in which the vine had taken, the beautiful springtime flora temporarily making you forget the catastrophe of this afternoon. Anthony stepped closer from behind, arms wrapping around you as he whispered in your ear.

"It is when I am gazing upon the most exquisitely beautiful flower in the garden that I think of you." Tears again swelled inside you, but for a different reason this time. "The day will come when the world will see the beauty I am fortunate enough to hold near every day. In the meantime, I get you all to myself, hm?" The warmth and comfort of his words and presence enveloped you, brushing away the day's worries and woes with an ease only he possessed. His voice was a soothing balm for your soul that always had a way of convincing you everything would be okay. Because when you were around Anthony, you knew it would be.

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probablyreadinsmut · 16 days ago

Text

Javier Peña X Afab!Reader one shot

Maneater

What if it were the other way around? You were the insatiable menace who fucked her way through Colombia and Javier Peña was the one who pined after you, but you never gave him the time of day, until now.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Onlyyyy. Alcohol consumption, language, Public groping, fingering, Oral (F receiving), PIV Sex (Unprotected, birth control discussed, wrap it before you tap it ppl). Couple of dick taps. Liiiiiitle bit 'o fluff and angst. Spanish nicknames. Overuse of 'Cariño and hermosa'. Bi reader. Time period relevant sexism and homophobia mentioned. Big 'ol praise kink. There was going to be more but I chickened out since it was my first time writing a full on sex scene.

A/N: This is purely self indulgent, Reader is Javiers DEA partner of several years. She's a little emotionally unavailable and knows how much Javi thirsts after her. Writing this bc it's that time of the month where I get the urge to howl at the moon like a bitch in heat so I have to channel it somehow.

Word Count: 4.3k

The vibes for this fic⬇️ I love imagining Javi to 80s music <3

Blog masterlist here

Bogata, Colombia. 1991.

The cigarette smoke hangs like a thick fog under the dim light above your booth. The jukebox is playing a song with a slow and sensual beat.

Everyone else had gone home for the evening, Steve had said Olivia was teething and he didn't want to leave Connie to deal with that alone. The rest of the guys had various excuses themselves but honestly you didn't give a shit, too busy scanning the bar over the rim of your glass for your next conquest. All the while Javier sits opposite, taking long, slow drags of his cigarette, just watching you. Like it was his favourite thing to do.

It was clear he had a thing for you, he wasn't exactly secretive about it. But you never gave him the time of day. Sure he was handsome and you'd bet your bottom dollar that he was a good fuck. However, you'd made it a rule to not shit where you eat.

So like a puppy waiting for scraps, he sits silently as your eyes flit from one man to another. He didn't blame you, the job you were both doing was stressful. Everyone has to have their outlets otherwise you'd go insane. Sometimes he wondered though, if there was more to it. If you needed a different body in your bed every night because it was a distraction from more than just the job. If only he knew.

"Slim pickins' tonight" It came as a mumble into the glass, finishing off the last of your vodka cranberry. "Maybe I'll go pay Helena a visit instead." You'd smirked as you said it. Helena was one of your informants, who much to your initial surprise and then sheer delight, had one day said to you that she'd always wanted to try being with a woman. You were more than happy to oblige.

And so your agreement was born, she gives you information in exchange for orgasm better than any of her clients could ever give her and you were working on getting her visa paperwork expidited.

You hadn't expected that when you came down to Colombia, but fuck if you didn't love the way she sounded when she came apart on your tongue.

Colombia wasn't exactly progressive when it came to same sex relations, so you didn't tell many people about it, for fear it could hurt her somehow. Her job. Her reputation and perhaps yours. Not that the states was much better either.

The thought of you being with anyone else always sparked this possessive jealousy in his chest, Javier knew he had no right. You'd made it clear long ago that it wasn't going to happen, but even so. He was conflicted, the idea of you being with another woman made his cock twitch in his jeans, of course it did, he was a simple man. But he was also a man who wanted you all to himself.

Exhaling a large plume of smoke above his head as he stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray, Javier decides enough is enough. It's now or never, feeling emboldened by the three glasses of Whiskey under his belt tonight.

"Cariño..." He starts as he gets up from his side to come sit beside you, blocking your view of anyone else in the bar, forcing you to just see him. "What do I have to do for you to see what's right in front of you? What do I have to do to get you to see me?" His voice is low and seductive but the way he's looking at you... Big soft brown eyes that portray the vulnerability he's been trying to hide. It's not just about sex for him, this runs deeper.

A small sigh leaves you, seeing the way he's gazing at you, like he wants to give you the whole world when you can't even give him a tiny fraction of space in your hesrt.

You had thought about it, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't. He's probably one of the most handsome men you've ever seen, a jawline that would make most women weep, eyes that under any other circumstances you would picture yourself getting lost in and those jeans. He knew what he was doing wearing jeans as tight as that.

But it's unethical. Against protocol. If Ambassador Noonan found out she'd reassign you for sure. Not him though, he's the guy, he'd just get a slap on the wrist and told to keep it in his pants in future. That's the way this environment worked. That's the way the world worked, women suffer the harsher consequences, while men get let off.

And then there was the part of you that didn't want to lead him on, to drop breadcrumbs for him leading him along a path he was hoping would bring him to a hot out of the oven loaf of bread, only to be greeted with something stale and inedible.

But right now, as his large hand has found its way to your knee under the table, alcohol clouding your judgement, your horny mind is saying 'One night won't hurt, right?'.

"Javi.. You know I can't give you what you want, right?" His fingers, trailing further up the inside of your thigh are distracting and that's what he's aiming for, to seduce you and deep down, he hopes it would change your mind.

"Hermosa, I don't know what you think I'm 'looking for' here. I just think..." He scooches closer, bringing his lips to your ear, fingers gently kneading at the fleshy part of your thigh "... That we both need some stress relief tonight, let me help you, hm?" He finishes his whispered offer by pressing a barely there kiss just below your ear, hips plush lips barely grazing your skin, sending heat flooding south in your body.

"Javi" The way you breathe his name has his dick getting hard already.

"Yes Cariño? C'mon use your words.." He purrs in your ear as his hand moves to cup your pussy over your jeans, applying enough pressure against your clit to make you bite down on your lip, stopping the moan that's threatening to spill from your mouth.

You're not stopping him, infact you're parting your legs for him wider under the table. You do want this. You do want him.

Turing your head to nuzzle your lips against his jaw, nipping lightly at the shaved skin there, your words a breathless plea "Javi please... I-I-I need... Just tonight. That's it..."

He pulls back enough to look into your eyes, seeing them heavily lidded with desire, he's barely touched you and you're falling apart for him already. It's everything he's dreamed of.

"Just tonight" He echoes before he goes for it, slanting his lips over yours, keeping himself restrained for now being in a public place, definitely not looking to be arrested for indecent exposure and thrown into a Colombian jail, at least the blood hadn't completely rushed to his cock just yet.

The kiss is electrifying, his hand leaving the space between your legs to cup your face, deepening the kiss as you melt into him, one hand slipping into his hair at the nape of his neck, the other finding its way to his thigh, sliding up, up, up.

With his body shielding you and the bar being as busy as it is, no one is taking any notice of the two of you, heavy petting getting more risque for being in public, the little gasp against his lips when you find him rock hard and straining against the thick denim, has his head spinning, pulling back to take a breather.

"We should-"

"Get out of here and go back to your place?" You're keen. It has him grinning like the cat that got the cream.

"It's like you read my fucking mind baby"

///

The moment you both step into his apartment, it's game over. A clash of teeth and tongues, slamming you into the wall without tearing his lips away from yours, his hands running all over your curves as your own hands grasp at his broad shoulders, pushing his leather jacket off him until it falls to the floor.

"I need you naked, right this fucking second" The growl in his tone has your pussy clenching around nothing, nodding eagerly as he starts to undress you. First it's your shirt, ripping it open, sending buttons flying, scattering in the entryway, leaving it hanging off you, a useless scrap of material. He'd feel bad but the thought of you having to wear one of his shirts to go home in, is too good of an opportunity to pass up on.

"Look at these... Perfect tits. Fuck me" He groans as he leans down, sucking on the swell of your breast, thumb rubbing over the lace, coaxing your nipple to harden. Your back arches off the wall, pushing your chest into his face, a hand tangled in his raven hair, holding him in place, a silent plea to keep going. God those fucking moans of yours are beautiful, all rational thought going straight to his dick.

"Javiii" It's a whiney little beg, as you're kicking your shoes off, feeling the dampness between your legs spreading by the second. "I- need-"

"I know... I've got you hermosa" Slowly, achingly so, he sinks to his knees in front of you, dragging his lips downwards, his breath hot against your skin, sucking and nibbling as he goes. Your head is tipped back agaisnt the wall, you don't dare look down at him, not yet. You can feel that fucker grinning against your stomach, knowing he's about to get the prize he covets most in this world.

"Look at me hermosa, I want you to watch everything I'm about to do you you. I want you to see what you've been missing this whole time."

He's quick to rid you of your jeans, Javier likes to tease and prolong the experience with women most of the time, but right now, when the object of all his desires is standing right in front of him, he can't do that. Not now he has you where he wants you, where he's wanted you since the first day you met.

And against your better judgement, you do as he says, looking down at him, his eyes are practically black with desire now, staring up at you through his lashes, looking sinful as fuck as he sits on his knees. All for you. Ready to worship at his altar. His religion? Pussy. His goddess? You.

"Fuuuck. You always wear skimpy little panties like this in the office? Dirty girl." He hooks his fingers into the elastic of your thong, tugging them down your thighs, all the while keeping steady eye contact with you, the smug satisfied smirk on his face has him so sure of himself, so sure that after tonight you'll be coming back for more.

Once they're off, he tucks them into the pocket of his jeans as a memento of this night and he wastes no time, hoisting one of your legs over his shoulder, diving in mouth first. Not rushing, but not taking his time either. There's a hint of desperation behind everything he's done so far tonight, a testament to how much he wants this.

You gasp and arch your back off the wall as the flat of his tongue slides between your soaked lips, one hand braced on the wall above your head while the other curls into his hair, gripping and tugging at it, urging him on. The low muffled groan that leaves him vibrates through you, he's getting drunk off the taste of you, the way you're gasping and moaning for him. All for him.

Skillfully working your clit with his tongue, you feel his free hand snaking up the inside of your thigh until he reaches his destination. Wet and slippery with the combination of his saliva and your juices, he teases your entrance with one thick finger, circling it slowly before he pushes inside. "Oh fuck" he hisses against your pussy "So fucking tight, knew you would be" And then without warning, a second finger breeches you, making you cry out his name.

"I know baby... I know, I've got you. You gonna cum for me hermosa, hmm? Gonna cum all over my fingers for me?" it's taunting, it's blinding pleasure, it's ecstasy. He finds that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes, pumping his fingers in a deep slow rhythm as you writhe above him already teetering on the brink when he suctions his lips against your clit and sucks. It's like an out of body experience. Like you're floating above yourself watching this all happen. Trembling as he holds you steady, working you through your orgasm with his fingers, but he's detached his lips from your clit, looking up at you from his knees, just admiring the way you shatter for him. Like a work of art. Jaw slack in a silent scream, breasts heaving beneath your lacy bra.

Right now, as your cum drips down his knuckles, he can't believe his fucking luck honestly.

Once you're lucid and you're no longer trembling, he removes his fingers, you whine at the loss of him. Gently setting your leg down, he rises in front of you and brings the sticky fingers to his lips, sucking them clean, moaning in approval as you watch on with renewed arousal.

"It's really not fair you know."

His lip curls into a mocking grin as he drops the now clean fingers from his lips, placing his hand beside your head against the wall, leaning in close enough for you to catch the heady scent of your arousal on his moustache. "What's not fair princesa? Was that not enough for you?" Smug bastard. Smug, proud bastard.

The way you suck your teeth and narrow your eyes at him, tells him he's winning. Slowly wearing you down just like he wanted. You're charmed by this. Not just because he eats pussy like it was his day job but by him.

"What's not fair... Is that I'm practically naked and you're still fully dressed."

"So I am. Maybe we should do something about that hm?"

Before you can even answer his hands are on your thighs, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist, lips finding yours in a heated kiss, tongue pushing past your teeth to entangle with yours, ensuring you taste yourself on him. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding on tightly as he starts to walk you into the main living space towards his leather couch.

"You taste how fucking sweet you are? I could eat that pretty little pussy all day." Filthy. Absolute filth is coming out of his mouth right now and you feel yourself dripping onto him I return. You'd had a hunch he'd be like this but honestly? It's surpassing every expectation you did have.

You squeel as he tosses you down onto the couch and he admires the way it makes your tits bounce even in the confines of your bra, but he needs to see more, just like you do.

"Take it off. Or I will." Hottest fucking threat you've ever heard.

Sitting up slightly, you remove the remains of your shirt and bring your hands to your back to undo the clasp, all the while he's standing over you, watching you like a hawk.

"I'm not taking this off until you start getting undressed too Javier. It's a two way street." Now it's your turn to smirk, two can play that game, you both know what's about to happen so why the fuck is he not naked right now?

"Hm... Fairs fair I s'pose." With deft fingers, he starts to unbutton his shirt revealing a new patch of golden skin as he goes, toned chest that you've only ever caught slivers of when he decides he's going to get a little slutty with it in the office and doesn't quite button his shirt up all the way that day. You'd always wondered if it was for you.

The subtle lick of your lips and the way your pupils blow when his shirt falls open is something he'll be playing on repeat in his mind for years to come, on nights when it's just him and his hand, abusing his cock as he thinks about you and this moment right now.

Once that's off and on the floor, he's toeing off his shoes and unbuttoning those deliciously tight jeans. God bless this man and his inability wear anything that doesn't show off what he's got. Rightfully so.

Your eyes start at the dark happy trail of hair leading downwards, following his fingers as one button is undone, then the second and it then becomes ubundantly clear, he's not wearing boxers today. Seems you're not the only one who likes to push the boundaries of what you wear to the office. Or don't wear, in his case.

Now he does tease, now he has you wanting more, he's taking his sweet time, tugging the zipper unhurriedly, with a shit eating grin as he sees you clenching your thighs together, no doubt making a mess on his couch under you.

"What's the matter princesa? Impatient for something?" He knows what he's doing. You're not rising to it, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how much you just want to yank those goddamn jeans down and jump his bones. Instead you play your ace card, undoing your bra just as slowly, the clasp pinging open, but you hold it against you, not letting it fall away just yet. Like a horny exchange of hostages. A challenge, waiting to see who will give in first.

It was him. Unable to hold himself back anymore, he shoves his jeans down his thighs, freeing his cock.

Your mouth waters at the sight, thick, around 8 inches and slightly curved. A little darker than the rest of him, veins protuding that you could practically feel on your tongue right now. Dark curls trimmed neatly around the base and balls. Beautiful. You wondered where the hell he was hiding that thjng in those jeans of his.

"Fairs fair, I s'pose" You parrot his words from earlier and pull away your bra, tossing it over the back of his couch with abandon. Exposing every inch of yourself to him now.

Before you can even process it, he's on you, pinning you into the couch cushions as he roughly palms your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers making you whimper and gasp under him, his lips attach to your neck, panting heavily against your skin as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and settles between them.

By some miracle he remembers that birth control is a thing, removing his lips from your neck, looming over you, taut as a bow string, ready to snap any second.

"Do I need to go run and grab a condom or-?" Thank god he'd asked because you were so lost in the moment it wouldn't have occurred to you.

"I'm on the pill. We're good." With anyone else, random encounters, you'd been insisting on using condoms, but you trusted Javier and he trusted you.

"Thank fuck for that" the little giggle you let out is fucking adorable but he's not about to delay things further by telling you that, or god forbid, ruin the moment altogether.

Pushing your thighs apart with one hand, he strokes himself with the other, spreading the glossy pre-cum from tip to base.

"Ready for me hermosa?"

With an eager nod of consent, he notches himself at your entrance and slowly started to feed himself inside. Inch by inch. The delicious sting and stretch of him making you both groan in unison.

"Fuuuuuuck she's so tight"

And then all at once you're full of him, legs wrapping around his waist as he gives you a second to adjust, Stroking your cheek almost tenderly as he checks if you're okay before he starts to move.

The leather creaks under you as he saws in and out of your tight heat, almost all the way before he's plunging back in again, setting a deliberate slow, unchanging rhythm as he listens to your moans and sighs as cues of what you like. Steadily picking up his pace as he fucks you into the cushions, holding one of your legs in place around his waist as his other hand shoots out to grip the arm of the couch, tipping his head back as he's getting lost in his own pleasure. Your nails raking down his back is sending him for a loop, theres no way he's going to let himself cum yet, not this soon and not before you cum again.

Slipping his hands under your back for support, he sits up right, pulling you up with him, pulling a gasp from you.

Quickly you catch on, slipping your arms around his neck as you start to bounce on his dick, aided by him guiding your hip movements.

"Good girl, riding my fat cock so well. Look at you, bet you could make yourself cum like this huh?"

The praise alone has you circling the drain, desperate to hold off until you've ridden him a little longer.

"Javi!" You sob, crushing your lips against his as he thrusts up to meet your hips over and over again, swallowing your moans. Then he goes and slips his hand between the both of you, inching back slightly to give himself space to work, circling the pad of his thumb against your aching clit with just enough pressure to send you hurtling over the edge, kissing him desperately as you meet your climax again, your moans drowned out by the sound of blood rushing to your ears.

It's like music to his fucking ears.

Quicker than you can register, he pulls out and flips you over onto your knees, a hand splayed out on the middle of your back gently pushing you down until you arch your ass into the air.

He slaps his dick against your ass cheek a few times before teasing it through your sopping folds, making you whine and wiggle your hips back begging him to sink back into you.

A low chuckle leaves him before he speaks, feeding his girth back into you at the same time. "You thought.. oh fuck... I was done with you? Not even close."

Sliding his hand up your spine until he's at the base of your neck, holding you down as the other hand tightly grips your hip for leverage, not giving you any time to come down from your release before he starts to fuck you again at a punishing pace. Your cheek is pressed against the leather, jaw slack, mouth hanging open dumbly, all you can do is grip at the couch cushions and get out garbled noises of pleasure.

He's ruining you in the best way possible.

"Jaaaaviiiiii!"

He's panting and groaning behind you, watching his cock disappearing into you over and over again, feeling his balls tightening, getting closer to his own release.

"Cum for me hermosa... I.. Oh fuck yes... Know you have another one in you. Cum. For. Me." He punctuates his words with hard, deep thrusts, hitting that spot deep inside you that has you screaming, pussy clenching around him. Seconds later he follows after you, spilling thick ropes of hot cum inside your abused cunt, lowering himself to lean over your back, groaning into your ear. That sound alone has your pussy pulsing, milking him for every last drop.

///

Javier was actually very attentive afterwards, checking you were okay, you felt completely boneless, slumped flat against the couch, sweaty chest sticking to the leather, completely fucked out but you were fine.

He'd gone to the bathroom to grab a warm wash cloth, cleaning you up between your thighs as you just lay there letting him take care of you.

He'd handed you his shirt, pulling back on his jeans before wandering into the kitchen to get you some water, somehow you managed to sit yourself up and pull it on, buttoning it up most of the way. Your hair was an absolute mess and the throbbing between your legs would be a reminder of him for hours to come.

"Here you go Cariño" His voice is soft now, a stark contrast from how he was when he was fucking you stupid.

You take the glass from him as he sits back on the couch, reaching for his cigarette, leaning back as he lights up and takes his first drag. Of course he's a 'cigarette after sex' kind of guy.

Your throat is so dry from how your long mouth had been hanging open for, he can still hear your screams of pleasure ringing in his ears even now.

Dropping your gaze to the glass in your hands, feeling like a piece of shit with what you're about to say to him. You didn't regret giving into him, but you regretted that you were now going to have to break his heart. You couldn't be the person he wanted you to be for him.

"Javi, I-"

He knows. He always knew. And that's what hurts the most. That he let himself think that this would change your mind. Not that he thought he could fuck you into it, but that you'd suddenly realise that he was what you were missing. "Don't. Don't say it. I already know." He sets the cigarette down in the ashtray on the coffee table before he turns to face you, reaching out to cup his hands over yours, with the saddest of smiles on his handsome face.

"I'm sorry Javi."

"Don't be. It's my fault for letting myself dream. You are my fucking dream Cariño. I'd wait as long as it takes for you to want me back, years If I had to."

He'd wait for you. He doesn't need to explain how he feels about you because his words and the way he's looking at you right now says it all and it's just too much.

"I know you would Javier and that's what scares me."

///

Tqglist for my mutuals, tysm if you take time to read this, lmk your thoughts <3

@almostempty @cheekychaos28 @itwasntimethatdidit40 @lovely-vamp-princess @morallyinept

#javier peña smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena narcos #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #narcos #narcos netflix #pedro pascal characters

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milkloafy · 7 months ago

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REST AND RESPITE — DAN HENG

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: dan heng finds himself growing fond of your outgoing and talkative nature. one day, when you’ve holed yourself in your room, he can’t help but worry about you. ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.0k ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: shhh i haven’t played 2.1 or 2.2 update yet so dan heng is still chilling in the express to me <3 wrote this while sleep deprived and accidentally made dan heng softer than planned :>

After the events that transpired at the Xianzhou Luofu, Dan Heng decided he needed the time to rest and reflect. He hoped March 7th and Trailblazer had a successful mission—he would surely join them again soon—but he knew he wouldn’t be giving his best effort if he were to go in his current state.

He decided a few moments of peace and quite would do him some good.

Unfortunately for him, however, you also stayed on board the Astral Express for the next mission.

Peace, he would still get. Dan Heng enjoyed your presence and the two of you had gotten closer over the years. But quiet… That was another story. Ever since you had joined the Astral Express, the halls wer filled with sounds of your laughter. On the nights you and March 7th had a sleepover planned, Dan Heng found himself needing earplugs, to put it kindly.

Despite the noise not being his typical preference, he noticed himself finding comfort in the liveliness and warmth you brought. Which is why, when a day came where he did not hear you chatting with Pom-Pom or Welt during your scheduled afternoon snack, Dan Heng began to grow concerned. After only brief contemplation, he walked down the hallway and knocked on your door, your favorite breakfast bar in hand.

“Y/N?” he called through the wall.

“Oh— Come in,” you said, your voice distant.

When he opened the door, he saw you curled up on the small sofa inside your room—your conversation area for guests, you had told him. You had a blanket wrapped around you and a slow-paced instrumental piece playing from your radio.

You waved as you looked up at him with a smile. “Hi there.”

“Hello.” Dan Heng extended the breakfast bar out to you. “I noticed you haven’t come out to eat yet. Thought you might be hungry.”

Your eyes brightened as you accepted the snack, expressing your thanks with a bow of your head.

“Is everything okay?” he asked once you took a bite. Though you didn’t look terrible, he still was unable to shake his worry. “You have been quiet today.”

You let out a small laugh, though it sounded unnaturally forced. “I’m sure you’re grateful for these few moments of silence.”

“Not when your wellbeing is in question.”

Your gaze warmed as his thoughtful words, patting the cushion next to you and beckoning him to take a seat. He obliged, feeling the warmth radiating from your body as his right arm pressed against you. Dan Heng quite enjoyed the warmth. You offered him the corner of your blanket and he shook his head, smothering a chuckle of amusement.

Once the two of you settled in, you said, “I’ve just been having bad dreams all night.” You paused, as if deciding how much more you wanted to share. “They were about my time…before the Astral Express.”

Dan Heng nodded in understanding. You did not have to say more. The Express welcomed all types of people, each with vastly different backgrounds. Everyone came from unique places and sometimes they were not the best ones. He was unable to verbalize this feeling of empathy out loud to you, but he hoped you sensed that he was there for you.

“I’m not really thinking about it anymore,” you assured, your tone rushed. “Now I’m just exhausted but haven’t been able to sleep.”

He hummed to himself. You seemed tired, even a bit troubled. Perhaps even someone like you needed time alone. But something told him that, for this particular situation, that didn’t seem to be the case.

Clearing his throat, he spoke up. “If you think it will help, you are welcome to join me in the Archives today. I still have some entries to input, but if you would like some company, I’ll be there.”

You straightened up in your seat, eyes wide with excitement, before a flash of hesitancy crossed your face.

“It…won’t be bothersome to you?”

“You’re never a bother,” he said firmly. “Though, perhaps your slumber parties with March 7th while I’m trying to sleep may be.”

That earned a laugh out of you. “Well, if you joined us one night, maybe you would see the appeal. Even Caelus joins sometimes!”

Dan Heng smiled at that. “Perhaps you are right.”

You nodded and said matter-of-factly, “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

He chuckled, happy to see a glimpse of your normal self coming out. Seeing you dejected and downcast was something he hated to witness, though he knew everyone had those moments. They were inevitable, after all. But Dan Heng wished he could always be there for you during those times.

It was natural to feel that way towards a good friend, he told himself. If he said it enough, maybe he would be convinced.

So why did he feel his heart race when you asked him to help you up from the couch? And why was he glad you didn’t let go of his hand even after you stood up?

Dan Heng wet his lower lip as he glanced at your connected hands. They were not even interlocked—just barely brushing—yet he still reacted in such a way. He looked over at your face and noticed a bashful smile gracing your features. It was a sight he wasn’t exactly used to seeing, but it was pleasant nonetheless.

Perhaps similar thoughts flashed through your mind about him. Did your heart also race when the two of you made close contact? Did your stomach flutter at his touch? He wanted to ask, but chose to hold back for now. You were distraught and vulnerable from your difficult night, and he thought it was more important to help you feel calm and well-rested first.

But as he caught you sneaking glances at him before looking away with a coy expression, Dan Heng knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for long. Still, patience was a virtue and he was confident that it would pay off.

Soon, he promised himself. Dan Heng caught your eye and this time, you didn’t look away. He smiled and you returned it tenfold. Very soon.

#dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng x you #hsr x you #dan heng fluff #hsr fluff #hsr imagines #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng #honkai star rail

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blues824 · 18 days ago

Note

Bonjour! Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui? May I request headcanons of Leona and Ruggie with a female bobcat s/o?

Uhhh… uhhhh… hola.

Disclaimer: Female reader.

Leona Kingscholar

It was a school crossover event… one that he was not particularly happy about. Sure, he respected women, and he was borderline terrified of them, but having a girl around would make some members of his dormitory a bit more rowdier than usual. Besides, he would have to attend the mirror ceremony.

However, it was an obligation that he would come to be grateful for, because the moment you stepped through, his senses went quiet. Everything went quiet, save for his increased heartrate. You looked so… gorgeous and badass. But you were quite friendly, actually, and rather quiet.

You were put into Savanaclaw for the time being, and Leona surprised everyone by volunteering to host you. As you got set up in his room, you both got to talking… and there was definitely a clear, mutual interest between the two of you. It didn’t take long for the two of you to start dating, which further surprised everyone.

Often, you both could be found cuddling in his room, either doom-scrolling through Magicam or just sleeping… or something else, if you know what I mean. Anyway, Leona also loved to spoil you, often just giving you his card to spend it on whatever you found online. You didn’t abuse his money, though, since you wanted to meet his family first so that they wouldn’t think you’re a gold-digger.

Speaking of, you absolutely loved Cheka, and the young lion cub loved you and called you his ‘Auntie’. Leona and you laid in his bed as Cheka laid between the both of you as he played a game you installed for him on your phone… and your boyfriend felt his heart pounding as you instructed the little one how to play. His instincts were telling him that he wanted a baby with you right here and now… but that’s for another day and a different blog.

Ruggie Bucchi

Now… he is also intimidated by women, which is probably why he went to this all-boys college. However, when he heard that there was a school crossover happening, he was very intrigued. After all, new victims to steal from. He went with Leona to see who was selected to stay at NRC… but was completely blown away.

You were standing there… as radiant as ever. The hyena could feel his heart pounding against his chest as you met his gaze and smiled. He felt like Mickey Mouse when Minnie pressed a kiss to his cheek. He felt like Thumper when his lovely lady, Ms. Bunny.

From that point on, his attention focused on you. You needed any help on assignments? Done. You needed help with a creep not being nice to you? Well, that’s what his Unique Magic was for! You wanted to go on a date? Sure, he just needs… wait, what?! Yeah, when he asked you on a date, he was very surprised to see you nodding. You knew he wasn’t from the best of backgrounds, right?

However, he’d be damned if he let the opportunity just pass him by. He picked up more shifts from the jobs he works, and he was able to take you to the Mostro Lounge and pay for the entire bill. His grandmother always taught him not to be a scrub… and that being broke and being a scrub were two different things.

While he wishes he could spoil you more, you assured him time and time again that you just loved spending time with him, and that money was no big deal to you. Instead, you often spoiled him since you saw him working hard a lot. Many donuts and many head scritches from you were enough to make Ruggie think he was the King of the World.

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millersfinest · 2 months ago

Text

the thing in your chest that beats ⁴ | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5.9k

mini-series: california | oregon | idaho | wyoming (you’re here)

tags: @elliecoochieeater

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: healing!reader, healing!ellie, vulgar language, ellie being avoidant as hell, slow-burn romance, little jj, reader being really depressed at the beginning, little time jump, sexual content but not smut per se, pure sugary sweet ending (almost pissed ME off)

note: omg final chapter!! i didn’t really know how i wanted to end it, so i went through scenic route. i hope you guys enjoyed my little series, because i had fun writing it.

wyoming

For the first time in a long time, you were cozy—absolutely bored and comfortable, and what a delight that was! The settlement in Jackson was everything that you had hoped for. It was warm and welcoming. Not by everyone, but by enough to want this place to feel like home. When the moon replaced the sun and the stars trickled over the night sky, warm yellow lights flickered on. Draping over the center of the settlement, where the establishments flourished. Lighting up a path that was being adorned by the first snow of the year.

It’s been a while since you’ve seen snow in all its icy glory; you were nothing but a child then. Waking up from a troubled sleep, in a spacious home that you could call your own, you shuffled to a frosted window. With your arms wrapped around your body, looking to see minute flurries fluttering from the sky. Collecting in piles on the outer edge of your windowsill.

After a month of already being in Wyoming, at the settlement, reality had set in. You were no longer a soldier, or a slave, or a traveler. Finally, you have made it to the place that was nestled in your mind for endless days, weeks and months.

Relief. Solace. Everything you’ve ever wanted. Except for one thing.

The house was a two-story home, with beige striped wallpaper; mahogany wood accenting arches separating rooms, cabinets, bannisters and floor boards. Upon your arrival, it was already furnished. A long, soft maroon couch. Decorated with quilts and knitted blankets from neighbors. A square wool carpet laid flat under a mahogany coffee table. Lamps in various places, warmly illuminating the room.

A dark wood dining table. Iron cookware. Upstairs, a quiet bed frame with a decent mattress and comforter on top. A couple of pillows. Two dressers. A proportionate closet—this house looked like a home. Minus the adjustments and additions you were planning for. However, it didn’t quite feel like a home.

It was empty… Or you were empty.

Since your arrival, talking with Ellie became a challenge. You rarely saw her; it was like she handed you off to the officials of Jackson’s and dusted her hands from you. It was dramatic to ruminate over a woman who’s only obligation was to get you to Wyoming—to this community. That’s what you tried to tell yourself to stay in line, but it wasn’t working. Even after busying yourself with different jobs and tasks to start earning your keep, you still thought of her.

Hell, you caught glimpses of her. Jackson wasn’t that big. She’d be walking hand-in-hand with a small child, a toddler, talking intimately with a dark-haired woman. You saw them together often. It could only be assumed that they were important—her ex-girlfriend and son. Well, now, you were uncertain if that was her ex-girlfriend… But, again, you shouldn’t be ruminating. You got what you wanted, remember?

It was an early morning when Maria had asked to meet with you, at a coffee shop in the middle of the square. Dressed in an insulated coat with a hoodie underneath, a pair of trusted light-wash jeans and black leather boots; you began a trek from the corner of the settlement in a light layer of snow. The asphalt wasn’t cold enough to let it fester just yet, but the grass held onto the ice. Headphones rested over your ears, playing a tape gifted to you as a housewarming gift from your young neighbor.

Some old rock band from the 90s. Nirvana’s About A Girl played in your ears as your boots crunched the snow.

It took about four songs off the album for you to get to the coffee shop. Pulling the flimsy headphones down to rest around your neck, you entered the shop looking for a head of sleek blonde hair. An aroma of burning coffee beans and sugar infiltrated your nose. Small chatter was heard from people holding warm mugs, looking at old newspapers, reading novels.

From a table in the far corner of the shop, Maria stood to wave you over. A friendly smile spread across your lips, taut and plastered, as you approached the square wooden table. “G’Morning, Maria.” You reached your hand out to shake her hand, professionally.

She looked down at your hand, snickering. Impressed by your insistence on professionalism. After all, she basically was your employer. It was the one thing the fireflies taught you well—respect your superiors. “Good Mornin’,” Maria firmly shook your hand, taking her seat.

The heaters in the shop toasted up your exposed skin, causing you to remove your jacket before sitting down in the seat across from the older woman. Two cups warm mugs were put in front of you, almost on cue, by a young girl with a maroon apron. “Thank you, Melissa.” She smiled at the barista. “I wasn’t sure if you liked coffee, so I just ordered you a hot chocolate. Hope that’s all right.”

“Oh, it’s fine. No complaints here.”

“Good.” Maria curtly nodded her head, pulling a black binder from a bag hanging on the back of a chair. “You’ve been sleeping well in that house?” Dabbing her middle finger on her tongue, she sifted through the pages and hand-written documents.

You blink, wrapping your hands around the ceramic mug. “There’s good nights and bad nights…” Nodding, you attempt to take a sip of the hot beverage, but it was too scolding. “Not the fault of the house, just me.” The ends of your lips curl as a softener to your words. Being negative in the face of someone who granted you a place to stay felt like a crime.

Maria hummed, looking up at with genuine blue eyes. “Well, I hope there are more good nights than bad nights.”

“Yeah, of course!” You shrugged, answering entirely too quickly. Which certainly gave away the fact that you telling the truth. Her icy blues were intimidating, although you’ve seen much worse than a pair of eyes.

Falling asleep alone, in the dark was another challenge you had to face. After spending months on the road with someone, knowing they’re there… It was an eerie feeling being far from them—being along. Especially, those last few weeks leading up to knocking on the community’s door. Whenever you found a place to camp out for the night, her arms would be wrapped around you. Or your arms wrapped around her. Relishing in each other’s clothed or bare bodies; it had become a tragic comfort.

Your skin burned for her like it did on that fucking pillar. It tingled, ached and wanted for her touch. Her lips. Her eyes. Her hands.

The nightmare’s of your traumas persisted when you closed your eyes. You wanted to blame it on Ellie’s absence, but they rarely surrendered with her around. But at least when you woke up, boiling, sweating and heaving like you’d just run a marathon, a pair of arms were there to lull you back to sleep. Kissing the back of your neck to remind you that you weren’t there anymore—that you were safe.

And, when she had her moments, shooting up from your arms with tears rolling down her cheeks. You coaxed her back to sleep with her head on your chest, and affirming whispers.

You couldn’t help but wonder if those moments meant as much to her as they did to you.

She hummed at your response, pursing her lips. “If you’re having any problems let me know. I have some great remedies to help with sleep.” The blonde woman offers, a soft smile spreading on her lips. You nodded, chewing on the soft skin inside of your lip. “Now,” Maria begins. “I see that you’ve had some time to try out some of the positions we offer. Have any taken your interest?”

Flipping through a couple of pages, she continues. “I’ve heard great things from Ava Marin, she manages the patrols. Uhm, and Mrs Hayworth, from the gardens and greenhouse…”

“Mrs Hayworth is a very kind woman. I enjoyed working with her— she’s great at explaining things.” You compliment, thinking about the few days you spent with her planting vegetables and fruit. Her salt and pepper hair puffed in coils around her cherubic but wrinkled face. Crowd feet leading to a pair of squinty hazel eyes. Mrs Hayworth treated her plants like they were her children, and she enforced you to do the same.

“She is— wonderful woman.” Maria agreed.

Humming, you think about all the jobs your tried—which was a lot. Patrol was something that you were used to. Being out in the world wasn’t a grand change. However, you weren’t certain that you wanted to go beyond the walls so often. You’ve spent lots of time patrolling, surveying, killing infected—you wanted to hang that up. Every once in a while wouldn’t hurt, though. “If I were to sign up to help out with the gardens… Would that mean that patrolling would be off limits?”

The blonde woman shook her head, pursing her lips. “Not at all! For patrol, it’s in a sign-up basis. If you were to mainly do patrol, it would mean going out every other day. If you were to mainly work the gardens, that would be more of a consistent job— but you could still sign-up for patrols if you wanted.” Maria informed. “As long as you’ve been approved to go, and you have.”

“Hm…” You thought, weighing your options. The inner rage that you harbored had remained dormant since you arrived. It had been replaced with rumination and sadness for things out of your control. “Gardening full-time seems serene… I’ve spent enough time out there.” Nodding, with a subtle curl to the corners of your lips, you admitted.

Maria begins to scribble with a pen on a sheet of paper, connected to the rings in the binder. “Sounds fitting. But, of course, you can change your mind anytime.”

After you deal with business, Maria continues conversation with you. Casual, of course. You could tell she was trying to pry without being obvious—wanting to know more about you. Willingly, you gave in, because why not? It’s been a long time since you’ve had a real conversation with someone. Maria Miller seemed genuine enough.

However, when she brought up Ellie, the air stiffened. And you could tell she noticed it.

“You and Ellie… Have you spoken, lately? It’s been hard getting a hold of her— it’s like she’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time.” She chortles, taking a sip of her coffee. Pressing her lips together at the bitter taste.

Stunned by the mention of her, you shook your head. Fingers growing numb around the warm, untouched, hot chocolate. “Uhm, no I haven’t…”

She hummed, leaning her head to the start. “That’s odd.” Maria scoffs, bunching her eyebrows. “She made it seem like you two were very close— being that you traveled so far together…” It’s like she was thinking out loud, making you want to bolt from the wooden chair holding onto you. “I mean, she made sure that you got the best house in Jackson… I would assume that she would’ve at least visited—“

“Well, she hasn’t.” Sternly interrupting her, you inhaled, sharply.

Noticing the mistake, she sighed, looking at with blue eyes filled with pity. It irked you. Trying to fix it, Maria plastered a bittersweet smile on her lips. “She’s more like Tommy than I thought.” Bunching your eyebrows, she continued. “My husband— ex-husband— I don’t know… It’s complicated.”

You know the feeling… Kind of.

Ellie had told you about Tommy Miller. He was a very ambitious man, to say the least. Ambitious enough to send a grieving girl to kill someone in his absence—feeding off her own despair. You caught that much. But, if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have ever met her. What a selfish thought. “They’re both hermits in their own right, but they always come around.” She released a wistful sigh. “Ellie will come around… Just give her some time to get all her ducks in a row.”

With tight lips, you nodded. How much time? You desperately wanted to ask, but you didn’t. Instead, you stood up, pulling your jacket over your shoulders. “Thank you so much for the hot chocolate, Maria, but I have to go.” Speaking quickly, you slid your arms into your puffer jacket. Maria abruptly stood to her feet with an inquisitive expression.

“Oh, well, uhm,” She began, rubbing her hands together. “Of course. You’re schedule should be out in the next few days. Consider the meantime your sabbatical.” Her eyes drifted over your frame like a concerned mother. “It was a pleasure talking with you, y/n. I’m glad you could join us here.”

Sending another tight-lipped smile her way, you stuck your hands into your pockets. “I’m glad you let me. See you around.”

Leaving the coffee shop, the cold air was a smack in the face. Pulling you from shackles of solemnity—briefly. Raising your headphones back around your ears, you resumed the tape inside of the Walkman clipped to your hip.

Thin flurries of snow began to fall from the bright grey clouds. Trickling over the strands of your hair, melting in contact. Stuffing your hands back into your pockets, you walked down the icy path of the square.

The main square in Jackson was littered with people. Some were standing around conversing, with cigarettes in their hands. Some worked pulling supplies in large wooden carts, moving them to another establishment. You seen a man on a ladder fixing a broken light on the outside of a pub. And a woman walking a train of small children holding hands—like they were on a field trip of some kind. They laughed and giggled under knit beanies, bundled in their jackets that may have been too big for some.

A smile appeared on your lips as you watched them march by you.

You stopped at an art store, looking up at the wooden sign. Quoting Maria, you were on sabbatical; so, you wanted to use this time to fully explore the settlement. In the month that you’ve been in Jackson, you have visited the local pub more often than you’d like to admit. Entering the store, a bell sounded, and you smiled at the few people walking around the decorated shop.

Organic paints and brushes were located in the back corner of the store, taking up two walls and some floor space. While the rest of the store harbored artwork from the people who lived in the community. And some refurbished work found outside the wall. A sign on the wall read: talk to an attendant for group and private classes. You hummed, impressed by the normalcy. Perhaps, you could sign up for one.

Meandering around, your eyes survey the paintings and drawings. Thinking about your home, it could use some personalization. You came across a landscape portrait of two women. The strokes emulated grass—olive tones—that they were lying on—intertwined with each other. Arms and legs entangled. Lips grazing each others cheeks. The strokes that were made were intentionally blurry and messy. Who were these women? Was their relationship as unofficial and indifferent as your own?

Fingers grazing the canvas of the painting, you couldn’t help but think of that freckle-faced woman you’ve grown to adore.

“You interested in that one? Nice choice.”

Even though your headphones played Nirvana in your ears, you could still recognize the outsourced voice. Her voice was like honey. Soft, warm honey. Luring you like a spell spoken by a witch or warlock. God, you missed the sound of her voice. “Funny thing is… The woman who painted this actually has a husband.” She chuckled, glancing at you with a nervous glint.

You froze at the sound of her voice, eyes glued to the art before you. Just blinking. Buh bum. Buh hum. Your heart beat in your ears, in your chest, in your hands—everywhere! Skin growing hot as if you were sat in front of a furnace. Were you mad or just upset? It was hard to tell, even for yourself.

The smile on her lips faded, immediately. Fiddling with her fingers—she always did that. “How’re you settling in—?”

“I’ve already settled in…” Your voice was eerily calm, side-eying her as you spoke. “I haven’t seen you in five weeks, Ellie.”

She sighed, adjusting the knit cap over her hair. Licking her lips, nervously. “I know—“

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” When you finally look at her, she notices the irateness in your eyes. Crowding over the feelings of yearning and sorrow.

“Can we talk? Please, just let me explain.”

Gritting your jaw, you peer at her. Thinking about hashing it out within a small walk. But, you were tender, sensitive—you couldn’t be sure that your reaction wouldn’t be explosive. What if she told you she was getting back with Dina? Going back to her family. That alone could send you into ruins. And you too far from your house to escape the public once you unleashed hell upon that woman. “You know where I live.” You told, with a pinched expression.

That was your cue to leave the store, pulling your hoodie over your head. Maybe, today wasn’t the day to tour the community. Another day. Plus, you had to spend the rest of the day anticipating a knock at your door.

It was a glum walk back to your place. You had put your Walkman on pause, walking in a depressive silence. Each step you made up your porch was deliberate and slow. An old swing chair swung in the wind, bolts shaking once you put your weight on the porch. It wrapped around the entire front of the house, and it definitely needed more décor.

Entering your house, you hung up your jacket and kicked off your shoes at the door. Stalking up your staircase, leaning in the railing, you made your way to your bedroom. The un-made bed beckoned you; so you kicked the door closed, and jumped under your covers. Hopefully, getting some shut eye could ease your nerves.

The sleep was rocky—you were in and out. In the moments when you awoke, you pulled a book from your bedside table to read—George Eliot—hoping to fall back asleep. But the novel only intrigued you for hours. Distracting from that anticipation long enough for it to come sooner than you expected.

It was dark, but it was no later than six-thirty.

You approached the door with a heavy heart, sliding your fluffy socks across the wooden floor. The reveal of the woman on your porch caused your body to heat up once more. She turned around, still dressed in the clothes from earlier.

“Hey,”

“Hey…”

Pressing her lips into an awkward line. “Nice porch.”

Scrunching your eyebrows at the compliment, you abandoned the door while it was ajar. Telling her to enter without losing your dignity. Ellie stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. “Shoes off.” You tell her, waving a hand, carelessly.

Walking to the kitchen, you threw onto the stove a metal kettle filled water. While your innate anger was healing, there was still pridefulness about you. You had to have some sort of control over any situation that you’re in. Ellie came to your house; this conversation was on your terms. And it was going to stay that way.

Ellie had navigated around your living room, feeling the softness of the carpet under her feet. I did good. She thought. Ellie taking part in the decision making for your accommodations was true. She wanted to give you the absolute best, because she knew she was going to need some time alone.

Appearing from around the corner, you leaned against the mahogany frame lining the entrance to the living room. With your arms stubbornly crossed over your chest. “You have about seven to eight minutes before that kettle goes off, and when it does, this conversation is over.”

She slid the hat from her head, dragging it down to the place over her belly button. Kneading the fabric with her thumbs. “Do you not want me here?” Her voice cracked, hands smacking down at her sides. “Because we can talk another time—“

“Six minutes.”

Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “You know, what?” Ellie scoffed, striding past you toward your kitchen. Irritation rushing through her nerves. It confused her how she could be so obsessed with someone who might’ve been more stubborn than herself.

You followed her into the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing?”

The woman reached for the kettle, taking it off the small flame. Flicking off the fire, she turned to look at you. “You’re not gonna give me six minutes to explain myself— I’m not gonna let you rush this.”

“I’m not rushing anything.”

Narrowing her eyes, she crossed her arms. Leaning her back against the counter, coolly. “Are you seriously insulting my intelligence, right now?” Ellie raised an eyebrow, mocking words that you’ve said in the past.

Squinting your eyes, glaringly, you scoff. “Just… Talk, Ellie.” You waved your hand, leaning on the threshold bordering the kitchen and the small foyer. Perhaps, you were pushing it a bit too far.

The auburn-haired woman sighed behind speaking. Placing her hands on the edge of the counter. “When I left… It was an immediate decision— made in the middle of the night in a farmhouse I shared with my girlfriend, now ex-girlfriend, and my kid.” She began, eyeing you intently. “I left my family behind, y/n, including Maria and Tommy and anyone else in this fucking community that I knew.” Her hands moved as she spoke, passionately. “In that moment, I don’t think I ever planned to come back. There was nothing to come back to…

Then, I met you. When I thought I traveled so far for nothing— I met you.” Her olive eyes looked to the ceiling, thinking. While your heart blundered under your ribs. “Coming back was never my intention, and I left that way. So, when I walked through those doors… I had a lot of work to do. A lot of bridges to mend and gain the trust of again— which I’m still doing, by the way.”

Her hand jutted out, before slapping against her thighs. “I didn’t mean to ghost you like that. Truthfully, I was overwhelmed.” The woman confessed, scratching the back of her head. “For the first two weeks, I was begging for Dina to let me see JJ, my son. For the next, I was arguing with Tommy for letting Abby go— it was a lot. And I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to put any of that on you.” Pursing your lips, you nodded. “You’ve been through enough… I was protecting you. I wanted you to just focus on settling in.”

“Well, it was hard settling in without you.” It almost came out like a whisper—a little louder than a whisper. Followed by a dry, stubborn chortle. “I spent months on the road with you, and it’s like you just hung me out to dry. That fucking sucked.” Averting your eyes, you peered at the shining floorboards.

She nodded, frowning at your downcast expression. But, there was an element of proudness. Give or take a few weeks back, you’d argue her down over anything. However, this time, vulnerability leaked from you. Poured from your words and demeanor like liquid gold. “I know, and I’m really sorry. It was fucked up. But it will never happen again— I swear to you.”

“What if something else comes up?” You question, chewing on the skin inside your lip.

“I’ll clue you in— every time.”

You hummed, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the status on you and Dina?”

Ellie rubs her nose with her index finger, ready to answer your rapid-fire questions. “Cordial co-parents.”

“Does she know about us?”

A goofy smile spreads across her plump lips. “We’re an us?”

Narrowing your eyes at her, fighting a little grin, you responded. “Answer the question, Ellie!”

“Oh, my God! Yes, she knows about us, and she’s happy for me.” With amused features, she begins to slowly approach you. “Now, are you done with the twenty questions game? Because you haven’t accepted my apology once…” She pouted, sliding her hands over your arms, pulling them from their crossed position.

Batting your eyes at her, feigning thought. The touch of her fingers on you sparked a fire, setting your skin ablaze. Even if it was in your best interest not to accept her apology, you probably still would. The way her eyes looked into you with such gentleness—it couldn’t be replicated by anyone else. “I accept your apology…” You admit, grazing your fingers up the sleeves of her flannel.

“Fuck, yes!” She wasted no time to embrace you, wrapping her arms around your neck. Tightly, you wrapped your arms around her back, leaning your head over her shoulder. “I missed you. I hope you’ll let me make it up to you?”

“You have no choice but to make it up to me.” You spoke against her exposed skin, pecking the side of her neck. “For the sake of lost time.”

Ellie giggled at the brush of your lips, pulling away with raised eyebrows. “Oh, shit. I almost forgot— be right back.” She runs to your front door pulling it open, and leaning to the side to grab a flipped canvas that was leaning against the outside brick wall. It was the portrait you were considering buying at the art store. “Housewarming present!” She grinned, presenting it in front of herself.

You matched her smile, reaching out to take it from her. “That woman is totally gay for making this.”

“So gay. I feel bad for her husband.”

Sharing a laugh, you look back at her, setting the canvas to the side against the wall. Walking up to her, you grabbed her face, caressing the skin of her cheeks. Musing at her earthy features, taking them all in like you’d never see her again. The last time you saw her, it’s like you took it for granted—not knowing if it was going to be a while before you got to look at her the way you wanted to. Leaning into her, you pressed your lips against hers, unabashedly. Her hands found comfort at the divot of your waist, pulling you flush against her.

Sliding your hands down to the nape of her neck, the kiss deepened. You whined into her mouth when she slipped her tongue between your lips. With the combination of her grip on your waist and the taste of her lips, you wanted to merge your bodies—so she could never leave your side again. You’ve survived enough tragic loss; was it so bad to want this one thing? The touch of your troubled lover.

Ellie backed you against the wall, muttering against your lips. “I wanna take my time with you…” She began to trail hot kisses over your cheek, down your jaw, to the sensitive parts of your neck. “Show you…” Smack. “Just how much…” Smack. “I love you.”

Under the waistband of your jeans, you throbbed, but the thing beating inside your chest swelled and beat louder. “Y— You love me?” The tips of your fingers scratched at her scalp, comfortingly. As she pulled her face from your neck, her freckled cheeks flushed.

“Yeah, I do.” Her thumb came up to caress your jaw. “I really do.”

That was your cue to completely devour her. You pulled her upstairs, into your bedroom, to ravish her—to ravish each other. Stripping from your clothes to come unto one another with a sickening love. Her lips traced every part of your body; suckling, nibbling, tonguing down the most sensitive parts. Pulling moans from your diaphragm, seamlessly. She cooed for you and spoke filthily in your ear while touching you with a gentle firmness that only she could replicate over and over—making you come undone hard. As if the universe came from within you.

Stars, planets, galaxies—celestial bodies!

You and Ellie were two halves of one whole. Everything that led up to that beach happened with the purpose of bringing the scorned together. To cancel it out, blossoming something much greater. Somehow, you proved to each other that you were both worth saving. No matter the sin. No matter the guilt. It was all worth it to end up wrapped in her arms, skin to skin, caressing her battered epidermis.

As months progressed, gearing up for the spring season, Ellie had long moved her stuff in. Her easel and unfinished works nestled in the guest room. Her clothes were stuffed beside yours in the drawer before your bed, and the closet beside your door. Bringing in sunrises with sleepy, feathered kisses and innocent touches. It was a dream you both got the chance to live out.

This wasn’t enduring or surviving—it was living. Experiencing life.

With your hands covered in dirt, replanting a radish, joyful voices were behind your back. Looking over your shoulder, a tiny frame was trotting toward you, calling your name. Ellie in his trail, with her hands in her pockets.

Gasping, you turned around with a grin. “Hey, buddy!” You opened your arms for him to promptly land in them. Keeping your hands far from his jacket so the soil wouldn’t dirty him up.

“Careful, JJ, she’s working!” She tried, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, Ellie, it’s fine.” You waved a dirty hand, sliding them off your fingers, dropping them onto the grass. So you could reach under his arms to hoist him onto your hip. The sun landed just right on his little head, sparkling off his small growing teeth.

Ellie’s lips curled at the sight. “He wanted to come visit you at work before I dropped him off.” She meandered toward you, pecking your lips.

“Just JJ? Or you, too?”

“Both of us, whatever.” Playfully, she rolled her eyes. “Plus, I had to remind you of our dinner date tonight— its mandatory. You can’t be late.” Her fingers pushed fallen pieces of your hair from your forehead.

Once you had gotten into the grove of gardening, time flew by. It would go from seven in the morning to eight in the afternoon like it was nothing. Causing you to miss out on some of the plans you made with your generous lover. “You’ve been reminding me since I got up this morning. Trust me, I remember, Ellie.” You squeezed his chubby cheek, cooing at him. “Ugh, I love him.” You gushed, peering between him and your girlfriend.

“Oh!” You pulled a folded-up paper from your back pocket. “JJ, you wanna do me a big favor?”

His eyebrows lifted, grinning.

“Give your mama back this recipe for me, all right?” He takes the paper in his hands, preparing to unfold it. “Promise me you’ll give it to her…”

“I promise!”

“Okay, bud. Tuck it tight into your pocket until you get there.”

Instead of unfolding, he pushed it into the pocket of his coat, messily. Patting it, to let you know it was inside. Kissing him on his cheek, you put him back on the ground. Eyes glancing at the watch on your wrist. “Well, I gotta get back to work.” Your hand found hers by her side, leaning your body toward her arm. “Thanks for visiting me, babe. Letting me see that beautiful face of yours.”

Ellie blushed, averting her glazing eyes. You leaned your head closer to hers, warmly kissing her cheek. “My pleasure…”

“I’m sure.” You teased, inconspicuously biting her ear. Quick enough that it went unseen to the surrounding people, and JJ as he played with the leaves sticking out of the garden. Ellie released an airy sigh, narrowing her eyes at you. She whined your name as if she were embarrassed. “Don’t be like that— you know I love you.”

“I love you more… But you have to chill. Mrs Hayworth is right there.”

“You don’t know Mrs Hayworth like I do.” You snicker, waving a hand to the older woman a few bins away. The salt and pepper haired woman waved, sending a teasing wink. Ellie looked back at your with confused, and slightly horrified, features. “I’ll tell you about it later. At the dinner I’m not going to be late to.”

“And you better not.” Ellie poked you, with pouty lips.

“Ellie, I won’t.”

“Okay, I believe you.” She kissed you one more time. A little longer. A little deeper. “I won’t keep you from the vegetables anymore. JJ, say buh-byes.” He jumps from a squat, waving his hand with a smile. “I’ll see you later. C’mon, kid.” Ellie hoisted him up into her hip and began walking back the way she came to deliver him to Dina’s. Leaving you with metaphorical heart eyes, pulling your gloves back onto your hands.

And, when later came; over a hearty chicken dinner prepared by Ellie Williams herself, a shiny silver band was presented to you in the pages of a book. Laying over an underlined and highlighted excerpt of the book—something you highlighted. It was a novel you had finished sometime between the end of December and early January.

“‘What greater thing is there for two human souls, than to feel that they are joined for life–to strengthen each other in all labour, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting?’” Ellie had recited, evenly. With not a speckle of wavering, or awkwardness, or pause—unless it was intentional. “Adam Bede. Your favorite book… I hope it’s your favorite book.”

Jumping from your chair across from her, you leaped into her arms after placing the book into the dinner table. Pecking your lips across her face. “Yes! Yes! Ellie, a million fucking times, yes!”

“I didn’t even ask the question.” She laughed in your ear, looking up at you with dilated pupils.

Pulling back, you narrowed your tearing eyes at her. “You don’t have to. I already said yes.”

“But isn’t that the exciting part… Popping the question?”

You scrunched your eyebrows. “I thought the exciting part was me saying yes to marrying you…?”

Ellie spent days studying George Eliot, hours setting up the dinner, and minutes shaking with anxiety. Working herself up to saying those magic four words, only for your to swipe the chance right from under her. And, honestly, she loved you more for it. “All right, can I at least put the damn ring on your finger?”

“‘Course, you can, Els.” You pull the book toward you, opening it up on the page with the ring. Ellie takes it from your fingers, glancing at you with opalescent olive eyes. She slid it onto your ring finger, delicately twisting the band around. You grinned, hopelessly, with your bottom lip between your teeth.

Her hand trailed up your arm, squeezing. “My lucky charm…” She muttered, thoughtfully.

“I’m all yours.” You lean close to her lips, glancing at them. “And you’re all mine.”

Neither of you were able to finish the dinner while it was hot.

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie williams #lesbian #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams fluff #lgbtq #ellie williams smut

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leah-lover · 9 months ago

Text

You dug your grave. Leah Williamson x reader

Smut 18+

Reader punishes Leah by. Masturbating in front of her.

Leah was a known flirt in the team. She was touchy and flirtatious with everybody. On most days that didn't bother you. You were secure on who you are and on what you meant to her. She loved you. She was crazy for you. It was just her nature , her way of having fun, to be risky with her friends.

It was that time of the year again, international camp. You both loved it. You got to be together, hang out with your friends and be the best country in the world.

This time camp was different. You and Leah didn't come together. You weren't even called up in the first place. It was because of an injury to one of the players that you were standing in the lobby right now.

“ Here is your key card, this is a single room on the 53rd floor.” Said the kind receptionist.

You thanked her and went up to your room. You then text your girlfriend and inform her that you are in the hotel.

You took a shower, got ready, and headed to the restaurant to meet up with the girls for dinner.

Once you showed up loud cheers filled the room. You went around kissing and hugging everyone and proceeded to go over to your girlfriend's table.

“ Hello my baby I missed you.” She said, greeting you with a filthy kiss. You kissed her back and joined her conversation.

You went feeling good at all and your girlfriend's thought tendencies got on your nerves but you stayed calm throughout the dinner.

After dinner you went and got some drinks, laughed a little and headed back into your room with Leah in your hand.

Once the door closed your girlfriend pinned you to the wall and started kissing you. You however didn't kiss her back.

“ Baby what's happening?” She asked.

“ Since you were so bothered about me today I thought to treat you “ you said.

“All I wanted today was something that was truly mine but you had to get cuddly with Beth, “ you added.

You didn't leave her much time to react before you got out of her group, went to the bed and undressed yourself.

“But baby than isn't fair”

“leah, go sit on that chair.” you ordered. She obliged. She was now sitting in front of a fully naked you with your legs wide open.

“ my love please.” She pleaded.

“ You are gonna sit there and watch me. You move your hand from the arm rest you won't see me naked in a long time “ you warned her. Upset she did as you said.

You started by running your hands through your body. You dtp at your breast. You massage each one, you squeeze your nipples between your fingers and you moan. You release the filthiest moans you have ever said. Leah’s face was pouty but her eyes were full of lust. She grips the armrests tightly and says. “You are so fucking beautiful. You cunt is so fucking beautiful.”

Your core was starting to drip when you started playing with your puffy clit. Leah’s eyes on you have you motivation to moan even louder and make her wish she could touch you which you were with sure she was already. She knew that arguing with you and begging you wouldn't change your mind so she grips the arm rests tougher yet hands go white.

Inpatient you slide one finger in and follow it with another. You knew exactly where to touch yourself to make yourself come . So you quickly became a moaning mess and came screaming Leah's name.

Once you opened your eyes again Leah was white.

“ Fuck me with a strap now if you want “ you say.

She quickly picked up the strap, got on. The bed and started fucking you after adjusting herself to it.

She was rough with her pace so you quickly got close to your second orgasm.

“Baby I am gonna come.” I said.

After she heard that she quickly pulled out.

“Baby no please.” You pleaded.

“ You dug your grave .” She said,

Leah liked edging you so you knew this was gonna be a long night.

#woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community #woso x reader #woso smut #leah × reader #leah williamson #leah williamson smut #leah williamson imagine

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fxckn-sxck-fr · 2 months ago

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Hii!! Just a thought, would any of the yanderes baby trap a particularly difficult reader?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘-𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆…

!!! GN reader, children (lmao), manipulation, coercion into parenting, delusions, slight threats, impregnation mention (it’s not the reader, though), obligatory Tim Drake warning, mentions of possible harm to children.

I’m assuming you just mean the comic book yanderes. Let’s see!

I kept the actual baby-acquisition vague. Could be one or both of y’all’s biological kid, could be adopted, could be kidnapped. Who knows! I also gave them ratings on how they would be as a father, cuz why not.

Bruce Wayne: Yes. Absolutely. This is Bruce we’re talking about. You know, the guy who’s never beating the empty-nester allegations? As long as you’re with him, you’re bound to end up with a kid one way or another. Whether he set out to baby trap you or ended up with a child by chance, he is for sure going to hold it over your head. This kid is going to have both of their parents in their life, biological or not. It’s like a new kid spawns in the manor every time you get even a little bit rebellious. (7/10 father; still has his issues, but he’s learned from his past mistakes.)

Bucky Barnes: Okay, I don’t think he’d initially see himself as a family man. Just never crossed his mind, given his life as the Winter Solider. If he did end up with a kid, it would definitely be by accident. But when that happens, he’ll start to give it a little more thought. The idea of a family… it sounds so domestic; so normal. Uh-oh. Instant baby fever. Now he wants even more kids, and he’ll acquire them by any means necessary. Doesn’t manipulate you with any children, but you may feel obligated to stick around; the Winter Soldier does NOT seem like the type to be good at parenting. (5/10 father; doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s at least enthusiastic.)

Clark Kent: This man wants the classic nuclear family life. While he wouldn’t set out to baby-trap you, it will inadvertently happen with his desire for children. He wants to be tackled by at least 3 kids every time he comes home! And if he’s already had Jon, I can see him making it his mission to find the perfect spouse; that’s how he finds you!! Oh, you’re not good with kids? Doesn’t matter. This man is delusional as fuck. It’s not like he sees you for who you are, anyway. Keep in mind that he’s projecting an idealized version of a spouse onto you. (10/10 father; amazing with kids and is willing to pull your weight when you’re being difficult.)

Dick Grayson: If it comes down to it, he will. Any form of manipulation is fair game, and hey… he’s always dreamed of starting a family of his own one day. Even if you’re not big on kids, he’s willing to play the long game to try and get you to change your mind. And if you never do? Welp. That’s too bad. You’re still gonna end up with a child somehow (Dick’s got plenty of ways to make sure of that). When he finally gets what he wants, he’s for sure using the “think of our kid(s)” card any chance he gets. (9/10 father; he’s a family man at heart, and everyone around him thinks it was only a matter of time.)

Hal Jordan: A bit iffy on starting a family. He doesn’t hate kids, he just isn’t sure if he’s ready. However, as soon as he realizes a child in your life could make you more compliant, he quickly starts to sing a different tune. Now he’s all for having kids!! He’d be obsessed with the power it gives, every interaction between you two having that subtle warning of, “try and escape me now.” Papa-Bear Hal is not a force to be reckoned with. You may find yourself not liking the consequences of trying to break up this happy little family. (8/10 father; there’s a bit of a learning curve for him, but he’ll eventually fall into the groove of it.)

Jaime Reyes: Nope. The thought of having kids makes him sick to his stomach. He knows there’s something wrong with him… god only knows what would happen to his kids. The what if’s would drive him insane, easily trumping the possible gains of baby-trapping you. Sure, it might be a bit tempting — and he’ll admit, a small part of him wishes he could one day be a father — but not only would he feel extremely guilty, he also knows that it’s a bad fucking idea. Hopefully, he can continue to ignore Khaji Da’s own thoughts on the matter. It doesn’t matter how important “continuing the Reyes legacy” is, he’s not taking that risk. (6/10 father; despite his fits of spiraling paranoia, he needs to give himself a little more credit).

Peter Parker: Honestly, it’s a toss up. He’s got his concerns with being a father, but thinking about it makes him all giddy inside. I think this would be another case of accidental baby-trapping. He didn’t set out to do it, but hey… if it works, it works. Any “but what about our kid(s)” that he throws at you is by no means intentional manipulation; he’s just genuinely worried what would happen if you left. Then again, I can also see him slightly doing it. As soon as he realizes it works, he’ll keep it in mind. A thing he’ll tuck away for later and only use when absolutely needed. (9/10 father; loves his kid(s) and would do anything for them).

Remy LeBeau: Yeah, probably. As long as he’s in a position where he can have a kid or two, he’ll go for it. Remy secretly longs for a family (though he’ll never admit it), and if starting one means earning your compliance? Well, shit… that’s just killing two birds with one stone! But again, this depends on if he’s in a position where kids are viable. Should he still have some unfinished business to attend to, he’s not gonna be dumb enough to have kids. Growing up in the Thieves Guild taught him a thing or two about why that’s a bad idea. Otherwise, you are not immune to a sudden baby-acquisition by yours truly. (7/10 father; he gives chill baby daddy vibes who tries his best to be there for his kids.)

Scott Summers: Oh, yeah. It’s guaranteed to happen. This man is committed to having a semi-normal life, no matter how unrealistic that may seem. He wants a family. He wants you to be obedient. He wants a sense of normalcy, goddamnit. Y’all are having a kid whether you want one or not. And he leans heavily towards having a biological kid. If you don’t have the means to get pregnant — or fight tooth and nail against the idea — he’s 100% impregnating someone else and stealing their baby. Yes, it’s a crazy idea. Yes, he’s willing to go that far. Don’t test him. He’ll yell and shout at you about how you need to be there for this fucking kid, even if it’s not yours. It’s in your best interest if you comply. (6/10 father; he’s chronically fighting against the absent father allegations and MIGHT be winning… results are still pending.)

Steve Roger: Poor guy wants to settle down so bad. Yes, he’d baby-trap you, but I can see him feeling guilty for it. He knows it’s wrong, and it would especially weigh down on him if you didn’t even want kids in the first place. But he wants a family so bad. He can’t help it!! And as big of a piece of shit he may feel afterwards, he’ll do what’s necessary to make you behave. You need to be here for your kids! If a little bit of manipulation makes you stay, then so be it. He’s surprisingly good at guilt-tripping, making a good case with the image he has to uphold as Captain America. What would people think if they learned he was a single father? What assumptions would they make about you if you left him? Society might not be all that kind to you. It’s best to just stay. (8/10 father; can get a little busy, but he’s definitely there when it matters the most.)

Tim Drake: Not a fan of kids. There might be a chance of him coming up with a baby-trapping scheme during one of his weird fits, but let’s hope he snaps out of it before it’s too late. Do NOT let bro be a father. On the off-chance that he does acquire a kid… pray. And I mean PRAY. His version of baby-trapping ranges from “but this kid needs you” to “I will fucking kill this kid if you leave.” A situation like this means you have to familiarize yourself with Tim’s mood swings. Be compliant at first, then when he starts to second-guess himself, try to gently coax him into giving this child a better home. Hopefully, that poor kid will survive everything unscathed. Tim wouldn’t know what to do with himself if something bad happened to them. (0/10 father; he’d actually do an alright job when he’s mentally stable, but I think everyone — including Tim himself — would agree that he’d do more harm than good raising a kid.)

Wally West: Yup. No hesitation. As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he will get to scheming immediately. His goal would be to make it seem like a natural evolution, even if you’re not keen on the idea of kids. Wally is such a master at masking his manipulation, to the point where it’s unclear if he’s actually baby-trapping you or not, and by the time you’ve realize it… welp… too late. Arguing with him is absolutely frustrating, cuz Wally West does not argue; he smooth talks until makes you feel like an idiot. Wanna know how cruel he is? Those kids will grow up to be accomplices in his manipulation, whether they know it or not. No one can put a stop to his fuckery. (9/10 parent; turns out to be a phenomenal father, I just have to take a point off simply because raising your kids to be just as manipulative as him probably isn’t good.)

#❥ CALL INCOMING: DO YOU LIKE SCARY MOVIES?#❥ TW: YANDERE #❥ YANDERE CHARACTER #❥ ROMANTIC YANDERE #❥ YANDERE BRUCE WAYNE #❥ YANDERE BUCKY BARNES #❥ YANDERE CLARK KENT #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON #❥ YANDERE HAL JORDAN #❥ YANDERE JAIME REYES #❥ YANDERE PETER PARKER #❥ YANDERE REMY LEBEAU #❥ YANDERE SCOTT SUMMERS #❥ YANDERE STEVE ROGERS #❥ YANDERE TIM DRAKE #❥ YANDERE WALLY WEST #❥ YANDERE VARIOUS X READER #❥ GN READER

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trippinsorrows · 2 months ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twenty four

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy. the next two chapters will also be heavy at points. please heed to cw/tw's.

cw/tw: fluff, angst, brief discussion of childhood sexual assault and child abuse, scene of violence against women

*this author does not condone nor support intimate partner/domestic violence.*

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 12k

“Roman…” His name leaving her mouth is the perfect combination of breathy and whiny. “We–re gonna be late.”

For the first time in what feels like an hour, Roman lifts his head from her neck. She hates how noticeable the absence of his mouth is. “You really think I care about that?”

No. She knows he doesn’t care. But, she also dislikes being the reason for them being late. Because she's certain he has plans afterwards, and it doesn’t sit well with her knowing that she could play any type of role in any inconvenience he may encounter.

Her eyes shut as he brings his mouth back to her neck, sucking the spot that he’s clearly realized she has the most visceral response to. Toes curling, clawing at his shoulders and arms, it’s hard to tell who’s enjoying this more. Him or her.

Still, she manages to protest. “But, I—I care.”

Big hands traveling her body, she sighs quietly when he cups the swell of her breast giving her a gentle squeeze that has her thighs unintentionally gripping his waist. “You should have thought about that before you put this damn outfit on….”

Said outfit isn’t anything crazy, nothing fancy, just a cropped, sleeveless hoodie and dark yoga pants. However, it's the stretchy material that clings to clearly every part of her that he seemingly finds irresistible. Namely her ass and chest. Still, it's the typical type of outfit she would wear to train, which is exactly where they should be headed to right now. Though it seems her husband has another much more carnal destination in mind.

Blush growing, she tries again. “Roman, I—I’m serious.” His tongue circling across her inflamed skin as she groans against him. “You’re gonna l–leave another mark.”

“Good.” His response doesn’t entirely surprise her. Neither does the explanation. “You’re mine, and everyone needs to fucking know that shit.”

Mine

There’s something about that, something about his delivery, so strong and borderline aggressive that makes her insides melt a tad. Makes her smile grow. A good bit, she’s certain, stemming from the fact that it still blows her mind sometimes that a man like Roman Reigns could want her. Does want her. Even with all her….baggage.

He wants her.

Loves her.

For some reason, this makes it a bit easier to slide into that space of comfort and indifference he has regarding time and obligation. Makes her arch her chest into him as he stays true and firm to his determination in leaving her with his mark.

Though she’s not sure just what about this current situation makes her decide to bring this up now, it’s something she knows she really shouldn't push off anymore.

“R–Ro?”

He makes a sound against her. “Yes?”

“I—I need a favor.”

He sighs against her, lifting his head from her neck to match her nervous gaze. “Solana, doing things for you is never a favor.” He brings his hand to her chin, thumb caressing her skin. “It’s my job as your husband.”

His response, thus far, chips away some of the anxiety. Some. “But, this—this is kinda big.”

Eyes narrowing slightly, he asks, “how big?”

It feels kind of silly, Solana briefly dropping her gaze to his black shirt that’s stretched against his broad chest. “I—I need money.”

Roman just looks at her for a second, a huge smile breaking out on his face. “You need money?”

She nods. Slowly. “It’s—it’s a lot of money though.”

“I think we have different definitions of what a lot is, but go on.”

He’s probably not wrong, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the proposed amount of money probably needed is substantial compared to the average loan. Solana sits up fully, forcing Roman to also stand upright. He tugs her to the edge, her hands on his chest. “It’s…..it’s for Dr. Stratus.”

At that, she’s clearly lost him. “You need money for your psychiatrist?”

“Not—not like that.” Solana closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tries to gather her thoughts. “The girls were telling me they overheard that Dr. Stratus couldn’t secure an investor to keep the facility going and may have to shut down.”

He remains confused. “Okay…..”

“Roman, I don’t want that to happen.” She closes her eyes, thinking back to some of the information Gail has provided her as well as readings from her book. “Did you—did you know that 1 out of every 6 American women has either been raped or survived of an attempted rape?” Closing her eyes, she murmurs, “I was one of the ones.” Taking another breath, she notices his expression is darker. “But there are a lot more ones out there, Roman, and they need help just like I did. Dr. Stratus has a really great thing going, and I don’t—I don’t want to see it go away. I want—”

“Okay.”

She frowns. “Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

Her stomach flutters. “Really?” She’s not sure what she was expecting, but for some reason, him so easily agreeing seems almost too good to be true.

Roman shrugs, pushing back some of her hair. “It’s important to you, and it clearly is, so I’ll do it.” That’s it. Nothing else. Just acquiescence.

“But, you don’t even know how much—”

“Doesn’t matter. You want it. I’ll make it happen.”

It’s overwhelming, really. Solana didn’t really think he would be upset with her request. She figured he’d want or need to think about it, which makes sense given it’s probably going to be in the six, maybe even seven figure range. But, that’s not the case. Instead, he’s just agreed without a second thought simply because she wants it.

Because it’s important to her.

Eyes watering, she throws her arms around him, hugging him. “Thank you.” It’s such a simple thing to say for such a big task. But, she also means it from the deepest part of her. For a man who doesn’t seem to think he’s a good person, she thinks the world of him.

The same way she’s certain their child will.

“While we’re on it, there’s something I need to talk to you about, too.”

And just like that, her smile is wiped, Solana pulling back and looking up. "Oh—okay.”

Something tells her she’s not going to like what she’s about to hear.

Roman’s intense eyes are focused on her, his index finger tracing along her jaw. “I have to go out of town next week.”

Yeah……definitely not something she wanted or expected to hear.

“Oh.” It’s all she knows how to say initially. Finally, more words arrive. A necessary question asked. “Where are you going?”

He hesitates. “Italy.”

Her eyes widen. That definitely isn’t what she expected him to say. Domestic travel was the guess, international never even being something that crossed her mind. “Italy?”

He nods, explaining on the edge of a heavy sigh. “I have some…..business to take care of with the Cosa Nostra.”

Solana is quiet, sitting on his words, partially hoping he’ll say more. Granted, it’s not a necessity as she’s able to piece the puzzle together herself. “That’s why your cousins were here that night…..isn’t it?” His silence is all the answer she needs. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“No.” Though his answer is immediate, there’s something about it that was too instantaneous. Like he blurted it out without even thinking about it. “Just…..something I need to handle.”

It’s a bit manipulative. She knows this, but it’s hard for her to have something like this sprung on her and not ask any follow up questions. “Can….can I come with you?”

Again, his response is something she already guessed before even fixing her mouth to ask. Another heavy sigh as he gently cups her cheek. “Not this time.”

“Because it’s dangerous.” And there’s the manipulation component. Solana has realized that will always be the dealbreaker for Roman when it comes to her. Safety. So, him saying no makes her concerned not for her wellbeing.

But for his.

Anxiety growing, she asks, “are the twins going with you? You can’t go alone.”

“I won’t be alone.” That helps her feel a little better. Just a little. “But, they’re not coming. I need them here. Handling shit.” It’s hard for Solana to wonder if any part of what went down between Roman and Jey has impacted this decision for them to remain here while he travels abroad.

Still, that’s another thought for another day. She has a much bigger issue at hand.

“So who—”

“Solana.” Roman’s voice silences the next set of anxiety riddled questions scheduled to leave her mouth. He lowers his volume, his tone softer than anything anyone outside of her would ever hear. “I’ll be fine.”

For some reason, that only cranks her anxiety up from a 6 to a solid 8. And it’s without much thought, she finds herself asking, “do you have to go?”

He truly looks apologetic. A visible thing that also matches the verbal. “I’ve been pushing it off. I can’t push it off anymore.”

She swallows, emotion thick and bubbling. “Because of me?”

“Because of a lot of things, Sol.” And to her surprise, there’s some semblance of emotion present in his voice as well. “The—the story with that side of my family is…..complicated.” As it seems are most things when it comes to his family. Either side, apparently. “Trust me, going there is the last thing I want, but it needs to be done.”

Solana hates this. For a lot of reasons. The biggest one, however, is because she just knows there’s something he’s not telling her. A key part he’s omitting, probably for fear of worrying her. Never mind the fact that she’s already an anxious mess thinking about him being so far away without at least the twins there to have his back. She’d bet this Dwayne and Matteo person will be present, but she doesn’t know them. Doesn’t trust them. Doesn’t trust them to have her husband’s back.

Not like Jimmy and Jey.

Even with the altercation between Roman and the latter, she still believes in her heart of hearts they’d look out for each other.

Like brothers.

“How long will you be gone?” Because trying to convince him to stay or even allow her to accompany him is the equivalent of beating a dead horse.

More hesitation. “A week. Maybe two.”

The duration truly could be worse, and it makes sense such a long trip wouldn’t warrant a short turnover, but that doesn’t make the idea of him being gone for that period of time any easier to stomach.

When she says nothing, he brings his other hand to her hair, pushing a section behind her ear. “Nia will stay with you until I return.”

And the surprises just keep coming. “Nia?” She knows the list of people Roman would ask to do such a thing is pretty limited, nonexistent maybe, but Nia is the last of the last she’d have considered. “She—why would she agree to that?”

Nia’s behavior around and toward Solana has shifted moderately since their first meeting so many months ago. She’s still not the nicest, per se, but Solana has learned a large part of that is nothing personal. It’s just Nia. So, while she’s not against it, she does, however, not understand it.

“I told you before, people do what I want them to do because no one wants to deal with the alternative. Nia is no different.” Forced. He’s forced her to do this. That’s all Solana took from that, the frown on her face deepening it. “She’ll really just be here to administer your meds and make sure you get to therapy.”

And she figured as such, figured that would be the basis as to why he would ensure another person is present in his absence. Still, Solana can’t stop herself from trying to broach an option she’s almost certain he won’t want to hear.

“Ro, I don’t—I can take care of that mys—”

“No.” It’s so firm and final. Even his gaze has shifted into something almost hardened. “That’s not an option.”

She figured it wasn’t. She also wonders, however, if it ever will. It has to, at some point. Solana wants to also ask why it can’t be Bayley again, or even Naomi, but it’s most likely to earn her the same type of shutdown.

If not worse.

Roman steps back, guiding her off the bathroom counter. Standing back on her own two feet, Solana is taken back for a second by the almost instant lightheaded feeling that comes over her. Or less lightheaded and more…..exhaustion.

“You alright?”

She looks up, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m—I’m good.” That’s debatable, because Solana is all of a sudden feeling exhausted from literally doing nothing but making out with her husband.

Roman, as expected, looks unconvinced. “You sure?” He goes into his spiel that she’s heard at least three times now. “You know you don’t have to jump right back into things. I still think you should take more time off—”

“No.” Her hand shifts to her stomach, Solana grateful this doesn’t seem to trigger something for him. “I—I want to fall back into my routines.” Even more, and most important, if she truly is pregnant, Solana doesn’t want to waste any time left she has to do so before being too far along to train.

But, he can’t have that explanation. Not yet.

And now she has to figure out just when said explanation can occur, because how does she tell her husband they’re expecting days before he’s set to go out of town for possibly two weeks?

Damn.

————

“You’re late.” It’s the first thing to come out of a smirking Bayley’s mouth as Solana walks in with Roman into the training area. ‘But, the outfit is cute.”

Solana smiles at that, a bit of a laugh leaving her considering Roman nearly had a heart attack at her outfit when she stepped out the bathroom. Hence why they’re late. Among…..other reasons.

“I’m sorry. We got caught up with something.”

“Mmmhmm,” Naomi sounds with that knowing look. “I’m sure you did.”

Solana looks away, wanting and needing to hide her blush as Roman asks in an annoyed voice, “where is he?”

“Here.” The four of them redirect their attention to the sound of Jimmy and the other two men he’s with: Jey and Carmelo.

Naturally, Solana goes to observe the indirect interaction between Jey and Roman, searching for any sigh of contempt. It’s definitely there. She can see it in the way Roman’s shoulders tense and how Jey looks away, Solana noticing the faded bruises on his face as well as the bandage over a still healing cut.

Swallowing, Solana moves over to them. “Hey.”

Jimmy pulls her into a side hug without needing initiation, but it’s not missed upon her how Jey seems to hesitate to hug her, the tension in his body as well as the way he almost awkward way he clears his throat and looks away.

She tries not to make too much of it, but it’s hard not to.

Carmelo steps forward, giving a nod. “Ma’am.”

That makes her smile return. “I told you before, you can just call me Solana.”

“Ma’am is fine,” Roman’s deep voice cuts through, Solana not needing to turn around, hearing his heavy footsteps behind her. “You’re late.”

Carmelo swallows. “I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care,” Roman is instantly dismissive, focusing his attention on his wife as he goes into an unnecessary introduction. “Solana, this is—”

“I know,” she cuts him off with a gentle smile, explaining, “I met him at the party.”

At that, Romans’ thick eyebrows cave inward. “What?”

“He was there, Big Dog.”

‘“I–I was there, sir.”

Roman scowls, completely ignoring his cousin and the other irrelevant man. “He was?” He looks over at his wife, asking, “you invited him too?”

Solana nods. “I asked the twins to invite whoever it was you found to help me train, because I wanted to meet him beforehand,” she explains, turning to Carmelo again, “thank you again for—agreeing to help me.”

Carmelo opens his mouth, unsure just how to express that he didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. Or one at all.

“He was there the whole time,” Naomi shares from where she stretches on one of the mats, Jimmy focused on her ass as she bends over.

“You were too busy trying not to kill and cuss everybody out,” Bayley walks over, earning a hardened look from Roman that she pays no mind to. “Alright, so Solana is obviously a small human being, but she’s fast and hell and can maneuver quickly. That makes her hard to catch. Those are her strengths. She’s also pretty damn good with a knife.” Solana is a bit unsure how to feel about that part. “But, she’s only ever trained with women, hence why you’re here, Melo.”

“She also wants to learn how to do the spear.”

Roman’s statement earns a round of surprised expressions from everyone except Carmelo.

He looks terrified. “The—the spear?” He gestures with a crooked, slightly trembling index finger. “From—from you?”

“Who the fuck else?” Is Roman’s objectively rude reply, Solana having to stop herself from placing her hand on his forearm. He could try to be a little nicer.

“You supposed to get a spear from him?” A new voice sounds, Solana not recognizing the man with a deep complexion, multiple piercings and an….interesting hairstyle. He shakes his head. “You gon die!”

Solana’s mouth drops as Bayley and Naomi laugh aloud. Jimmy is the one to ask, “R Truth, where did you even come from?”

He scowls, pointing downward. “Boss man said meet him here.”

“I said at the office, Truth. Not the Warehouse.” Jey finally speaks, Solana realizing it’s the first time he’s done so. He sounds annoyed, and she’s not sure if it’s just because of the scene unfolding before them. Or something that he’s clearly still not over.

“Yo? Forreal?” Jey runs his hand over his face. “That’s—that’s my bad.” He looks to Roman, nodding. “Tribal Chief.” He looks at Solana, again nodding, “Mrs. Tribal Chief.” He then gestures to the rest of the group. “Ya’ll be safe now.” Pointing to Carmelo, he adds, “‘cept’ for you, you already dead.”

Solana has so many questions, even as this strange man walks away, Jey muttering something incoherent before he seems to follow after this R-Truth person.

Once those two men are gone, Carmelo nervously clears his throat. “Tribal Chief, if I can, who better to train her than y—”

“Shut up,” Roman says it so lazily. It’s as he crosses his massive arms over each other that Solana has to briefly look away, finding herself growing….distracted. He’s so damn muscular. “She’s comfortable with me. That won’t help her learn.”

Roman easily transitions into providing basic information about the spear, best ways to time it, stances, ways to land it and whatnot. She’s following, as best she can, at least. Because this exhaustion she’s experiencing is making it ten times harder to be present in the moment, and that’s made evident by the gap in her focus when one moment Roman is explaining, and the next he’s rushing towards Carmelo.

Solana gasps as Roman spears the other man with a ferocity and intensity that seems almost animal-like.

Eyes wide, hands over her mouth, Solana has to wince at a pain she didn’t even experience. But, one didn’t have to be on the receiving end of that to know it had to hurt like hell.

Roman stands up so unbothered and nonchalant, readjusting his almost always perfect bun.

“Gotta give him his props. No one does a spear quite like Roman,” Bayley chuckles, arms crossed as Solana continues to stare in shock.

Jimmy casually walks by and peers over an unmoved Carmelo. “Ayo, Uce, I think he dead.” The faintest sound of pained whining fills the air, prompting Jimmy to correct himself. “Never mind. He alive.”

“Barely,” Naomi mumbles.

“He shouldn’t be so weak,” is Roman’s pompous defense as he redirects his attention to a still startled Solana. “Make sense?”

There’s a brief delay in between the time she nods slowly and speaks. “But, I—I don’t think I can do that.”

A small smile falls on Roman’s face as he explains, “it’s not going to be the exact same, Solana. I’m significantly bigger than you. Plus, spearing a man is different than spearing a woman.”

“What if I need to spear a man?”

His expression hardens as he affirms, “he’d have to get through me first to fucking touch you.”

Solana doesn’t say anything after that. Just waits for Carmelo to recover as they transition to the one-on-one portion. Solana is rolling her shoulders, trying to get in as much stretching as she can to hopefully loosen up her body more and shed away the almost fatigue she’s feeling.

It’s unfamiliar and inconvenient as hell considering what she’s about to do.

She’s in earshot range too when Roman grabs Melo’s arm and warns in the chilliest tone, “leave one fucking mark on her, and I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.”

A heavy sigh leaves her body. She understands Roman’s protectiveness, but truthfully, Carmelo is doing them a favor. He doesn’t have to be here.

Then again….maybe he does.

She doesn’t put it beyond her husband to threaten people on her behalf.

Not in the slightest.

And on one hand, she’s partially grateful for the obvious care and mindfulness Carmelo is utilizing as he trains with her, it’s definitely helpful from her trauma standpoint. Helps for them to not be as physical as she typically is with Bayley and Naomi.

However, it's painfully obvious that Carmelo is doing his damn hardest to minimize any and all physical contact between the two of them. A part of her appreciates it, but a larger part of her finds it a bit annoying. It’s sparring. Not interpretive dancing.

Solana manages to swipe Carmelo off his feet, growing a bit frustrated when he intentionally takes longer to get up. “This doesn't help me,” she sighs, hands on her hips as she takes a second to steal a much needed breath. “Roman, can you please tell him—”

She’s cut off by being swiped by her ankles, tumbling forward to the floor. Carmelo is suddenly over her, flipping her onto her back, Solana not hesitating to move her knee between his stupidly open legs. He groans from the impact, and she takes that opportunity to bar her forearm across his neck, switching them so that he’s on his back with her hovering over him.

However, anything more is cut short by that small interaction alone knocking the wind out of her.

Climbing off him, she moves onto her hands and knees, eyes shut and head dropped. Neither from feeling triggered or even being in pain, just exhaustion.

She’s so damn drained.

In what feels like seconds, Roman is at her side, hand on her back. “Solana, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, answering quickly, “I’m just—tired.” More than what’s normal for her. Training is usually draining, but considering they haven’t even been at it that long, she’s confused as to why she’s getting so winded. Lifting her head, she offers a small smile. “I’m fine.”

“No.” Roman dismisses it with the quickness, directing to the others. “We’re done for the day.”

“Roman, I’m fine. I’m just—probably out of shape.” Maybe, but this feels beyond that. She’s just so fatigued. He helps her to her feet, Solana trying to bargain, “at least let me finish with Bayley?”

He’s not hearing it. “No. You clearly need to ease back into things.” She frowns. I thought I was. “Head to the showers.”

“Roman—”

“He’s right, Solana,” Naomi suddenly sounds, walking over with Bayley. “You’re clearly tired and just need to ease back into and relearn some things. That’s okay. We can do this another day. When you’re at 100.”

“Or maybe she can just continue to train with ya’ll—”

And in perfect synchronized dismissiveness, Roman, Bayley, and Naomi all shut Carmelo down with a simple, “shut up.”

It cracks a smile on Solana’s face. The fact that the majority of them are in agreement is enough to make her realize that they’re probably right in that she should try another day. Maybe even easing back into it. Not necessarily the part about relearning. She remembers everything. Recall is not the problem. This fatigue is, but a part of her is starting to think she knows what it might be.

Just why she’s so fatigued.

And in true Jimmy fashion, he blurts out with the ill timed question, “aye, Soso, what’s for dinner today?”

————

“So why exactly are you fighting again?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked this question. No, it’s been posed at least three different times prior to this occurrence. Just different wording. A different question that’s garnered the same kind of answer every single time.

A part of her recognizes this, but a part of her also doesn’t care.

Solana has always been under the impression, and has essentially been told by several people, Roman included, that he doesn’t really fight in the ring anymore. That he doesn’t need to. That he doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and those words came from him directly.

So, she was and still is, confused when he told her of a match he was competing in. The theme of the fight night being Bad Blood not helping much. At all.

Still, there was no way in hell she would miss attending. Even if her presence wasn’t something that’s technically mandatory. She wants to support him. She’s just nervous about the notion of him being in the ring again, recalling the last time she witnessed such a thing. It was brutal and bloody, and while he came out with the win, relatively unscathed, it still makes her nervous. Because there’s always a chance something can go wrong.

Because she always worries about him, and she’s pretty sure she always will. So long as he is who he is.

Roman, however, couldn’t give two shits about this fight with Drew. Tonight is more of a political move than anything, Roman needing a very public and brutal display of his prowess to remind everyone why he sits at the Head of the Table. It’s truly just an added bonus that he gets to kick the shit out of Drew in the process.

Or worse.

Roman is more focused, borderline distracted, by Solana. The sexy red dress she has on leaves little to the imagination with the low neckline, tight fit, and short length that stops about mid-thigh, rolling even higher as she’s propped on the bathroom counter. Her hair is pinned up, and her makeup is on the lighter, almost undetectable, side. His preference. She’s stunning with and without it, but there’s something he enjoys most seeing her in her natural state.

She just looks good as hell, and if not for the importance of this evening, he’d say fuck this damn match and Drew and spend the rest of the evening with her. A much more desirable and preferable option, truly. But, duty and obligation before anything.

Even his fine ass wife.

Roman waits until he’s slid the black hoodie over his head, smirking a bit at the slight disappointment that appears on Solana’s face at him no longer being shirtless. He decides to slide through that crevice of brief deflection.

“You know the same way you look at me is the same way I look at and think about you.” He’s walking toward her, big hands carefully spreading her thighs so he can step in between her legs. This close, he’s granted a perfect view of her equally perfect breast. “All the damn time.”

He’s unsurprised when her cheeks redden nor when she says anything. “A challenge was issued, and I need to send a message.” That’s a much simpler way of explaining the full scope of just what tonight is, but he also doesn’t want to bombard her with information she doesn’t necessarily need to know.

She licks her lips, and he hates how sexual such an innocent act looks, especially when he knows that’s not her intent. “What—what kind of message?”

A potentially brutal, bloody message, but painting that picture for her beforehand might create some unnecessary anxiety. “A message that won’t need to be repeated.”

That seems to register for her as she asks, “Are—are you nervous?”

That actually makes Roman laugh. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt that emotion. It’s been years. Many decades. Moving his hands to her waist, he tugs her closer to him. “I don’t get nervous, Solana.”

“Ever?”

“Naw.”

She’s still looking at him with that same level of trepidation, maybe even a bit more heightened actually. “But….but you’re still careful, right?” It seems like an otherwise silly question with an obvious answer, but Roman can see where she’s coming from. The fear that fuels it. “Like….like you pay attention and stuff?”

“Of course,” his answer is gentle and patient. Two things reserved strictly and solely for her. “Solana, I’ve been fighting my whole life. I know what I’m doing.”

Her eyes widen, and he just knows he’s in for an unnecessary apology. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—”

“Baby.” Yup. Just as he predicted. Bringing his hand to the back of her neck, Roman extends that tenderness, explaining, “I know what you meant. You’re worried, and you shouldn’t be. I’ve got this. Alright?”

She nods a little, and he’s relieved to see some of her apprehension has melted away. With the hand still on her hip, he gives her a light squeeze. “Come on.” Roman stays close as she carefully slides off the counter, her heels giving her a bit of a height boost, but not enough to make a substantial difference. He still towers over her.

And it’s in looking down at her from this angle, and the quick glance of her ass in this dress through the bathroom mirror, he makes a face. “Then again….” Roman slides his hand from the back of her neck, down until he’s palming and squeezing her ass. “Maybe this will be a bit of a distraction.”

“Roman!” She yelps, and he groans at the feel of her. She’s so damn fine and thick in all the right areas that it doesn’t even make sense.

He moves to take her hand, kissing it before guiding her out of the bathroom. “Come on. Before your fine ass makes us late.”

She giggles, holding onto his arm while he hits the light switch. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Roman says nothing, because if only she fucking knew.

If only.

————

Solana was half expecting to be separated from Roman once they reached the warehouse, him needing time to prepare for the fight and whatnot. And while the latter part was true, the first wasn’t. She’s thoroughly surprised when he instead guides her to the back with him to his sizable, impressive locker room.

Roman directs Solana to make herself comfortable, which is almost impossible to do.

It’s hard because she can’t stop thinking about the fact that her husband is going to be in the ring with that man who looked like he would have killed Roman right there on the spot, if he could. The same expression she’s certain he’ll have tonight when it’s just the two of them.

A part of her is starting to wish she would have sat this one out. Stayed home tonight. Her hand falls to her stomach. That irksome, borderline nauseous feeling has been with her all day. On and off the past week, really. Since trying to return to training earlier in the week. She’s certain a chunk of it has been nerves, but the rest of it, maybe most of it, she’s almost certain, is early onset pregnancy symptoms.

Just thinking about the fact that a baby, her baby, their baby is growing inside of her belly warms her entire soul. Temporarily distracts her from worrying about Roman. To wondering. Wondering which of his features their child will inherit. Will he or she have his dark, raven, wavy hair? His smoldering brown, almost hazel like eyes? Will the baby take after her brunette locks? Her nose?

In all honesty, she only wants a healthy child. That’s the most important thing, but it’s also hard for her to not lean more on the side of wanting the baby to be a boy. She knows how important producing an heir is. For the Bloodline. For Roman. Especially with how he’s gone above and beyond to keep pressure off them, off her regarding their lack of an heir.

It’s the least she can do for him. He deserves it.

And she’d love more than anything to give it to him.

Roman stepping back into the vicinity briefly pulls her from her thoughts.

“You alright?”

Naturally, her hand falls from her stomach as she manages a small smile and nod. “Yeah.” She takes in his appearance, noticing his hair is wet and drenched, water droplets rolling down that nearly perfect body she’s grown to love pressed against hers. Not even just for sex. Just in general. Roman’s touch is calming to her.

Climbing down off the table where she sits, she moves over to him. “Are you?”

He chuckles, hand to her hip. “Always.”

She has to believe that.

Solana goes to kiss him when the Wise Man walks back in, forcing her to settle for a hand to his cheek. “Be careful.”

He clearly hears the presence of someone else and only nods, his eyes conveying the unspoken ‘I love you.’ She just offers him a warm smile before she retracts her hand and moves to leave the room, only providing her husband’s chief advisor a quiet ‘hello.’

Security escorts her up to the same VIP seating area as the last couple of times she’s attended events like this at the Warehouse. And as usual, Bayley and Naomi are already sitting and waiting for her.

“Had to give your man that good luck quickie right before, huh?”

Bayley’s comment makes Solana blush and aware of the hickey on her neck she didn't even bother trying to hide. Or the one near her breast.

“She didn’t deny it either,” Naomi snickers, playfully shoving Solana.

Instead of acknowledging their innuendos, she utilizes an actual productive use of time. “I was thinking.”

“Listening,” Bayley responds, the two ladies keenly focused on the new topic.

“Roman has to go out of town next week for……business.” She tries to not think too much about that. It’ll only spike her worry.

“Who’s going to stay with you?” Naomi asks, gesturing to the two of them. “He didn’t ask us.”

Solana swallows. That's definitely something she wants to work on with him. The fact that he still blames them for what happened. “Nia.”

“Nia?”

To be fair, Solana had a bit of the same reaction when Roman first told her his cousin would be staying with her. She’s certain it was…..an interesting discussion, to say the least.

Solana shrugs. “She’s not that bad.” And it’s true. Solana has received much worse from people, in terms of treatment. “And it’s really just….to give me my medicine and stuff.” Because Roman seemed vehemently against and shut it down so fast when she even approached the idea of being able to handle it on her own. Not that….not that she can blame him, per se. “But, I was thinking. What if we went to Isla Mujeres for the weekend? Like that girls trip we were talking about.”

“You talk to Roman about it?”

Solana shakes her head, explaining. “Nia would be with us, so I’m sure he’d be fine.” Because she is. Now, if Nia doesn’t come along, then that’s another story. Though something tells her that once she tells Roman she wants to do this, he’ll find a way to make Nia go along with the plan.

“I think it could be fun,” Naomi shares, rubbing her hands together. “From the pictures you showed us, the beach looks beautiful.”

“It is,” Solana smiles. “I want to invite Cam, Mickie, and Melina too.”

“So do it,” Bayley encourages. “It’s your girls trip. You decide on the guest list. Melina has always been cool. I didn’t know she…..struggled the way she does, but I’ve always liked her.” Solana is appreciative of Bayley’s handling of Melina’s mental health struggles. “And Cam and Mickie seem cool too.”

“They are,” Solana agrees. They really helped her time spent in the hospital and the treatment facility go a lot easier than it could have been.

As per usual, conversation flows naturally between the ladies only to minimize once the night begins, all three paying attention to the various matches, mostly the ones that pertain to the Bloodline.

So, really, Jimmy and Jey’s tag team match against two men that Solana doesn’t recognize, which, of course, the twins come out with the win for. And Roman’s match, the last of the night, because no one comes after the Tribal Chief.

The complete shift in energy when Roman enters the space is truly something to behold. His power and dominance is felt in every square inch of the building. Undeniable excellence and power penetrating almost. She can’t take her eyes off him, his face stoic, determined, focused.

She can see why he doesn’t get nervous. He seems so in his element in this space. Even as Drew comes out with that same level of determination, an almost hatred splayed across his face as he looks over at Roman with ardent vitriol.

Her husband, however, is unbothered.

As he is with most things in life.

Still, the fact that Drew is about what and what with Roman in regards to build and size has her anxiety festering. She knows and has seen for herself how flawless Roman is in the ring. That doesn’t mean she can’t worry though. Can’t wait for this to all just be over with so they can go home.

So she can start figuring out just how she wants to tell him about the pregnancy.

But, that’s a then thing, and this is very much here and now.

The sound of the bell fills the Warehouse as the boisterous crowd continues to erupt, excited to see their Tribal Chief in action.

If only she could relate.

For the most part, the match starts off as expected, Roman being in the lead, staying one or several steps ahead of Drew, expertly dodging or countering hits. Solana is practically on the edge of her seat, chewing on her bottom lip, watching every single piece of the fight. From Roman’s steps to Drew’s lunges to the way both men who seem too large for life go at it like two titans.

Of course, despite looking like one, Roman is no God. He’s still a man, a man who takes several hits from Drew, one making Solana wince. However, she learned from the night of WarGames, Roman hates being hit. It only pisses him off more than he naturally is at any given point.

And that’s proven in the increased brutality of Roman’s hits, Drew being the first to have blood spilled as Roman smashes his head in the steel staircase.

It’s a quick shift though that she somehow misses, because Drew suddenly has Roman in a painful looking headlock. One he seems to take too long to get out of, for her comfort.

Solana moves to the absolute edge of her seat, panic starting to set in the longer Roman’s airway is restricted. And then she sees the way Drew’s mouth moves, the snarl and subsequent smirk as he says something to Roman. Roman’s briefly stunned eyes flickering to hers, but it’s so short, too short to process. Because just as quickly as he was looking at her, he’s managed his way out of the headlock, sending the other man to the ground. Roman wastes no time jumping on top of him, gaining and taking full advantage of the upper hand, raining blow on top of blow on Drew with a pace and aggression that seems almost inhuman.

The light blue of the mat is suddenly splashed and splayed with blood. Drew’s. Roman’s chest and fist also stained, Solana wincing a bit as even from a distance she sees the way Drew's face has become almost disfigured by blood, bruising, and swelling.

He’s clearly lost consciousness, but that doesn’t stop Roman.

No, instead a deep frown falls on her face as she watches Roman move outside of the ring and lift up the metal staircase that he brings back into the ring with him. She turns her head right before the impact between the steps and the unconscious man.

Unalive man, because there’s no way Drew is still breathing. Not with the severity of the beating.

Bayley and Naomi are clearly also taken back by witnessing a live murder but clearly do their best not to make it a thing for her sake. She’s appreciative, but it still doesn’t delete her confusion towards Roman’s behavior.

Overkill. Barbaric. Sadistic, almost.

And with all of that, the confliction she’s experiencing, Solana can only think of one thing, what the hell happened in that ring to bring about that kind of rage in her husband?

————

Roman doesn’t say much to her.

It’s not surprising. She’s not quite sure what there is to say. Him viciously beating a man to death isn’t, at the core of it, something that needs explaining.

That doesn’t stop her from trying to almost dance around the subject. Asks him if he’s feeling alright, if he wants her to fix him anything, and things of the sort. It doesn’t do much. His responses are minimal, a few words to each statement, at best.

It bothers her to know something is bothering him, that he won’t talk to her, but also, Solana can admit she’s not sure how to talk with him about this.

She’d certainly do her best though, if he was actually willing to open up to her.

She doesn’t force it though, just welcomes his arms around her as they lay in bed, eventually falling asleep together.

However, Dulce does what Dulce does best and wakes up in the middle of the night, politely reminding her parents of her small bladder. Regardless of her sleep intrusion, Solana is grateful to be able to escort their puppy out of the room without disturbing her husband’s much needed and deserved sleep.

But, it’s as Dulce seems to take her sweet time finding the perfect spot to relieve herself that Solana frowns. Lifting her hand to her breast, she’s taken back by the tenderness of the touch. New and out of the norm.

Another……symptom?

Even with the night’s unexpected events, as much as she’s trying to not allow herself to get too excited at the possibility of being pregnant, it’s hard not to. Especially with the strange onset of symptoms she’s been experiencing all week. Some seen before or during her cycle, but some new and unfamiliar. And a quick google search confirmed they in fact could be early pregnancy symptoms.

But still, Solana has gained enough self-introspection to know that a negative test would be…..difficult for her to process. Something she doesn’t really even want to think about, hence why she’s not allowing herself to fully acknowledge that she’s probably pregnant.

Because the alternative would be…..not the desired outcome.

It’s as she observes the backyard, seeing the reflection of the lights above the pool that a random thought crosses her mind. A question, rather. Would they have to cover up the pool when the baby starts crawling? What other changes around the house would have to be implemented for safety reasons? Most definitely, they’d have to stock up on those baby proof outlet covers. And maybe even block off the staircase.

Something tells her any child of her husband would be mobile. On the run. A small smile settles on her face, her hand falling to her belly as she once again mentally puts together what their child will look like. Him. Her. Both of them.

Both would be her preference. Roman would be a close second.

Dulce’s short legs carry her back into the house, her wagging tale eliciting a smile and small laugh. “Good job—”

“Where the hell were you?”

Solana jumps and gasps. Outside of his sudden presence in the living room startling her, Roman's tone and volume indicate a level of irritation that doesn’t quite compute. Doesn’t make sense. Where else would she have been?

Confused, she answers, “Dulce had to use the bathroom...”

This didn’t seem to be the answer he neither wanted nor needed. His expression is sharp. “So you went out there alone?”

This brings a frown to her face, a contrast to her almost jovial disposition not even minutes prior. Solana points out in a calm voice, “Roman, I–I always go alone.”

“Not anymore.” She can’t protest, because he adds. “Wake me up, and if I’m not here, let her use the damn crate.”

“But—”

“You heard what I said!”

His voice bounces off the walls and echoes through the hall, but it’s Solana’s jump away from him that seems to trigger something for Roman. His expression immediately softens. “Shit, I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

She says nothing for a good minute before quickly deciding that beating around the bush isn’t the way to go in this situation.

She needs to be direct.

“Ro….what happened tonight?”

She’d briefly played around with the idea of bringing it up to him or letting it lie. Obviously, the latter is not the best route to go. “You….you were off. You lost control, and that’s….that’s not like you.”

In the ring is when she’s noticed he’s most controlled, never allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment and actions because he recognizes the detriment it would cause. Yes, he’s violent and brutal, but it’s still controlled. Not tonight. …tonight she saw that impulsive, emotion driven man she’d heard whispers about over the years. Tonight, she saw him take a man’s life, and not in a controlled methodical way, but in a moment of pure rage and spontaneity.

She’d never tell him this, never allow it to leave her mouth, but for a split second, it scared her. Solana wasn’t naive enough to truly think that his kindness or love toward her made him any less of a cold-blooded killer. And she knows, without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt her or direct his anger towards her.

But.

But, the look in his eyes tonight…it was as if he had no soul.

And that….that is what scared her.

His gaze darts to the corner of the room, an intentional act to avoid her own, she’s sure. “He pissed me off.”

“Ro….people piss you off all the time, and you don’t beat them to death like you did him.” It’s such a strange experience, speaking with him so casually. Solana can still recall the tightness in her chest every time she was in the vicinity of this man, the fear she struggled to manage when even looking at him, often keeping her gaze downward. And now, she’s pushing him on what is obviously a lie. Or a deep state of denial. “He—he said something to you.” That’s when he finally sets his eyes on her. “I–I saw it.”

“Does it matter now?”

“Yes—yes, it does, because you just snapped at me for taking our dog out to use the bathroom, something I’ve done for months now.” It’s not until saying that aloud that a thought crosses her mind. “Was—was it about me? Did—did he say something about me?” And when he says nothing, doesn’t deny it or push back or even snap at her again that she realizes that’s exactly what it was.

And it confuses the mess out of her.

What could have been said to cause him to react so violently? Even more, how could it have been any different from the shit talking they all do in the ring?

“I don’t—I don’t understand.” Her eyes follow him as he moves toward the living room, sitting on the edge of the sofa. Tentatively and without much thought, her legs carry her toward him, but she stops just shy of being at arms length. Noticing this, Roman motions her closer with his index finger. And as soon as she’s close enough, he tugs her onto his lap. Seeing the conflict in his eyes, she moves her hand to his bicep. “Baby, please talk to me…..”

Like many, if not any, interaction with her comforting urge, Roman finds it difficult to deny her. He struggles to push back those words that have secretly haunted him even hours after he put a permanent end to McIntyre.

“You really think you can keep her safe?” His cruel taunt, wicked smile revealing the blood building in his mouth, coating his teeth. “She’ll die just like rest of your fucking fam—”

“Ro…”

And it's her soft voice that pulls him from the memory as he shares with her what was said. “He said I couldn’t keep you safe, that you’d die like the rest of my family.” She gasps. Whatever was said had to have been bad and most likely somehow about her. She just didn’t know it would be that.

Shaking her head, she pushes his hair back. “He was just…he was just trying to get in your head.” And I think it worked. Solana would never verbalize as such to Roman, but it’s a thought she can’t dismiss. She’s never seen him this bothered. “Nothing—nothing’s going to happen to me, Ro.”

“I told you before that I don’t—I don’t feel things like you. That I don’t—feel anything.” She remembers it vividly. That conversation between them that was during the early days of their love story. Something that feels so long ago now. “I was wrong. I’ve—I’ve always felt anger, but now I’m feeling other things too, and I don’t know how—” He stops himself, clearly changing directions. “I’m sorry I did that in front of you—”

“It’s fine, Ro. I—” Because despite that brief second of ear, her first and foremost concern is him. It’s always him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He’s quiet for a moment, sharing in an almost unsure voice. “I count your pills every day before I go to bed.” She’s still, unmoving, unsure how to process such a thing. Because she knows why, exactly why he does that. And it nearly breaks her heart in fucking half. “Losing you is the only thing in this fucking world that scares me.” Voice shifting into something desperate and almost vulnerable, he says with all the conviction. “Because, I can’t lose you, Sol.” His gaze is on her, burning with determination. And need. “I won’t.”

“And you won’t.” Her hands move to his face, beard bristling against the skin on her palms. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” She places an almost tentative, chaste kiss to his temple, noticing how his eyes close after. As if he’s more at peace. “Roman, I am with you until my dying breath, and that won’t be happening anytime soon. Not for you. Not for me.”

And not for their child growing inside of her.

“Why don’t—why don’t we go see Fetu this weekend?” It’s technically early Saturday morning already, and Solana returns to work Monday, but even just a day or two spent with his aunt could probably make a difference for her husband who she sees needs to get away. “Or even if you just go—I can stay—”

“No.” His voice is still low, but it’s not as weighed down. She’s grateful for at least that. “She’d be pissed if I showed up without you.” The hint of humor in his voice makes her heart swell.

“We’ll go.” It’s not necessarily a suggestion anymore. It’s a plan. “You’ll clear your head, and everything will be better, okay?” He looks at her, nodding quietly. Solana makes a mental note to make sure to pack one or two pregnancy tests, because what better way to break the news to him than being able to tell Fetu right after? Together.

It seems like a perfect plan to her.

Noticing Dulce has already left and went back upstairs, Solana suggests the same to her husband. “Let’s go back to bed, okay?”

It’s then that Solana realizes his hand on her hip is moving in slow, soothing circles. She can’t tell if it’s for his comfort or hers. Placing her hand over his, she gives a gentle tug, moving off his lap but never allowing her hand to leave his.

His movements are slow initially, but he stands up and allows her to guide them up the stairs and back into their bedroom. Solana easily resumes their earlier sleeping position, grateful and thankful when he kisses her temple and murmurs, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The exact moment when she falls asleep, or even when he does, is unknown. But what is known is when she’s woken up to the sound of grunts and muttered protests.

“I’ve gotta….save…them.”

Solana blinks and rubs at her eyes. “Ro?”

Sitting up, she sees him twisting and turning, an almost distressed look on his handsome face. Her heart drops. A nightmare. He’s having a nightmare.

Naturally, Solana moves her hand to his shoulder, shaking him a bit. “Roman, wake up.” She might as well have done nothing, because he’s continuing to stir, mumbling in Samoan. Voice so low that even if she did speak the language, she wouldn’t hear him.

Without thinking twice about it, Solana climbs on top of him, straddling him as she continues her efforts to awaken him. “Roman, baby, please wake up.” It’s both familiar and unfamiliar. She knows this struggle very well. Has lived through it almost her entire life, but she’s never been on this end. Been on the side of watching someone go through it.

Least of all, Roman.

And she hates it. Hates it with everything in her because she knows how heavy and devastating it is to be sucked into reliving trauma. That’s why she ups the ante, raising her voice and essentially hitting him on his shoulders.

“Roman! Wake u—”

“No!”

It all happens so fast. Almost too fast for Solana to truly process what’s occurring in the moment. It’s only afterwards that she can recount it, can recall what just happened, can process that at the same time she went to try to save him from himself, Roman shot awake with an instinctive swing, a natural, almost protective thing that results in Solana shoved to the edge of the bed, mouth open, holding onto her face.

It’s an instant stinging sensation, a dull, throbbing pain that she hasn’t felt in some time and never anticipated feeling as a result of her own husband.

A husband who is now awake and also aware of what just happened. His widened eyes and open mouth are on her as Solana winces a bit and flexes her jaw, trying to gather herself. He’s up. That’s the only thing that matters.

“Oh my God.” She’s not sure she’s ever heard Roman sound so horrified. “Solana—”

Her name is enough to pull her back to him, Solana climbing on his lap, shaking her head as she cups his face. “It’s okay. I’m—I’m okay—”

“I hit you….”

Even him saying it aloud seems and feels wrong to Solana. “No, baby—you were having a nightmare. It wasn’t like that—”

“I hit you, Solana.” He’s not even looking at her, looking down, perplexed, disturbed with himself, clearly trying to sit on this unfathomable thing.

“Roman, I’m fine. Really.” Her face is throbbing, and she’s certain she’ll have a bruise come morning, but it’s nothing compared to what she’s received in the past. From the actual hitting she used to be on the receiving end of. From her dad and brother. “Ro, I did the same thing to you, remember? I—I ripped out your stitches.” It’s something she felt horrified at herself for in the moment. Probably close to what he’s feeling even though she’d rather he not because he’s done nothing wrong. “Baby—”

Shaking his head, Roman lowers her hands from his face. “I’m sorry.” She goes to reassure him that he’s fine, that she’s fine, but Roman is fast, easily moving the blankets off him, forcing her to the side, off him.

“Roman, no—” She scrambles off the bed as he goes for the door of their bedroom, effectively planting herself in front of it. “No, you’re not leaving.”

He closes his eyes, his voice almost desperate. “Solana, please.”

“No!” Raising her voice wasn’t an intentional thing, just a result of her own emotions brewing in this moment. She’s not even thinking about herself, about the pain in her face. She’s just thinking about the man in front of her who looks disgusted with himself. “Roman, I am fine.”

Because she is.

Because even with all of her trauma, having been hurt so deeply and badly by men, Roman unintentionally striking her didn’t fill her with an ounce of fear. Didn’t make her want to put as much distance between them as possible. Didn’t have any effect on how she sees and feels about him.

She could only focus on him and how distressing his nightmare must have been to result in such a response.

“I hurt you….” It’s the way his voice almost wavers with the word ‘hurt’ along with his fraught countenance that has her chest tightening. She’s never seen him look so upset, and the fact that it’s solely directed toward himself is gut-wrenching.

“No,” her voice catches in the back of throat, eyes watering. She reaches up and cups his face. “Baby, listen to me. You could never hurt me.”

Something flashes in his eyes, something akin to anger as he asks in a tight voice, “But, I did." She shakes her head, ready to stand here all night trying to convince him that he’s not in the wrong when he takes it a step further. “How is it any different from your dad and brother?”

It’s an active effort to not back away from him, to not drop her hands and for no reason other than putrid disgust. Disgust that he could even fix his mouth to say such a thing. To put himself into that category.

Solana swallows, specifically choosing each and every word that leaves her mouth. “Roman…I was raped. Violently. For—for hours. I couldn’t—I couldn’t walk afterwards.” She hates talking about this, hates reliving the horrors just from recounting, but she’ll do just about anything to wipe away that gutted, guilty look on her husband’s face. “Wes—Wes was the reason I first started cutting myself, because—” She closes her eyes, having never said these words aloud to anyone. “Because he made me do it. He said it was my—my punishment for getting our mother killed. And eventually….eventually I started to believe him, so I just started doing it to myself, because I thought it was what I deserved.” Another deep, shaky exhale. “My own father tried to kill me.” Roman’s expression slips into something in the vein of surprised. Confused even. Horrified, mostly. “I tried to run away once, and he put me in the hospital for two weeks and told me that if I ever tried to leave again that he’d— he’d make sure to finish the job.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, and truth be told, she’s not sure she wants him to. She just wants him to listen, really listen and allow her words to penetrate his thick layer of undeserved guilt. “You are the first man in my life to never hurt me the way I’ve been hurt, so don’t you ever fucking say again that you hurt me or put yourself in the same category as those bastards. You are nothing like them.” Because she’d rather walk barefoot on burning coal for the rest of her life than for him to ever even think he’s in the same group as them. “So, please, please just—”

Solana feels it rising, traveling up her body at the most impromptu time. “Shit,” she curses, slapping her hand over her mouth as she dashes to the bathroom, hitting the light, barely making it to the toilet that, thankfully, is already open and ready for her to deposit what feels like everything she ate that day into the commode.

It’s such a miserable, uncomfortable experience, more or less dry heaving over the toilet in the middle of the night.

Just added to the list of unfortunate things that have happened. A heavy wave of exhaustion washes over her as she lays her head down on her arm that’s stretched across the toilet seat. She feels like shit, and it has nothing to do with what just happened.

If only she could tell her husband that.

Because Roman is suddenly behind her, hand on the small of her back, asking if she’s alright. Glancing over at him, she shakes her head, mustering up a quiet excuse of it probably being something she ate.

He doesn’t look convinced, and Solana knows it’s because he’s somehow connecting this to what just happened. She’d give anything to be able to wipe that belief from his mind, to tell him it’s just morning sickness, a common pregnancy symptom.

Because with all of the dots connecting, there’s no doubt in Solana’s mind. Any test would just be a formality. She knows her body.

She knows that she’s pregnant.

But, something tells her that telling Roman this will only make things worse. Make him feel even more guiltier than what he’s already experiencing. Would kill him to know he ‘hit’ her while she’s carrying his child.

This isn’t the way she wants to tell him, either. Not like this. No, it needs to be…..special. After all he’s done and probably had to put up with in order to explain them not producing a child after almost eight months of marriage. She can’t announce it like this.

He deserves better.

The wave passes as Solana stands up and flushes the toilet, moving over to the sink to brush her teeth, praying that’s the extent of it. For now, at least. Roman is watching and observing her closely the whole time.

Mouth clean and stripped, somewhat, of that bitter aftertaste, she takes his hand and guides him back to their bedroom. Gratitude fills her when he doesn’t protest the way she practically climbs on top of him, her body resting on his, an intentional position to prevent him from trying to leave out without her noticing.

“Stay with me….” It’s the only thing that leaves her mouth, a soft but firm delivery. It’s the only thing she wants and needs in this moment, for his arms to remain around her, holding her, the same way she’s holding him.

The way she'll always hold onto him.

————

It’s purely a stroke of luck that allows Roman to wake up at the call of his biological clock and find that Solana is no longer atop him but sleeping on her side, back toward him, deeply immersed in much deserved slumber.

But, it's not even a minute later that a heaviness overtakes him as he’s quickly reminded of what happened. Of what he did. What he did to her.

Roman doesn’t hesitate to carefully climb out of bed and move to Solana’s side, hitting the switch on the lamp for a clear presentation. Something he wasn’t ready for. Not in the slightest.

“Jesus Christ….”

Dread fills him all over again with the illumination of the lamp on Solana’s nightstand. Gives him a full, unobstructed view of the left side of her face. A not even fully formed, nasty looking bruise marring her features.

Roman knew that he had to hit her hard, that she had to be downplaying the impact, but the big ass, dark bruise can’t hide the hideous truth. The extent is ugly and evident. It’s a fucking miracle he didn’t fracture or break something. Because he absolutely could have. Not that that makes a huge difference, because regardless of the severity, he hit her.

He fucking hit her.

It feels undeserving, the way he reaches his hand to gently caress her marred face. His stomach clenches as he mutters the three words that could never change, lessen or take back what he’s done.

“I’m so sorry….” Because he is. Because Roman’s list of regrets in life is minimal. Less than the average person, of this, he’s sure. But this, what happened last night is easily at the top of that list. He doesn’t hesitate to turn the switch off, not wanting to have to see the consequences of his horrific actions, even if he should.

Even if he should have to face it. Should have to be faced with the one thing he swore he would never do.

Because that’s exactly what he’s done.

He doesn’t bother waking her up for her medication. Just leaves it in a small, ramekin-like bowl for her to take whenever she wakes up. With the night she had, he hopes she sleeps for a couple more hours.

And he’s grateful for the time he has to himself, to workout, to shower, to think, to act. Even if it’s all a bit of a blur.

Years. It’s been years since he’s experienced that type of rage. Since he’s blacked out like that. Because that’s exactly what happened. Roman remembers Drew’s ominous threat, recalls the beginning of the beating, but most after that is blotchy. Blurred. And the last time he felt that way….was the night he killed Rhodes' family.

Not that he regretted it then or now. Even Drew. No, what he regrets and doesn’t know how to process is that he lost that control in front of his wife. That he lost it with his wife, resulting in her battered face.

Despite the horrors of trauma she’s experienced at the hands of men in her life and the fact that what happened was unintentional, it doesn’t negate what he did. It was wrong, and she didn’t deserve it.

She doesn’t deserve to put up with any of the shit he’s dealing with right now.

What happened with Jey was something he hated having to do in front of her, but this….this is entirely different.

A line was completely crossed.

And it can’t happen again.

Much later that morning, closer to noon than anything is when Roman finds her in the kitchen changed out of her pajamas and into short shorts and a shirt. Normally, he’d be focused on how good she looks and how much he appreciates seeing her confidence grow to where she doesn’t try to hide her body. But, it’s hard with the dark bruising on her face.

She’s clearly in the middle of fixing something but walks over to him, warm smile on her face as she places her hand on his chest. “There you are.” She leans up and kisses him, sharing, “I was wondering when you’d come out. I’m fixing us lunch right quick before we get on the road.”

She turns back towards the counter right as he says her name. “Solana—”

“Do you want anything in particular?”

“Solana.”

“I can make—”

“Solana.” He says it a third and final time, seeing the way she pauses. Deflection. It’s intentional. She can clearly tell something is wrong. With a slow turn to look at him again, it takes everything in him to not look away. The fucking bruise. “I’m leaving tonight.”

Her small smile immediately drops into a deep scowl. “Wh—what?” He briefly redirects his gaze, focusing on the laces of his sneakers instead of the disappointment he knows he’s about to lay on her. “You want—you want to get on the road tonight?”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to bite the bullet. There’s no need in stretching this out. “No, Solana, I’m—I’m flying out to Italy tonight.”

Nothing could have prepared him for the gutted look on her face. She’s clearly confused, smartly pointing out, “but—but you said you weren’t leaving until next week.”

His jaw clenches as he answers so calmly. “Plans changed.”

Her gaze is intense, her eyes never leaving his. “The plans changed or you changed them?” He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to. She already knows the answer. Solana swallows, eyes watering as she walks over to him. “Please don’t do this. Roman, what happened wasn’t your fault. I’m fine.”

“Solana, you are not fine. Have you seen your face?” It’s not intended to be harsh, and the coarseness in his tone is truly directed to no one but himself. “I know my strength. You know my strength. It’s a fucking miracle it’s not worse than what it already is. If I had hit you hard enough and at the right angle—”

“But, you didn’t.” She knows exactly what he’s getting at, and she refuses to allow him to travel down that dark 'what if' road. “Ro, I know you’re upset with yourself, but please don’t do this. You don’t need to leave. I don’t want you to leave.”

And deep down, he doesn’t want to leave. Would love to stay here and just go see his aunt with his wife, but that won’t solve anything. It’s putting an old band-aid on an open, deep wound. He needs to separate himself so that he can turn his feelings completely off. Disconnect and detach.

Or sort through in a way that is violent and unacceptable here. Especially around Solana.

And that’s exactly what being in Italy, being around those people, could do for him.

Roman tries to explain as such to his wife without going into too much detail.

“You’re right. I do need to get away. But, going by Fetu isn’t going to help this.” It’s not going to help, because he doesn’t have an abundance of confusion he needs to sort through. He has anger, aggression, rage. All unlocked by fucking McIntyre that he needs to do away with, and being around his aunt, cousin, and even wife won’t do it. “We can go when I get back—”

She closes her eyes. “Roman—”

“Solana.” He’ll be honest, he expected her to not be happy with his decision, but her level of emotionality seems on the higher end of normal. She seems more emotional than usual. “I love you.” And he always will. “But, what happened last night can’t happen again.”

He won’t let it happen again.

“What if—what if I leave?” She suggests, Roman frowning at the almost desperation in her tone. “I can go stay with Naomi or Bayley for a couple days. Give—give you space.”

“Solana—”

“Hell, even Nia, if that would make you feel better.”

“Sol—”

“Just please.” Her voice cracks as she grabs onto his shirt, begging almost, “please don’t leave me.” She buries herself into his chest, Roman holding her, wanting to assure her that he’s not leaving her. He’s leaving the situation to get a clear mind, to figure out what he needs to do.

Because he wasn’t lying when he said there’s nothing in this world that scares him more than losing her. Than something happening to her.

He just could have never anticipated that he could ever be a direct reason for something happening to her.

That something bad—or worse—could happen to her at his hands.

Because he swore he’d always protect her.

And he always will.

Even if that danger is himself.

Even if it means doing what neither of them may want but is ultimately what’s best for her.

Even if it breaks the heart that will always belong to her.

Whether they’re together or not.

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