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#like do you even understand????#they're divorced they're married they're longterm partners they've been exes for almost a decade#they're each other's first love they're each other's first heartbreak they're each other's second love#they're each other's shared responsibility they're parents they're each other's resentment and grief#they hate each other for the way they react to things#they hate each other for their personalities#there's been ust between them for at least 15 years#and like yeah!!! they did love geto and yu!!! but they're dead now and they both have to live with the ghosts#and honestly!!! if you think that nanami would ever let himself be used as a stand in or a rebound for geto#you're outta your fuckin mind#and if you think that nanami could ever use gojo as replacement for yu you're insane#and vice versa. like there's just so much there and i hate that it gets reduced to like them being rebounds#it's about the push-pull dynamic and how afraid they are that one day gojo will stop pulling and nanami will stop pushing#anyway a lot of the meme is hyperbole obv#nanami kento#gojo satoru#nanago#gonana#jjk
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Me watching the prequel movies: "Padme's alright, but she's kind of boring and I don't care for her that much."
Me watching Clone Wars: "Padme Amidala could dropkick me, step on my neck, and spit in my face, and I would thank her. She is so cool and smart and I want to be her and also maybe be her assistant. She's a savvy politician who believes in peace but is not afraid to shoot a bitch if needed. Revenge of the Sith Anakin doesn't deserve her."
#star wars#star wars prequels#star wars the clone wars#sw tcw#padme amidala#sw prequels#sw padme#literally did not give a shit about her while watching the movies#then i watched the show and oh my god she is amazing#every time there was a padme episode i absolutely loved it and had an amazing time#actual girlboss#also now i can actually understand why she was so loyal to anakin even when he became a trainwreck#their relationship was imperfect but actually really sweet and i saw the chemistry#they felt like a power couple sometimes and really balanced each other out#and while anakin always had some aggressive tendencies#i understand how padme would be caught off guard and still love him/think she can change him#she's seen him at some of his low points and he bounced back so how is this different and why is he acting different?#it's actually really sad#i didn't care when she died while watching the prequels#but when i watched the show i'd suddenly feel really upset because i'd remember what's going to eventually happen to her#this strong and amazing woman would die of grief while giving birth after her husband betrayed her and that was heartbreaking#and then years later her planet would be destroyed by that very husband she had once loved so dearly#god damn it now i'm sad
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life comes at you so fast
#tw personal#tw death#tw cancer#not my usual silly goofy post but it’s hard to remain that way when there’s a lot weighing on your mind#cancer sucks#and it’s unfair how quickly it can take people from us#one moment they seem fine and the next they’re in the icu with a week left to live#he passed two nights ago#i wasn’t planning to post about it but i have the tendency to disassociate from my grief#so here i am instead of wherever the hell!#it’s heartbreaking because he and his wife weren’t just my mum’s bosses - they were long-time friends#i have clear childhood memories of playing at their house with their son#his youngest child is only 3 years old#as soon as he found out he started giving his final messages to his staff#obviously nobody wants to die in that situation#but you could feel how much he *wanted to live*#when i was told about his death it was in the morning and it didn’t feel real#every time i had seen him in the last year he always had a smile on his face#it’s always been hard for me to deal with the prospect of death#and understand how fragile life is#how REAL mortality is#it hits even harder when it happens to someone who was so FULL of life#sighs#life comes at you fast#sometimes in all directions and in every possible and testing way imaginable#i’ve been trying to write and feel any sense of normalcy this evening but for a multitude of reasons i have a sinking feeling in my stomach#sometimes when i’m upset i try recycle the feeling into excitement or happiness over something else#yeah … i can’t really do that tonight#apologies if my energy is bleh. hold your loved ones close. now i return you to my regular scheduled programming
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#avatar#avatar 2#the way of water#there were...still some tears#but only a little#not the ugly sobbing there was before#it's been a year and a half now so. the raw grief has passed#i still hate that they lost their son though.#yes i understand why it works narratively and yes the hurt isn't so fresh and raw anymore#but i still just. hate that they had to go through that#like on principle#y'know? :(#anyways#very good movie i love it a lot#but also heartbreaking
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It’s so embarrassing and heartbreaking being in so much pain over losing someone while knowing they don’t give a fuck if you live or die. Your favorite person becoming a stranger is a special kind of hell.
#I fucking hate having bpd#while I’m at it I don’t understand the fuckin audacity some people have to say they love you and do horrible things to you#I feel so stupid#I feel so stupid for believing all the lies#but I was so in love and put him on such a pedestal that I just allowed it all.#thinking about someone constantly and grieving over them and knowing they’re perfectly fine and to them you don’t exist#I’m still in such a state of grief and I don’t understand why time hasn’t healed#it honestly feels like it’s gotten worse w time#I just torture myself but I can’t help it my brain wants me dead#it’s so painful I feel so fucking stupid#being abandoned with no closure by someone who’s your entire world#for someone they were unfaithful to you with multiple times (I don’t even know how many and dony want to know) immediately#like that was the plan all along#he took our cat hundreds of miles away and I don’t even know if he still has her or if she’s still alive and I miss her every day#I never loved someone like that and it feels like the heartbreak is actually physically killing me#i spent 1/5 of my entire life with him#I was my prettiest and had the best body at the time and I wasted it on someone who didn’t appreciate me#not wasted. it wasn’t wasted. we had some incredible times together#I’ll never be that beautiful again#and now idk what do so bc i can’t decide which is worse: being alone and isolating or loving deeply and ending up horribly hurt all over#it’s all just so upsetting.#and I feel so stupid for allowing it all#he knows more about me than anyone and he made me feel like he loved me so much sometimes and then did horrid things and it’s so fucked up#nobody read this I’m so embarrassed and horribly broken#it traumatized me so much there was so much abuse and pain idk if I’ll ever recover#I deserved it but it still hurts my heart#I was so mentally ill and sick I know it had to have been miserable to be around me#there are so many things only he understands and knows about me and I need to talk about them I j wanna b able to b there 4 each other#but that girl is so beyond insecure and controlling so. if I want to talk to who fuckin gets me I’m just fucked#why lead someone on like that for years knowing you’re going to abandon them the second it’s convenient
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Not done thinking about John and his nana. I wonder if he remembers what she looked like. What she sounded like. If he ever sees anything of her in Kiriona. If he looks for it, hoping once he sees it he'll remember what to be looking for
#there's something very poignent about Nana as a source of love in the young life of a man who had so much love in him to give#and as the first heartbreak for a man whose grief would one day carve the solar system to itty bitty bits#and as the only family to a man who has found himself the only family to a girl who needs a lot more from him than he's capable of giving#he remembers being at nana's and having almost nothing and being happy#so deep down he must be able to understand that nice clothes and titles and parades in her honor do jackshit for Kiriona#what she needs is something like nana and her fat brave little dog#but John either doesn't know how to give that to her or is avoiding knowing that its his responsibility to try#there's just something in him teaching Gideon her name in the language he most likely learned from his nana#that makes me hope he hasn't forgotten#the locked tomb#gideon nav#kiriona gaia#emperor john gaius#john's nana#i think I need to start a tag for her at this rate
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PLAYED ALL OF SOULSCAPE LAST NIGHT...... RAMBLING SPOILERS IN THE TAGS...... :D
#spoilers in tags#BRO THE FUCKING MEMORY SCENES TOOK ME OUT#Chase deserves SO MUCH BETTER than that woman. Im so glad they've separated. i feel so bad for the kids holy crap#i hope they get a happy ending with their father.#Jackie my sweet boy. the dysphoria battle made me cry. those bullies are shit and beating them was SO GOOD. hero boy deserves confidence#MARVIN THAT SASSY CATBOY OH MY GOD...... his memory was such a fun segment to play but ABSOLUTELY painful otherwise#I LOVE HIS FRIEND THO OMG??#hate those three money obsessed guys tho. would fight them again#honestly i have no words for Henriks memory. that was absolutely heartbreaking. i cried the entire time#the baby crying. the visual of his grief. how shattered and vulnerable he behaves the entire time.#the distorted bloody hospital was such a good representation of that mental state. the graves were so sad#joline showing up was the most heartbreaking and somber thing ever. doc needs a big hug#that was distressingly amazing.#Also cried over Bings memories. that was beautifully done and terribly sad#i understand deleting that memory. and the dialogue at the cabin door absolutely broke me#i knew that forest grave was important. the connections were so obvious.#ROBBIE MEMORY WAS ADORABLE THO. love that empty room scene#true anti also made me cry a little. poor kid just wanted a life. he deserves that so much#the ending did feel a little rushed though. like.. not satisfying in a way? there wasn't enough done it feels like.#the endings always feel rushed tho i guess?? just more with this one. im excited to see if anything ever has a satisfying conclusion#LOVED playing as cat Marvin. vent maze was good#i liked getting a whole map of the place as well?? but sometimes it feels like easter eggs over power plot#they're so fun and so good but also bro im here for story and the amount of things is overwhelming lmao /j#amazing plot and game overall#absolutely stunning
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listen I know it's heartbreaking that Claudia dies and it's understandable to wish she didn't, but let's please not accuse the writers of fridging her. to do so is a fundamental misunderstanding of the story and is frankly insulting to the intelligence and skill of the writers of the show.
Claudia's death, and the overwhelming grief and regret her parents experience because of it, is quite literally the point of the entire story. she dies because Anne's daughter Michele died of leukemia when she was five years old and there was nothing she or her husband could do to prevent it.
writing IWTV was how Anne coped with the unimaginable loss of a parent losing her child. she created a story about a little girl that could not die and then killed her anyway. Claudia's death is a senseless, unavoidable tragedy, just like Michele's was. the grief that haunts Louis and Lestat for the rest of their lives is the same grief that haunted Anne and her husband.
so when you're accusing people of killing Claudia off to benefit a story about two men, please remember that in real life sometimes parents lose their children. please remember Michele Rice.
she's the reason Claudia exists.
she's also the reason Claudia cannot be saved.
#interview with the vampire#claudia de lioncourt#iwtv#lestat de lioncourt#louis de pointe du lac#saw some rancid takes on twitter and i just can't not say something#like how do you encounter a story so clearly about the fathomless grief that comes with losing a child and blaming your partner and yoursel#and somehow finding a way to live again after years and years of suffering--not forgetting NEVER forgetting--but living and loving again#and go 'the writers just hate women. claudia should never have died'#like you're right that Claudia shouldn't have died. Michele shouldn't have died either.#but she did. and so Claudia did. and her parents will never stop grieving her.#iwtv spoilers
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It's my dad's birthday today so obviously I'm sobbing
#every time i think of my father in person terms i cry#and my mother#there is so much grief#so much i want to say but being around family brings out the worst in me each and every time#so many times i was ungrateful#and countless times they didn't understand me#they still dont#i literally FLED the moment i had the chance#i moved across the world to be away from them#bc i canf be honest with them#but if im not#then i wont be honest to myself#i cant be their queer daughter bc they would hurt me in ways i cant imagine#i cant be their pagan daughter bc they would hurt me in ways i cant imagine#i cant#i wish we could choose whether or not to be the black sheep#complicated relationships are so heartbreaking#my father is a stranger to me#and yet i cry when i think about him#because there is so much i want to ask#and he is getting old#i will never be prepared for his funeral#rant#family trauma
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the other woman — ryomen sukuna.
“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.” But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.” And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.
GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;
WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, unhappy ending, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of illness, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;
WORD COUNT: 11k words
NOTE: this was always going to be long, because it's heartbreaking. and heartbreaking ones have to be something that has to be expressed well. i listened to this in a audio software like its a podcast and i actually liked it. the other woman by nina simone was the constant in the writing. also, this is the aftermath of ashes of love, which is a series i did about heian sukuna. anyway, i hope you enjoy this!!! i love you all <3
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YOU KNEW THAT YOU WERE THIS UNLUCKY. The moment you were born, there would be a bleak fate for you to live. You were an accidental child, and multiple times, your own mother had nearly miscarried. Perhaps even as a fetus, you had always known this. How cursed you were. Even if you had done nothing.
When your mother brushed your hair as a child, she would tell you of how you were born. She said that when you breathed the air for the first time, you were melancholic in the silence to the world. Somehow knew that you were built for this miserable world. And every day since that day, you knew. You were meant to live life without true joyous jubilation.
It did not help that the day you were born, there was a lone dark star in the morning sky, one which had been considered a bad omen. And with that, the whispers of fate echoing long before you had even had consciousness to know. Your village nestled in the shadowed valleys of Hida province, a place of whispered dread and ancient pacts. And for the longest of times, the once prosperous Hida province was in turmoil.
And so, in those days, if there was anyone who controlled the ruins of Hida, it was that god-like curse user Ryomen Sukuna. His name alone was a talisman against the unknown horrors that lurked beyond the mountains, a deity whose power and wrath commanded fear and reverence in equal measure. And all either quivered at the sight of him or drew fanatic fervor.
The Ryomen clan, his kin at one point, were at war—embroiled in brutal conflicts with neighboring clans for so long. And this had been going on before you were even born. The blood had soaked the earth for so long that the soil seemed to thirst for it. And the people were exhausted.
The clan struggled to maintain control over Hida for a long time now, their influence fraying like an old tapestry torn at the seams. And with that, a power vacuum had long been in existence. The chaos of the era was a tide that threatened to drown them all, and Ryomen Sukuna's protection became the last fragile hope for those who called this land their home.
Your parents spoke in hushed voices of the offerings, the sacrifices made by the villagers to appease their god, the man who can save them, this man to fear and worship, Ryomen Sukuna. To ensure his protection, they said. For years, the sacrifices continued, the chosen ones becoming mere footnotes in a history written in blood and fear.
It came upon you rather quickly when you were young and it struck you—that the villagers saw you not as one of their own, but as a piece on a board, a pawn destined for slaughter. A sacrifice to their god. You would be among the countless, one more life to be cast into the jaws of the demon god they all feared.
The day of your sacrifice came as the sky was painted with hues of blood and gold, a cruel irony that did not escape you. The air was heavy with incense and prayer, but there was no comfort in their muttered words, no solace in the chants that pleaded for Sukuna's mercy. They adorned you in ceremonial robes, marked with symbols and sigils, your skin painted with the sacred ink that was supposed to cleanse your soul before the offering.
You were led through the village, a procession of death that seemed to stretch on forever. The eyes that watched you pass were filled with a mixture of pity and relief—relief that it was not them, not their child, not their blood that would be spilled today. Mothers held their children close, men bowed their heads, and the elders chanted in a low, continuous hum that sent shivers down your spine.
At the shrine, they bound you to the altar, thick ropes biting into your skin as you stared at the sky, searching for a sign, a miracle that never came. The high priest began his incantation, his voice rising above the murmur of the crowd. You could feel the cold seep into your bones, the air around you thickening as if the very world held its breath.
And then, you felt it—the shift in the air, the heavy presence that pressed against your chest like a vice. You had never seen him before, but you knew it was Sukuna. The villagers gasped, a collective intake of breath as his form materialized from the shadows, a figure cloaked in malice and power.
His eyes, crimson and unforgiving, swept over you like a cold blade. You felt your heart hammer against your ribcage, fear clawing at your throat. You were nothing to him, just another offering, another desperate plea from a village clinging to survival.
Ryomen Sukuna smiled, a slow, cruel smile that sent a tremor through the crowd. He stepped forward, each movement a ripple in the air, as if reality itself bent to his will. You met his gaze, defiant in your fear, knowing that you were one of many. Countless lives had been given to him, countless souls lost to his hunger.
And now, it was your turn.
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YOU HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO MEET THE MAN IN THE FLESH. But before you stood this man, this god, with dark crimson eyes. Taller than any tree, intimidating than any curse. Frightening than hell itself. You could remember when you were younger. The whispers reached you before you even stepped foot in the shrine, everyone has. Tales of Ryomen Sukuna had traveled through the villages like the wind, carrying with them rumors that were both terrifying and tragic.
You had always known that the man was delighted with the worship of the human people. But they said he had taken no other concubines, that he showed no interest in any woman who dared come near him.
And if he did, they were more likely to be servants than anything close to a concubine. And some were not so lucky. Some spoke in hushed tones, their voices trembling with fear, that he was a monster of unspeakable debauchery, one who had killed the women for even daring to breathe in his presence.
But the truth, as you had come to understand it, was far more tragic. At least from how you see it. The people of Hida knew—oh, they believed—the story was told long ago. There was someone who had been so loved long ago and most of all, by Sukuna.
Ryomen Hiromi, the one who had captured Sukuna's heart, the one he had loved beyond reason. There was another Sukuna a long time ago, many were aware. But there was nothing proven.
If anything, the children of Hiromi reject any notion of such a relationship. But the tale was woven into the very fabric of tales told, whispered among the elders late at night and shared in riddles among the children who barely understood the weight of what they spoke.
Hiromi, they said, had been his sun, his moon, his stars. A woman of beauty and strength, whose laughter could calm the wildest storms and whose voice was like the sweetest song. She had been the only one to ever touch his heart, to see the man beneath the demon god. But she was gone now, lost to time and tragedy, leaving Ryomen Sukuna to languish in his grief.
No one dared speak her name aloud, not when Sukuna’s rage could split the earth itself. People have seen it. It was said he mourned her loss every day, that his fury was born from the emptiness she left behind. And that was why he would not tolerate any other woman. No one was going to be like her. None would match her wit, her beauty. Why should the king of curses settle for less when he had the world?
As you lay on the cold altar, the ropes cutting into your skin, your thoughts were consumed by the stories. What kind of man—no, what kind of creature—was Sukuna? You wonder about this paradox of a man, this creature like god.
Did he truly mourn, or was that just another tale spun by terrified villagers to make him seem more human? What was he, actually? You had a million questions, and you know they will never truly be answered.
A gust of wind stirred the trees around you, the leaves rustling like whispered secrets. You heard the shuffle of feet, felt the eyes of the villagers upon you, their fear palpable. Then, you heard his voice. You could feel it all, that powerful cursed energy, coming from one direction. For a moment, you had no words. Only uncertainty.
"Why do they send another?" Sukuna's voice was like a low growl, rumbling through the air with the force of a storm. "Do you think I am so easily appeased, you fools?"
You dared to lift your head, the ropes pulling at your skin as you met his crimson gaze. He was tall, imposing, and every bit as terrifying as the stories had painted him. But there was something else there—something in his eyes that spoke of deep, simmering pain.
"Do you truly want to know why they sent me?" you found yourself saying, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your throat.
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you down then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"Speak, then, girl." he said. "Tell me why I should not turn you to dust where you lie."
You swallowed, gathering your courage. "They send me because they fear you, because they believe you will protect them if they give you what you want. But… no one knows what you truly want, do they? No one speaks of her. Of Hiromi."
His expression shifted, a shadow passing over his face, and you knew you had struck a nerve. The air grew colder, a chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.
"Hiromi is dead." he said, his voice quiet but filled with an edge that could cut through steel. "And no one speaks her name. It is what I command.”
"But you still mourn her…." you continued, unable to stop yourself. "Do you not, my lord?”
His dark gaze bore into you, the weight of it almost unbearable. For a long moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched on like an eternity. Then, slowly, he laughed—a sound that was bitter and hollow.
"You dare ask?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. "What do you know of it all, little one? What do you know about such a life lived?"
You felt a tremor run through you, but you did not look away. "I know enough, my lord." you replied softly. "I know enough to see that your anger is not born of hatred, but of grief."
Sukuna's cruel smile quickly faded, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability, quickly swallowed by the darkness. He hated how you said it, you know it too well. But there was no other choice. You were here for a purpose and you must fulfill it. You must.
"You are bold, little one." he murmured. "Bold….for someone so close to death."
"Perhaps, my lord." you whispered back to him. "But if I am to die, I would rather die knowing who you truly are, rather than the monster they say you are."
He stared at you for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, he stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the power that thrummed through him like a thunder strike.
"Then you are a fool, little one." he said quietly. "For believing that I am anything more than a monster."
But there was something in his voice, something that made you wonder if perhaps… he wished you were right.
For the meantime, you were lucky to have your life, despite speaking so boldly, despite saying her name aloud—the name that everyone else dared not utter. Sukuna’s silence stretched on, his crimson eyes still locked onto yours, unreadable, cold yet burning with something darker beneath the surface. He could have ended you with a flick of his wrist, reduced you to ashes for your insolence. And yet, he did not.
He leaned closer, the edges of his form blurring into the shadows that seemed to ripple around him like stabbing waves in the ocean. His breath was hot against your skin, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. You felt your heart pound in your chest, each beat a drum that signaled your fragile hold on life.
“Perhaps you are simply foolish. Many have died for far less than what you dared to speak.” Sukuna finally said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “Huh, you speak brashly.”
The villagers around you seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his judgment. They looked at you with a mixture of horror and awe, unable to believe you were still alive after uttering the forbidden name. You, a mere sacrifice, a lamb thrown to the wolf, had survived what so many others had not.
“Why do you think I will let you live?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense silence, his tone curious, but with a dangerous edge. “Do you think I find you interesting? Amusing? Or perhaps I see something of her in you, something worth sparing?”
You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation settling in. You had survived speaking out of turn, but you were still bound to this altar, still at the mercy of a being who could destroy you on a whim. Yet, something in his words gave you pause, a flicker of something unspoken that lingered just beneath his surface.
“I do not presume to know your reasons, my lord.” you replied carefully, choosing each word like a step on thin ice. “But if you see something of her in me… then perhaps I am not so different from you after all.”
Sukuna’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “Not so different?” He laughed, a sound that was both mirthful and bitter, filled with a deep, aching emptiness. “You compare yourself to me? To Ryomen Sukuna? You are a child, a mere mortal who knows nothing of gods or demons, of love that scorches the soul and burns the world to ash.”
“And yet…..” you dared to continue, feeling the tightness in your chest. “If my lord felt nothing, you wouldn’t care enough to be angry… or to remember.”
He stiffened, and for a moment, his expression faltered. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, his aura flickering like a candle flame caught in a strong wind. You sensed that you were dancing on a razor’s edge, but you could not stop now. There was something here, something raw and real beneath the monstrous exterior.
“Enough.” Sukuna hissed, his voice a sharp command. The air grew colder, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “You dare much, human. Too much.”
You pressed your lips together, bracing yourself for the inevitable blow, the moment when his patience would finally snap. But instead, Sukuna’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that did not reach his eyes.
“Perhaps I will spare you.” he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. “If only to see how long that fire burns before it is extinguished. Or perhaps to see if you will end up like the rest—broken, hollow, pleading for mercy where there is none.”
He turned away from you then, his back a wall of power and darkness, his form towering against the dim light of the shrine. The villagers started, stunned, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“You will reside in my temple.” Sukuna commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will remain there, under my watch. Let them see what comes of those who speak of things best left forgotten.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, a mixture of fear and shock. They did not understand why he had spared you, why you, of all people, were allowed to live. Perhaps they thought you were cursed, or perhaps they thought Sukuna had some darker plan in mind. But you knew better. You knew that, in some small way, you had touched on a wound that had never healed, a scar buried deep beneath his monstrous exterior.
And as Sukuna vanished into the shadows, you realized that your fate was no longer in the hands of the villagers, or even in the hands of the gods they prayed to. No, your fate was now bound to his—a god who mourned like a man, a monster who remembered what it was to love.
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IN A WAY, IT IS NOT SO BAD, BEING HIS CONCUBINE. You spent your days in isolation, your life confined within the walls of Sukuna's palace. You were nothing more than a servant, though they called you a concubine. The title meant little, for you were given no special privileges, no adornments, no tokens of affection.
But it was a life. Your life. And it lived in some comfort, more than what is experienced by the rest of Hida province. You had multiple meals a day, you had rooms to yourself and even servants that address every bit of your needs.
Still, your world was small, your days filled with the quiet tending of the gardens, watching the shifting sky as the hours bled into one another. The flowers you nurtured became your only friends, their petals a fragile comfort against the cold indifference that surrounded you.
Perhaps the peace came from the fact that you did not see Sukuna often, and when you did, his gaze never lingered on you for long. He had no interest, no affection, no fondness to spare. You were simply there, like a shadow in the corner of his realm.
A figure lost amidst the vast emptiness of his domain. And perhaps that was for the best. It was better than being forced into Sukuna’s bed. You think that all women in the harem think that it was better that way.
But slowly, ever so slowly, something changed. His dark scarlet eyes began to linger, just a fraction longer than before. You felt the weight of his gaze like a chill running down your spine.
The other servants noticed it too, their whispers growing louder, bolder. You finally caught his attention. But it wasn’t because he had come to care for you, to see you as anything more than the nothing you were.
No, the truth was much crueler than that.
You were a spitting image of Ryomen Hiromi, the woman who haunted his every step, the ghost who lived in the shadows of his mind. At least that’s what the people say. But you did not want to believe them. Yet, looking at the murals at the glass gardens, the resemblance was uncanny.
It was obvious somehow. It was similar, everything. Your eyes, your hair, the curve of your smile. Every feature, every gesture seemed to remind him of her. And though you knew you could never be her, you had become a cruel echo, a reflection of something he had long lost.
And soon enough, the people talked. Of course, they did. They always talked. You tried to shut them out, but the more they whispered, the more people listened. And the more they listened, the more people spoke.
“She reminds him of Hiromi, I am certain!” they whispered. “She is nothing but a shadow, a poor replacement for the one he truly loved. She lives in her image, as if she could ever hope to fill her place.”
You became the other woman, even when you didn’t want to be. No, not even that. You were a pale imitation, a mockery of a woman who had captured the heart of the king of curses. Every glance Ryomen Sukuna spared you was not a look of admiration or desire—it was the gaze of a man staring into the past, into a memory that was forever out of reach.
And so, you lived your life as another woman. No, the other woman. To a dead woman. To a love that had died long ago, but never truly left.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the silence was so thick it pressed against your skin like a heavy shroud, you would wonder about her. About Ryomen Hiromi. Who was she, really? What had she meant to him, this fearsome god, this creature of darkness who now watched you as if searching for something he had lost in her eyes, now reflected in yours.
He never spoke of her. He does not want to. He does not dare to. Not to you, not to anyone. Some servants have been here longer than you and they have seen people killed over even a mumble of a prayer for the lady. And so you don’t ask.
Not even when there were times he would come closer, when his dark eyes lingered on your face, searching, always searching. Yet he will never truly find it. He knew this, as much as you did. But it was as if he was trying to see her again, trying to find her in your skin, in your voice, in the way you moved through the gardens like she once had, perhaps. It was hope, a foolish hope. And yet you cannot escape this foolish hope.
The weight of her memory suffocated you. You were not allowed to be yourself, to have your own name, your own identity. You were always, always compared to her, measured against a ghost that you could never be, never touch. And Sukuna, with his cold gaze and his empty eyes, reminded you of it every day.
"You’re not her, little one." he said once, his voice low, more to himself than to you, as if testing a truth he could not fully accept. “You’ll never be her.”
His words cut deeper than any blade, leaving you with the bitter taste of something unnameable, something that tasted like defeat, or perhaps longing, or perhaps both. You had never wished to be her, to be anyone but yourself. But here, in his domain, under his shadow, you were not allowed that freedom.
You were trapped, forever bound to a life that was not your own, in the shadow of a dead woman who would never release you, and a man who could never let her go.
Days bled into nights, a blur of routine and solitude, and you began to feel like a ghost yourself, haunting the corners of Sukuna's palace, where life seemed to move around you but never through you. The servants kept their distance, wary of your resemblance, as if fearing you might be some ill omen, cursed to echo the tragedy of the past.
And Sukuna… he watched you, always watching, his eyes a deep crimson that saw too much and yet revealed nothing. He was like a storm contained within the fragile walls of the palace, his presence a force of nature that you could neither escape nor fully comprehend. His mood was mercurial; one day, he would barely acknowledge you, and the next, his gaze would linger on you, heavy with something you couldn’t name.
“Do you enjoy the garden?” he asked one afternoon, his tone deceptively casual, as if he were simply inquiring about the weather.
You glanced up, surprised that he had addressed you at all. He rarely spoke directly to you, even when his eyes seemed to follow your every movement. “I do,” you replied, careful, measured. “It is quiet there. Peaceful.”
“Quiet…peaceful.” he repeated, almost as if tasting the word. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it did not reach his eyes. “Yes, she liked the quiet too. Always wandering among the flowers. Trees too. She’d like that then.”
You stiffened at the mention of her, the ghost you lived with every day, who lingered in every corner of this place. “I am not her, my lord.” you said, a tremor in your voice. You had repeated these words to yourself countless times, but they sounded fragile, almost insignificant when spoken aloud.
Sukuna's expression did not change. If anything, his gaze grew sharper, like a blade pressed against your skin. “No, little one.” he agreed softly, almost mockingly, “You are not her. But you will do… for now.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat, refusing to let him see the fear that coiled within you, like a snake waiting to strike. “Why do you keep me here?” you dared to ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why do you watch me as if you expect me to become someone else?”
He laughed then, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You misunderstand, little one. I do not expect you to become her. I know you never can. But you… remind me of her. And that is enough… for now.”
The way he said it, the way his eyes darkened with something unreadable, made your blood run cold. You were nothing more than a stand-in, a living, breathing reminder of something he had lost. A cruel joke played by fate, a shadow dancing in the place of the one who truly mattered. To be kept alive, your village kept alive — because you look like a ghost.
“I am not a replacement, my lord.” you insisted, your voice firmer this time, surprising even yourself with the strength behind it. “I hope my lord knows that I will not live my life as a mere echo.”
His smile faded, his expression turning serious. “You think you have a choice?” he asked, leaning in closer, his face so near to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You are here because I allow it. You exist at my whim, not because of who you are, but because of who you resemble. Do not mistake this for anything more than it is.”
The reality of his words hit you like a blow, the finality of it sinking deep into your bones. You were nothing to him, nothing but a passing fancy, a painful reminder of a past he could not reclaim.
“I am not her, my lord.” you repeated, your voice shaking with defiance, with a spark of something that refused to be extinguished. “And I will not be her for you. You must understand.”
For a moment, something flickered in Sukuna's eyes, something almost like surprise, perhaps even respect. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he always wore.
“Brave words, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But words mean little here, in my domain. You will learn that soon enough.”
He turned away from you then, leaving you standing alone in the empty hall, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling at your sides. The silence closed in around you, heavy and oppressive, and you knew that nothing had changed. You were still trapped, still living in the shadow of a dead woman, still bound to the whims of a god who mourned like a man.
And yet, deep inside, something stirred—a flicker of defiance, of hope. You might be a ghost to him, a reflection of a lost love, but you were still alive. You were still you, and as long as you drew breath, you would not allow yourself to be consumed by his shadows. Not without a fight.
Time passed slowly in Sukuna’s palace, and with it, your heart began to change. You did not notice it at first; how could you? Day after day, the monotonous routine of your existence lulled you into a sort of numbness. The gardens became your refuge, the sky your solace.
Yet even as you tried to find comfort in these simple pleasures, you found your thoughts wandering back to him—Ryomen Sukuna, the fearsome god, the monster, the man who mourned like a human.
At first, you hated him, hated him for what he represented, for what he had made you into: a replacement, a mere shadow of someone who had meant everything to him. But as you watched him, as the days turned to weeks and weeks to months, you began to see more.
You began to notice the things others did not—the subtle tension in his jaw when he was angry, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he spoke of her, the quiet moments when he thought no one was looking, and the mask slipped, just a little.
You were in the garden one afternoon, trimming the roses, when you heard footsteps approaching. Sukuna rarely came to the garden, but today he seemed restless, pacing along the paths with a dark expression on his face. He stopped by the old cherry blossom tree, his eyes distant, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Without thinking, you moved closer. "Is something troubling you, my lord?" you asked quietly, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. You had learned not to provoke him, to keep your words soft and your gaze steady.
Sukuna looked at you sharply, as if surprised you had dared to speak. "Why do you care?" he snapped, his tone harsh, but you had seen the flicker of something else—a fleeting vulnerability, perhaps? “Such matters are none for you to care about, little one.”
You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I see you every day, my lord.” you replied softly. “I see how you… struggle over something. And I cannot help but… care.”
He scoffed, but it was a hollow sound. “Care?” he echoed, almost mockingly. “You think you understand me, mortal? You think you can comprehend the depths of what I am, of what I have lost?”
You bowed your head, feeling the sting of his words but refusing to back down. “I don’t pretend to understand, my lord.” you murmured. “But I see the pain in your eyes, the way you linger in places she once loved, the way you… look at me.”
He was silent for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he turned away, his shoulders tense, his hands unclenching. “You are a fool, little one.” he muttered, almost too softly for you to hear. “A fool to think you can feel anything for me.”
And maybe you were a fool. A fool to care for a man who did not care for you, who saw you only as a shadow of someone else. But you could not help it. You could not stop the way your heart ached when you saw him, the way your breath caught when he looked at you with those sad, tired eyes.
Day by day, you found yourself drawn to him, not by his power or his beauty, but by the quiet moments when he thought no one was watching. The moments when his face softened, and you saw the man beneath the monster, the man who had loved so deeply and lost so terribly.
You saw the cracks in his armor, the places where he had been wounded, and you wanted, desperately, to reach out and touch them, to soothe the pain you knew he carried.
You found yourself thinking of him when you were alone, wondering what had made him this way, what had broken him so completely. You imagined him before all of this, before the darkness, before the loss, and you felt a strange, deep sorrow for the man he might have been.
One evening, as you were leaving the garden, you saw him standing by the cherry blossom tree again, his face turned upward, staring at the pale blooms against the darkening sky. He looked so lonely, so unbearably alone, that you felt your heart tighten in your chest.
Without thinking, you approached him, moving slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. “My lord, look.” you said softly, and he did not turn away. “The blossoms… they’re beautiful this year.”
He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Hiromi loved them.” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you could not quite name. “Fond of them.”
You nodded, your heart aching for him. “I imagine she did, my lord.” you replied. “They’re… peaceful.”
He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the flowers. Then he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She was… my peace.” he admitted, his tone so raw, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten painfully. “And now… there is only emptiness.”
You wanted to reach out to him, to touch his hand, to tell him that he was not as alone as he thought, but you knew he would not accept it. So you stood there, beside him, sharing the silence, hoping that maybe, in some small way, your presence could ease the ache in his heart.
And slowly, painfully, you realized that you were falling into the saddest position in the world. You were beginning to care for him, truly care for him, despite knowing that he did not, and could not, care for you. You were beginning to understand him, to see the depths of his sorrow, to feel the weight of his loss as if it were your own.
You were living as a shadow, and yet… you found yourself wishing, hoping, that someday he might see you as something more. Even if you were just a reflection of a memory, even if you could never be her, you wished, desperately, that you could become someone to him.
But as you looked at him, at the emptiness in his eyes, you knew that day might never come. And still, you could not help but care.
Days continued to slip by in a blur of silent moments and stolen glances, and though you tried to keep your heart guarded, you felt it slipping further and further away from you, like water through your fingers. You had resigned yourself to your fate—a concubine in name, a ghost in truth. You had accepted that Sukuna would never see you as anything more than a mere echo of what he had lost.
But as time passed, you noticed a subtle change in him. It was in the way his gaze lingered on you a moment longer, or how his tone softened when he spoke to you. It was in the quiet moments when you would catch him watching you, his expression inscrutable, as if he were trying to decipher some mystery he could not quite solve.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of crimson and gold, you found yourself in the garden again. Sukuna was there, seated on a low stone bench beneath the cherry blossom tree, his face turned upward as if searching for something in the dying light.
You approached cautiously, unsure if he wanted your presence or not. He did not turn to look at you, but he did not send you away, either. You took it as a small mercy, a silent invitation to sit beside him.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, delicate and unbroken. Finally, Sukuna spoke, his voice low and contemplative. “You are always here, little one.” he murmured. “Always watching. Why?”
You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Because I see you, my lord.” you replied quietly. “I see the way you carry your pain, the way you hide it behind your eyes. I… I understand it, in a way.”
He turned to you then, his gaze piercing, searching your face as if trying to find the truth hidden within your words. “And what do you think you understand?” he asked, a note of challenge in his tone.
You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his stare. “I think you loved her more than life itself, my lord.” you said softly. “And I think losing her broke something inside of you that will never heal.”
He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed—a harsh, bitter sound that cut through the stillness like a knife. “You presume to know my heart, mortal.” he said, but there was no true malice in his voice, only a deep, hollow emptiness. “You think because you look like her, you can speak of love and loss?”
“I do not pretend to be her, my lord.” you answered, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “But I know what it is to lose, to live with emptiness. I know what it means to be alone, even in a crowded room.”
His eyes softened, just for a moment, and you could almost see the man beneath the monster, the one who had loved and lost, who had once been capable of kindness, of tenderness.
“You think you know loneliness?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “You think you know what it is to love someone so deeply that their absence is like a knife in your soul, cutting you with every breath?”
“I think I’m starting to understand, my lord.” you whispered. “More than I ever wanted to.”
He looked away, his jaw clenched tight, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You are a fool.” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words, only a weary resignation. “You should hate me. You should despise me for what I am, for what I have made you.”
You shook your head slowly. “I can’t, my lord.” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why, but I can’t. Maybe it’s because I see the pain in your eyes, the way you look at me… the way you remember her. I can’t hate you for that. I just… I wish things were different.”
He turned to you sharply, and for a moment, there was something raw and desperate in his gaze, something that spoke of a longing he had buried deep within himself. “Different?” he repeated, almost scoffing. “There is no ‘different’ for us. This is the world we have been given, and we must live in it.”
You felt your heart clench painfully, knowing he was right, knowing that no matter how much you wished for it, you could never truly reach him, could never become more than what you were—a shadow, a reflection of a woman long gone.
But you could not stop yourself from caring, from hoping that somehow, someway, he might see you, truly see you, not as a ghost or a replacement, but as a person in your own right.
You sighed, turning your gaze to the blossoms above. “I know, my lord.” you murmured. “I know that better than anyone. But I still… I still want to understand you. I still care, even if you don’t care for me.”
He was silent, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you feared you had said too much, crossed a line you could never return from. But then, slowly, he reached out and took your hand in his, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle.
“You are a strange one, little one.” he said quietly, almost as if to himself. “To care for a monster… to care for a man who has nothing left to give.”
You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and you did not bother to hide it. “Maybe I’m just a fool, my lord” you whispered. “But I can’t help it. I can’t help but care for you, even when I know you can’t care for me.”
He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for some answer he could not find. Then, without a word, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture so tender it took your breath away.
“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.”
But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.”
And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.
══════════════════
TIME FLEW BY AND WITH THAT, YOU AGED TOO. Slowly, like the steady drip of water carving its path through stone, Ryomen Sukuna began to accept your presence as something constant in his life. At first, it was subtle—the way he no longer sent you away when you appeared by his side, the way he allowed you to linger in his chambers or the garden without a word of complaint.
Over time, it grew into something more. He began to call for you, not often, but enough that you noticed. Sometimes, it was just to sit in silence while he read or stared into the fire, and other times, he would speak to you, his voice low and distant, as if he were speaking to himself rather than you.
He did not love you; you knew that much with painful certainty. His heart belonged to another, to a woman whose name he whispered in his dreams, whose memory seemed to haunt his every step. You were not her, and you never would be. You were a shadow of what he had lost, a pale reflection of a love that had burned too bright and consumed itself in the flames.
But he tolerated you, and in this dark, twisted place where fear ruled and love was a forgotten dream, that was enough. You had learned to find solace in the little things—the way his gaze would occasionally soften when he looked at you, the rare moments when his voice held a note of something other than indifference.
You knew you would never escape Hiromi’s shadow. Her ghost lingered in every corner of this place, in every whispered word and hushed breath, in the way his eyes darkened whenever he spoke of her.
You were not foolish enough to think you could ever replace her in his heart, nor did you wish to. You had come to terms with your fate, with the cruel twist of destiny that had brought you here, to this palace where the walls seemed to whisper her name.
For the finite years of your mortal life, you would be what you were to him—an echo, a shadow, a living memory of something lost. You could have fought against it, could have railed against the injustice of it all, but you chose not to. You chose to make peace with what fate had given you, to find what small joys you could in the fleeting moments he allowed you to be near him.
There were times when the weight of your existence threatened to crush you, when you longed to scream, to demand that he see you for who you were, not for the woman you resembled. But those moments were few and far between, and you had learned to push them down, to bury them deep within your heart where they could not hurt you.
Instead, you found contentment in the little things—in the way his presence filled the room, in the rare, unguarded moments when he would speak to you of things he had buried deep within himself. You listened to his stories, the ones he told in quiet tones when he thought no one was listening, and you treasured them like precious gems, tiny fragments of the man he had once been.
You learned to be grateful for what you had, even if it was not what you had dreamed of. You accepted that you would always live in the shadow of Hiromi, that you would always be the "other woman"; the one who was not loved, but merely tolerated. And for as long as you had breath in your lungs and life in your veins, you chose to find peace in that.
You sat beside him by the fire, you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you. He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the flames, his expression thoughtful. He did not look at you, but you could feel his presence, warm and solid beside you, a reminder that you were not entirely alone in this world.
You turned your gaze to the fire, letting the heat warm your face, and you whispered, almost to yourself, “I do not ask for more than this. I am… content with what I have.”
He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to understand your words. “Content?” he repeated, a hint of incredulity in his voice. “You are content being nothing but a shadow?”
You smiled softly, a hint of sadness in your eyes. “Contentment is a choice, my lord.” you replied. “I chose to be content with what fate has given me. It is not happiness, but it is enough.”
He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and then he nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are wiser than I thought now, little one.” he murmured. “To find peace in a place like this… it is no easy feat.”
You nodded, knowing he spoke more to himself than to you. You had accepted that you would never be more than a shadow in his life, but even shadows had their place, their purpose. You would be content with that, for as long as your mortal years allowed.
The days passed with a creeping heaviness that settled into your bones, a fatigue that no amount of rest could cure. You began to feel the strain in every step, the way your breath came shorter, the way your limbs feel heavy and uncooperative. At first, you dismissed it as exhaustion, a lingering effect of sleepless nights and endless thoughts that twisted in your mind like shadows.
But then came the coughing fits, each one more violent than the last, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and a sharp pain in your chest. You ignored it at first, waving away the concerned glances of the servants who attended you. You kept your back straight and your face serene, refusing to acknowledge the way your body seemed to betray you.
Yet it grew harder to hide. The pain became more frequent, stabbing through your lungs like a knife with every breath, every step. The first time you coughed up blood, it was a shock—a bright, vivid red staining your hand. Your heart raced as you stared at the crimson stain, panic rising like bile in your throat.
You quickly wiped it away, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, you were alone in your chamber, and you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, willing yourself to calm down. There was no reason to be afraid, you told yourself. It was just a momentary lapse, nothing more.
But it wasn’t. It happened again, and again. You found yourself waking in the night, gasping for air, your throat raw and burning. The servants began to notice the dark circles under your eyes, the way you would clutch your side when you thought no one was looking, the way you moved a little slower, a little more carefully.
There was a day that you sat in the garden, trying to find solace in the soft petals of the cherry blossoms, a violent fit seized you. You doubled over, coughing hard, and felt something wet and warm splatter against your lips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and saw the unmistakable smear of blood.
A sharp gasp came from behind you. One of the younger servants had seen, her eyes wide with fear and concern. She rushed to your side, her hands trembling as she reached out to steady you.
“My lady, oh my!” she whispered, her voice filled with worry. “You’re… you’re bleeding.”
You shook your head, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace. “It is nothing.” you said, your voice hoarse. “Do not worry yourself over me.”
The servant looked unconvinced, her brow furrowed with concern. “I must tell Lord Sukuna.” she said quickly, glancing toward the entrance of the garden as if she expected him to appear at any moment. “He must know—”
“No, no…..” you cut her off sharply, your voice firmer than you had intended. “There is no point in that.”
She hesitated, confusion clouding her eyes. “But, my lady… you are unwell. He should—”
“He would not care, little girl.” you said softly, looking down at your blood-stained hand. “There is no use in troubling him with this. It would make no difference. Sukuna does not love me, nor does he care for me in that way. Do you think he would be moved by something as trivial as this?”
The servant bit her lip, clearly torn between her duty to you and her fear of Sukuna’s wrath. “But… if he knew, he might—”
“Might what?” you interrupted, your voice edged with a quiet resignation. “Send a healer? Take pity on me? No, he would not. I am nothing more than a reminder to him, a shadow of a past he cannot let go. He tolerates me, yes, but that is all.”
The servant looked at you, her eyes filling with tears, but she nodded slowly, understanding the weight of your words. She knew as well as you did that Sukuna’s heart was a barren, desolate place, filled with ghosts and haunted memories. There was no room for you there.
“Promise me, little girl.” you whispered, reaching out to touch her arm gently. “Promise me you won’t tell him.”
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, her expression tight with worry. “I promise, my lady.” she murmured, though you could hear the doubt in her voice.
You leaned back against the tree, closing your eyes and letting the cool breeze brush against your skin. You knew there was no point in hoping for more than what you had. Sukuna had given you a place by his side, but it was not out of affection. He had lost the woman he truly loved, and you were only a semblance of her—a shadow he tolerated, nothing more.
You were dying, that much was clear. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, a way to free yourself from this liminal existence, to escape the torment of being a living reminder of what he had lost. You could find peace in that, you thought. At least, you could try.
You would not burden him with your illness, with your slow, inevitable decline. You would carry it quietly, with dignity, for whatever time you had left. After all, what was one more life in the grand, cruel scheme of his world? You were just another fleeting moment in the endless march of time—another sacrifice, another offering to a man who had already lost everything he had ever cared for.
══════════════════
YOU DECIDED TO LET FATE RUN ITS COURSE. You let time pass by, letting the illness be hidden in the shadows of low whispers and painful tears in your long suffering days and nights. And sure enough, Ryomen Sukuna had returned from his long and exhausting trip within the next few days.
He had been famished from his trip and sent word that he would be having supper with you that night, which you had obliged without another word. You dressed in your finest, watching the servants prepare the table in your chambers and calmly thanked them one after another as they left.
The evening had settled into its usual quiet rhythm, with the two of you sharing dinner in the dimly lit chamber. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, and the scent of roasted meat and simmered vegetables filled the air.
It was a routine you had come to accept with a resigned sort of familiarity, a ritual that offered a small measure of normalcy in your otherwise constrained existence.
You sat across from Sukuna, picking at your meal with an absent-mindedness that spoke more to your weariness than any lack of appetite. His presence was imposing, yet tonight, he was unusually subdued, his attention focused on the food in front of him rather than on you. And somehow, you were a bit more grateful for it.
As you took a sip from your cup, you looked up at him, your expression earnest. "My lord, do you not think you should be more understanding of your subjects?" you began, your voice gentle but firm. "I must implore you once more to be more lenient with the people. The fear you instill is one thing, but mercy could win you their loyalty and respect."
Sukuna's eyes, dark and inscrutable, met yours. He did not respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as if weighing your words. This was not the first time you had made this plea, and it was not likely to be the last. You had grown accustomed to his silence, to the way he would listen but rarely act upon your suggestions.
"It is not for me to coddle them, little one." he said finally, his voice low and dismissive. "Fear is a more effective tool than mercy. It ensures obedience."
You sighed softly, knowing well that your words often fell on deaf ears. Still, you persisted, driven by a conviction that even the smallest act of kindness could make a difference. "I understand your perspective, my lord, but sometimes even the harshest rulers find strength in showing compassion. It can—"
Before you could finish your thought, a sudden, sharp pain gripped your chest. You gasped, doubling over slightly, and a violent coughing fit overtook you. You struggled to steady yourself, but the force of it was too strong. Blood splattered onto the table, the vibrant red stark against the white of your kimono and the pale wood of the dining surface.
Your heart raced as you quickly wiped the blood away with your sleeve, hoping to hide the evidence of your distress. You tried to maintain your composure, but your hands were trembling as you looked up at Sukuna, who had gone still, his eyes fixed on the crimson stain.
For a moment, there was a silence so thick it felt like a physical presence. Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze was heavy and unyielding, his red eyes locked onto the blood that had marred the table and your attire. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his silence, a heavy burden that pressed down upon you.
"It's nothing, my lord." you said hurriedly, forcing a weak smile as you tried to brush off the incident. "Just a momentary lapse. Please, continue with your meal."
Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He did not speak, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps surprise, or concern, or something deeper that he quickly masked.
You could feel the tension between you, an invisible thread connecting your quiet plea to his unspoken thoughts. It was clear that your condition had not gone unnoticed, even if he chose not to acknowledge it openly. You had always been a presence in his life, but tonight, the reality of your fragility seemed to cut through the usual indifference.
He took a deep breath, his gaze finally shifting away from you as he turned his attention back to his meal. The silence that followed was filled with the soft clinking of utensils and the low murmur of conversation from the servants who hovered at the edges of the room, their eyes darting to you with barely concealed concern.
You ate in silence, each bite of food tasting like ash in your mouth. The pain in your chest had subsided, but a deep weariness remained, a lingering reminder of your deteriorating health. You glanced at Sukuna from time to time, but he was absorbed in his meal, his expression unreadable.
The conversation you had tried to initiate was now buried beneath the weight of your illness, and you knew better than to press further. The battle for his leniency would have to wait for another day, another time when you were not so overshadowed by your own suffering.
As the meal drew to a close, you felt the oppressive silence settle around you once more. Sukuna’s gaze was distant, his thoughts seemingly occupied with matters beyond the confines of the dining room. You could only hope that, in some small way, your presence had made a difference, even if it was not the kind you had hoped for.
When the servants cleared away the dishes and the room began to empty, you excused yourself, retreating to your chamber with a heavy heart. You knew that your time here was growing shorter, that the end was approaching with each passing day. But for now, you would carry on, finding what small measure of peace you could in the fleeting moments you had left.
And as you lay down in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, you could not help but think of the blood you had tried to hide, of the way Sukuna’s eyes had lingered on it. You could only hope that someday, he might see you not as a mere shadow or a reminder of what he had lost, but as a person who had tried, in her own way, to make a difference in his world.
The next morning, you awoke to a disorienting cacophony of shouts and harsh reprimands. The once-familiar silence of your quarters was shattered by the sounds of chaos from the courtyard. Your heart sank as you stumbled out of bed, a sharp pain reminding you of the night before.
As you made your way through the hallways, the noise grew louder, mingling with the harsh, angry tones of Ryomen Sukuna’s voice. Your mind raced, dreading what you might find. You knew it already. You have seen it in the other households of the other concubines. And you can only know what had caused such a commotion. When you reached the courtyard, the scene before you was both startling and terrifying.
Your servants were gathered in the center of the courtyard, their faces pale with fear and their postures crumpled under the weight of Sukuna’s wrath. He stood at the center of the commotion, his expression thunderous as he raged at them. His anger was palpable, his words a relentless storm of fury directed at those who had failed to inform him of your condition.
Your breath caught in your throat, and without thinking, you stepped forward, your heart pounding in your chest. The courtyard fell into a stunned silence as Sukuna’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes dark with a mixture of surprise and irritation.
"My lord, please." you began, your voice trembling as you bowed deeply, your forehead nearly touching the ground. "This is my fault, not theirs. I beg for your forgiveness and mercy for my servants."
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as he took in your contrite posture, his anger momentarily faltering. He regarded you with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, his dark, unforgiving, gaze sharp as he assessed your sincerity.
"It was my decision to hide my illness, my lord." you continued, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I did not want to trouble you or cause unnecessary concern. Please, spare them your anger. They were only following my wishes."
Ryomen Sukuna remained silent for a moment, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The servants, though still shaken, dared to lift their eyes to you, their expressions a blend of relief and apprehension.
Finally, Sukuna's gaze softened, a hint of resignation creeping into his expression. He took a deep breath, his anger dissipating as he looked at you with a new intensity. "You would take the blame for them?" he asked, his voice low and edged with incredulity.
You nodded, maintaining your bowed position. "Yes, my lord. It was my choice, my responsibility. I could not bear the thought of them being punished for my actions."
Sukuna’s expression hardened slightly, but the fury in his eyes had dimmed. After a moment of consideration, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. You will accept any punishment I shall put upon you.”
You swallowed the bile down your throat. “Yes, my lord.”
“Then I will call for healers. You will see them immediately." He says, as though it was the final verdict. “You will see them, all of them. Do you understand?”
“Yes…yes, my lord.” You whispered back to him.
He turned away from the servants, his gaze now fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity. "Go." he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "See to your health, you foolish girl. Your servants too can go. They will tend to you, no matter what you ask.”
You straightened slowly, a mixture of relief and trepidation washing over you. You dared to look up at Sukuna, meeting his eyes briefly before turning to address the servants.
"Thank you, my lord." you said quietly, your voice filled with gratitude. "You have done nothing wrong. Please, return to your duties."
With a final, respectful bow, you turned and headed back toward your quarters with the help of your servants. As you entered your quarters, you felt like you had lived a thousand lifetimes in that one moment. Your servants were bowing at your feet, asking for your forgiveness. But you had all but shooed them away, telling them it was your duty as their master.
You wanted to be alone right now. At least when you still had the chance. When the healers arrive, you would have a life to yourself any longer. You would be stuck in their mercy, with their potions and their whims.
You must prepare yourself for the arrival of the healers. You groaned lowly as you clutch your chest, a wave of pain hitting one after the other. It will be over soon, that’s what you hoped. That’s what you want. You want to be free from this pain. You wanted nothing more than to be free.
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THE PAIN WAS RELENTLESS. The days dragged on in a relentless cycle of pain and futile hope. Despite the best efforts of countless healers, none seemed able to bring you any real relief.
If anything, your condition worsened, each new treatment only seeming to accelerate your quick decline. Ryomen Sukuna’s frustration was palpable; his anger had become a regular presence, casting a long shadow over the already bleak atmosphere of the estate.
You had heard the whispers of the fate that befell each healer who failed to improve your condition. It was a grim reminder of Sukuna’s volatility, a dangerous mix of desperation and rage. The once-bustling quarters were now filled with an air of fearful tension as new healers arrived, only to face Sukuna’s wrath when their efforts proved ineffectual.
On one of the rare days when you felt well enough to leave your bed, you chose to sit by the garden. The fresh air and the sight of the vibrant blooms were a welcome distraction from the constant ache in your body. You had managed to position yourself on a stool under the gentle shade of a cherry tree, finding some small comfort in watching the birds flit about, their cheerful chirping a stark contrast to the turmoil that had become your life.
Sukuna appeared in the garden, his presence as imposing as ever. He walked with a deliberate pace, his gaze scanning the surroundings with an air of detached observation. As he neared, you looked up and greeted him with a smile, though the effort felt heavy, as if each movement was a strain against the burden of your illness.
“My lord.” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “The skies are beautiful today, aren’t they?”
Sukuna stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your serene expression. The silence stretched between you, an unspoken tension that lingered like the heat of a summer day. He said nothing in response, his gaze fixed on you with an inscrutable intensity.
After a moment, he broke the silence. “How is it that you can accept death with such… calm?” His voice was low, edged with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place.
You blinked, taken aback by his question. A laugh escaped you, soft and brittle, more out of surprise than genuine amusement. “Accept death, my lord?” you repeated. “I haven’t accepted death, in truth. But there is no way to avoid it.”
Sukuna’s eyes remained on you, his expression unreadable as he listened. You continued, your voice tinged with a philosophical resignation. “Death will come for all of us, eventually. It’s a natural end to this life. We all must face it in our own time. In that way, we are all freed from the burdens of this world.”
He studied you with a mixture of skepticism and something akin to contemplation. “You speak as if it is an inevitability you embrace, little one.”
“Not embrace, my lord.” you corrected gently, sighing. “But acknowledge. It’s a part of life, as much as the beginning is. We can fight it or we can accept it, but it will come regardless.”
Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stoic. He seemed to be weighing your words, his usual fierceness replaced by an unusual quiet. “And you are not afraid, then?”
“Fear?” You tilted your head, considering the question. “I suppose I am afraid of the pain that might come before the end. But fear of death itself? Not so much. It’s merely another step in the journey, my lord. That is what I believe, at least.”
For a moment, there was a stillness between you, punctuated only by the distant chirping of birds. Sukuna’s eyes flickered to the sky, perhaps contemplating the vastness of existence you had spoken of. The anger that had once seemed so consuming in his presence now appeared subdued, replaced by a contemplative silence.
“I see.” he said finally, his tone carrying a trace of grudging respect. “Your words are… unusual.”
You smiled faintly, a tired but genuine expression. “Perhaps. But sometimes, facing the truth can be a way to find peace, my lord.”
Sukuna stood there for a while longer, his presence a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the garden’s tranquility. Finally, he gave a curt nod and turned to leave, his demeanor less harsh than before. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded as he walked away, leaving you alone once more with your thoughts and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.
As you sat there, watching the birds and the shifting clouds, you felt a small measure of contentment. Sukuna’s visit had brought a moment of introspection, a reminder of the fragile balance between life and death. Even in your suffering, you found a semblance of peace, understanding that acceptance was not about surrendering to fate but about finding a way to live with it, even as the end loomed ever closer.
And just like that, the day you had dreaded finally arrived. And truly, you were left feeling an unbearable weakness that signaled the end was near. The once-familiar confines of your quarters now seemed like a distant world, and the pain of your illness was a constant, gnawing presence. Each breath was a struggle, each moment of consciousness a battle against the encroaching darkness.
To your surprise, your lord Sukuna appeared by your side as you lay on your bed, his imposing figure contrasting sharply with the fragility of your own condition. He had not been a part of your daily existence in the past weeks, his visits sporadic and his presence usually marked by anger and frustration. But now, he was here, seated beside you in a rare display of stillness.
You looked at him through the haze of pain and weakness, your voice a mere whisper. “My lord, it seems this is my time to part from you.”
Sukuna’s eyes were steady, his gaze betraying an emotion you could not fully decipher. “I know, little one.” he replied simply, his voice holding a note of finality.
A pained laugh escaped your lips, the sound mingling with a shuddering breath. “I only wish… I could avoid being reborn into such misery again. To be the other woman, to be nothing to you.”
Sukuna’s silence stretched between you, a weighty pause that seemed to deepen the divide between you. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “You were something.”
You shook your head, the effort to move even slightly causing a fresh wave of agony. “You lie easily, as you breathe, my lord.” you said with a faint, sorrowful smile.
The silence that followed was heavy and palpable, filled with the unspoken complexities of your relationship. As you lay there, the end drawing closer with each passing moment, you found a strange clarity in the finality of your situation.
“I love you, my lord.” you said softly, the words carrying a weight that transcended the physical pain. “As sad as it is, I do. But I have no intention of having it returned. I hope that, in the next life, I never meet you again.”
Sukuna’s expression remained impassive, but there was a softness in his gaze that belied his usual stoic demeanor. As you took your final, labored breaths, his sigh was a mix of resignation and something deeper, something that spoke to the complexity of your intertwined fates.
“I hope so too, little one.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare touch of vulnerability.
With those words hanging in the air, you felt a sense of release, the weight of your suffering beginning to lift. As your consciousness faded and the pain finally ebbed away, you left behind the world that had been both your prison and your refuge. Ryomen Sukuna looked at your lifeless body, pursing his lips into a flat line.
“Live on in a better life, little one.” He whispered, his fingers brushing against your hair. “May you be loved by someone who loves you. May we never meet again, my other woman."
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#ryomen sukuna#sukuna ryomen#sukuna#jjk sukuna#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen x you#sukuna ryomen x reader#ryoumen sukuna x reader#sukuna x reader#jjk sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#jjk sukuna ryomen#sukuna jjk#jjk angst#jjk fic#jujutsu kaisen fic#jujutsu kaisen angst#kayu writes ! ! !
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Could I request something Rhaenyra x Stark!reader smut with them being feral codependent soulmates? I love that trope. They would totally be unhinged and in love wives together plus the fire and ice parallels 😭 Like after Laenor “dies”, Rhaenyra’s goes looking for a new spouse and runs into Stark!reader and it’s just love/obsession at first sight?
My queen is cruel | Rhaenyra Targaryen
★Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!Stark!reader
Summary: your family comes from Winterfell to the capital at the invitation of the Targaryen family. Princess Rhaenyra announced that she would choose a new spouse. Your brother was a contender from the House of Stark, but it seems to the princess that another contender from the rulers of the north is more interesting.
★Warnings: NSFW 18+, soulmates dynamic, mentions of blood and alcohol, innocent reader, virginity loss, oral, fingering
★Word count: 3.1k
★AN: omg my first House of the Dragon fic, I hope I translated some titles and names correctly. Thanks for the request, it took me so long to write this, but I love Rhaenyra so much 💕
Rhaenys's bitter, heartbreaking cry is heard in the silence of the room. The woman looks at the burnt body that just a few minutes ago was her son. “Who allowed this?! Why wasn’t anyone around?!” Corlys embraces his wife in rage and grief. That day, sadness became the main companion of the grieving parents.
No one knows that on the shore, the one who is now considered dead is running towards the boat. Laenor Velaryon sails away to disappear forever from this life in which he was imprisoned. Rhaenyra gave him a chance at happiness and Laenor will not forget this.
Rhaenyra Targaryen is officially recognized as a widow. It is expected that rumors about the death of the princess's husband began to spread like a plague, from servants to other servants, and those to their families, from there the plague was transmitted to all seven kingdoms. Some believed in the official story, others, like the grieving mother, blamed the Targaryen family for everything, they said that the princess ordered the murder, that she was tired of her husband. But for Rhaenyra it was enough to know that this was absurdity and slander.
“So what are you going to do next?” Daemon approached unnoticed. Rhaenyra didn’t look at him, her gaze was directed far out to sea. "I think I'm looking for a new spouse." Damon thought the hint was crystal clear. He thought that she still wanted him, wanted to finish what they started that night all those years ago. “Rhaenyra...” He was interrupted, “No uncle, leave it alone. Kiss me and let me go. If you do not...” A ringing silence hung between them. The phrase did not need to be continued; he already understood it.
King's Landing was filled with lords, princes and princesses from all over Westeros. The royal family invited all the noble houses, announcing that the heir to the iron throne would thus choose a new life partner.
“I don’t understand why you took me with you.” Your carriage was approaching to the King's Landing. Your parents were, as always, calm and cool, as befits the Starks, the rulers of the north. Your younger brother looked around the windows excitedly, clearly excited about his first trip outside of Winterfell. “Your mother and I think that you also need to see the capital.” Your father, as always, spoke directly and to the point. You smiled bitterly. “Only we’re here to try to marry Rob to this pompous princess.” You didn’t hide your bias towards this whole thing, which was more like an auction. “Y/N just try to say something like that about the princess in public and you will disgrace the entire House of Starks.”
For the rest of the trip you rode in silence, only occasionally fiddling with the hilt of the sword hidden in a sheath under your heavy black coat. Perhaps you had a little curiosity about the princess. What does the one who will take the iron throne look like, against whom there was so much outrage just because she was a woman. You thought that she must be strong and stubborn just like her ancestors. The same as the previously lived Visenya about whom you once read.
The carriage stopped.
“Do I have to wear this? How will I take my sword with me?” Your mother stood in the chambers that had kindly been allocated to you and watched as a maid helped you lace up a black dress with antique long sleeves. “You don't need the sword today, honey. This is a royal ball and you are not a knight in service." You looked in the mirror, and even though dresses weren't something you wore often, it didn't look bad at all for your taste. Still, the velvet in tandem with the large fur coat that you took from Winterfell looked harmonious.
“But what if something goes wrong and I’m left without a weapon?” You insisted. After so many years of training, the sword became an extension of you, and going out without it was akin to death. "The Royal Guard will protect us all." Your mother tried to be gentle and calm your worries. The woman came up behind you and put her hands on your shoulders. “For just one evening, be a princess and not a rude warrior. For me." You covered her hands. "Okay, just for you."
All arriving guests entered the huge hall in turn, after which they were seated at long tables, which were bursting with an abundance of dishes kindly offered by the royal family. “The Starks of Winterfell,” the man shouted and your family entered the hall. You followed your parents straight to the table in the center, at which the Targaryen couple was already sitting with the king and that famous Princess Rhaenyra at their head. Finally, you were close enough that you could see a woman with dazzling white hair and sharp purple eyes. Your breath caught somewhere in the depths and you couldn’t look away. It seems at this moment the ice and skepticism inside you broke, burst into a thousand pieces. You had to lower your head according to the rules of etiquette, but you couldn’t tear yourself away from contemplation. And when she finally looked at you, when your eyes met, you realized that you had problems. “Your Grace, this is our son Rob and eldest daughter Y/N.” Your father, as the head of the family, introduced his children and added, “I hope that Rob can claim the place of your husband Princess Rhaenyra.”
At these words, you remembered why you were here and a little jealousy pricked somewhere in your chest. You were almost jealous of your brother. But who are you to be jealous, because you just met. This is all becoming too strange, but so tempting. You sat down and the evening began.
Wines of different varieties continually filled the glasses of rich gentlemen, everyone laughed, joked and discussed who the heiress would choose as her husband. The Lannisters were sitting next to you and you could hear snatches of greasy jokes about how their eldest son could have Rhaenyra in all poses. Anger boiled inside you, how could this bastard say such things about this woman. “And they also say that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The loud laughter of the Lannisters infuriated you even more. “Then your house is no better for having sworn allegiance to a whore.” You thought you said it quietly, but they apparently heard you.
“I didn’t hear what the pup from Winterfell was barking just now?” Everyone who was at your table fell silent and the whole room also paid attention to this. “I said what I meant.” The man was already deeply drunk and clearly in the mood for a fight. He stood up and you stood up next, you were the same height. “If you are so brave, then say out loud what you think of the princess.” Rhaenyra's purple eyes watched your quarrel carefully, it would be a lie to say that she did not look at you all evening, knowing that all the men in this room would be denied. She definitely liked your spark and wanted to see what happened next.
“I said that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The man said the last word slowly, syllable by syllable, everyone present was in suspense. King Viserys took out his favorite blade. "I'll cut out your filthy tongue." As soon as he finished the phrase, a knife, prudently hidden under a fur coat, appeared in your hand and pinned Lannister’s palm to the table. He tried to get it. “There are a lot of vital veins in this part of the arm; if you try to pull it out, you will bleed to death.” The white cloaks immediately drew their swords and stood ready. Rhaenyra's entire being was hypnotized in delight by your actions and words, at that moment she chose her spouse. The entire Lannister family stood up and was ready to tear you apart.
"Get them out." For the first time that evening, Rhaenyra's voice broke the silence of the event. The bastard's face lit up with a smile. “My princess, thank you...” But before he could finish speaking, the guards twisted his hands, pulling the knife out of his palm, causing the man to let out a bitter scream. The entire Lannister family was disgracedly eliminated from the feast; there was silence for several more minutes, only whispers were heard from different sides.
"What are you doing." Your father pulled you by the arm, urging you to sit down, and glared at you with eyes full of rage. “Your mother asked you not to take weapons with you.” “She asked not to take the sword, dear father.” Rhaenyra stood up. “Today, to our great regret, unpleasant and unacceptable events occurred for the royal court.” She paused, her gaze returning to you and a smile gracing her lips. “But let’s not let these events overshadow our holiday, let’s raise our glasses and have a feast.” The crowd cheered and raised their glasses as they praised Princess Rhaenyra's wisdom and resilience. The celebration continued until late at night, you drank several glasses of wine after the incident and by the end you were decently drunk.
All evening you kept looking at Rhaenyra, your head was filled with thoughts about how beautiful and wise she is, about how wrong you were, how you regret that you didn’t want to go to the capital. But then these euphoric thoughts were darkened by the fact of her imminent marriage to one of the men of these noble houses and perhaps even to your brother.
You headed to your chambers, every now and then passing by local servants. Your legs dragged you heavily, your mind only thought about taking a warm bath and washing away inappropriate thoughts about the heiress. The heavy door opened with a slight creak, letting you into the semi-darkness of the room. You thought that you asked the servants to extinguish all the candles, but for some reason they were burning. Your gaze caught on an unfamiliar figure standing with his back to you, and the knife that had recently been in the Lannister’s bastard was again in your hand, waiting to defend yourself from intruders.
"You're a little warrior aren't you?" A velvety voice broke the silence and the stranger turned to face you. You immediately lowered the knife. “Your Grace, forgive me, I didn’t know it was you.” You immediately bent your knee in front of her. You were absolutely at a loss and the whole situation was a little confusing, why was the princess, the heir to the throne, waiting for you in your chambers in the middle of the night? “No need for formalities, please stand up.”
She walked through your chambers looking at some of your personal belongings until she found the sword. “Oh, this is your main weapon, as I understand it, you don’t to swing a knife every time of course ...” she bent down to take a closer look at the sparkling silver blade. “Such a beautiful thing, to match the owner.” Her compliment made your already red cheeks flush. “Did you want to talk about what happened, Your Grace?” you desperately wanted to change the topic.
“Did your mother ever tell you the legend of soulmates?” You were dumbfounded by her question. “Your Grace, I don’t quite understand...” She continued to walk around the room. “Don’t they really tell such stories in the north?” Her tone sounded fakely upset. “They say I know one.” “Then tell me too.”
You didn’t understand anything, Rhaenyra Targaryen came to you at night to listen to fairy tales for children? Perhaps something was put in the wine and now you were hallucinating, but it seemed like everything looked real. The woman lit the fireplace and, unbecoming for a future queen, sat down on the soft fur in front of the fire. She looked up at you, inviting you to sit next to her, you obeyed. The crackling of logs, the heat of the fire and the soft floral perfume of Rhaenyra lulled to sleep.
“My mother... told me when I was a child that there was a belief...” you cleaned the throat. “That every person has their own soulmate, but not everyone is able to find it, it’s like a person who was created by the seven gods just for you.” Rhaenyra began to unravel her tight braid; her head began to hurt unpleasantly from her hairstyle. You watched out of the corner of your eye as her snow-white strands gradually fell onto her shoulders. “And how do you understand who exactly your person is?” She encouraged you to continue. “I don’t remember exactly, but they said that when you see him or her, you will immediately understand, just the first glance or the first meeting and…boom.” "Boom?" She asked again, not quite understanding your strange wording. "Yes." You were looking at the burning logs when Rhaenyra's hand covered yours. She has already unbraided her hair. “Do you want to brush them?” Something strange was clearly happening. But who are you to refuse, you nodded and took the wooden comb brought from Winterfell from the nightstand. Hands carefully took strands of silver hair and combed them, as if they would break from the wrong movement.
“Do you believe in this legends?” You thought for a second. “I’m not sure, or rather I didn’t believe it before, but now these fairy tales don’t seem so stupid to me.” You put comb down, combing all hair perfectly. “I don’t understand why these questions are asked, Your Grace.” Your head was a complete mess due to the mixture of alcohol and adrenaline caused by the woman next to you. “Please call me Rhaenyra.” She turned to face you. “You understand everything, little warrior, don’t lie to me.” The woman moved closer and closer until she placed one hand on your shoulder. "Your Grace...Rhaenira." She leaned in so close that her lips were almost touching yours. "I want you." You looked into bright purple eyes, which shone yellow in the firelight. “Tell me the wolf of Winterfell, do you want me?” Her perfume smelled so delicious, her soft skin, white as her hair, that the dress did not hide, begged to be touched, “I...yes please, I want you.”
Rhaenyra's lips touched yours, sharing the sweetness of the recently drunk wine. One of the woman's hands grabbed the collar of your velvet dress and began to pull it down your shoulders to free your soft breasts. She carefully laid you on your back, on the soft fur, holding the back of your head. Her lips moved to her neck, then to her shoulder and then wrapped around her pink nipple. The action caused you to place your hand on her head, stroking her silver hair. The princess's hands lifted the skirt of the dress to the waist and stroked the skin of your soft thighs. "Cute little thing." She giggled and touched your lips again. The kiss was untidy, but full of tenderness and desire. Rhaenyra relieved you of underwear, her fingers slipped inside without a barrier, you were completely wet, just for her, but then she remembered. “Is this your first time?” She stopped any action, waiting in horror for an answer. "Yes, my grace." Rhaenyra buried her nose in the crook of your neck and began to kiss you, whispering, “I’m sorry, I should have asked earlier.” Your hand rested on hers that was still between your legs. “Please continue, I want this more than anything.”
And she continued, gently pounding and curling her fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside that made you see stars and whine like a pup. "Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, oh please my grace." Your hand touched the sensitive bud for additional stimulation. “Oh fuck, fuck...I'm gonna...” “Cum for me, cum for your queen.” Her movements became faster and clearer until you came, squeezing around her long fingers, biting your hand so as not to scream from the new sensations that she was giving you. She pulled out and showed you her hand, which sparkled in the firelight from your release, and then licked every last drop, causing your eyes to darken.
When you came to your senses, you stood up, only to strip completely and push Rhaenyra towards the bed, urging you to sit on it. "Please let me return the favor." You knelt in front of her, lifting the skirt of her dress up to expose her stockinged legs. Your lips kissed every centimeter of skin, no one worshiped it like you. When your mouth reaches her pussy, you notice that her arousal has left a wet mark on the bed linen. The tongue draws a line along the entire length, collecting her arousal, and the woman moans, lowering her hand to stroke your cheek. “My little savior, tell me, would you have killed him if I had not intervened?” You kiss her palm. "Yes my grace." And you hug her sensitive bud with your lips, simultaneously pushing three fingers inside, immediately picking up a fast pace. "Oh Gods!" She moans and screams without being embarrassed to be heard, the way you stretch her drives the woman crazy. “Fuck, that’s it!” and “Yeah right there, that’s my good girl.” You fuck her, trying to please your queen as best as possible and feel how she clench around your fingers. “Fuck fuck Y/N!” She cums, for a long time, and you fuck her through orgasm until she whines from overstimulation, asking her to stop.
You move onto the bed and lie on top of her again, kissing her. “I didn’t believe in soulmates until I saw you.” She hugs you, covering your naked body. You lie there, again inhaling the aroma of her perfume and not believing in the reality of what happened. “I would like to believe that it’s true,” she replies and you think.
“Have you already chosen someone to be your spouse?” You say this quietly, in a whisper. It was at this moment that you remembered why your family came here in the first place and how you may have acted meanly towards your brother. She laughs and you don't understand. "Yes, I chose you."
You lift your head sharply, looking into those purple eyes to see if she's deceiving you. “But...what if people are against it, what will you do?”
She thought about it, she knew that there would be dissatisfied people. “Then I will personally give Syrax the command to burn to the ground anyone who questions my choice.”
#house of the dragon#rhaenyra is my queen#rhaenyra targaryen#queen rhaenyra#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#hotd rhaenyra
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Poor poor hockey! Simon :(
he lost and now the only thing to make him feel better is a good bj
this made me twitch so here u are my love !!!
!! comfort/smut - minors dni; hockey au; praises (in a tender way and but also in a kink way); D/s-ish; some semblance of plot ig // 2.4k words (LMAO)
the horn blows, marking the end of the game and, with that, the end of spec gru’s season.
it was heartbreaking to watch the way the boys' bodies slump, their loss descending onto them like heavy rain. the arena shakes, screams from the opposing team's fans piercing your ears, but you can't blame them, really—they won on home ice, against the leviathan of the league. it is a tremendous win for them, and a devastating loss for your side.
you feel your hand getting squeezed and you turn, looking at johnny's fiancee, seeing the way her own face is crumpled in her sadness.
"i guess that's that, huh?" she says, comforting, her voice a quiet whisper that was almost devoured by the loud cheers.
sometimes you forget that she's an athlete too; that she feels things a lot more intense than you do because she understands the grapple. the desperation. the way how everything you give and everything you put out is, at the end, not enough.
you sniffle, holding her hand tighter.
"i'm so proud of 'em," you say wetly, unable to compartmentalize your grief.
she laughs, the sound of it so empty of any humour but not any less kind.
“i am too.”
you both turn your gazes back to the rink and watch the teams shake hands with each other, the players finally amiable like they hadn’t just been tussling on ice, all sparked by the sharp tension that buzzed throughout their play.
you watch as simon takes a lap, patting the backs of his team members with his lips pursed, but otherwise he is put together. and yet here you are, shaking, lips wobbling, nose twitching because you are trying your best not to cry. it isn’t like you were the one who lost so you wonder why your heart twinges with so much pain; why is it that you are the one holding back the tears?
simon turns to the crowd, roving his eyes past bodies, until they finally lock on you. his lips twitch into a smile; you give him what you hope is a big one—the type of smile that will let him know how in awe you are of him, win or not.
they skate away and you all shuffle out, preparing for the flight back home.
.
it was expected for the players to fly back home together—a semblance of normalcy even amidst the staggering defeat. it was their last attempt at showing sportsmanship; at showing the hounding media that despite the abrupt end of their season, they remained close-knit.
simon understands it, of course. it was a media play, one that contends with the politics of the league, but it was difficult to act impartially, especially when they were making their way back, empty-handed, from the home ice of the team that had defeated them. it was difficult to not show the turmoil in their hearts, but they all managed to hold their heads up high during the exit and that was that.
they didn’t talk about it much, avoiding that last game as best as they could until the briefing, but hunger thrums in their jowls—no one was satisfied with being the second best.
the promise of a better next season hung above them, but it is still so unreachable.
simon feels angrier than usual, unable to stop himself from taking this loss personally. like what costed them their win were only his shortcomings; like this defeat was his sole failure because he did promise to lead his team on ice, with price unable to stand as their official captain during the games. he had promised to score the most, after all, and had promised to keep the opposing puck out of price’s net, but he failed in both and, well, here they are.
back home, anguished. defeated.
he–
simon's phone rings, a quiet trill that echoes in the empty locker room.
he shoots awake from the swirl of his thoughts, sluggish as he pulls it out of his bag. he expected it to be laswell or keller, or maybe their coach, but simon feels his world tilt when he sees your name flashing on his screen. and just like that, like he wasn’t even drowning in his self-doubt and self-hatred, simon feels like he can breathe again.
he feels lighter, his anguish seeping out of his pores, leaving him with nothing but his flesh and his heart and his love.
simon picks up the call, hears your voice, then he is up and running back home.
.
there is a sense of urgency in the way he finds you, his cold body folding into the warm touch of your own. you gasped out his name, surprised at how fast you have him back in your arms after a whole season of flying and leaving and pursuing his chance at the cup—
“i’m home, petal,” simon murmurs, his voice deep and beautiful and longing, and you giggle, your eyes watering, before you nuzzle into his chest.
he breathes you in, the faint smell of ozone and rain and something distinctly flowery fills his nose, and somehow this is what grounds him, his blood spiking as desire and need fill him up instead.
and it trickles into him like wafting smoke—soft, gentle, cascading like a warm kiss. it is still intense, hungry, but it is tender. quiet. like everything about simon’s buzzed energy had transformed into this careful folding. the anger, the desperation, all of it snuffed out for a vulnerable moment.
“baby,” you begin, voice muffled from where your head is still pressed on his chest. “love, you did so well.”
he shakes, his words failing him now.
you pull back just enough and he sees the glazed look in your eyes as you stare up at him, your lips curled in your smile. “i’m so proud of you, si.”
his heart stutters inside the cages of his ribs, jumping, before it lodges itself in his throat.
you giggle at his wordless tremors and press close again, your body melting onto his again, before you tip your head back to his chest but this time, instead of a nuzzle, you greet his beating heart with a kiss. one that is so light he barely feels it from his shirt, but simon feels so shaken.
he feels so raw.
you are holding him like he is the best thing in this world. like all his bulk and his size and his anger is still worth this softness.
“i need you,” he croaks out, unable to stop the way his feelings bloat and rage in the pit of his stomach.
“you have all of me,” you reply, breathless, your eyes still blown open, wide and full of wonder. then they shift, turning sharper, gaining edge; still careful, coaxing, but overwhelming. “tell me, my love. tell me how you need me.”
“fuck,” simon rasps out, feeling like he’s running out of air. his fingers twitch, digging deep into your skin, feeling it mould under his touch.
he’s missed this, alright. he’s—
“mouth,” he finally manages to bite out. “wan’ feel your mouth, love.”
“okay,” you croon, kissing his pec again. “sit f’me?”
simon doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed about the way he falls to his ass on the plush mattress, bouncing a little bit because of the force, before he spreads his legs open, so, so desperate.
you have your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, canines dimpling the flesh, and simon feels like he is burning from the inside; doused with the fires of need, spark untamable, licking up, up, up.
“come on, firelily,” he rumbles, needy. “c’mere an’ kiss me.”
you huff, fond, and fall to your knees, scooting close to him.
it was silent as you fumble with his sweats, tugging at the drawstring and grumbling when the hem gets snugged on his hips. simon chuckles, pushing your hair out of your face before he juts up just enough to give you room to slide his sweats and his boxers down.
the cool air makes him tremble and you murmur something. it was so faint that he doesn’t get to catch what it was, but his curiosity sizzles at the sight of you licking your palm, shyly with how you refuse to meet his eyes. he almost teases you, his cheeks round with giddiness, but then you wrapped your fist around his half-chub, and his sanity is razed.
simon hisses, eyes fluttering close at the warm curl of pleasure.
jesus. he’s missed the feeling of this; your hand is softer, more supple, around his cock. it was so different from when it was his own fist rubbing himself, beating at his angrily flushed cock with desperation only for his peak to tip over mutedly, and not enough to truly satiate his hunger.
but this? fuck.
simon doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering, his head thrown back at the curious pace of your hand, not really jerking him off but mapping along his veins almost in quiet awe.
“‘m not gon’ last long if you–” he gasps at a particular twist. “if you keep doing that.”
“oh, no we can’t have that,” you tease, chuckling, and simon’s reply builds on the tip of his tongue, cheeky, but then you’re already moving, your back folding, your breath hitting his sensitive head.
his thighs tense in his anticipation, his stomach locking. you flit your eyes up at him, pupils blown wide in your own ragged need, before he jerks at the feeling of your tongue pressing on the underside of his cock, licking up, and teasing his leaking slit.
simon moans, guttural, his voice caught on the back of his throat. he drops his hands to his sides, fisting at the sheets as you keep licking, teasing his slit and tracing his veins, lapping at his cock so messily.
if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re inexperienced; all sloppy and curious, like you’re attempting things you’ve probably seen in porn, but then you close the ring of your mouth around the bulbed head, suckling like it’s a goddamn loli, while your hands drop to squeeze his balls, and simon’s gone.
“shit-!” he gasps out, battling air like he’s back on ice.
he bucks his hips forward, unable to help himself, and only stops at the warbled sound of your surprise.
“fuck,” he hisses, hand coming up to swipe the hair from your sweaty face. “i’m sorry, darlin’. didn’t mean t’force it down. s’just that y’r so good.”
he keeps petting your cheek, overtaken by his desires and no longer able to stop the string of words trickling from his heart. “missed you lots, swee’art. missed you so much—take me deeper?”
your cheeks hollow as you hum, so obedient for him.
“yeah, jus’ like that,” simon trills, his chest rising as he breathes in deeply. his stomach flexes at the feeling of you swallowing more of him, taking his thickness past your gummy cheeks and into the wet vice of your throat. “shit, baby. christ. y’feel so fuckin’ good ‘round me. so perfect an’ wet.” he giggles, drunken in his bliss. “such a messy baby y’are. so sloppy. y’wanted my cock that much, din’ya? so hungry f’r it.”
there’s a wet slurp when he hits the deepest you could allow him, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. you choke, your body lurching in protest, but simon is at the throes of his pleasure and his rational thoughts are devoured by his gluttonous need, and simon knows it is wrong to ask but—
“hold it in? can you do that f’r me, love?” he croons, his voice curling in his euphoria.
he knows this is playing dirty; to use your weakness—the deep rumble of his voice and the gentle beckoning—to make you weak, malleable. to make you just as desperate for him because he knows all you want to do is to be good for him even when it has you straining, your eyes filling up with tears. he knows it is wrong, but he can’t help it. he wants you this way.
and you want him like this too—his desires sharpening, shaping him to be mean and dangerous. his thickness fills you up, pressing at the roof of your mouth and trapping your tongue underneath the weight of his flesh. your larynx is stretched out, stuffed, but simon is looking at you so adoringly, his own ecstasy so dizzying, so addicting.
you nod, sniffling, finally replying to his question because you want him to feel good. because you want him to lose his restraints when it comes to you.
because you want him to use you until he’s truly relaxed, his body exhausted with something beyond his heartbreak. with something beyond his loss.
simon’s lips wobble like he knows what it is you are thinking of.
he fucks your throat that way, gentle and sometimes slipping into something so mean it makes you squirm on your knees, the muted throb of your strained legs finally turning into staticky numbness, but you don’t complain, your jaw relaxed as you let simon use you.
he growls out his praises, his words chewed on in his peaking euphoria—nose flaring, cheeks flushed red—or lilting as he teases you—pulling his cock out enough that all that is left is the head, and you whine because you want him in, please simon. wan’ more please—
“gonna cum, sweetheart. gonna cum—fuck!—gonna—”
simon throws his head back, a blinding white filling his eyes and his ears ringing. his body trembles at the intensity of his orgasm, immense pleasure overtaking every synapses in his body until all that he feels is the feverish wrap of your mouth on him.
he flicks his eyes down, panting, and twitches at the sight you make—jaw slack, eyes faraway, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat.
you look, fuck, you look angelic like this.
simon cups your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your teary eye. you focus back to him slowly, blinking owlishly.
“shh,” he croons, gentle. “i’ve got you, darlin’. i’ve got you.”
a whine builds from the back of your throat and simon hums, responding to your wordless babble, trying to ease you back down from the fog. he continues to hold you even amidst his oversensitivity, waiting so patiently so he can take care of you now.
yeah, he thinks to himself as he continues to return your unblinking stare. i’m glad to be back home.
hope this was good :'33 once again pls dont judge me for my blatant self-indulgence hhHHHHH oki oki mwah!!
#anon#hockey au#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley#simon riley#hockey player simon#cod smut#ask#suns
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pick a sign; a message you need to hear right now✧.*
pile 1 -> pile 2 pile 3 -> pile 4
I RECOMMEND LISTENING TO THE SONG OF YOUR PILE BECAUSE THEY ARE REALLY SPOT ON THIS TIME AROUND!!
pile one
you have a strong energy. some of you could be in a situationship/friends w benefits, or entering one soon. you are someone who takes pride in their appearance. you could also be popular or have some level of fame. if that is not the current case, then it is coming in the near future. it's advised that you have more fun in life. dream more, think bigger, and have more fun. i see that you may have some mental fog right now because you overthink things quite a bit. you may feel like you are not smart, or do not make smart decisions. i advise you to get rid of this insecurity. go out and party with your friends. focus on your healing. focus on the dreams and hopes you had as a child. they will guide you.
zodiac: aquarius, leo
song: basics - twice
pile two
you are in a stable, self-focused energy. i see you have been building up your wealth. either your investments have paid off and you are now rich, or that is coming in the near future. it is advised that you do not make any sudden decisions at this time. resist the urge to be impulsive. take plenty of time to rest, relax, recharge and better understand your own emotions. emotional stability is highlighted here. i see this pile has been working on themselves. money is coming in like crazy. and what's more is a twin flame relationship. if you are already with someone, i see this person could be the one. if you are single, get ready for someone coming in very soon. continue to stay in this emotionally mature, self-nurturing energy and you will attract great things in your life!
zodiac: pisces, gemini
song: radio - lana del rey
pile three
wow.. the energy of this pile is heartbreaking. i am sorry for whatever it is that you are going through. i see some of you could be going through a breakup, conflict with loved ones, etc. lots of conflict here. i am seeing something about divorce, so some of you may be divorced or your parents have just been divorced. i see that you may be depressed, extremely sad and heartbroken. if that is the case, i am so sorry. you may be feeling stuck in life and like you do not know how to move forward. spirit is saying that the troubles in your life stem from those around you. they are causing you grief and anxiety. it is advised that you direct all of your energy into yourself, your career and creative hobbies. take advantage of this loneliness by becoming the person you always dreamed of being. keep the faith, keep your head held high. it may help you to delve deeper into spirituality at this time. this is just a bad chapter, things WILL get better so DO NOT GIVE UP!
zodiac: taurus, pisces, aquarius, leo
song: epiphany - bts
pile four
you may be in denial of something in your life right now. i see that you are the type of person who will lie to yourself about your current situation so that you can avoid making the necessary changes. you are either in a toxic relationship, or you are a toxic individual. toxic individual can mean many things, but in this case i am getting that you exhibit self destructive and toxic behaviors, yet you do not change them. you may lie to other people often, you may smoke a lot or sleep around a lot too. you could be this way because of a significant relationship in your life that came to an end. you may be the type of person who enjoys conflict in relationships because that is normal to you. it is advised that you address these patterns and heal them if you want to be truly happy in this lifetime.
zodiac: capricorn, taurus, gemini, libra, aquarius
song: love foolish - twice
#tarotblr#tarot reading#tarot readings#pick a pile#pac#pick a card reading#detailed pac#tarot#divination#cartomancy#pick an image#pick a photo#tarot pick a pile#free tarot#love tarot reading#love tarot#free tarot reading love#crush pick a card reading#crush pac reading#crush#tarot crush#pick a card readings#astrology#spirituality#zodiac signs#zodiac
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ok so here is my pitch for my dream buddie catalyst:
eddie and maddie are trapped in some sort of likely-fatal time sensitive situation together (drowning related probably because it's Them) (have they overused it yes is it still thematically appropriate YES) where one person could potentially sacrifice themselves for the other to survive. i want eddie and maddie using their combined experience and ingenuity to survive together and discussing who should be prioritized which means they talk about parenthood and how they both feel they've failed their children by "running," how their lives have been so defined by trauma and they don't want to scar their children any further by leaving them again. of course they're doing everything they can to get out together, but as the situation deteriorates throughout the episode(s) (c'mon something like this could be at LEAST a two-parter) they can't help returning periodically to the world's most morbid debate.
i want buck and chim on the outside both going out of their goddamn minds. they know that eddie and maddie are stuck (wherever), know that they're probably alive, but aren't sure in what condition and if they'll stay that way. rescue operations begin as everybody walks on eggshells around buck and tries to comfort chim, who wants absolutely none of it. time is running out.
eddie says that he couldn't possibly let maddie sacrifice herself for him and look buck and chim in the eye afterwards. maddie says that she couldn't do that either. she says that at least jee-yun would still have her father, and eddie says that christopher would still have buck. maddie says that of course none of them would just abandon christopher if something were to happen to him but—
and eddie cuts her off and says it's in my will. if i die, christopher will have buck. buck will have christopher.
they just look at each other for a weighted moment. maddie makes a decision. she says ...i meant it, you know. that i couldn't let you die down here (wherever here is i don't KNOW okay i'm not here to think up convoluted emergencies i'm here for drama) and look my baby brother in the eye knowing that i could have changed it. eddie says i know, okay, but it's different, you're his sister, and maddie says, yeah, but you're his... and she pauses. and eddie says what? best friend? partner? that doesn't—
and maddie says you're his. eddie, you're his.
and eddie... i want to see something slot into place. i want to watch him understand as maddie spills everything she's been suspecting since the day that buck came out to her and maybe since before she and eddie even met. maddie says you know, when i first came to california, you were all he talked about? you're still all he talks about. you and christopher. you're his. i couldn't... eddie, you're out of your mind if you really don't think that losing you would break him just as much as losing me. he would forgive us both, because he's buck, but i couldn't... i'm no saint, eddie, i want to survive. i don't want my daughter to grow up without me. but i can't do that to him. i don't know if he'd survive it. even if he did, the guilt would eat me alive.
meanwhile. buck is barely holding on to his sanity as rescue efforts are underway and time is running out. chimney is keeping it together as best he can but there isn't much that he and buck can do. he can't let himself fall apart because buck is already a stiff breeze away from clawing his own skin off and somebody has to keep their cool. something goes wrong—suddenly, their short amount of time has gotten shorter, and they may only have enough of a window to get one out before it's too late for the other. buck, who has been ranting and arguing and screaming this whole time... is silent. he is silent, and he stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, and we know that no matter which way the scales tip, his soul will be destroyed all the same.
eddie regards maddie for a moment. grief, heartbreak, anger, all flicker over him, but what settles is determination. he says that neither of them are going to leave again. that they'll survive together, or not at all, or leave it to the universe to decide.
of course they make it out. by the skin of their teeth, they make it out, working together, clawing their way back to life and love and possibility. maddie makes it out first, and eddie sees buck as she falls into chim's waiting arms. he watches as buck sees his sister, and reaches out to take her hand with trembling fingers and white knuckles, but there is no relief, no happiness in his red-rimmed eyes. just a deep, unspeakable grief, until his eyes slide past maddie and meet eddie's.
finally: relief. and then he is in buck's arms, a perfect parallel to chim and maddie, and we see eddie's face over buck's shoulder, and we know. he is in love, and buck is in love, and eddie knows, and he sinks into his partner's embrace with joy and acceptance.
after that, who knows? maybe a grand confession. a moment of quiet understanding. a passionate post-rescue kiss. a chaste, tender kiss in some kitchen or other. maybe eddie panics later, or maybe he's found peace for once. maybe buck has realized something and he makes the first move. maybe it happens immediately. maybe it takes a while, takes discussions about how it'll affect work and christopher and whether it's worth risking all that they have for all that they want.
and maybe they'll ask whether it's even a risk at all.
#em talks#911#buddie#TO BE CLEAR. if this were real it would not be All About Buck like i would want a lot of eddiemaddie recognizing their similarities etc#there would be more going on with chim and the others#but my point here is buddie ok so that is my focus but i think this could serve many characters very well#ALSO. it's not that i think eddie like. doesn't realize how much buck loves him necessarily.#it's the power of maddie saying so plainly and confidently that they are each other's person#it's eddie realizing that he and maddie are thinking about buck and chim in the exact same way#it's all of these things piling up and making it impossible to deny the truth of his and buck's relationship
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black magnolias II - rafe cameron x reader
i gave you all my light, and i got nothing to show for it
WARNINGS: mature content; domestic violence, coercion, classism, religious trauma, manipulative behavior, stalking, toxic relationship, blackmail
masterlist
series masterlist
you’d met rafe before you met anyone else.
your mom grew up with his father and the two of them were good friends during childhood. she’d told you the stories of their life in the cut, how she looked out for him, and he did the same for her. how she believed in him when nobody else did, taking days off school to work extra shifts just so he could have the money to get everything he needed before he went off to college.
you were sure that they were much more than friends, but you never questioned her about it too deeply. it was none of you business; both of them were married to other people, anyways. they’d kept in touch over the years and rekindled their friendship when he moved back to kildare.
as you got older, you wondered if he felt guilty for leaving your mom behind. if all the things he did for you and your family was some way to make himself feel better. he paid for your grade school tuition and covered whatever your scholarship didn’t in high school. he got your mom a job working for cameron development–it paid way more than what she made at her old one. you remember going to holiday parties a couple times a year at tannyhill when you were younger; running around with other kids and playing by the water while your mother scolded you not to get too close.
you wondered if your mother fell deeper into religion after his passing, but once again, you never questioned it.
that was when rafe found you. before he became the monster that everyone knows him as, he was just a regular boy. he was sweet and funny. he never looked down his nose at you for being from the cut. corruption and heartbreak had not yet found him, and that was the rafe you knew. the one you loved. the lines of friendship and intimacy had blurred at some point in your time knowing him.
maybe it was his mom leaving that broke him, or his dad taking his grief and anger out on him that changed everything. maybe it was the popularity, the drugs, or understanding the power of money as he grew older. you weren’t sure when things went so wrong.
that was when kiara became your life vest. she was the only one that didn’t judge you for being a pogue. rafe didn’t, but he was turning into something you didn’t like anymore. someone you didn’t recognize.
it was also when you met jj. he was like rafe in a lot of ways; blonde, short-tempered, and impulsive. daddy issues and no mom, lost in the world and using drugs to escape the pain of their reality. another pair of sad, blue eyes that sucked you into their depths. another line blurred.
when you turned to face rafe you nearly gasped, teeth biting down on the soft flesh of your tongue to keep the sound from escaping. his icy blue eyes bore into your wide, nervous ones. the two orbs traveled down the entirety of your body in a way that gave you goosebumps everywhere they landed.
he looked just as you remembered; tall, handsome, and fear-inducing. your heart was beating against your ribcage violently as you fought to stay still, feet planted firmly into the soft sand beneath you. the man made your skin prickle from being too close but you refused to move.
“oh, rafe, you’re still alive.” you voice barely quivered, unnoticeable to everyone except him. you hated the way he could feel the nerves radiating off of you in waves. it was the one thing he was the best at; reading you. “that’s…gotta be good for somebody, i guess.”
“don’t be like that,” his teeth were the same bright white that they always were, perfect and blinding as they bared down in a sinister smile. while rafe’s tone was light and teasing on the surface, you could clearly sense something beneath it that had you swallowing thickly. “you know you missed me.”
you didn’t dignify that statement with a response.
looking past him at the brunette girl watching from a distance, you studied her closely. your brow twitched upward reflexively, eyes catching hers as the two of you stared each other down. she didn’t look familiar to you at all, but it was clear that she knew who rafe was if her glaring was any indication.
she was pretty; her tanned skin glowing under the burning sun and shoulder length waves blowing in the slight breeze.
the girl looked nothing like you.
“doesn’t seem like you missed me.” you hummed in response.
rafe turned his head, eyes following yours to find the dark-haired girl on the other end of your gaze.
she tore away from the staredown to meet the steely-blue of the man before you and smiled, her teeth just as perfect as the person she was showing them off to. rafe barely reacted to her display, simply gifting her a slight nod of acknowledgment before turning back to you.
“nah, she’s just…”he shook his head in denial, tongue escaping his mouth to wet his chapped lips. “we’re just friends. nothing serious.”
you shrugged at him nonchalantly, the sound of your friends clearing their throats behind you serving as a reminder of how uncomfortable they must be with him so close after everything that’s happened. you felt sarah grab your hand, her fingers knitting with yours.
“i don’t care if you’re friends, more than friends–whatever you wanna call it.” your tone was dismissive and slightly cold, a nautical edge to your voice as you bit the words out. “we aren’t together anymore. you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
as much as you wish the words that left your mouth were true; they weren’t.
you missed him. as messed up as it was, you missed rafe in ways that you knew you shouldn’t. ways that would get you shunned by your friends if you were to ever confess to them. the man had done the worst things imaginable to all of the pogues, including you. it made no sense to be jealous of some girl that he may, or may not, be dating now, especially given how the two of you ended things.
yet, you could feel your stomach turning at the thought of it.
of course you hated him for what he did to your friends, to you. he showed you what kind of person he was hiding beneath the surface of what he put on display to you. but you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think about him late at night; about what could have been had things not gone south the way they did. you standing in front of him and all your friends, telling him that you don’t care who he talks to anymore, was a lie.
but you still do it. you still do it because, what other choice did you have?
“yeah, right. i’m not,” he nodded in agreement with you about not needing to defend his actions. “jus’ didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”
“right…” you replied monotonously.
kiara cleared her throat behind you, subtly letting you know that the interaction had been going on for far too long. you don’t stop her and sarah from pulling you away from rafe without any goodbye, the conversation ending as abruptly as it started.
“nice seeing you, y/n.” rafe’s voice was loud enough to be heard over the buzz of the surrounding crowd. he didn’t need to raise his volume, but he did nothing without reason. he knew who was there at the beach and he wanted them to hear, wanted them to know exactly who he was talking to.
the buzzed-blonde was met with silence once again. his gaze was both scorching and chilling, the feeling of his watchful eyes on your back as you retreated to find the rest of your friends. you were sweating, both from your anxiety and the bright sun beating down onto the sand.
cleo was kneeling into the soft ground fiddling with jj’s bike with pope and john b not too far away. you didn’t notice jj had been watching the whole time until your eyes met, his brows furrowed and a look of interrogation behind the pale blue. white knuckles gripped the rim of his helmet–he was angry.
you’d started picking at your nails nervously, already knowing the conversation that was in store.
“what was that?” the shaggy-haired boy immediately confronted you as soon as you were within earshot. you shrugged, avoiding eye contact. jj scoffed at your refusal to answer verbally and set the helmet down on the seat of the old bike. “don’t give me that shit, y/n. what was that?”
the other pogues watched you two closely, the tension thick and salty in the air.
“it was nothing, jj, chill out.” you said defensively.
“it didn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me.”
“okay, well,” you scoffed at the boy and finally raised your head to meet his scrutinizing gaze. “that's what it was. so…”
he didn’t seem to appreciate that answer. jj laughed humorously, the dry sound escaping his mouth in a bark of irritation. sensing another verbal brawl on the rise, pope was close behind his friend, body tense as he prepared to pull the boy away before things got out of hand.
“jj, it’s not that serious.” pope said gently into his ear in an effort to calm him down. “just let it go.”
“she’s talking to rafe cameron! that sounds pretty fucking serious to me.”
the brown-skinned boy stumbled back stlight as jj shoved him off his shoulder. cleo stood from her position on the ground at the commotion and kiara tensed beside you.
“jj, back off.” kiara spoke up. underneath the softness of her voice was a warning. you weren’t sure for what, but it was something that made the blond shake his head, clearly frustrated and displeased by the lack of anyone on his side.
not wanting to participate in another standoff with your friend, you let your legs carry you off somewhere safe from the fuming teen. familiar voices reprimanded him for his outburst but became more muffled the farther away you got, lost in the sound of all the commotion of the race.
jj hated rafe cameron. all of the pogues hated the kook prince, it was a given considering all that he had done, but jj despised him.
before the gold changed everything about your lives, before sarah and cleo, jj had harbored a deep hatred of the eldest cameron child. not because he was entitled and classist; most kooks were like that, it came with the territory. no–it was because he was jealous.
jj was jealous because no matter what rafe did, no matter how many times he sent you to his doorstep teary-eyed and stuttering, or feverish with a core-deep anger, you wouldn’t leave him. he thought rafe was not good for you, and maybe he was right, but you didn’t care then. you truly believed the boy would come to his senses some day, and you didn’t care how long you had to wait.
you never meant to string jj along, but deep in the back of your mind you knew you were.
it broke him to know that he would always come second as long as rafe was around. eventually he moved on to someone he could love without heartache, and that someone happened to be your best friend. his feelings for you never went away, and everyone knew it, even if they all pretended not to. including you. the guilt consumes you less that way.
the longing stares and lingering touches. the hesitant, curious kisses shared in the chateau’s backyard while everyone else was fast asleep. cleaning him up after bad scuff-ups with luke and letting him stay over at your house. the soft moonlight casting over you as you embraced each other beneath your covers, nimble fingers reaching up to wipe the silent tears that fell from his eyes. all distant memories that you both tried to forget about completely to keep the integrity of your; to salvage whatever remained.
but in that moment of jj confronting you, everyone saw what was beneath all the smoke and mirrors. rafe was stirring up trouble on purpose–he always did.
so it was no surprise that when the racers came back around for their final lap, with jj in the lead and rafe close on his tail, something had to happen to ruin the peace.
“c’mon jayj!” kiara shouted at the boy speeding down the sand trail. “you got it, baby!”
“let’s go jj…” you whispered to yourself, far too sick to let the words leave your mouth fully. your were gnawing on your manicured fingernails, noting in your mind that they would need to be redone before the weekend ended and you had to be back at work.
what the hell is rafe doing?
the older one was dangerously close to your friend. the wheels of his bike were nipping at jj’s as he made an effort to overtake his lead. john b wasn’t too far behind, but topper was on him too, the two boys fighting to get the best of each other amongst the rest of the group.
a wave of shock washed over the crowd as rafe rammed into jj, the pair of blonds flying out of their seats and landing harshly in the sand. a hand flew to your mouth to muffle your gasp. there was barely time to react before the large group of bikes not too far behind came full speed towards the finish line, engines roaring just as loud as the throng of people around you. you barely noticed topper crossing the finish line, too busy rushing out to check on the boy writhing in pain.
before you could reach them, jj shoved john b off of him in anger.
your brows furrowed together in concern, the sight of the scuffle both worrying and sending confusion through you. jj made eye contact with you from the distance and threw his helmet down before stalking off, everyone staring after him with a puzzled and disappointed expression.
“get used to it!” your head whipped around to see rafe pushing off the ground, his black racing suit covered in sand. he was clearly in pain, a hand cradling his neck and a slight limp in his stride as he approached the cheering crowd.
“what’d you say?” john b heard him as well, furious eyes searching for rafe’s figure momentarily. he stomped up to him and shoved the taller roughly as he spoke. “hey, what’d you say? huh?”
“john b!” you called out to him as you briskly walked towards the commotion. “john b, no! just leave it alone.”
rafe shoved him in return, the brunette stumbling backwards from the attack. sarah got in between them before it got any further, the blonde pushing the two boys out of the way as she scolded her brother.
“you could have killed each other!” she yelled, teeth bared and face red with rage.
rafe’s face was mostly stoic, eyes rolling just barely at his sister’s words.
“yeah, like you give a shit.”
sarah almost looked offended, but she didn’t respond immediately.
“you gonna kill me, like you killed dad?”
“rafe!” you finally spoke up in defense of your friend, mouth dropping open in disbelief at the words that fell from his lips. “what the fuck is your problem?”
you followed behind him when he kept walking, strides long to keep up with his own. the brunette girl he claimed to be “just friends” with was waiting for him a short distance away and you watched as his arms wrapped around her, celebrating as if he’d won the race.
your jaw clenched as envy clawed its way up your spine.
“why do you have to do that?” your eyes were hard as you stared him down from your spot on the beach. disgust was etched into your face, hackles raising as the girl leaned into his side with a content look on her. “you haven’t won enough? like…wh-what do you even get out of doing shit like that, rafe? you both could’ve gotten seriously hurt, and for what! winning? again?”
kiara was right behind you the moment she recognized the sound of your yelling piercing her ears, the girl taking no time to back you up. her scent filled your nose as she stood inches away, the smell bringing you some calm as your skin burned hot.
“no,” rafe wore a smug look, lips quirked up in a smirk that only fueled the fire inside you. “no, no. i don’t care about winning; i always win.”
rafe let go of the brunette hanging off him, nose flaring as he took in a deep breath of the fresh ocean air. his eyes were locked on yours, the color reflecting the water crashing against the sand behind you.
kiara backed away, the warmth of her body leaving yours as she took three steps in the other direction. she refused to let him get too close to her, the fear she felt after what he did to her understandable. you didn’t move, though. you stood your ground and let him stand before you. the distance between your bodies was so small you could smell the mint on his breath from his chewing gum and the familiar scent of his cologne flooded your senses.
“i always win, and your pogues always lose.” his voice reverberated deep inside as he smiled down at you, the expression sickeningly sweet.
you swallowed thickly, body tingling from his closeness. god, how you wish he couldn’t make you feel like this anymore.
his breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in further, voice low so that only you could hear.
“you picked the wrong boyfriend, baby…” faux pity coated his words. his lips brushed against the skin of your ear, and you took in a shaky breath, anger quickly dissipated as your body froze in place “could always come back, y’now, when you’re done losing with ‘em.”
rafe pulled back and you looked up at him, eyes glossy and lips slightly agape as you tried to steady your breathing without anyone noticing.
he always did.
“good seeing you, kie.” he never took his eyes off you as he backed away, retreating to the fling waiting for him to return to her grasp. “and i’m serious, y/n.”
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x pogue!reader#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x kook!reader#outer banks#rafe cameron x oc#cleoluvrr fics#dark!rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe outer banks#x black reader#outer banks fanfiction
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New Friend Of Mine
Natasha Romanoff x Reader Venom Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Word count: 2,557
Summary: Natasha goes for a walk to cool down after a conversation with you doesn’t go the way she way she wants it to, while out she makes a new friend.
Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, venom Natasha, degrading kink, oral, fingering, forced breeding, heaving breeding kink, choking, dub con.
2K Follower Celebration
ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3
Natasha sits in front of you, a heartbroken look on her face as she tries to take in your words.
She’d come into your shared apartment only moments ago, nearly bouncing off the walls in excitement, telling you that Tony had finally found a way to make it so you could carry Natasha and your biological child.
She was ecstatic, hopeful, damn near on the verge of tears with overwhelming joy. Now tears well in her eyes for another reason, one that has her feeling betrayed.
You’d both made this plan together, had this dream together. The both of you, parents. Having your own little family to love and care for. Natasha wanted that with you more than anything. More than she thought she was even capable of wanting. She thought you wanted that too, you made her believe you wanted that to.
“It’s just not the right time.” You tell her, gently, as though talking to someone going through their first brush with grief or heartbreak.
“I don’t understand.” Natasha sniffs, her teary eyes looking into yours and pleading with you for an explanation. “You said you wanted this. You- it was your idea to go to Tony with this. For us to have a child of our own. Do you not want kids anymore? Or do you just not want them with me?”
Your eyes widen in shock, worry and guilt. She shouldn’t have to be upset because of your fears, you love her way too much for that. “No, baby. That’s not it at all.” You say, moving to straddle her and hold her face in your hands, knowing she needs your body close to hers for her to truly believe you in your next words.
“Natasha, I want nothing more than to have your babies. To spend the rest of my life with you. To raise and love our children together.” You say, hoping she can hear the sincerity in your voice.
“Then why are you doing this? Why can’t we have our baby now, like we planned?” She asks, running her hands up and down your hips and holding you against her as if she’s afraid you’ll get up and leave.
“I’m afraid.” You admit quietly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so afraid that if we have our baby now something terrible will happen and we won’t be able to protect them.” Your bottom lip threatens to tremble, a sure sign that tears are not far behind, but you bite down on it and will the tears to stay hidden.
“I can protect you Detka.” Natasha pleads, barring her heart to you through her eyes and the way she wraps her arms around you so tightly, pulling you flush against her. “I would- I will protect you both with my life.”
“And I would do the same for you, Nat.” You say honestly, hoping she can sense the truth in your voice. “But that might not be enough, from either of us and I just can’t- I can’t bear the thought of having a baby, our baby who we will both love with our whole hearts and then have them taken away from us.”
You can see the tears in Natassha’s eyes about to spill over, the sight making you want to cry with her. “I’m so sorry, baby.” You whisper, running the pad of your thumbs over the swell of her cheeks. “I just need time.”
Natasha nods despondently. She’s trying to be understanding, she knows where you’re coming from and how you feel, she feels the same way herself. She just wants this so badly. “I understand, sweetheart.” She says, trying to put on a brave face but her voice still comes out dejected.
“Nat, I-“ You try to explain yourself further, to comfort the woman in some way, but what else could you do, you’ve said everything you need to say and nothing she says will change how you feel. “I’m okay, Detka. You’ve not done anything wrong, I just need a minute.” She says, gently pushing on your hips, signaling you to get up. You do and she moves towards the door, missing the look of panic on your face. “I’m going for a walk, I’ll be back soon.”
She leaves. She just walks out the door. She doesn’t even look at you before she goes. You can’t help but feel hurt. Neither of you are in the wrong. You didn’t have a fight. But you can’t help but feel slightly abandoned, left sitting alone in your shared apartment.
All the lights on, noise from the movie you’d abandoned when Natasha came in still playing in the living room, giving the impression of the place being full.
The second you turn it off the silence is defining. You're alone. She left. She said she’d be back, but god only knows when that would be. So you go to bed, move one foot in front of the other on autopilot until you’re dressed in one of Nats big T-shirts and buried under a comfortable blanket.
Natasha makes it about half an hour into her walk before she comes to her senses and decides she needs to go back home to her wife. She turns on her heel mid step, intent on making her way back home, when a russell in the bush beside her catches her attention. Just as the black widow would be, she was on guard straight away, ready for whatever would jump out at her
Something does, a mess of back and gray and so fast she can’t stop it before it goes right into her chest.
—------------------------------------
It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, silent, slow tears leaking down your cheeks and Natasha’s pillow held tightly to your chest and between your legs, trying to trick your brain into thinking she’s still there with you.
It’s not until three hours later that you're woken to the sound of the front door opening and closing, the noise barely rouses you from your sleep, knowing it’s Natasha by the way she locks the door right behind her and walks toward the room with a barely audible footstep.
You groan quietly into the dark room and coil tighter around the pillow in your arms, you just want to sleep. Natasha opens the bedroom door quietly, stepping in and making her way over to the bed. She doesn’t say anything as she peels the blanket off your body, nor does she say anything as she takes in the sight of you beneath her.
It takes no time at all for her enhanced eyes to adjust to the darkness, her green orbs drinking in the sight of you wearing nothing but her black oversized T-shirt. The pool of inky black in her orbs grows, spreading like the hunger, the need, she feels for you.
“Nat.” You complain, turning away from her and burying your face against the pillow beneath you. “It’s cold, gimme back the blanket.” She takes in a deep, greedy inhale through her nose, her heightened senses allowing her to smell the result of you rubbing your bare pussy against her pillow in your sleep.
The lack of response from her frustrates you, the feeling of her bone chilling cold hands sliding up your warm thighs shocks you, the icy feeling making you jump and turn toward her with wide eyes.
“Natasha!” You gasp exasperatedly. Usually you’d be all for a late night fuck with your wife but right now is not the time. Not when she just walked out and left. Not when ye haven’t talked at all and NOT when she’s so damn cold.
Natasha’s body drops onto yours faster than you can perceive the movement. Her hand is covering your mouth, her thighs tight on either side of yours, tapping you against her as she pulls off your shirt. She’s so cold.
Your eyes widen at her, confused by her actions. You can’t see her, the darkness of the room prevents you from doing so. Her free hand trails up the outside of your thigh, moving up ward slowly until and across until she’s cupping your wet folds. You moan against her hand, your hips squirming against her.
She lowers her head to be aligned with yours, her lips grazing your ear as she finally speaks to you, her voice coming out somewhat strained, deeper. “I’m so cold, Detka.” She whispers, moving her body between your legs, preventing you from closing them. “But you’ll help me warm up won’t you, sweetheart.”
Your words are muffled against her hand as you try to ask what the actual fuck is going in, what’s gotten into her. But she cuts off your mumbles by sliding her, somehow seemingly longer and thicker fingers, into your wet heat.
Your head slams back against your pillow, your back arching off the bed and into her body. It feels as if you’re burning, the one and only source of heat in this whole universe and she needs you. Needs to claim you, claim that heat, to keep her from freezing to death.
“I need you, baby.” She groans against your ear. “I need you to thaw me out.”
She moves her hand from your mouth, bringing it down to rest on your hips, using it to guide you to fuck yourself on her fingers.
Her words confuse you beyond belief, but they all but go unheard as she slides her fingers in and out of you, moving her mouth to place open mouth kisses to your neck, down the valley of your chest and down your stomach until she’s taking your clit into her mouth.
“Jesus C-Christ, Natasha- fuck.” You all but scream out, the added stimulation from her tongue swirling expertly around your clit driving you to a fuzzy headspace.
One of your hands scrambles to grasp at the sheets as the other winds its way into Natasha’s hair, pulling on the stands in an effort to keep yourself grounded.
The red head groans at the action and something’s about it sounds more primal, more animalistic then normal.
“Natasha?” You pant, confusion and arousal clouding your brain, along with the remnants of sleep.
“Shh detka.” She answers, pulling away from your clit as she nuzzles against your tummy. “I just need you to be good and let me fuck you.” She says firmly, yet somehow softly.
Her actions along with her words sends your brain into a frenzy, a flood of arousal pouring onto her fingers and she moves her mouth back down, removing her fingers and allowing her tongue to slide its way inside you.
The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s long and wet and feels so, so good. You scream out at the intrusion, feeling more full then you thought could ever be possible just from her mouth.
“Oh god.” You cry out, your hands gripping desperately at her shoulders, trying to find something solid to ground you.
Natasha only pulls you closer to her, her hands gripping your ass and holding you against her as if she's afraid someone will come take her last meal from her. She fucks you with her long tongue, thrusting it in and out of you and alternatings to suck on your clit until you cum with an arch of your back and a scream.
Natasha pulls away and trails kisses feverishly up your abdomen, nuzzling her head against you. “Now you're all ready for me.” She says, lifting your legs under the knees to stand them, your ankles resting only a few inches from the back of your thighs.
“What?” You ask, panting, still out of breath from your previous orgasm.
When Natasha doesn’t answer you furrow your brows, tilting your head up to look at her, your slightly adjusted eyes allowing you to see her outline as she unbuttons and unzips her pants. Before she slides them down her attention snaps to your face, her hand coming to wrap around your jaw and force your head back against the pillow.
“Natasha!” You gasp, never having seen this side of her before.
She brings her mouth to your ear, her hot breath hitting the side of your face, her hand still firmly around your jaw. “Stay down.” She orders and it's all you can do to nod in response as you hear her remove her pants and boxers.
You feel her bare thighs press into the sides of your own, her fully naked body now positioned between your forcibly spread legs. You flick your eyes toward her, trying to catch a glimpse of what she's doing, only for your eyes to roll to the back of your head when you feel her push inside you.
She's big, bigger than she's ever given you and so cold. The contrast of her cold cock sliding into your warm core sets your nerves alight, a whorish moan falling past your lips.
“That's right.” Natasha says, pulling out and thrusting inside you again with more force this time. “Just take whatever I give you, like a good little whore.” She says, but it doesn’t fully sound like her, her voice different, deeper.
You feel your stomach tighten at her words nevertheless, she's never spoken to you like that before and you didn’t think you’d like it, but you do. Your legs move from their standing position to around her body, the cold of her skin still shocking you a bit.
Natasha quickens her thrusts, moving her hand on your jaw down to your neck, her movements stuttering when you moan and clench around her. “Fuck. I'm gonna fill you up, put a baby in you.”
You don’t have a second to process her words before a hot thick spurt of cum shoots inside you, Natasha moving her free hand to your hip to hold you down as she uses you to ride out her high.
It's not even seconds later that your own height crashes over you, sending your body through too many loops, your vision fades to back and your body goes limp on the bed.
Natasha pulls out of you and stares down at the mess between your legs, using her fingers to push her seed back inside of you, not wanting to waste a single drop of it.
She looks up and notices your unconscious state, a smile sliding over her face at the view.
“Will it work?” Natasha speaks into the room, a black slimy, tendril creature emerging from her shoulder and materializing into a head next to her; venom.
“It will work.” Venom confirms, nodding to the red headed woman before moving his gaze over to your sleeping form. “She’s so pretty when she’s asleep.”
Natasha hums and nods in agreement. “I should have told her.” She mumbles, half ashamedly.
“No.” Venom says, sliding back into Natasha’s body then taking his full form to hover over you. His big slimy hands run over your bare stomach, gently, hopefully. “She doesn’t need that kind of stress right now. We can tell her after the baby is born.”
Natasha hums in agreement again, watching through venom's eyes as he tucks you into bed, one thought on her mind as she does so.
Now nothing can stop her from protecting you and your child.
ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3 ⴵ <3
A/n- I’ll be honest it’s not my favourite thing I’ve ever written but venom Nat is HOTTT so imma forgive
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x you#black widow x reader#Natasha romanoff smut#venom natasha romanoff#venom Natasha romanoff x reader#venom x reader#venom#venom natasha romanoff smut
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