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cipheress-to-k-pop · 21 days ago

Text

the one with the runaway bride

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

Word Count: 12.1k (damn)

Summary: Sometimes running away from a wedding leads you exactly where you're meant to be — preferably into the arms of a much better guy.

A/N: These fics just keep getting longer and longer. again lowkey kinda hate this and i feel like i made theo heavily ooc but it is what it is ig

Theo hated churches.

He wasn’t particularly religious—never cared much for the belief in some higher power watching over them all. After all, if someone like that did exist, his mother—a devout, gentle woman—wouldn’t have been ripped from the earth so soon. It should’ve been his father, not her. At least, that’s what he’d thought as a boy.

Still, despite his aversion to anything even remotely sacred, he found himself sitting alone in the pews of a quiet chapel. The sun streamed through stained glass, washing the room in warm, fractured color. He didn’t believe in prayer, but he came here anyway. This had been his mother’s favorite place before she died, and somehow, being here made him feel closer to her—like she might hear him, if only faintly.

“Mamma,” He murmured, voice low, “sometimes I truly wonder what my future was meant to look like.”

The war was over, but the silence it left behind was deafening. He spent a lot of time now, wondering about his place in the world. He and the rest of his mates—Berkshire, Riddle, Malfoy, and Zabini—had played a crucial role, working as double agents under Dumbledore’s orders. But because their involvement had remained classified, carefully buried under the Ministry’s politics, they were still seen as Slytherins first. As former sympathizers. As a threat. Pariahs.

It stung. He had done the right thing, when it mattered most. And yet, he wondered if this cold reception was all he’d ever receive.

A few years ago, he hadn't even expected to live this long. His younger self had been certain he’d never survive the war—that he’d be killed for his betrayal of Voldemort and reunited with his mother much sooner than expected. But he had survived. And now, once again, he was adrift.

That’s why he came back here—hoping for clarity, for a sign. But as always, the silence answered him back.

He sighed softly, rising to his feet and tucking his hands into his coat pockets, ready to leave. His shoes echoed against the marble floor as he turned toward the exit.

But before he could cross the threshold, the chapel doors burst open with a loud bang.

Theo blinked.

A vision in white stumbled inside.

Satin, lace, curls escaping from a veil. Breathless. Flushed. A wild gleam in her eye.

His heart paused mid-beat as he recognized the chaos incarnate now standing in the aisle, clutching the skirt of her wedding dress like she’d just escaped a dragon, veil askew, bouquet long gone, and cheeks flushed pink like she’d run from hell itself.

His mouth opened before he could stop it.

“(L/N)?” The name left his mouth before he could stop it, soft and shocked and just a little bit disbelieving.

You looked up, startled — like you hadn’t expected to see another soul inside — and your eyes widened in delight.

“Theodore Nott!” You beamed, chest still rising and falling in heavy breaths, curls frizzing at the edges, voice giddy and strange, “Fancy seeing you here! Gosh, I haven't seen you since Hogwarts! How are you? And the others—Riddle, Berkshire, and the lot? All good, I hope.”

Theo stared at you in complete bewilderment as you keeled over to catch your breath, tugging off your veil and fanning yourself with it like some kind of deranged society lady.

“Merlin’s sweaty balls,” You gasped, dramatic as ever, “It’s impossible to breathe in this damn corset.”

“They’re good,” Theo said slowly, brow furrowed, “I’m sorry, are you in a wedding dress?”

You nodded, breathless, laughing like the question itself was hilarious, “Unfortunately, yes. Bit of a pity I didn’t realize I didn’t want to marry the sorry bloke thirty minutes ago. Would’ve made my escape a lot easier if I wasn’t drowning in fifty pounds of satin.”

He blinked at you, still speechless, hands deep in his coat pockets.

“I mean—” You barreled on, eyes wide and shining, “there I was, standing at the altar, looking at my so-called fiancé, and it just hit me: I cannot wake up to his sorry mug for the rest of my life. To hell with my parents. And society. I don’t want to be a Bulstrode. That name sounds like the arse-end of a toad, don’t you think?”

You paused, eyes narrowing playfully, “(Y/N) (L/N) sounds so much nicer, doesn’t it?”

Theo arched an unimpressed brow, “You know you can get married without changing your last name, right?”

At that, you absolutely lost it—doubling over in wheezing laughter, slapping your knee like he’d just told the funniest joke in history.

“You always were such a crack-up, Theodore!” You gasped between giggles, “Where are my manners? What brings you here today? Certainly not for the wedding, I hope—because, well—” You gestured at yourself, still panting in the middle of the cathedral, “you can probably tell that’s not happening.”

Before Theodore could get a word in, the sound of heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Your eyes went comically wide as you pressed yourself flat against the stone wall, wedged just behind the chapel door as it swung open with a bang.

In marched your father��red-faced, sweaty, and breathing like a charging Hippogriff. His eyes locked onto Theodore like he was a bloodhound catching a scent.

“Have you seen a girl in a wedding dress?” He barked.

Theo quirked a brow, gaze sliding—slowly, deliberately—to the right, where you were doing your best impression of a human statue. From where he stood, he could see you mouthing frantic no’s, shaking your head so violently he was almost certain you’d give yourself whiplash. Your hands were flying in wild, desperate gestures, pleading silently.

He turned back to your father, the picture of calm.

“No, sir.”

Your father squinted, suspicious—but apparently not enough to question it. “Well, if you do,” He huffed, already half-turning, “you tell her to march her sorry behind back into that hall and marry the boy, or she’ll be sorry.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

You clutched your chest like you’d just survived a curse, eyes squeezed shut as you slid bonelessly to the floor in your crumpled wedding dress.

“That,” You breathed, “was nerve-wracking.”

You peeked up at him with a grateful look, “You’re a good liar, Nott. Thank you.”

Theo looked down at the breathless, sweaty heap you’d become, still sprawled on the stone floor like a very distressed meringue. With an amused smirk, he cleared his throat, “Well… good luck with everything, (L/N). Let me know if you actually go through with becoming a Bulstrode. I’ll send a wedding gift.”

You gaped up at him in horror as he began to sidestep the tangled mass of satin and lace that was your gown, clearly preparing to leave the chapel and abandon you to your doom. Without thinking, you grabbed his calf—your perfectly manicured nails digging into his trousers, the massive engagement ring catching the light like a cursed artifact.

“What?! You can’t go now! You have to get me out of here!”

Theo arched a skeptical brow, “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

You pointed at him in outrage, still clutching his leg like a deranged bride octopus, “You just lied to my father! That makes you an accomplice. A—A conspirator! You're already implicated!”

Theo looked thoroughly unimpressed, “I could just tell him you were hiding behind the door like a terrified possum.”

You gasped, “You wouldn’t.”

He tilted his head, “Try me.”

Panic glittered in your eyes before you straightened your spine and went full Slytherin, “Fine. You want to play that game? I’ll tell everyone you’re my secret paramour. That you seduced me, took my virtue in the belfry, and that’s why I fled the altar.”

Theo’s mouth dropped open, scandalized, “I beg your pardon?”

You clasped your hands together, expression softening into exaggerated, pleading sweetness, “Please, Theodore. I’m not asking for your soul. Just… apparate me out of here. One quick jump and I’ll be out of your life forever.”

He stared at you. Then sighed.

“Merlin help me,” He muttered, “You’re even more unhinged than I remember.”

“So that’s a yes?”

He offered you a hand, “Only if you swear not to mention the word ‘virtue’ ever again.”

You grinned, already taking his hand, “Deal, my paramour.”

He groaned. Loudly.

Theo stepped closer, one hand sliding around your waist, tugging you flush against him. You blinked up at him, stunned into silence by the proximity. Up close, you finally understood why half the girls in your year had harbored crushes on him. He had that kind of face—the infuriatingly beautiful kind that made your stomach swoop before your brain could catch up.

Then—with a sharp crack—the world twisted out from under your feet.

You landed hard against him, fingers fisting the lapels of his jacket like your life depended on it. Which, to be fair, it had.

Warm sunlight spilled over your face, the bustling sounds of the street around you cutting through the fading disorientation. You blinked. Then smiled.

You were free.

Theo watched you quietly as your eyes danced over every detail—the streetlamp, the baker’s cart, a child chasing a butterfly. Everything ordinary now seemed extraordinary through your gaze. You looked like someone seeing the world for the first time.

“Are you good, (L/N)?” He asked, low and cautious.

You didn’t take your eyes off the street. “A new world’s waiting for me,” You said softly, “It’s… terrifying.”

He didn’t say anything, but his grip around your waist didn’t loosen.

You stood there, trembling fingers still tangled in the fabric of his coat, heart pounding like it was trying to sprint back to the cathedral.

Theodore’s sharp gaze softened as he took in your messy lipstick, sweat-dampened curls, and the way you clung to him like the world had just tipped sideways. You looked like a woman on the edge of disaster—or greatness. Maybe both.

"Where were you planning to go?" He asked quietly.

You blinked up at him, dumbly, your glassy eyes beginning to sting as the reality of what you’d just done crashed over you like cold water.

Oh Merlin.

What had you done?

You didn’t have a house. You didn’t have a job. You didn’t have money of your own. Your entire life had been orchestrated by your father—who’d been all too eager to sell you off to your so-called fiancé—and you’d just thrown a wrench in his perfect little plan.

"I... I hadn’t thought that far." You admitted, voice barely a whisper as your bottom lip began to tremble.

Theo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, “Bloody hell.”

You started to stammer, trying to save face, “Look—I’ll figure it out. I just needed to get away. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t be dense,” He muttered, “Come on.”

You furrowed your brows, confused, “Come on where?”

“My home,” He said bluntly, “You’re clearly overwhelmed, and you need to breathe somewhere that isn’t a chapel or the middle of a bloody street. You can crash in the guest room. I’ll pour a cup of tea. Or Firewhisky, if you’re feeling rebellious.”

You stared at him, stunned silent, “You’d really do that for me?”

In all honesty, Theodore had no idea why he was doing this for you.

Maybe it was the way your eyes looked—raw and frightened—that struck something in him. He remembered that look. Back when his mother died. Back when he was stuck between two worlds, pretending to be loyal to the Death Eaters while secretly fighting for the other side. When the war ended, and he had no bloody idea who he was without it.

He knew helplessness like an old friend. And though he’d never admit it aloud, he also knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight if he walked away now—knowing you were out there, wandering the streets in a bloody wedding dress or dragged back to marry someone you didn’t love.

“Yeah,” He said finally, “I would.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking back tears, “Okay.”

“Okay.” He echoed.

He held your arm carefully—like you were a glass about to crack—and apparated you both away.

By the time your feet touched down again, you were standing in a warmly lit corridor outside a tall, modern-looking door. Theodore slid a key out of his coat pocket and unlocked it with a click.

“My flat.” He said simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You blinked, glancing around as you followed him, “Wait. Don’t you have a whole family manor somewhere?”

He raised a brow as he tossed his coat onto a sleek brass hook, “Not fancy enough for you, darling? Would you rather go to the five-star resort your family booked for your honeymoon instead?”

You gaped, then closed your mouth, then opened it again—only to come up short, “Touché.”

He chuckled, pushing open the door, “I live in a flat because the manor’s too bloody big for just me. I might move back in when I’m older, but right now? No one needs twenty-three bedrooms unless they’re running a boarding school.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside after him, “Just say you’re rich and move on,” you muttered.

You were mid-sigh when your eyes took in the space—and almost instantly, the tension in your shoulders loosened. His flat wasn’t enormous, but it was stunning. Dark hardwood floors, rich emerald and charcoal accents, and floor-to-ceiling windows framed the London skyline like a painting. The air smelled faintly of pine, leather, and something warm—like spice and magic.

Books lined custom-built shelves along one wall, and a record player quietly spun something soft and jazzy in the corner. A massive velvet sofa sat in the center of the open-plan living area, flanked by brass sconces and a few well-kept plants.

Theo disappeared into a side room, leaving you standing awkwardly in your crumpled wedding dress in the middle of his living room. When he returned, he had a folded stack of clothes in his hands.

“I grabbed whatever looked closest to your size,” He said, handing them over with a half-shrug, “Might still be a bit big—but it’s cozy, at least.”

You unfolded the hoodie and held it up. It fell nearly to your knees.

“You’re joking.”

“Or you could stay in your wedding dress. Very sexy.”

You let out a laugh, “You got me again.”

You eyed the clothes, then glanced back up at him, “You sure none of your… lady friends left something behind? Something a bit more...appropriate?”

Theo smirked, unfazed, “I don’t keep a lost and found bin, sweetheart. But nice try.”

You grinned despite yourself, clutching the clothes to your chest.

“Go on,” He added, gesturing toward the hallway, “First door on the right—bathroom’s there. Take your time. Come out when you’re ready. I’ll sort dinner.”

“You cook?”

He looked at you, mock-offended, “I’m Italian.”

“That’s not a yes.”

Theo placed a hand over his heart, feigning injury, “Wow. So little faith.”

You laughed—a real one this time—as you padded off toward the bathroom, the ridiculous rustle of your wedding dress trailing behind you. Hoodie and sweats in hand, feet aching, heart still thudding from everything you’d run from.

But somehow, in the warmth of this space, with the sound of jazz humming in the background and Theo cooking up dinner—you started to feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Safe.

Maybe, just maybe… you were going to be okay.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the last remnants of your old life had gone swirling down the drain—hairspray, waterproof mascara, and everything else that once held you together. You felt… lighter. Your skin was clean, your hair damp, and the oversized hoodie you wore—Theo’s—smelled faintly of cedar and citrus. It hung down to your thighs like a dress, and the joggers were barely hanging onto your waist.

The scent hit you first—garlic, tomatoes, fresh herbs—and your stomach let out a traitorous growl.

Theo looked up from the stove, giving you a once-over before turning back to stir the pot. “Look at you,” He said with a lopsided smirk, “Didn’t think my clothes would suit you that well.”

You gave him a smirk and did a twirl to show off the outfit—just in time for the joggers to fall right to your ankles. You both burst into laughter.

“The elastic’s useless and the drawstring’s just for decoration.” You said, tossing the offending trousers over the back of a chair.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I charmed the pants off a woman.” Theo replied smoothly.

You snorted, shaking your head.

He slid a bowl across the island toward you—tagliatelle with a thick, rich Bolognese sauce, steam curling up like it had its own mind.

You took one bite, and your eyes fluttered shut. “Oh my god,” You groaned, “This is… this is unreal.”

He gave a small shrug, “I told you.”

You were already shoveling in another forkful, “I haven’t eaten something that didn’t taste like sadness in months.”

Theo leaned against the counter, watching with amusement, “Easy, love. You keep going at that pace, you’ll make those giant joggers fit.”

You swallowed and let out a dramatic sigh, “Wedding diet. I’ve been living off steamed vegetables and heartbreak.”

He laughed, deep and full, “Well, lucky you. There’s more where that came from. And gelato in the freezer.”

Your head snapped up, “You’re kidding.”

“‘Chi mangia bene, vive bene,’” He said with a smirk, “‘Those who eat well, live well.’ My mamma drilled that into me.”

You blinked, then smiled, “Incredibly smart woman.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, your smile didn’t feel like something you had to fake or force. You sat there, in someone else’s hoodie, with sauce on your cheek and your hair still damp, in a flat that smelled like warmth and comfort and garlic.

Theo reached across the table, brushing his thumb gently against the corner of your mouth, “You’ve got a bit of sauce—right there.”

You blinked, startled by the tenderness of the gesture. His hand lingered a second longer than necessary before he pulled back.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” He asked, quieter now.

You gave him a half-smile, soft but guarded, “Sick of me already?”

His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed serious, “I just mean… are you sure you won’t regret this? People get cold feet. Panic at the altar. Happens all the time, or so I hear. And the longer you stay here—the more real this gets—the harder it’ll be to undo without fallout.”

You sat still for a moment, then set your fork down, appetite forgotten.

“It wasn’t cold feet,” You said, voice low, “I never wanted to get married.”

Theo didn’t interrupt. He just waited.

“My father did. Desperately. He’s been obsessed with bloodlines and alliances since before I could walk. Marrying into the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Like that still means anything in this world.” You let out a bitter laugh, “Somehow that old bastard managed to squirm his way out of Azkaban after the war. And now he’s back to doing what he does best—peddling blood purity and ruining my life.”

Theo’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

“I spent months shoving my feelings down, just trying to be the daughter he wanted. The obedient one. Because what choice did I have?” Your fingers curled around the fabric of his hoodie, “But when I was standing there—at the altar, staring down a future I didn’t choose—I realized something. Maybe I didn’t have choices before. But I could make one now.”

Silence stretched between you for a beat.

Then, softly, Theo said, “That was brave.”

You let out a watery laugh, swiping your sleeve beneath your eyes, “Please. Not like you, playing double agent for Dumbledore. Now that was brave.”

He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “That was reckless.”

“It was noble. Valiant,” You said, voice steadier now, “Really, the kind of madness only a true Slytherin could be ambitious enough to pull off.”

Theo arched a brow, “Flattery? From you?”

You gave him a crooked grin, “Don’t get used to it. Mine was just… selfish. Desperate.”

He looked at you, the warmth in his gaze soft but unwavering, “It’s good to be selfish sometimes.”

You held his gaze, breath catching slightly when his eyes didn’t waver. There was something weighty in the silence—something soft and unspoken stretching between you, tugging gently at the space that separated your bodies.

Theo’s fingers drummed once against the tabletop, then stilled. Neither of you moved.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face, and for a second, just one second, you let yourself wonder what it would feel like to close the distance.

Then you blinked, cleared your throat, and reached for his plate. “Well. Since you think it’s good to be selfish,” You said, trying to sound casual, “I’m gonna eat the rest of your pasta.”

Theo let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—or a sigh. Maybe both, “Oi—at least leave room for dessert.”

***

Loud, boisterous laughter was the first thing that dragged Theo out of a half-dream. He groaned, arm flinging over his eyes as the unmistakable sound of his front door swinging open—without ceremony—hit him like a freight train.

“What the—who the hell is making all that noise?” He muttered, voice hoarse as he blinked toward the ceiling.

The culprits were, predictably, already raiding his kitchen like starved hyenas: Draco, Lorenzo, Mattheo, and Blaise, helping themselves to his fresh bread and the groceries he’d actually gone out and picked himself—because unlike those degenerates, he cared about food quality.

He should’ve never given them spare keys.

“For emergencies,” He’d said. “Only if it’s important,” He’d said.

Idiotic. Clearly, their definition of ‘emergency’ included hungover brunches and unsolicited early morning gossip.

“Morning, sunshine,” Draco drawled with an infuriating smirk, already sprawled across Theo’s sofa, eating the hand-picked strawberries Theo had searched three markets to find, “You’re just in time for the morning news”

Theo groaned louder and face-planted into the cushions, “Could you shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep in our own damn flat.”

“Oh, come on,” Blaise said, smirking as he rifled through Theo’s cabinets, “You must’ve heard by now. (L/N). You remember her—Pansy's roommate. She left Bulstrode at the altar. Just ran right out.”

Lorenzo let out a low whistle, “Left Bulstrode standing there like an absolute mug. At the altar, mate. In front of everyone. Just turned and walked straight out mid-vows. I mean—iconic.”

Mattheo, chewing thoughtfully on a stolen slice of sourdough, shrugged, “Serves him right. No way Bulstrode was ever gonna bag a babe like (L/N). He’s got the charm of a wet napkin.”

“And get this,” Blaise said, lowering his voice into a tone of mock-conspiracy, eyes glinting, “Rumor is—she had a lover on the side. Secret romance, hidden rendezvous, the whole nine yards. Some bloke she’s apparently been in love with for ages. No one knows who, though.”

Theo, face still hidden by the couch cushions, flinched.

Blaise squinted at him, “You look... twitchy. Something you wanna share with the group?”

Before Theo could invent an excuse, a sound cut through the room—soft footsteps padding across the floorboards.

The guest bedroom door creaked open.

You stepped out, bleary-eyed, rubbing your face with the sleeve of Theo’s oversized hoodie—his hoodie that hung off your frame like it had been stitched for you. Your hair was tousled from sleep, legs bare, the joggers you’d worn the night before still draped over a chair in the corner, clearly forgotten.

Theo’s eyes flicked up to you for a moment—heart skipping a beat at the sight of your flushed cheeks and mussed hair—but he quickly masked the softness with a cool, unreadable glance.

Every sound in the room died on cue.

You blinked at the kitchen full of frozen Slytherins and offered a sheepish smile, “Um… morning?”

The silence that followed was nothing short of reverent.

Mattheo dropped his toast. Lorenzo’s jaw unhinged. Draco choked on a strawberry. Blaise turned—slowly, dramatically—to Theo with the grin of a man who had just unearthed a scandal.

And then—chaos.

“No bloody way,” Blaise said, pointing an accusatory finger, “You?! You’re the lover?!”

“No, no,” Theo said immediately, sitting up straighter, “She’s not—I mean, it’s not— It’s not like that.”

You nodded, “It’s really not what it looks like.”

“She’s not—” Theo added, standing abruptly.

“We’re not—” You said at the same time.

“Dating.” You both finished in unison.

The pause that followed was only broken by Blaise’s slow, disbelieving laugh, “You two seriously rehearsed that or something?”

Mattheo’s gaze flicked from you, to the hoodie, to Theo’s bedhead and thoroughly disheveled state, “You sly, secretive little bastard.”

“You’re blushing,” Lorenzo cackled, pointing at Theo.

“I’m not blushing.”

“You’re so red your freckles are blending in.”

“You lot need to leave,” Theo growled, yanking the mug out of Draco’s hand.

“Oh, we’ll leave,” Mattheo said, standing with an exaggerated sigh, “Just as soon as we finish processing the greatest plot twist since Dumbledore kicked it.”

“I don’t know,” Lorenzo mused, “This might top it. Runaway bride finds solace in former classmate’s bed—”

“Spare room!” You and Theo barked at once.

“Oh right,” Blaise said, lazily gesturing to you, “Because that totally explains the no-pants situation.”

You threw up your hands, “He doesn’t have any trousers that fit me!”

Mattheo let out a low whistle, “Stars above, I wish I had popcorn.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, “She needed a place to stay. I offered. That’s it.”

“And I accepted. Platonically.” You stressed.

“And Theodore isn’t some adulterous whore,” You added with a sigh, “He’s just an unfortunate bloke with terrible timing who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The way your voice softened at the end made something twist in Theo’s chest.

“Well, you did good,” Lorenzo said, grabbing another slice of bread, “Bulstrode’s an ugly git anyway.”

You shared a glance with Theo who gave you a soft, barely there smile that was meant to reassure you in a way that conveyed, 'See? What you did wasn't so bad.'

“So what’s the plan now?” Blaise asked, eyeing the two of you over his coffee, “You two just gonna keep playing house?”

“Oi, ease up,” Theo said, casting him a warning look, “Don’t overwhelm her.”

He glanced at you briefly, then added, “We talked last night.”

“Ooo, pillow talk.” Mattheo smirked—earning himself a slap to the back of the head.

Theo rolled his eyes, “We were talking, and I offered to let her stay here. As long as she needs.”

You caught Theo’s eye and saw a softness there that only came out when he looked at you. In that moment, the chaos of friends and gossip faded away, leaving just the quiet promise of safety and belonging between you two.

***

You sat cross-legged on the floor, the open suitcase in front of you spilling out clothes, books, and a few small trinkets you’d brought from your old life. The boxes stacked neatly nearby were still untouched—silent reminders that this was real, that you were here now.

Getting your things back from your home had been easier than expected. You’d slipped in while your father was at work, your heart racing as you moved quietly through the familiar halls. The moment your hand wrapped around your wand—left behind for safekeeping during the wedding—it felt like you could finally breathe again. You packed up your life swiftly, shrinking and sending each box to Theo’s flat before you could second-guess yourself.

“It feels weird seeing all my stuff here.” You murmured, running your fingers over your old Slytherin scarf. A soft smile tugged at your lips as memories from Hogsmeade weekends and late-night gossip sessions filled your head. Back in school, your dormmates used to call dibs on the boys in your year—Pansy obviously claimed Draco, Daphne was hell-bent on Mattheo (she had a thing for bad boys, she used to say). The others squabbled over Blaise and Lorenzo, leaving you with Theo by default. You’d taken it in stride, because Merlin forbid you end up with Crabbe or Goyle. If only sixth-year you knew you’d one day be living with Theo Nott after bolting from your own wedding.

“Like this is really happening.” You said softly.

Theo leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite place. You let your eyes rake over him—how he somehow made jeans and a simple black long-sleeved tee look sinfully good without even trying.

“Don’t you want to unpack?” He asked after a moment, voice casual, “Make it feel a bit more like yours?”

You shook your head, teeth tugging at your lower lip, “I don’t want to get too comfortable. I need to move out soon, find my own place. Can’t just settle in someone else’s flat.”

Your eyes drifted to the empty dresser and the bare walls, imagining them filled with your perfume bottles, your shoes lined up in the closet, your keepsakes resting in quiet corners of the room. It felt… indulgent. And dangerous.

Theo pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room with that quiet confidence that always made your stomach flip. He crouched beside you, fingers brushing yours as he gently pulled the scarf from your hands.

“Don’t be so pressured,” He said softly, “Take your time.”

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, so at odds with the sarcasm he usually deflected with. His gaze held yours—warm, steady, unflinching.

“What kind of fake adulterous whore would I be,” he added, smirking just a little, “if I didn’t give you a comfortable place to stay while you figure things out?”

You let out a shaky laugh, swatting his arm as your cheeks flushed. The warmth in his eyes made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. It felt... safe. For the first time in a long time.

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second too long. Your breath hitched. Your heart thudded. And before you could stop yourself, your gaze flicked to his mouth.

The moment hung there—suspended and fragile—until it broke like glass.

Theo cleared his throat and pulled back. You dropped your gaze and fanned your burning cheeks, pretending not to notice the way your entire body buzzed with unspoken tension.

He stood, casting a quick glance around the room before his eyes landed on a box labeled “Bathroom.” With a quiet smile, he bent to pick it up.

“I’ll go put this over there.” He said, voice gentler now even though you both were well aware he could've used his magic to charm the objects in its place.

You watched him go, heart fluttering wildly in your chest, feeling strangely steady for the first time in days.

Strangely at home.

***

Watching Theo get ready for work every morning had become your newest, most humbling routine. In the quiet hours before he left—hair perfectly styled, cufflinks glinting faintly in the sunlight—you were struck with the growing realization that your life was a blank page. And not in the hopeful, inspiring way. No, it felt like staring at an overdue assignment you had no idea how to finish.

When he was home, everything felt a little easier—light conversation over breakfast, quiet companionship in the evenings, his effortless presence filling the flat with a calm you hadn’t realized you craved. But once he was out the door, you were left with hours that stretched out like an endless, silent ache. And with that ache came the inevitable realization: you weren’t here to play house with Theodore Nott. You needed to get your life in order.

Which was why, this morning, you were dressed. Not just dressed—put together. A soft, Chanel-inspired ensemble hugged your form, elegant and mature, polished right down to the glossy sheen of your lips.

Across the table, Theo sat in his usual tailored suit and tie, sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper.

He was a dream roommate—unbothered, polite, attentive without being invasive. He cooked most mornings and evenings, and you handled lunch and dishes out of principle more than anything else. And yet, no matter how well you split the duties, you still felt like a freeloader in silk pajamas. He never asked you to contribute, never brought up rent or groceries or anything at all.

Which, ironically, only made the guilt settle heavier in your chest.

It was unbearable. So this newfound spark of motivation—this desire to prove you could stand on your own two feet again—burned fast and hot.

He was fixing his watch by the mirror beside the door, running gelled fingers through his hair, smoothing it back with that practiced grace. You stepped over, holding his coat in one hand and yours in the other, and offered it to him with a quiet, “Here.”

He murmured a small thanks as he slipped into it, but you didn’t step back.

Instead, you reached up to adjust his tie, fingers deft as you corrected the slight tilt in the knot. “I know you’re just going to mess it up the second you get to the office,” you said, smiling softly, “but it’s driving me crazy.”

You smoothed the tie down gently, fingertips brushing the lapels of his coat. When your eyes lifted, you caught him staring—not at your eyes, but your lips, still slick with gloss from your post-breakfast touch-up, and suddenly it felt like a mistake to stand this close, in this kind of silence, with him looking at you like that.

You met his gaze. Your heart stuttered.

Was he leaning in?

Or were you imagining it—some cruel trick your body played when it got too used to his scent, his proximity, the low hum of affection that vibrated just beneath the surface?

Before you could answer, he inhaled sharply and stepped back, the moment snapping like a taut string.

“Busy day today?” He asked, voice neutral, composed.

You cleared your throat, recovering quickly.

“Yeah,” You said, grabbing your purse and your coat, avoiding his eyes, “I’m visiting Slughorn at Hogwarts. I was always good at potions, and he used to favor me—mostly because I always showed up to those ridiculous Slug Club meetings.” You gave a faint chuckle.

“I heard he’s still teaching and struggling to keep up with his personal research. I was kind of his unofficial assistant in seventh year, so… I’m hoping he’ll consider taking me on. As an apprentice or something.”

You kept your tone light, casual, even though your pulse thudded in your throat. You avoided his eyes as you adjusted the strap of your purse.

Theo held the door open for you, and your heart flipped in your chest like it always did when he did things like that without thinking—like it was natural. Like you belonged here.

“Good luck, (Y/N).” He said simply, his voice low but earnest.

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small smile. The way he was looking at you made your steps falter for just a second.

“Thank you.” You said, voice barely above a whisper.

And then you walked on, heels clicking softly on the marble floor, heart fluttering like mad against your ribs.

***

You practically skipped down the stone steps of Hogwarts, the weight of your nervous anticipation completely lifted from your shoulders. The crisp air smelled of old parchment and damp moss, and for once, you didn’t mind. Your cheeks were flushed, your hands clutching the letter Slughorn had scrawled in excitement after your meeting: an official offer to join him as his private research assistant, with the intent of training you to become a certified Potions Master.

Your heart was hammering by the time you reached Theo’s flat, and you didn’t even knock—just flung the door open and stepped inside, calling his name like a storm announcing itself.

“Theo!”

He appeared from the hallway, towel slung over his shoulder, clearly mid-way through drying his hair, shirt sleeves rolled up, “What? Are you okay?”

You beamed so brightly you could’ve lit the whole room with just the force of it, “I got it—I got the position! I’m going to train with Slughorn! He’s taking me on!”

For a second, Theo just blinked at you, frozen in place. Then your words seemed to register fully and he opened his mouth to say something—but before he could, you launched yourself at him.

Your arms flung around his neck, and he caught you with a startled grunt, stumbling back half a step before wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, instinctively keeping you upright. You laughed, giddy and breathless against his shoulder, your legs kicking slightly off the ground.

“I knew you would.” He said against your temple, voice low and warm and slightly amused, though the hug he gave you was grounding, solid, and real.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes bright, “I’m going to be a Potions Master.”

Theo’s hands stayed on your waist, his lips twitching into a rare, open smile, “You’re going to be brilliant.”

You didn’t know what possessed you then—maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the way he was still holding you like you were something precious—but you leaned in without thinking and pressed a kiss to his cheek, quick and full of warmth.

Theo blinked, stunned.

You blinked, too, realizing what you just did.

He slowly set you down on your feet, clearing his throat, but the faintest shade of pink had crept up his neck.

"Thank you, Theo." You whispered, looking up at him like he hung the moon in the sky, "For everything."

***

You were halfway through folding the laundry while Theo showered when the door flew open with no warning, the sharp click of heels on hardwood echoing like the cue for a dramatic entrance.

“Surprise, darling!” Pansy announced grandly, stepping into the apartment with a flourish, a pastry box in one hand and designer sunglasses in the other, “I brought macarons from that place you liked in Paris—Theo, you better be decent!”

She strutted into the living room expecting to find her best friend brooding over black coffee, muttering about case files or the Ministry’s latest idiocy.

Instead, she found you.

Her heel halted mid-click. Her eyes went wide, lips parting in stunned recognition.

“(Y/N)?”

You blinked, holding a half-folded jumper, “Hi—?”

The pastry box slipped from her fingers, forgotten as she gasped.

“(Y/N)!”

Before you could react, she barreled across the room, arms wide, heels thudding across the floor. She crashed into you with a hug that nearly knocked you into the couch, her perfume wrapping around you like a familiar blanket as she squeezed you breathless.

You laughed, arms wrapping around her just as tightly, “Oh God, I’m so sorry I didn’t make it to the wedding! I couldn’t get a Portkey in time—I felt awful. I’ve missed you so much!”

Pansy pulled back to get a proper look at you, holding you at arm’s length like she needed to confirm you were real, “Oh, how’s newlywed life treating you? How’s your husband—” she started brightly, then trailed off.

Her eyes scanned your outfit—comfy shorts and an old Quidditch tee—and then flicked to the half-folded laundry scattered across the coffee table.

And that was precisely the moment Theo stepped out of the bathroom.

Shirtless. Damp. Joggers slung low on his hips. A towel around his neck, his hair still dripping.

Pansy blinked. You blinked. Theo froze like a deer in headlights.

Her eyes snapped between you and Theo. Once. Twice.

Her jaw dropped.

“No. Bloody. Way.”

You swallowed hard, “I, uh... I ran from the altar. I’ve been living here for a month. Surprise?”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“You absolute plonkers!” Pansy shouted, whirling around like a furious peacock as the front door opened again and the rest of the boys filtered in—Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Enzo—all pausing mid-step at the scene.

Theo grimaced.

Pansy turned on Draco with fury, “You ranted to me for an hour last night about Potter’s work ethic, but you didn’t think to mention that one of my closest friends from school ran out of her own wedding and moved in with Theo?”

Draco’s eyes widened, “I thought you knew!”

“You lot are unbelievable.” She huffed, throwing her hands up.

Draco looked caught somewhere between amusement and panic. Blaise choked on a laugh. Mattheo raised his hands in mock innocence.

Pansy, eyes glittering with mischief, turned back to you with an exasperated scoff, “We’re getting drinks tonight. You and I are going to unpack every bloody bit of this madness. And if there’s any scandal you’re hiding from me, I swear to Merlin—”

You gave her a sheepish smile, heart fluttering with the kind of warmth that only old friendships could bring.

“I wish. But I can’t tonight. I’m working with Slughorn now—officially—and I’ve got my first full day tomorrow. Still need to study up a bit. I really don’t want to get fired before I even make it to lunch.”

Pansy’s features softened instantly. She stepped forward, cupping your cheeks with warm hands and smoothing your hair in a way that made your eyes sting.

“Slughorn?” She breathed, proud and a little misty, “You’re working with Slughorn? That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you.”

Your throat tightened, “Thanks, Pansy. God, I missed you. Let’s do a proper catch-up this weekend, yeah? I don’t want to keep you from your homecoming party—you should go have fun.”

She nodded and pulled you into one last tight hug. “This weekend,” she warned playfully, “or I swear I’ll come kidnap you from this flat myself.”

You laughed, hugging her back, “Deal.”

Just then, Theo reappeared in the living room, now fully dressed and slipping his watch onto his wrist. He reached for his coat, but you were already there, stepping behind him to help him shrug it on.

“Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?” You asked gently, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve.

From behind you, Blaise gave a low whistle.

“Ooooh, listen to that,” Mattheo drawled with a teasing grin, “Wifey’s making sure the hubby gets to bed on time.”

Theo rolled his eyes, already used to these jokes and glanced down at you, a quiet smile pulling at his lips, “It’s just one drink.”

You sighed, half amused, half resigned, “Okay. Just… don’t come home completely smashed.”

“No promises.” He said with a wink, and the door shut behind them seconds later.

***

The bar buzzed with the low hum of chatter, clinking glasses, and a jazz cover of a Weird Sisters song playing over the speakers. The group had claimed a corner booth, drinks in hand, laughter spilling over every few minutes.

Theo nursed a firewhisky, sitting back with his usual composed expression which caught the attention of Mattheo, “Oh, don’t drink that too fast, Teddy boy. You don’t want to go back absolutely hammered to the missus.”

“You lot are ridiculous,” Theo muttered, though a hint of fondness softened his tone.

“Oh, come off it,” Blaise grinned, swirling his drink, “You like it. You’re practically glowing these days. It’s very unnerving.”

“Very domestic of you, Theo,” Enzo added, smirking, “Sharing a flat, cooking her breakfast, letting her steal your clothes—”

“She doesn’t steal my clothes.”

Mattheo grinned, “Mate, I saw her wearing your Chudley Cannons jumper yesterday.”

Theo looked away, clearly caught.

Pansy took a slow sip of her cocktail, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m shocked you let her stay with you. You’re usually so…” She waved a perfectly manicured hand, “emotionally unavailable. Allergic to company, really.”

Blaise leaned in, eyes gleaming, “I mean hardly a surprise considering how badly gone he was for her back in school.”

Pansy froze mid-sip.

“Wait—what? Who was gone for who?!” she gasped, nearly slamming her glass on the table, voice sharp with disbelief.

The boys blinked in surprise.

“You didn’t know?” Draco asked, brows raised.

“You’re kidding,” Blaise said, laughing, “You always shoved them into group projects and made them sit together during dinners — we thought you were matchmaking!”

“I was!” Pansy snapped, whipping around to glare at Draco, “Because I wanted to go with you, and the other cows in our dorm had already called dibs on Enzo, Mattheo, and Blaise. Theo was just—left!”

She turned back to the table, eyes wide with the horror of missed opportunity, “Don’t you think if I’d known he fancied her, I would’ve shoved them into a broom cupboard and locked the door?”

Mattheo cackled, “That’s so on-brand for you.”

Pansy groaned, dramatically dropping her head onto Draco’s shoulder, “You absolute wankers. If one of you had opened your mouth years ago, that wedding she had a month ago? Could’ve been yours, Theo.”

Theo sipped his firewhisky quietly, hidden behind the rim of his glass. Flashes of you in a wedding dress and veil flickered behind his eyes, a soft blush spreading across his neck. None of them missed it.

Blaise nudged Mattheo, “He’s thinking about it now.”

“Oh, he’s been thinking about it.”

Theo threw his head back, downing the rest of his firewhiskey in one go, “I need another drink.”

***

The door flew open with a crash, nearly coming off its hinges.

“We have arrived!” Lorenzo declared, clearly drunk, arms wide, as if expecting applause.

Theo stumbled in between Blaise and Mattheo, arms slung over their shoulders like a war hero being carried off the battlefield. His shirt was half-untucked, hair a mess, and his eyes—when he managed to open them—were glassy and unfocused.

You poked your head out from the kitchen, arms crossed, “What happened to ‘just one drink’?”

“He drank.” Blaise said simply.

“Like a fish.” Mattheo added.

“Like a moron.” Draco corrected as he strolled in behind them, tossing Theo’s coat over a chair, “He’s your problem now.”

Theo blinked at the sound of your voice and perked up immediately. “Tesoro!” He slurred, trying to walk toward you but very nearly face-planting into the floor. You caught him under the arm just in time.

“Hi, Theo,” You said softly, “Oh gosh you smell like bad decisions.”

“You need to eat,” You added, “Something starchy. Or you’re going to feel like roadkill tomorrow.”

“He never eats when he’s like this,” Blaise said from where he was sprawled over a kitchen chair, “We’ve tried. It’s hopeless.”

“Chi mangia bene, vive bene, remember?” You said softly, probably butchering his mother's saying as you guided Theo toward the table.

That stopped him. His gaze sharpened just enough to find your eyes.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours with a quiet breath, “E chi ha te… ha tutto.”

Your heart skipped even though you hadn't a clue what he just said.

Mattheo made an exaggerated gagging noise, “Okay, Casanova, wrap it up.”

Draco, grinning, gave you a mock bow, “He’s all yours. Good luck with drunk Shakespeare.”

As the door shut behind them, Theo was still leaning on you, breathing you in like he needed your scent to stay upright.

“You smell like a distillery.” You said, amused.

“You smell like home.” He mumbled.

Your cheeks warmed, and you pushed the plate gently into his lap, “Eat your toast, Romeo.”

***

The bar was warm and golden, tucked away on a cobbled side street with velvet booths and enchanted candles flickering lazily overhead. You and Pansy had claimed a prime table by the window, cocktails already half-finished and a bowl of enchanted peanuts floating between you, occasionally popping like popcorn.

“I swear,” Pansy said, leaning in conspiratorially, “if Draco mentions his new wand polish one more time, I will hex him bald.”

You snorted into your drink, eyes gleaming, “You wouldn’t. You like running your hands through his hair too much.”

She grinned, “Touché. But I’d still threaten it. Keeps him humble.”

It was the first proper girls’ night out you’d had in what felt like forever, and Pansy — ever the scene-stealing, chaos-bringing goddess she was — made it feel like the war, the heartbreak, and everything in between had never happened.

“So,” She drawled, resting her chin on her palm with a wicked glint in her eye, “Tell me everything. Are you dating? Shagging? Secretly married? Come on, give me the details.”

You laughed, swirling the pink liquid in your glass — some fruity, glittering cocktail you hadn’t tasted since your Hogwarts days. It cooled your fingers while your cheeks burned hotter by the second.

You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back your smile, “It’s not like that, Pans. We’re just good friends. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have made it this far without him.”

“Oh darling,” She said with mock pity, “it’s always ‘not like that’ until you’re wearing his jumpers and catching feelings.”

You opened your mouth to object—but the words caught in your throat. You had worn his jumper. You were catching feelings.

Pansy’s eyes widened. She gasped, clutching her chest with dramatic flair, “No. No way. You like him.”

“I didn’t say that." You muttered.

“You didn’t have to!” She squealed, grabbing your hands across the table, “Oh, you poor lovesick thing. I knew it. I knew it!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, “You are insufferable.”

“I’m right, though,” She sang smugly, taking another sip of her drink, “And I actually happen to know that our dear Teddy has been—”

“(Y/N).”

The voice cut through the air like a curse.

You froze.

Pansy’s glass paused halfway to her lips. Her smile vanished.

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t have to look to know who it was — that voice had once lived in your dreams. Now it only haunted your nightmares.

Slowly, you turned in your seat.

And saw your ex-fiancé standing at the edge of your table.

You stared up at him, heart thudding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. He looked mostly the same — slicked-back hair that tried too hard to look effortless, a coat more expensive than it was tasteful, and that same smirk he always wore like armor. His jaw was tighter now, clenched like he hadn’t unclenched it in months. His eyes were cold, sunken a little, and mean in a way they didn’t even bother to hide.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.” He said, voice low, razor-edged.

Pansy was on her feet before you could speak, stepping in front of you like a drawn wand. “And yet here you are,” She said, all sugar and venom, “Funny how you manage to show up where no one wants you.”

He didn’t even glance at her. His eyes stayed locked on you, “We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t,” Pansy snapped, “Back off before I hex your bits so far inward you’ll need a St. Mungo’s specialist to find them.”

“Pansy,” you murmured, brushing your fingers against her sleeve. Your hand was shaking.

He took a step closer, “Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You rose slowly, pushing your chair back, jaw tight, “Fine. Five minutes. Nothing more.”

“Absolutely not—” Pansy began, but you shook your head.

“I’m okay.”

You weren’t. Not even remotely. But you needed this to end. To really end.

The night air was sharp against your skin, the hum of the city muffled as you stepped into the alley behind the bar. You folded your arms, more out of defense than cold.

“So this is what it takes to find you now?” He said, voice curling with disdain, “Are you selling yourself like a whore on street corners now?”

You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your voice steady, “What do you want?”

He took a step forward, “I heard the rumors. People talk, you know. Especially when a bride vanishes in silk and ends up playing house with that filthy blood traitor Theodore Nott.”

Your lips parted in disbelief.

“I should’ve known,” he sneered, “You always acted so self-righteous. But look at you now — just another slag hopping into the next man’s bed. Must be nice not needing vows to spread your legs, yeah?”

The words hit like a slap, your stomach twisting with fury and disbelief.

“I’m done listening to this.”

You turned—and before you could even brace yourself, he yanked you sharply by the collar and slammed you hard against the brick wall. The air whooshed out of your lungs as your back hit the cold surface, the impact jarring your entire body.

His hands tightened suddenly around your throat, fingers digging into your skin in a cruel grip. You gasped for air, panic surging as darkness edged your vision.

“Don’t you dare think you can just walk away from me.” He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes wild and merciless.

You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but his strength was overwhelming, pressing down harder, choking the breath from you.

"Reducto!"

The spell hit him square in the chest, blasting him off you with bone-jarring force. He flew backward, crashing into the far wall of the alley with a sickening thud before collapsing in a heap, gasping and stunned.

Pansy didn’t hesitate.

She stormed toward him like a vengeful shadow, wand leveled between his eyes as he groaned and tried to sit up. Her voice was shaking—but only with rage.

“You filthy little coward,” she spat, every word laced with venom, “Touch her again, and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

He growled, trying to rise—Pansy kicked him flat in the chest, knocking him back to the ground with her heel, “Stay. Down.”

Your knees buckled, the sudden rush of oxygen burning your throat as you slid down the wall, coughing and trembling.

“Whoa—hey.” Pansy caught you, strong and certain, one arm steadying you as the other clutched her wand, “I’ve got you, love. You’re okay. We’re going home.”

And this time, you let her carry the weight.

***

The world spun sharply as Pansy apparated, the crack of displaced air still echoing in your ears. The warmth of her body vanished the moment your feet hit solid ground—wood floors, familiar scents. You were in Theo’s flat.

Laughter and chatter from the living room fell to a jarring halt.

Five pairs of eyes turned in unison: Theo, Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, and Enzo—all frozen mid-conversation, drinks in hand. The moment they saw you, everything dropped.

“(Y/N)?”

Your name left Theo like a punch to the gut.

You were trembling, arms wrapped tight around your middle as if they could hold your ribs together. Pansy still held onto you, as if she wasn’t entirely sure you wouldn’t collapse, and even she looked rattled under the scrutiny of the room.

“That fucker,” She said through gritted teeth, “Grabbed her outside the bar. Slammed her into a wall. Tried to—” her voice faltered, thick with fury, “She couldn’t breathe.”

Theo moved.

Fast.

He crossed the room in three strides, gently brushing Pansy aside like she was made of smoke. Then he was in front of you, hands hovering for a split second before he cupped your face, cradling you like you were something fragile and sacred.

His eyes roamed over your features—your split lip, your glassy eyes, the bruising fingerprints beginning to bloom like violets around your throat—and something in him shattered.

His jaw clenched, fury crashing through him like a tidal wave. He looked like he could tear the world apart.

“I’m fine.” You rasped, voice barely more than a whisper.

You tried to smile—a brittle, curling thing, “I know that probably doesn’t help my case, but… trust me, I’m fine.”

“Don’t do that,” Theo said softly, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, his voice hoarse and tight, “Don’t lie to me right now.”

Your breath hitched.

Draco hovered beside Pansy now, brushing her hair behind her ear as he muttered something only she could hear. She nodded once, giving her boyfriend a soft smile before turning her gaze back to you, eyes gleaming with steel.

Theo gently tugged you forward into his chest.

You didn’t resist.

You couldn’t.

Your limbs had surrendered somewhere between the alley and the flat, and he was warm, steady—home. Before you could stop it, a sob cracked loose from your chest, raw and shaking. Your hands fisted into his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

He held you tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice trembling beneath the quiet, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

The flat was eerily quiet now. One by one, the boys filtered out, their faces grim with the weight of what had just happened.

Mattheo lingered just long enough to press a firm, reassuring hand to your shoulder. His voice was low, steady, almost a promise, “You’re safe now. We’ll take care of everything from here.”

Blaise didn’t say a word. Instead, he gave a slow, deliberate nod to Theo, then to you, his expression taut with barely restrained anger and resolve.

Enzo’s jaw clenched as he glanced at you one last time. “He’s a dead man,” he muttered under his breath before turning away and joining the others.

You barely noticed them leaving. Your world had shrunk to the steady rhythm of Theo’s heartbeat humming against your ear, the comforting warmth of his hand pressing into your back, and the ache lodged deep in your chest — a raw, stubborn pain that refused to fade.

“I want him arrested. Tonight.” Pansy’s voice cut through the silence like ice, cold and deadly calm but laced with a fury that made the room vibrate, “Draco, I’m serious. He attacked her in public. Slammed her against a wall. Choked her until she could barely breathe.”

Draco’s tone was clipped, measured, but the sharp edge of anger was unmistakable, “You have a name?”

“Graham Bulstrode.” Pansy replied without hesitation, her voice razor-sharp and unyielding.

Draco’s jaw tightened, “Consider it done, my love.”

Every word settled into your foggy mind — distant but painfully clear. The tremble in your hands hadn’t stopped, but Theo’s arms wrapped around you only tightened, as if willing to keep the danger at bay. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head, a quiet vow whispered without words.

When the door finally clicked shut behind the last of the others, the tension finally broke. The tears you had been holding back surged forward, hot and fierce, tumbling freely down your cheeks. You clung to him, the safety of his presence grounding you as the storm inside began to settle.

You buried your face in Theo’s chest, shoulders trembling as the sobs broke free, wracking your entire body with every breath. He held you through it, solid and steady, one hand gently combing through your hair like he could smooth away the terror still clinging to your skin.

“I’m so stupid,” You gasped, the words catching in your throat, “I’ve—I’ve thought about that moment for the past month. What I’d say. How I’d stand up for myself. I imagined throwing that stupid ring back in his smug face, saying something cutting, something final—but when it actually happened…”

Your voice cracked, guilt burning behind your ribs.

“I couldn’t even speak. I just froze. I have a wand but I couldn't cast a single spell. I let him say all that shit about me—about you—and I... I didn’t even defend you, Theo. I’m so sorry. I'm so useless.”

He didn’t answer right away.

He just held you tighter, like your apology hurt more than anything else that had happened. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—gentle, but resolute.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His words rumbled in his chest, warm against your cheek.

“I don’t give a damn about what you said or didn’t say to him. You don’t owe me a defense—not ever.”

You looked up at him, blinking through the tears. His eyes found yours, fierce and heartbreakingly soft, like you were something sacred—something he’d never let break.

“And you’re not stupid, (Y/N), or useless,” He said, voice thick with emotion, “You’re incredible. Brave. Stronger than you even realize. And I’m so fucking proud of you.”

His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, grounding, safe.

“He’s not going to get away with this,” Theo whispered, “I promise you.”

You sighed, sinking deeper into him, like you could finally let go of everything you’d been holding in. His arms wrapped around you again, warm and sure.

“Come on,” he murmured, “Let’s treat that bruise. Get you something to eat.”

But you shook your head, face pressed tight against his chest.

“Don’t let me go.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore—it was tender, healing. You curled into him like you could disappear there, into the rhythm of his breathing and the thrum of his heart.

“I’m never going to let you go.”

And you believed him.

His heartbeat echoed beneath your ear, strong and unwavering. With every beat, the weight in your chest began to lift—slowly, steadily.

Safe. Loved. Finally, home.

***

A couple weeks later it was raining softly outside, the kind of slow, constant drizzle that blurred the windows and made the world feel far away. You and Theo were curled up on the couch, legs tangled, a blanket lazily thrown across your laps. A half-empty mug sat abandoned on the coffee table beside a crumpled takeout bag. The telly hummed faintly in the background, long forgotten.

“So then she goes, ‘I forgot to run the control,’” You said, exasperated, “and I swear to Merlin, I have never seen Slughorn that mad in his life.”

Theo snorted, one arm draped across your shoulders, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “Serves her right for always nicking your freshly ground moonstone.”

“Right? And of course, the one day I’m not there to supervise her, she completely tanks it. It’s not like I was goofing off—I was at the Ministry signing off the paperwork for Bulstrode's trial.” You sighed, “Slughorn knew, so I didn’t get in trouble, but I still have to repeat all her damn trials for the next few weeks. As if I don’t already have enough on my plate.”

“What’s keeping you so busy, Bella?” Theo asked, smiling as he gently unraveled the curl and let it spring back into place, “Maybe I can help.”

“Well, I’ve been needing to check out some apartments. Can’t really leave that to you, now can I?” You yawned, “But if you want, we could go together?”

Theo stilled.

He pulled back just slightly, brows furrowed as he studied your face, “Apartment hunting?”

You blinked, “Yeah… I’ve been looking at places closer to work. Just something small. I mean, I don’t make much yet.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “Wait—(Y/N), are you planning to move out?”

You nodded slowly, suddenly self-conscious, “I mean—I’ve been here for a while now and I love it, obviously, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. I figured—”

“You think you’re overstaying?” His voice cut gently but sharply through your words.

You faltered, “Well, I just—”

“You’re not,” Theo said, a little breathless now, like the words had been sitting on the edge of his tongue for too long, “You’re not overstaying. I want you here.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want to come home to you. Every day. Not to an empty flat. Not to a world where you’re somewhere else.”

His hand found yours, threading your fingers together like a lifeline. His voice dropped lower, steadier.

“Stay. Please.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and sure, “I want to come home knowing the woman I love is safe. Here. With me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, the world narrowing to his hand in yours, the soft thunder of rain against the windows, the warmth of his words blooming in your chest like magic.

“What do you mean, the woman you love?”

Theo let out a quiet laugh, a little stunned you hadn’t realized it already. His smile turned lopsided, eyes shining.

“Are you daft, (Y/N)?” He said, voice thick, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been taken with you since we were kids, and I’m still—” He broke off for a breath, like the truth was catching up to him all at once. “Still completely gone for you.”

Your heart did something unsteady in your chest.

“Say it again.” You whispered.

He cupped your cheek with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stuttered. The words lingered in the air between you, delicate and heavy all at once—like the hush after a spell’s been cast.

You didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

“I’ve loved you for a long time too, Theo,” You whispered, the confession trembling on your tongue, “I don’t even know when it started—when I began falling for you—but I did. And I fell hard. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

You smiled through the softness in your voice, “You’re the kindest, most patient man I’ve ever met… and I’m thanking my lucky stars that I met you on the day of my wedding.”

That pulled a laugh from him—warm, full, and brimming with disbelief. He tilted his head back slightly, grinning like you’d just handed him the entire sky.

You leaned in just a fraction, voice softer now, “I want to stay. Not just in the flat. In your life. With you.”

That did it.

Theo closed the distance, his hands cradling your face as his lips found yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was fierce and tender all at once—like a dam breaking, like every moment of yearning pouring out of him in one breathless, burning exhale.

You melted into him, arms winding around his neck, your body pressed close as the kiss deepened—hungry now, desperate. His fingers tangled in your hair, yours fisting in his shirt, both of you trying to memorize the moment, to feel every inch of it like it could make up for all the waiting.

Weeks—months—of unspoken words, of lingering touches and stolen glances, of intimate moments that always ended with breathless silences and aching restraint—crashed into a single breath.

Theo kissed you like you were his lifeline—like he’d been holding back a storm and had finally been given permission to let it break.

You gasped as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, your throat—reverent, hungry, like he was rediscovering you with every breath. “Tell me to stop,” He murmured, voice hoarse with restraint, “Say the word, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you tugged him closer, heart pounding under his palm as your fingers slid into his hair, voice trembling with a dangerous sort of affection, “If you stop, Theodore Nott, I’m sleeping at Pansy’s tonight.”

He let out a low, incredulous laugh—half-choked and fully wrecked—then kissed you again, deeper this time. Certain. Claiming. The rain tapped gently against the windows, forgotten behind the haze of fogged glass and the thrum of two hearts finally letting go.

And when he lifted you off the couch, carrying you down the hall with all the tenderness in the world and not an ounce of hesitation, the only thing either of you could think was:

About bloody time.

***

It was barely 9 a.m. when the front door to Theo’s flat creaked open—again, without so much as a knock.

Mattheo’s voice cut through the quiet, “I swear, if this idiot didn’t do the groceries and we hiked all the way here for his strawberries for nothing, I’m setting the place on fire.”

“I brought croissants.” Lorenzo offered brightly.

“You brought them from my kitchen,” Draco said flatly, “You literally stole them from my counter.”

Theo stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Do none of you understand the concept of boundaries?”

He was mid-scowl when Blaise’s voice drifted in from the hallway, “Don't you imbeciles think it's too early to—”

And then they all fell silent.

You had just stepped out of the bedroom—the master bedroom this time, not the guest room—bleary-eyed and yawning, wearing nothing but Theo’s hoodie. Again. Hair a little messy, legs bare, looking entirely at home.

Draco blinked, “Déjà vu.”

Mattheo let out a dramatic sigh, “Alright, but like… why is it always the hoodie and no pants? Not that I’m complaining—it’s just, you know what, never mind.”

Blaise leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, “So what’s the excuse this time? Sleepwalking? Laundry explosion? Sudden amnesia about how trousers work?”

You didn’t even flinch.

“We’re dating,” You said flatly, tugging the sleeve of Theo’s hoodie over your hand as you rubbed your eye, “And I’m not wearing pants because I had sex with your friend. Good morning.”

Silence.

Four pairs of stunned eyes stared at you.

Lorenzo made a choked noise, “I—okay.”

Mattheo sputtered, hands flailing, “You can’t just say that without warning!”

“You asked.” You replied dryly.

Draco took a long sip of coffee, muttering behind the rim of his mug, “I owe Pansy ten Galleons.”

***

Bonus:

Your heart pounded as you stared at the closed doors, the soft strains of the wedding march beginning to drift through the wood. Your palms were sweaty around the bouquet you carried, nerves and excitement swirling in your chest.

Then, the doors swung open, revealing you in a stunning white dress, your smile bright and genuine as you began your walk down the aisle. The hush of the ceremony wrapped around you like a warm embrace, the aisle stretching ahead lined with friends and family.

A memory flickered through your mind—just a couple of years ago, you had run away from a different wedding down the hall, only to find refuge in this very chapel. It was here that you met your to-be husband, the love of your life.

Your eyes locked onto the man standing across the room, looking impossibly handsome in his tailored suit. His gaze locked onto you immediately, and for a moment, all the noise and bustle melted away. It was just you and him.

Only a few feet separated you now, but something in your heart couldn’t wait. Before you realized what you were doing, you broke into a gentle run—this time towards the groom.

Theo’s face broke into a gentle smile—the kind reserved only for you—as he reached for you. Before you could even think twice, his arms closed around you, catching you effortlessly. Your feet lifted from the floor as he spun you gently, twirling you in a slow, perfect circle.

The world blurred—lights, faces, music—all faded into a whirl of warmth and happiness.

He pressed his forehead to yours, a slow smile curling on his lips as he whispered, "You just can't wait to marry me, can you?"

You laughed softly, breath warm against his skin, "I couldn’t run away—tried it before. Too much work."

His eyes sparkled with amusement and love as he pulled you closer, the world around you fading into nothing but this perfect, shared moment.

***

EXTRA BONUS BECAUSE I CAN HEHEHE:

Hogwarts, Year 6:

You glanced across the potions table, scanning the clutter of ingredients before turning slightly toward the Slytherin bench.

“Theodore?” You said cautiously, holding your crushed lacewing flies with gloved fingers, “Could I borrow the asphodel? Just for a sec.”

He looked up from his cauldron like you’d just asked for his wand. There was a pause. Not rude, not angry—just... blank. Then, wordlessly, he slid the jar toward you across the table. His fingers brushed yours for the briefest moment when you took it. Cold skin. A little spark. His hand recoiled like he’d been burned.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” You murmured, blinking.

He just gave a short nod, already turning away, jaw tight as he went back to slicing his valerian root like it had offended him personally.

You blinked again, confused, then padded back over to your side of the room where Pansy was lounging against the workbench like it was a chaise lounge in the Slytherin common room.

She quirked an eyebrow, “What was that?”

You shrugged, a slight pout forming on your lips, “I don’t know. I guess he just really doesn’t like me.”

Pansy snorted, “Please. If Theo really didn’t like you, you’d know.”

Meanwhile, across the room, Theo was absolutely not concentrating on his potion anymore. He was staring blankly into the cauldron, stirring too fast, ears tinged pink.

Your hands just touched.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

Harry Potter Taglist:

@downbad4reid

#slytherin boys #Theodore nott #Theo Nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott fanfic #theo nott fanfiction #theodore nott fic #theodore nott one shot

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 !

- gojo satoru x reader // zen'in naoya x reader

in the wake of your scandalous divorce, you fall into the arms of emperor gojo satoru. for a while, you believe you have found love… until it becomes clear that your new husband is scheming behind your back! love, marriage, divorce… are you doomed to go through this path the second time?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, marriage of convenience, explicit smut, pregnancy

note: loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress. this is the second part of remarried empress au trilogy! wc. 9.2k ! thank you so much for your love in the first part🩵 but as of now, TAGLIST IS CLOSED so i'd appreciate it if the comment section won't be flooded with asks for tags :')

credit header goes to @/mongsanghwa in twitter!

prev. all hail the empress | last. long live the empire

general masterlist | series masterlist

Heavens, help me... I love her too damn much!

For Gojo Satoru, love was once an abstract concept. At first, he thought it was admiration, or a sense of obsession—

But on the day he watched you become Zen’in Naoya’s bride, Satoru realized it was much deeper than that. It felt like the sharpest sword had pierced straight into him and lodged itself there.

And then, years later— as if hearing his prayers, you became his. Since then, his life was perfect, because he wasn't lying when he said that you were everything he wanted in life.

Yet in a twist of fate, that same sinking, horrific feeling washed over him... as he watched the pagoda he built for you engulfed in flames.

You were there. Satoru felt himself staggering as he took in the mortifying sight. You and his unborn child are inside!

He didn't waste a breath as he dashed towards where you were, crushing everything in his path in the process, but just as he was about to enter the scorching temple—

“Satoru, no!” Suguru grabbed him, restraining him with his own body. “Get back!”

“No!” he screamed at him frantically. “She is there! Suguru, let go—!”

And then the worst happened, as the pagoda completely crumbled into a heap of rubble. Satoru's breath was knocked out of him as he faced the reality that he couldn't save you in time. And he felt like losing his consciousness as he wheezed, and thrashed in Suguru's hold.

It was all too much for him to comprehend as he struggled against the devastation before him.

How... did this happen? You were happy. You were about to welcome a child into your lives! The two of you really were...

SEVERAL WEEKS PRIOR

Your husband is trying to use you to wage a war... against your homeland.

You secluded yourself in your study, trying to make sense what you just overheard.

In a broader perspective, Satoru's actions could be constituted as national defense. If he perceived the Eastern Empire as a threat, then countermeasures were indeed necessary. But if not...

Regardless, it was not the very idea that blew you, but how he planned to use you to sway sentiment in your former country, to weaken them.

Is that what he's been aiming all this time? You felt like a hypocrite to question this since you too were using him. But these days, you were certainly not using him—you were falling in love with him.

It was strange, because you were supposed to be furious if that was his intent from the start. Yet what you felt right now was profound sadness, possibly even denial and heartbreak. You kept thinking how there must be another explanation—

“Sweetheart, hello~!”

You were startled when the door to your study was suddenly flung open, and the man from your thoughts strode in with a broad grin, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.

"Satoru." You fixed him with a genial smile, even as nausea churned within you. Straightening your skirts, you looked up at him.

"I've been told you haven't been well, and Shoko said you've seen the physician," Satoru frowned, his long fingers cradling your face as he half-sat on your desk. "How did it go? What did he say?"

"Oh..." you clammed up, feeling at loss. "He said..."

Your dashing husband tilted his head curiously, bright eyes softened, worried lines etched on his face were so clear... and despite your conflict, you didn't have the heart to deny him this news.

"I'm with child." This time, your smile was genuine as you pushed back your intrusive thoughts. "Satoru... I'm carrying our child."

For a full ten seconds, Satoru was stunned, staring at you with a blank expression, his lips slightly parted. "H-huh...? Child? A... baby?"

"Mm-hm. A living baby."

"O-oh..." Satoru blinked his eyes rapidly—looking at your face, then your abdomen—before his expression broke into absolute wonder, broadly grinning. "T-that's... oh— it's—!"

To say he was speechless didn't cut it as he stuttered, messed his hair, pinched his own cheek, becoming restless yet looking so incredibly giddy—

"My queen!" Satoru suddenly lifted you and spun you around midair. "My beautiful wife—!" before gently sitting you on the desk and burying his face in your skirts, hugging your waist tightly. "Good lord, I'm— I'm so—!"

It hadn't truly dawned on you until now that you were going to become a mother. Witnessing Satoru's unabashed reaction as he nestled his face into you… nearly brought tears to your eyes.

Right in this moment, you didn't entertain any other thoughts. You were deeply moved by your husband's overwhelming excitement for your baby. And the realization that, despite Naoya's accusations—

Satoru looked up at you the second you sniffled, and he immediately drew you closer, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Hey, no tears, yeah?" He rested a hand on your jaw, his eyes sparkling with utter adoration as he gazed at you. "This is wonderful. We're going to be parents. This child... a part of you and me—we're going to bring them into the world."

You tugged his collar close and brushed your lips against his. And he responded with equal fervor. You yearned for this closeness with him.

. . .

But still in the back of your head, that lingering, buried fear whispered—

Is the man who adores you this much... capable of hurting you to the same extent?

With your bare bodies pressed closely, and you under him, Satoru could sense the rapid beat of your heart. And in return, you felt the heat of his palms against your skin and the tremors in his breath.

Yet now, in your marital bed, it quickly became clear to him that you, who were usually so composed and collected, were nervous. Satoru couldn't suppress the smile spreading across his face even if he tried.

"This is far from our first time, Empress." His coy smirk taunted you as he littered kisses along your jawline and chest. "What are you so jittery about, hmm?"

"Ah..." you let out a soft sigh as he sucked your breast with his mouth. "N-nothing... you're mistaken."

"Hmm... not confessing? Right..." He then grabbed the generous mound of your other breast and fondled it, making you squirm and moan.

But in the midst of this eroticism, suddenly your mind was thrown back to—

“That’s why I have her here.”

"Satoru," you breathed out, catching his hands. He looked up to you in slight surprise, thinking that you wanted to stop.

But he was in for a plot twist when you first pushed him, then flipped him underneath you, straddling him and capturing his lush lips, yanking his hair in the process.

"Whoa— hey..." Satoru held your hips, visibly startled but clearly enjoying your sudden whim, snickering. "My queen—ohh— you're a sight to behold, on top of me."

He grabbed the flesh of your bottom, sinking his fingers into it and pulling you forward. You let yourself be moved until your thighs were next to his ears.

Suddenly, it was, at once, the most peculiar experience—the greatest confidence boost you had ever received, and the hottest thing he had ever seen.

"You're so damn wet already," your husband nipped your inner thigh playfully as he observed your folds, and you gasped. "Are you ready?"

In response, you slammed yourself onto his face because, right now, you were in a less than forgiving mood.

"You look good under me," you darkly retorted, but then you choked on your own breath when your husband started licking your folds messily with his tongue.

Satoru smirked at the sound of your breathless noises, responding by lapping even more fervently. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tightening their grip on his scalp as you began to grind yourself against his face.

"You a-are really n-nasty!" you moaned, voice breaking at the feeling his sinful tongue parting your opening. "Maybe y-you have lied to me… all th-is time."

Satoru furrowed his brows in slight confusion, and perhaps a bit of annoyance, as he pinched your clit in retaliation, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.

"You're— awful!" but contrary to your claims, your face contorted with pleasure as the tight coil in your belly spasmed. "How m-many women... h-have you beguiled like m-me?"

He almost laughed into your ass. Literally. If being called awful was the price for pleasuring the most beautiful woman in the lands, then Satoru would be happy to be that horrible person every day of his life.

But then, you suddenly shifted on top of him, no longer positioning your hips in his face, and he quickly caught your face, crashing his lips against yours so both of you wouldn’t part for even a second.

"Nobody else," he murmured, wet lips and tongue ravishing yours, so much lust glistening in his eyes. "I'm all yours— forever." Just as he whispered it amidst pants, he groaned when your hand sneakily went to his very hard length.

And firmly grasped it. He got swollen just by tasting you and hearing your noises earlier. He growled, and against his senses, he pushed you down to lodge it inside you, penetrating and splitting you apart in one go.

“Ah—! Satoru— it’s too…!” you babbled breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders, feeling his huge cock pulsing inside your tight walls.

“Your fault,” he rebuked, eyes narrowing into darker shades, rigorously moving his hips against yours as he sat up. It was impossible to hold it in any longer, he could feel it already.

He tensed up, adjusting his position, so close to losing it inside you, and when he heard your dirty mewls and felt you shudder—reverberating through his body too—Satoru gripped your waist tighter, groaning, holding you in place to release his load inside you with precision.

Your body gave in as well, releasing at the same moment his cum burst inside you. Your vision blurred as the nastiest of moans escaped you, yet you felt so safe as your husband caught you in his arms.

. . .

"Are you okay?" Satoru asked worriedly after you rolled off him in the aftermath of your bliss. "Do you feel sick?" Your unfocused eyes met his, and he looked panicked, pulling you closer. "Shit, did I go too far? I shouldn't have, especially with the baby still in the early stages..."

"I'm... okay," you croaked, trying to reassure him. "Just tired..."

Heaving a relieved sigh, Satoru pecked you in the lips.

"Am I... a mess?" you leaned on him with a blissful smile, feeling his cum still trickling out between your legs.

"Yeah... My beautiful mess, that is." Satoru chuckled, reveling in the state of your disarray. "Soon enough," his hands traced your skin before settling on your tummy, a fond smile curving his lips. "Our baby will grow here."

"Yes—" you replied, placing your palm over his. "Do you... want a boy or girl?"

A boy would be the much sought-after prince, and you fully expected him to favor it, until to your surprise, Satoru lightly hummed and pressed a kiss on your belly button.

"Does that matter? What's important is you deliver them safely and they're healthy," he chuckled. "A princess will be nice... she'll turn out to be as lovely as you."

"But the heir has to be a prince..."

"Nah. I can always amend the succession norms. I'm the emperor."

And you giggled next. Seeing how free you looked, Satoru thought you were the woman overturning his skies and stars, and you truly are—as now you are the mother of his own flesh and blood, his future empire.

There will be a nation-wide celebration for you. Satoru insisted it was a must, and he would invite dignitaries from neighboring empires and kingdoms as well.

Including the Eastern Empire.

. . .

“Your Majesty. I... bring a gift and an invitation from the Western Empire.”

Naoya clacked his heel on the carpet, casting a sharp, yet uninterested look at his aide.

“There will be a celebration for—” the poor man gulped uneasily, faltering as if he could foresee how his emperor would react. Naoya scowled.

“Spit it out.”

“The former empress’ pregnancy, Your Majesty!”

“What...?” At that moment, he snapped his head towards him. It felt like everything he had ever known came crashing down. “Y/N...?”

That can’t be possible. For many years both of you had failed. That was why he took that maid and divorced you. No, upon reflection, it was never truly his intention to divorce you—he had wanted you to raise that child if you couldn't bear one.

But then you completely ignored him and had an affair with Gojo Satoru. He was furious. He couldn't bear the disgrace of it all, so he went with the divorce, if only to assert some control. However, the joke was on him, as you ultimately fled with Gojo entirely.

But if you aren’t infertile... Then, what did that make him?

Numerous thoughts ran through his mind. Was it possible that it was his child instead of Gojo’s? How many months had it been anyway?

...or could it be that he is the one who is—!

“No...” he muttered, frantic, taking sharp breaths. “Absolute rubbish!”

The aide stared at him in fear, as Naoya appeared unhinged now. But soon, that fear gave away to pity, as the emperor trashed his desk and howled in frustration— but contrary to the expected fury, Naoya looked like he was mourning, evident by the way he flung everything but the very portrait from his coronation day.

Of him and you. Even after that disastrous divorce, he had never taken it down from the wall of his study. Now, Naoya was staring at it, a multitude emotions clouding his eyes.

This man, just as the aide had always thought, has thrown away the only good thing he has in his life.

“Are the invitations sent already?” Satoru asked with a blooming smile, rolling the yarn out of his cat’s reach as the poor kitty grappled to catch it. “And how are the preparations going?”

“Banquets are usually handled by the Empress, but you really go out of your way and do it instead,” Suguru shook his head, unamused by the added workload it brought him, especially considering his disinterest in festivities.

“They’re all sent, some of them responded—before you ask, Naoya hasn’t— and I’ve cascaded the preparation to Shoko, since I have no clue what to do about it.”

“Well, not that I care if he’s going to stay sour and wants his name tarnished in the daily papers as a bitter ex-husband…” Satoru shrugged, petting Sugu-chan as the cat purred contentedly. “He is tactless, he very well might be.”

“You really want to spite him, don’t you…” Suguru sighed. “You even sent him a note. It was unnecessary.”

“He was the one hurling curses at me and my empress first. I’m just returning the favor.”

The note in question was of lines after lines of flowery nonsense about gratitude and whatnot. Satoru imagined Naoya's vein would burst after reading his card.

“I’m happy for you, Satoru.” As exasperated as Suguru was, his smile was genuine when he said it. “A royal baby, huh...”

"Suguru." The emperor's voice suddenly dropped an octave, surprising him. "What about the placement of the totem I told you the other day?"

The abrupt shift in conversation made Suguru visibly uncomfortable, and again, they were back to this topic.

"You're seriously going to do this?" the duke asked, almost in disbelief. "Satoru, you're going to become a father. You have everything already. This will lead to war one way or another, and—what if the Empress finds out? How do you think it'll make her feel?"

However, Satoru's gaze was cold as he dismissed most of Suguru's tirade. There was a chill in his expression that made his longtime friend inwardly questioned who the man before him was.

"I'm asking you. Have you done it or not, Suguru?"

"You're going to put a curse on a whole village, Satoru."

"I told Zen'in Naoya the moment I got Y/N, that it would mark the beginning of his downfall. I'm making good on that promise."

Suguru pressed his eyes shut to calm his fury. Morally, what Satoru did was wrong, but politically, this was the art of war. Suguru purely opposed to this out of consideration for you.

Few understood Satoru's actions as well as Suguru did. He might understand, others like you and Shoko wouldn't.

"Just remember, when the Empress catches wind of this, she's going to resent you," Suguru warned. "No matter what your reasoning might be."

Satoru's upper lip curled upwards, his eyes bereft of light, narrowing with indifference.

"Unless you never tell her, that is of no relevance."

Love... has he ever loved you all this time?

Naoya had never been confronted with that question or pondered it, simply because he never considered love existed within the context of something as grand as monarchy.

You were chosen because you were well-bred and well-versed in the arts of nobility. You were indeed the epitome of an ideal empress, a fact evident throughout your tenure.

But...

"Naoya!" you yelled at him and caught his hand. "You're a fool! Why did you keep doing that!?"

It was a long-buried memory, when you were still in your teens, around the time you were just made the crown princess. His hands, bruised and bloodied, and you tended to them.

"I'm not weak, you know," he sullenly barked. "I have to train to be stronger."

"You definitely have to train, yes... but you have to take breaks!" you retorted angrily.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" he snapped back. "It's not like your hands that are injured."

And that moment, you were suddenly almost in tears. Naoya never understood why.

"Don't cry." But his instincts told him to make you not cry. "Don't cry. I'm fine, see?"

. . .

Zen'in Naoya jerked awake from his slumber, realizing he had forgotten what his dream was, that it was still the late afternoon, and he was still in his study.

All he felt was that nostalgic feeling, and it intensified when he glanced up... only to see his coronation portrait on the wall.

It was almost as if you were still here. You were incredibly stunning, he had to admit that. Why hadn’t he realized until just recently?

The way your crimson dress flowed out, and that thin, serene smile on your face... you were a picture-perfect empress, and that was not an exaggeration. No one could measure up to you—

"Your Majesty~!"

Especially not Hanabi.

"Your Majesty, the princess has started holding her head up!" Hanabi, now no longer dressed in rags but rather in one of your dresses, excitedly remarking, "Soon, she will start to—"

Naoya's gaze fell on her dress. He recognized it instantly. That specific deep, vibrant shade of red with serpent-like waistband. It was one of his gifts to you for your birthday. "Why are you wearing that?"

"Huh?" she seems perplexed. "Oh this... I thought it looks pretty..."

But to her surprise, he suddenly flared with fury. "That isn't yours, you dullard," he spat out.

Her expression sank in heartbreak as he continued with his venomous speech. "Know your place." His words cut like a blade. "And I keep telling you, a princess is of no use to the throne!"

Hanabi fought to hold back the tears, because not only had he insulted her, worse still, he showed no interest in their daughter. "She is still of your blood, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice trembling.

"I told you, I only want a heir." His sneer caused her eyes to widen in shock. "Other than that, I won't care."

"Your Majesty, please—" Hanabi was desperate for him to acknowledge their daughter, when she caught sight of your ethereal face on the wall.

He still hasn't taken it down. It made her eyes twitch, and her own anger to rise.

"The former empress..." she stared at your picture resentfully. "You still have her here. We never even have our portraits painted..."

Naoya's icy gaze leveled at her without a hint of sympathy, despite the woman standing before him being the mother of his child.

"Why do you look at me like that?" Hanabi asked, tears spilling from her eyes. "You used to care for me when you thought I would bear you a son. Even if it's a daughter, she deserves love too, doesn't she?"

In the last five years, she had come to know that the emperor wasn't always this manic person. He used to be gentler, or at least not as vindictive.

And she never truly wanted you to be cast away like that. She looked up to you, admired you from up close, and meant it when she said she would carry your legacy as best as she could.

"Are you dumb?" Naoya barked. "I told you to know your place!"

...yet why? Why are people in this palace so harsh to her?

“I wish you luck on that, Hanabi. Beware, the emperor is fickle…”

Your unkind eyes, Naoya's disdainful stares even after she gave birth to his child... She didn't even care about becoming the empress anymore. She just wanted a happy life!

"If it was the former empress' child... even if it was a princess..." Hanabi turned to him with determination even amidst her pitiful tears. "You wouldn't cast her aside just like you do now with my daughter, would you, Your Majesty?"

Naoya's gaze, devoid of emotion and filled with blatant disinterest more than anything, shot through her, hurting her more than if it was filled with fury instead.

The lack of warmth in his stare made her feel like being looked through rather than being seen. As if she is that insignificant.

"Leave," he ordered coldly next, turning his back on her.

And there is her answer.

Hanabi had been your maid for five long years. She knew who you were, what you stood for, and your whole demeanor. Yet, despite her best efforts, she could never emulate you in the same way, could she?

. . .

"My lady... don't you know that the former empress is with child?"

Once again, Hanabi felt the sting of ice when her lady-in-waiting delivered the news.

"Empress... Y/N?" she whispered. "How...?"

You were stripped of your titles here, and yet you still remained a queen somewhere else. Hanabi might have won Naoya's favor, but now she was losing it while you had another emperor's affection.

Not much had changed about you. You still occupied the highest seat a woman could possibly attain. Whereas she...

"But she is barren!" she turned to her confidant then, almost in disbelief.

"Evidently not. Emperor Gojo has proven that."

How nice. A part of Hanabi wanted to congratulate you because she knew of your sufferings—how much you longed to hold a baby from your womb in your arms.

How unfair... But another part of her couldn't help but despise you. Because even in your absence, she still had to live in your shadow. Because you, who had lost everything, regained it all so easily.

"And my lady... Emperor Gojo is going to throw a banquet for this occasion next month. You are expected to attend it."

"Sweetheart, you asleep?"

One night, several weeks later, just as you were about to drift off to sleep, you felt the sheets shift as Satoru slipped into bed beside you.

Though you didn't turn to face him, you felt his warm hands wrap around your waist from behind.

"Satoru... you're back," you murmured sleepily.

"Mm-hmm," he whispered, pulling you closer to his chest and burying his face in your hair, taking in your scent. "Shoko told me you've been in your bedchamber since breakfast. Are you okay?"

"I get queasy if I walk too much, so I've been lying down all day... But don't worry, the physician said it's normal in early stages of pregnancy."

His grip on you tightened, as he caressed your belly. "Hmm, naughty baby. I'm sorry I wasn't here..."

"Where were you?"

For days now, he had been away, and you hadn't really questioned him. You had your guesses though—

"I was overseeing the construction of a new pagoda," he said softly, kissing your neck. "For you, actually."

That was so unexpected that it made you open your eyes fully. "What— for me?" Building pagoda was definitely not a small affair. Usually it was for religious purposes.

"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby. It's expected to be completed before your celebration banquet."

The tower would be the testament of his love for you and your unborn child. Despite yourself, your heart swelled with overwhelming warmth.

"You're so silly... why do you spend the tax funds for that?" you brushed off the faint heat in your face, not daring to look at him still.

"Whatever I wouldn't do for you?" he cheekily retorted, chuckling.

You had never felt this cherished before, and this time you were certain—you were more than ready to fall in love with this man.

But he... is planning to use you, isn't he?

"Satoru." You shuffled to turn and face him, causing him to crack his lidded eyes open. You gazed at him, placing both of your hands on his face, caressing his face softly.

You're so kind to me. I appreciate you for that. You wanted to tell him various things, but the darkness in your heart ever since overhearing his exchange with Suguru made it hard for you to do so.

"Mm? What is it?" he drawled with a small smile, leaning into your touch.

“You... love me, don't you?”

His bright eyes found yours then, sharp and steady. An impossibly fond smile graced his lips, as if finding what you said the most natural thing there was.

“Throughout heaven and earth,” he proclaimed, his voice steady to match his eyes. “Yes, my queen.”

...then you would trust him, if only just for this moment. The genuine sincerity in his eyes, the raw authenticity in his words... it all felt too real.

And so, even when you were well-aware of the bitter possibility of truth, you leaned in and kissed him, giving yourself to his touch as his hand slipped inside you.

And soon, came the day of the lavish banquet solely held to celebrate your pregnancy.

You were seated on your throne, dressed in a stunning aquamarine gown. The skirt of the dress was full and flowing, spilling onto the floor in a waterfall of shimmering fabric. Upon your head perched your crown of diamonds, glinting beneath the light, and your ceremonial veil to make you look as queenly as you could possibly be.

Everyone would agree that you were a sight to behold, and that you were worthy of every praise possible.

"Many congratulations to you, Your Majesty."

"This is a splendid news! A royal baby!"

"To think that the emperor has settled down... sniff, how long have we been waiting for this...? We almost gave up."

You almost giggled at the way Archbishop Yaga wiped his tears with a handkerchief as he presented you with his gift.

Despite your initial reservations, you enjoyed the festivities more than you expected. You had opposed the idea at first, finding it quite unnecessary, but Satoru had pouted for three long days until you eventually relented to appease him.

Speaking of him, he was equally dressed to impress, looking every bit as an emperor he was in an exquisite aquamarine military uniform and robes. Despite engaging in conversation with Earl Nanami, he kept a watchful eye on you, stealing glances in your direction to ensure you were well.

You nodded at him, and he threw you a wink. You smiled.

Everything was truly going well... until the herald announced:

"Prince Megumi and Royal Consort Hanabi from Eastern Empire!"

There was suddenly a hush over the crowd as the two made their entrance. You stilled, looking at the figure responsible for your checkered life—

Hanabi was starkly different since the last you saw her at the courthouse during your divorce. Her dress was now a vibrant shade of burgundy red, reminiscent of a gown you once wore. Gone was her air of humility, replaced by a display of extravagance befitting a noblewoman.

She is no longer your maid, but Naoya's consort. There was no trace of the woman who once served you. You were actually impressed, as she could actually shape herself into the image of a royal consort.

"Empress." However, your attention quickly shifted to Naoya's nephew, and once also your ward, Megumi, as he bowed before you respectfully. "Congratulations."

A fond smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you regarded the young prince who had once been a very shy individual. It reminded you of the days spent with him just to get him out of his shell.

"Thank you, Megumi."

"Diamonds suit you far better than golds do. I wish only for the best for you, Your Majesty."

It warmed your heart, really. Using that reference to your gold crown from your time in the Eastern Empire, you could see how much Megumi truly understood your position and bore no resentment towards you.

Could the same be said for Naoya though?

Right after you received his gift—an ornate box that seemed oddly familiar to you—Hanabi suddenly blurted out:

"So, fate has smiled upon you. Congratulations Empress Y/N." She kept that soft, meaningful smile on her face as she offered her felicitations.

Ever since her arrival was announced, something about her demeanor had bothered you. There was a subtle emptiness that seemed to linger in her gaze.

"Thank you," you responded, and that was when you noticed it. There was never any celebration for the birth of her daughter and Naoya, only a passing announcement.

And so, you added. "Congratulations on the birth of the princess too."

You could have sworn her expression fell for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure and bowed her head to you.

For a while, you lost sight of her in the crowd, feeling quite comfortable in your dais. Soon after, Satoru returned to your side, and the herald announced:

"Attention! His Majesty the Emperor's gift for Her Majesty the Empress!"

You looked at Satoru questioningly, and he gave you a dashing smirk before turning to the crowd.

"Thank you, all of you, for joining us to celebrate this joyous occasion." The way he carried himself and the sheer confidence he exuded was mesmerizing, you couldn't deny how it made you swoon. "I've been infamous for many things, and I'm sure the tales have spread far and wide. So please, allow me one more gesture with you as the witnesses."

The crowd giggled at his words, and you finally spotted Hanabi among them, quietly assessing the scene.

Your husband turned to you, a soft smile on his face.

"This is for you my empress— my lovely queen. Words can't describe how elated I am to know that now you bear our child." He took your hand and pressed a kiss on it. "And it's only fitting that I praise you along with the skies and the stars."

A footman arrived and presented a pearly box. Satoru opened it, revealing a necklace inside. The centerpiece was a large, flawless diamond surrounded by smaller, perfectly cut stones of the same kind. No matter how you saw it, it was truly a work of art, meant to captivate and dazzle anyone who laid eyes on it.

You let out a gasp. "This..."

Satoru grinned, picking up the jewelry and preparing to place it on you. "Nothing much. Just a little trinket for you."

"This is not just a 'little trinket'!"

Your banter elicited another round of snickers from the audience as Satoru fastened the necklace around your neck. The moment he did, the crowd erupted into applause.

"Actually, my real gift is the new pagoda in the royal gardens, built in honor of the Empress," Satoru stated effortlessly, grinning unabashedly. "Feel free to stop by later, everyone."

To the ton, for him to gift you with something so sacred was the height of extravagance. Some of them wondered how you had managed to turn the elusive emperor into someone so devoted to you.

And a few... might be harboring ill will against you for it.

. . .

Later that night, you were sorting through the gifts you had received throughout the day.

"I don't understand, why would you give an expecting woman this?" Shoko picked apart a manuscript that was the gift from Archbishop Yaga. "Who would read this?"

"I wouldn't, but I'm sure Duke Geto would," you replied, and soon the two of you were giggling together.

From jewelry to ornaments, you were pleased with all the gifts presented by the guests from day one. While most were given out of formality, it was heartwarming to imagine your baby seeing all these someday.

Your attention soon turned to the box Megumi handed you earlier—Naoya's gift.

You were intrigued, because what could your spiteful ex-husband could possibly give you? And you immediately reached over to open the lid to find...

"What's that?" Shoko asked as your eyes widened in slight surprise.

Inside the box was an intricate gold and ruby necklace. One you knew well. The very one you wore during your coronation as the Empress of the Eastern Empire.

Years ago, Naoya himself had chosen this piece for you, and now he was gifting it to you, again?

“From now on, it’s going to be me and you, Empress.”

Reliving years of your marriage with him wasn't easy. You two were childhood sweethearts, and had been happy in the beginning. You couldn't pinpoint when things began to fall apart, but suddenly Naoya turned into such a person you didn't recognize altogether.

Seeing this relic made you nostalgic, and before you realized it, you touched it, trying to get a better look—

"Ah—!"

Suddenly, a sharp, unexpected pain shot through your abdomen. You instantly dropped the jewelry, letting it crash to the ground, and clutched your lower belly.

"Empress! What happened?!" Shoko rushed to your side in an instant, holding you up, and you whimpered.

"It hurts—!" Your breath hitched, as a seemingly invisible knife gutted you from inside. The intensity of the pain was overwhelming, leaving you gasping for breath. "Shoko, please—"

And before you could even scream or think, the pain blindsided you and your vision titled, before blacking out completely.

First came the warmth, then a reassuring squeeze on your hand. As your consciousness returned, you felt groggy, with your surroundings sharpening into focus.

The first thing that became your main focus the moment your eyes fluttered open was Satoru's face, a mixture of fright and relief etched across his features.

"You're awake..." He breathlessly muttered, sitting on your bedside, interlacing his fingers with yours. "How do you feel?"

"Sa...toru..." your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, and as soon as he heard you speak, he exhaled sharply, pulling you into a tight embrace.

"Heavens, I—" he let out a long sigh, his breath hot against your neck. "I'm so glad... you are..."

"What h-happened to me...?" you were feeling feverish and a dull throb was pounding at the back of your head, before the shock of it all dawned on you. "B-baby...! Our—!"

"Baby is okay too, don't worry," Satoru assured, pulling away from you to gently touch your cheek and squeeze your hand. "Both of you are fine for now..."

The horror that you might lose your baby shook you to the very core. Your vision blurred with the threatening onset of tears.

"Wh-at happened to me, Satoru...?" you asked again as he wiped your first falling tears, your heartbeat sounding so loud in your ears. "I-I was just..."

His expression took on a sudden shift, as if a dark cloud had passed over his face.

"You came into contact with a cursed object," he stated, his eyes hard as he locked onto yours. "You were cursed, Y/N."

"What...?" You were rendered speechless, feeling your body starting to shake. Cursed object? Your past coronation necklace?

Naoya was trying to curse you?

"It's okay, I'm here now, yeah?" Satoru's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, grounding you in the present. "Look at me. Hey, look at me." he repeated, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours with intensity.

“I’m here. I’m here with you. Nothing—absolutely nothing—will touch you so long as I’m here.”

But in that moment, your mind was so overwhelmed with fear for yourself and your unborn baby that you couldn't fully grasp the magnitude of the mess unfolding before you, and you just cried in his arms.

Feeling your feeble fingers fisting his robes and your inconsolable tears staining his collar, Satoru gritted his teeth.

“This won't happen again,” he whispered into your hair, feeling his rage simmering as he felt the tremors of your sobs against his chest. “I swear, I won't let anything like this happen again.”

To Satoru, that was more than enough to justify all his subsequent actions. Putting a curse on his empress essentially amounted to an act of beginning a war.

And it also meant he no longer had to operate behind the scenes.

“Keep them in Clock Tower. No contact. Only food and water at designated times.”

Satoru's icy gaze on the captain of royal guard compelled him to hastily comply with the order, before his eyes landing on the map of the entire continent.

In response to the incident that befell you, he issued orders for open hostility along the eastern and western borders. Soon after, he would formally declare his intention to go to war.

So close. He was so close to achieving his end goal.

. . .

"Satoru!"

Several days later, Suguru burst into his study, visibly outraged. He clenched his fists, looking as if he was about to throttle him altogether.

"You—" he heaved a harsh breath. "You have gone too far!"

"What are you talking about, Suguru?"

"Is cursing the entire winery village not enough for you?" This was the first time Suguru had been this furious with him. "Did you really have to massacre the neighboring district as well?!"

"They have placed a curse on my empress." It was so easy for him to say it. "Anyone who dares to harm her shall die."

"You can direct it at Zen'in Naoya! Not the innocent civilians!"

Satoru remained silent, neither shaken nor enraged, and he had finally had enough.

“Are you even sure it’s because the empress is cursed?" Suguru challenged. In his view, this farce had been going on too long.

“No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”

You were informed, days later.

“His Majesty has placed the prince and royal consort of the Eastern Empire under strict watch in Clock Tower.”

Clock Tower was essentially the prison where they kept war criminals. Learning that Satoru had confined both Megumi and Hanabi there left you aghast.

After some days of bedrest and getting better, you realized that the entire situation still didn't make sense to you. As hateful as Naoya was, harming you would do him more harm than good. Eastern and Western Empires stood evenly matched in military power, and hence, a conflict between them would bring devastation to both sides.

And moreover, you knew for sure was that Megumi was definitely not the one responsible for this. He was just a boy!

You had to let him out somehow. You had to talk to Satoru about this.

Or at least that was what you thought when you came close to his study.

“Are you even sure it's because the empress is cursed? No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”

You stopped on your tracks—stunned into place, to be exact.

“And you’ve struck gold when she did because her influence will provide you with greater advantage.” Suguru scoffed then, lightly shaking his head with a sneer. “Love? How laughable. All these years, you are planning your warpath, how could you claim you love her when you're trying to ravage her homeland without even considering the impact it would have on her?”

It felt like whiplash. Geto Suguru's voice had your feet rooted to the spot, causing all your doubts to resurface and sizzle in an instant. The very question you had tried to avoid, it was suddenly shoved in your face.

What... will Satoru say? Your heart thumped so loud in your ears it made you almost stagger. He couldn't possibly. He simply couldn't. All his actions... they reflected his affection for you and you believed it because you felt it yourself too.

But Satoru's next response was—

“Even when she is derided as the devil, I will bring an end to the Zen’in line in this lifetime.”

And a part of your heart withers then.

The tips of your fingers trembled, finally taking in everything that you had tried to ignore for the past few weeks. It all caught up to you in one overwhelming rush.

Suddenly, it felt as if something inside your chest was torn out and held up for you to see.

"I'm telling you, that day will come sooner than you think, Satoru." Suguru's voice broke through, his frustration palpable. His words snapped you out of your reverie, and you took a step back, retreating to the safety of your study.

The first time you felt utter hollowness wrecking you was when you had suspected that Naoya might have taken Hanabi to his bed. The feelings overwhelming you now were eerily similar to how you felt back then.

Only in this case…

You had used him first, and if he used you in return... you couldn't fault him.

But isn't it still a bitter truth, even when a mutual transaction is very well within his rights, to know that what you believe as love may apparently not really be the case?

Love... of course, he loves you.

Of that, he was certain.

But at the same time… he had his ambitions.

Destroying the Eastern Empire. Was it so wrong that he wanted it? Didn't you want this as well? After all, Naoya had spurned you for a lowly servant and made your life hell, didn’t he?

Satoru strolled through the halls and made his way to your study, where the sight of you, so pretty and regal in your seat, greeted him.

His beautiful, graceful wife and empress of his nation. For so long, he had desired you, and now here you were, perched within his walls. His heart couldn't be more full— his life is complete already.

"Sweetheart, hey... how are you feeling today?" an adoring grin was visible on his face as he approached you. "Does the baby give you trouble today?"

You didn't answer though, and didn't look at him either. It was quite strange, Satoru thought.

"What's wrong? Is there something—" And when you finally turned to him, the look in your eyes was so eerily cold it almost gave him a chill.

"Release Megumi from your dungeon," you told him with a strained tone. "And return him to his home empire."

The smile on Satoru's face vanished that instant.

"I can't do that."

You rose from your seat, facing him. "He is just a child."

Satoru regarded you with a stern look. “That child you speak about is a prince of the Eastern Empire. He has committed a great crime against you.”

“Naoya didn’t do it.” Your steely gaze was unflinching. “He might be senseless, but he isn’t insane enough to deliberately go into a war he might possibly lose.”

Satoru's eyes darkened at your words, as you stood before him with determination. The way you were so adamant somehow took him aback. “How... could you defend him? He has wronged you!”

It was one question you had expected, and you had the answer ready.

“Even if he has, I could never wish doom upon my own homeland, Satoru. I’ve lived most of my life there, I did a great deal of things there— even if you harbor some sort of misguided contempt or just bloodthirsty enough to lay ruin to Eastern Empire, I refuse to be the puppet for your schemes!”

There it was. You had said it. Everything would crumble once again just like your previous marriage.

Satoru was staring at you in slight disbelief, his eyes gleamed with something that you couldn't really pinpoint. Anger? Disappointment?

“Your life was in danger, as was our unborn child’s. Don’t you care about that—!” he actually had to stop to catch his breath. “Don’t you care that our child nearly didn't make it?”

“And? You must have thought it was the perfect grounds for declaring a war?” but you didn’t relent and questioned him with a scoff. “And afterwards, you would try to use me to gain defectors from Eastern Empire, is that it?”

You saw the flash of surprise in your now-husband's eyes right when you recited his words, but you weren't about to hold back any longer now.

“Now you’re using my safety to justify your actions,” you hissed, feeling like suddenly you understood what all of this was. “You’re quite cunning, Satoru. I’ve heard everything—you will do anything to bring an end to the Zen'in lineage! You won’t even consider the repercussions of my reputation being tarnished across the lands!”

“Is that even important now?” Satoru gritted his teeth to suppress his irritation. “You have been cursed. Do you honestly think I would let them get away with cursing my empress? How could I, who seek to protect you, be more vicious than whoever in Eastern Empire who cursed you with that necklace?”

“You’re doing this for your personal gratification!” you exclaimed. “It is never about me. You’re just a warmonger!”

The moment those words left your lips, Satoru stilled. His gaze on you faltered, and you could’ve sworn hurt flashed in his face.

“Just how low… is your opinion of me?” he asked, his tone dropping, eyes devoid of emotion. “You jump into conclusions only after overhearing something in a passing and yet you know for sure Naoya wouldn’t harm you—” he clenched his jaw.

“You… really loved him, didn’t you?” he asked with a sardonic smile. “I know it already. You won’t ever be able to do the same for me. You can’t even trust me.”

You were rendered speechless. Despite your doubts of him, hearing this still felt like a slap in your face.

Won’t be able to do the same for him? No. That’s not true. You are—

Satoru let out a defeated laugh and ran his hand through his hair, leaving you uncertain whether he was amused or heartbroken by your lack of response.

“It’s funny, how I have loved you for so long... but apparently the woman I believed to have even a semblance of affection for me doesn’t even exist.”

It felt like that one part of you that was capable of feeling love had been stabbed once again.

To say this out loud hurt you deeply, unbeknownst to him. You didn’t mean this at all, still it was what came out of you, out of spite—

“In the end, we’re just using each other. That’s all we amount to.”

Satoru bitterly snorted, finding your accusation so unfair to him.

“How cruel is it that I’m the only one who has to prove this love to you? What about you? You’re terribly, horribly selfish!”

You stayed silent, looking away, caught between the scorching knives that seemed to twist your heart and conflicting emotions in it, uncertain of what to believe anymore. And you didn't really know what heartbreak was like before—

“It has been really exhausting, and I don’t want to bother anymore.”

When his gaze next met yours, dark and piercing, you realized he was no longer the same man who once promised you love and devotion.

“You're free to believe whatever truth you wish. But remember, even if you are my wife and the empress of this nation, should you commit any transgressions… I won’t hesitate to accuse you of treason, Empress.”

You have committed treason.

Satoru had conducted investigation of the sorts just to prove his point. And yet days later, no direct evidence pointing towards Megumi or Hanabi were found in that cursed necklace.

Punishment for treason is imminent death. You were well-aware of that more than anyone, but your consciousness wouldn't allow it if Megumi had to be hanged due to Satoru's antagonism.

"Your Majesty, your kindness knows no bounds," Megumi said, dropping to one knee before you and lowering his head in the throne room. Satoru had chosen not to grace any of you with his presence, leaving you alone to bid farewell to both Megumi and Hanabi.

Since then, you hadn't spoken with him, nor had he visited your chambers. It was as if he considered you nonexistent at all.

And it is really only a matter of time before he finds out.

But at the very least, you were right. It was never Megumi. That boy was fond of you, he could never. So, you shifted your gaze on the woman next to him.

"Royal Consort Hanabi. A word."

It was the cue for everyone else to exit the throne room. Now, you were faced with this woman once again, and yet one thing remained the same— you were still towering over her.

"Why did you do it?" Your calm gaze betrayed a quiet anger that was unmistakably clear. All because of this woman. It was beyond you, how despite having left your past life behind, she had somehow managed to taint your new one as well.

Hanabi looked away, a hint of shame coloring her features. "Your Majesty knows, so why do you spare me?" she asked quietly.

"How preposterous of you to think that I have spared you," you scoffed. "All this time, have you learned nothing at all from standing by Naoya's side?"

She flinched, visibly making herself smaller at your unforgiving tone, still, she dared herself to meet your eyes.

"Can I ask... why you never consider it as Emperor Naoya's doing?" she seemed more confused more than anything, even as her lips wobbled. "The two of you... you don't really hate each other, so why...?"

You didn't want to dwell on why Naoya had chosen that specific piece of jewelry to return to you. If anything, you'd consider it his final parting gift and be done with it.

But the naivety of this woman was astounding. Someone like her wouldn't last long in your seat. You let out a sigh, torn between feeling sorry for her or not.

"You have much to learn about court affairs, Hanabi. And do not think this is an act of mercy. Sending you back to Naoya is a punishment in itself—you know that by now."

Hanabi trembled where she stood, her breaths were shallow, and her hands shook slightly as she struggled to maintain composure in your presence.

Realizing it was futile to continue the conversation, you decided to conclude it.

"Know that I will never forgive you for what you have done to me." Your sharp eyes squared on her, the cold ire in your tone making her shudder.

In all the years Hanabi had known you, you had never appeared more fearsome than you did now, adorned in silks of deep blue hues, with that crown of diamonds gleaming in your head.

Then, as if sealing her fate, you delivered these parting words:

"You've always coveted what I have, and sooner or later, that will be your downfall."

The palace felt suffocating for you. After sending Hanabi away, you took a walk in the gardens, followed closely by your ladies-in-waiting.

Good heavens, what have you done? You definitely didn't regret saving Megumi, but no matter how, you had committed a great crime against your own empire. A sentence would loom over your head!

And what about your baby? Would Satoru execute you while you still had his child inside you?

The very thought made your vision tilt, and you had to lean on the wall for support. Your ladies-in-waiting were immediately clamoring against each other.

"Leave," you commanded, trying to catch your breath while doing so. "I'll… take some time to rest here."

It took you a moment to realize you had reached the pagoda that Satoru had commissioned for you. This was your first time visiting it. The structure was magnificent, towering in height and adorned with exquisite decorations, leaving you in awe.

"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby."

You wanted to cry. His voice, soft and smooth, conveyed those words so easily to you. He really loved you, didn't he? What made you so unsure about that undeniable fact?

And now you had broken his heart.

Your hand reached for your belly. Though hidden by your dress, you could distinctly feel that it had become firmer these days, holding the product of your love with Satoru.

"I'm sorry, baby..." you whispered, heartbroken. "I didn't mean to drag you into this too..."

You felt nauseous, your breaths come in short pants, and you felt a headache coming. It didn't really register to you that you had crashed into the candle table, before you collected yourself and ventured deeper inside.

You just wanted a sense of peace and quiet. You would think more later, and right now, the darkness inside felt like a comforting lull for you to rest.

. . .

Or at least that was what you had intended, until you looked back and saw the swirling inferno creeping through the halls.

It didn't take long for Satoru to figure out you had really orchestrated Megumi's release.

More than his wounded pride, it was the searing pain of realizing that you truly believed he was only using you for his own benefit. It felt like an insult to everything he had done for you.

Why couldn't you see that? Just how hard is it for you to understand?

And now that it had come to this... what did you expect from him? Should he really make good on his word and punish you? It tore his heart to even consider it.

However, what was worse was… did you think he was really capable of that too?

Amidst his heartache, suddenly he heard loud commotion from outside his study, yells and cries of help— and it roused him from his thoughts that he came out of his study, only to come right into a familiar face.

"Anyone! Anyone at all!" one of your maids was running, sobbing and hysterical. "Her Majesty! Please help Her Majesty!"

"What is all of this ruckus?" Satoru demanded, catching the maid by the hand, as she stuttered in tears.

And then, everything came crashing down with the next words.

"The Empress— is trapped inside the burning tower!"

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nhmkhnh · 8 days ago

Text

KILLSHOT.

CHARACTERS: VI ;; CAITLYN KIRAMMAN ;; CASSANDRA KIRAMMAN ;; SEVIKA ;; JINX ;; AMBESSA MEDARDA ;; ELLIE WILLIAMS ;; ABBY ANDERSON ;; MIZU ;; CLAIRE REDFIELD ;; JILL VALENTINE ;; ADA WONG ;; CHLOE PRICE.

PAIRINGS: ALL X SUB!FEM!READER (one for each scenario)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: alright i just write some bonuses for resident evil andd life is strange ladies, enjoy!

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni) TAGS: hybrid!characters ;; predator/prey dynamic ;; possessive behavior ;; knotting implications ;; scenting/marking ;; heat/rut themes ;; size kink ;; breeding kink ;; power imbalance ;; strap-on sex ;; rough sex ;; pet names (too much i don't remember haha.)

navigation.

vi (german shepherd) - sfw ver.

vi’s tail thumped the floor the second she heard you stir.

you’d barely shifted in the tangle of sheets before she was there—eyes glowing amber in the dim early light, ears perked, claws tapping softly against the floor as she moved. she crouched beside the bed like something wild, but it wasn’t menace that rolled off her. it was reverence.

“you awake, pup?” her voice was gravel and morning warmth, and when you peeked one eye open, she smiled like it was sunrise just for her.

you murmured something sleepy—nonsense, probably—and tried to turn over again. but vi didn’t let you. big hands found your waist, and she hauled you into her arms like you were weightless, curling around you, nose burying into your neck. a soft rumble left her chest as she scented you.

she always did this. every morning. as if checking you were still hers.

“you smell like sleep,” she grunted, licking a slow stripe up your nape. “like mine.”

you squirmed in her hold, giggling—but her grip only tightened.

“stay. just a little longer,” she whispered, voice caught somewhere between prayer and command. “don’t make me growl, baby.”

you didn’t move.

you never really could, not when she held you like this.

vi (german shepherd) - smut ver.

you weren’t supposed to tease her.

you knew that. you knew that. but when you bent over the table to reach for the candle, ass high, tail of your little house dress flicking up—

vi snapped.

one second she was on the other side of the kitchen. the next, your chest was slammed flat against the counter, cheek pressed to cold wood, a hot breath steaming across your nape.

“you tryna make me lose it, huh?” she growled, voice barely human anymore, more beast than woman. her claws dug into the wood beside your face. “wigglin’ that pretty little thing like i won’t fuckin’ take it.”

“vi—” you started, breath hitching, but the rest was swallowed in a gasp when her hand shoved between your thighs.

already wet. of course you were. she huffed a low, dangerous laugh.

“yeah. that’s what i thought.”

she didn’t even undress you. just ripped your panties to the side and shoved your legs wider, making you stand on tiptoes, shaking under her grip. her teeth grazed your shoulder, then sank in—not hard enough to break skin, but deep enough to claim.

“you’re not leavin’ this house with anyone smellin’ but me,” she snarled, grinding herself against you. you felt the strap—thick, already slick from her heat and pre-lubed because she’d been waiting.

“vi—!” you cried again, but this time it broke into a moan.

and that did it.

she plunged into you in one brutal thrust.

“mine,” she growled against your spine. “say it. say you belong to me.”

you choked on her name, wrecked and shaking and so full.

and when she snarled, “good girl,” and started fucking into you like she wanted to split your soul in half—

—you realized that this beast never wanted to tame you.

just ruin you. again and again.

caitlyn kiramman (black panther) - sfw ver.

you didn’t hear her come in.

you never did.

one second you were in the middle of folding towels—barefoot, hair messy, humming some little song under your breath—and the next, there was a shadow behind you. a shape. a presence. something cold and watchful.

your breath caught.

“don’t stop on my account,” caitlyn murmured, voice as smooth as smoke, as velvet as the fur that lined her ears. you felt the brush of her claw at your lower back, tracing the hem of your shirt. “i was enjoying the view.”

“caitlyn,” you whispered, heart hammering.

she circled you. slow. purposeful. like a cat toying with its mouse—not out of cruelty, but devotion. worship.

“you know better than to leave your door unlocked.” her pupils were slits now. her tail swayed lazily. “someone might wander in.”

your voice came out small. “you’re not someone.”

her smile was dangerous. sharp.

“no,” she agreed. “i’m not.”

she took the towel from your hands.

and you didn’t resist when she pulled you gently into her arms.

caitlyn kiramman (black panther) - smut ver.

she told you not to run.

and you did anyway.

you were laughing, breathless, barefoot on the cold marble of the estate halls. somewhere deep down, you knew she’d catch you. that caitlyn kiramman—black panther hybrid, top of the food chain, crown of piltover’s underworld—never failed the hunt.

but the thrill of it was electric.

then the lights went out.

you didn’t scream. but you felt her—just behind you, shadows rippling, the barest sound of claws against tile.

“little thing,” her voice purred from the dark. “you think i don’t know how fast your heart’s beating?”

you spun.

too slow.

she tackled you flat to the floor, caged between her arms, nose pressed to your neck, inhaling.

“you’re dripping,” she murmured, low and victorious. “terrified. turned on.”

she grinded down against you slowly, deliberately, the outline of her strap thick and pulsing through the silk of her robe. she licked your throat. “do you know what it means when a panther catches her prey?”

you whimpered, nodding faintly.

“no,” she said, darkly amused. “say it.”

you swallowed hard. “it means she… gets to do anything she wants.”

caitlyn chuckled. then leaned in to whisper against your lips:

“correct.”

she pinned your wrists with one hand, hiked your nightdress up with the other, and sank into you in one slow, brutal thrust.

no mercy. just the sound of slick heat, your moans echoing down the hall, and the growl of a satisfied beast claiming what was hers.

“you’ll never run again,” caitlyn rasped, fangs grazing your skin. “not unless you want me to chase.”

cassandra kiramman (white tigress) - sfw ver.

“i… i’m sorry,” you mumbled, backing away from the mess, but she was already there. slow. tall. barefoot on cold tile. her tail swayed with lazy grace, fur catching the sunlight like snowdrift silk.

her clawed hand reached out—not to strike, not to scold. to cup your cheek.

“you flinch,” she said softly. too softly. “as if i would ever raise a hand to you.”

“i didn’t mean to—”

cassandra didn’t let you finish. she leaned in. inhaled deeply at your neck.

“do you know,” she murmured, brushing her nose along your skin, “how loud your heartbeat gets when you’re afraid?”

you were shaking. not from fear.

her lips ghosted your ear.

“…i love that sound.”

cassandra kiramman (white tigress) - smut ver.

it started with her scent.

something in the air. something wrong. you felt dizzy. weak in the knees. your pulse spiked, and before you could make sense of it, cassandra was already at your back, pressing you against her bedroom wall.

she hadn’t even touched you yet, and your thighs were slick.

“my little human,” she whispered, voice thick with heat. “your body is screaming for me.”

you couldn’t think. her claws raked lightly down your arm, not enough to hurt—just enough to claim. her breath was hot at your throat. her fangs barely grazed.

“i’ve gone into heat,” she whispered. “you’ve smelled it, haven’t you? sweet little prey can always tell when their queen is starving.”

“cassandra—” you whimpered.

“no.” her hand slammed between your thighs. “say mistress.”

you choked on the word as she lifted you off the floor like you weighed nothing, pinning you to the wall with just her hips and strength and the sheer force of her need.

she split you open with one deep, deliberate thrust of her strap—too big, too slow—and still not enough.

“you’ll take all of me,” cassandra hissed, licking at the tears threatening your lashes. “because i have waited too long to taste what’s mine.”

she rutted into you with a growl, primal and unrelenting, one hand squeezing your throat, the other holding your waist like she’d die before letting go.

“you’re not leaving this room,” she purred, breath ragged. “not until i’ve bred this heat into you.”

sevika (apex) - sfw ver.

you weren’t allowed to walk home alone.

not anymore.

not since sevika saw the scratch on your arm—tiny, barely even bled. but she’d stared at it for a full minute, tail low and stiff, before growling something too guttural to be human.

now she sat on the steps outside your place, every damn night, smoke curling from her lips, eyes tracking every soul that walked by like they were already marked for the grave.

“you don't gotta do this,” you mumbled one night, offering her your blanket. she didn’t move, just stared at you. ears twitching.

“i do gotta,” she said finally, voice deep and rough. “you’re mine.”

you opened your mouth, but she cut you off with a low, warning growl.

“don’t argue. i ain’t ever been good. but i can be useful. let me guard what’s mine.”

you blinked.

she looked away, smoke shrouding her face.

the blanket was still warm in your hands.

sevika (apex) - smut ver.

you’d been teasing her all night.

calling her “puppy.”

patting her head.

running your fingers through her fur and then walking away like you didn’t know what it did to her.

now you were on her lap, straddling thighs like tree trunks, and sevika’s claws were dug into your hips, her teeth bared in a snarl so low it vibrated through your chest.

“you think this is funny?” she rasped. “think you can play with a beast like me?”

you whimpered.

she leaned in, nose dragging along your neck, scenting you like she’d die without it. her breathing hitched—something primal and broken—and then her teeth sank into your shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

“you started this,” sevika growled, shifting under you—and then you felt it: thick, heavy, strapped in and soaked with her need. “now sit the fuck down.”

you barely managed a gasp before she grabbed your waist and slammed you down on her strap in one vicious thrust. your body arched, mouth open in a silent scream.

“yeah,” she grunted, holding you there. deep. unrelenting. “that’s what i fuckin’ thought.”

she didn’t move.

not at first.

she just held you there, stuffed full, watching you writhe.

“you wanted to play with a beast?” she snarled into your ear. “now take your fucking punishment.”

and then she started moving—using your body like her personal toy, dragging cries from you with every thrust that felt like it rattled your bones.

“i’ll ruin you so good,” she hissed. “you’ll never tease me again without beggin’ for what comes after.”

ambessa medarda (lioness) - sfw ver.

you were never supposed to meet her eyes.

that was rule number one.

so naturally, the first thing you did when they introduced you to general medarda was look straight into them.

gold. burning. terrifying.

she laughed. low. dangerous.

“bold little thing,” ambessa purred, circling you like you were a piece of meat she wasn’t quite sure whether to devour or keep. her claws clicked softly on the marble. “i like that.”

you swallowed.

everyone else cleared the room.

she stalked closer. her tail flicked once. then again.

“you know what happens to prey that catches a lioness’s eye, don’t you?”

you shook your head.

ambessa leaned in, breath hot against your neck, voice a whisper of teeth.

“they don’t leave her bed.”

ambessa medarda (lioness) - smut ver.

she let you crawl into her lap.

that was your first mistake.

ambessa didn’t stop you. didn’t say a word as you straddled her thick thighs and kissed your way up her throat like you had any power at all.

and then—her hands gripped your hips.

tight.

immovable.

“you want to play queen?” she growled, voice low, smile sharp. “then take what you asked for.”

her strap was already pressed to your folds, thick and hot and ungodly long, slick from her own pre-heat arousal. you barely had time to blink before she slammed you down on it with a single brutal thrust.

you screamed.

ambessa didn’t stop. she didn’t let you breathe. one massive hand held your throat as the other lifted and dropped you onto her cock like you weighed nothing.

“you’ll ride me,” she snarled into your mouth. “or i’ll use you like a toy until you forget your own name.”

you whimpered.

“louder,” she barked. her fangs grazed your shoulder. “let them hear who owns you now.”

you couldn’t form words.

didn’t matter.

she fucked them out of you.

over and over. until you were trembling, sobbing, soaked and broken open, her hand tangled in your hair and her voice murmuring against your ruined lips:

“look at you. all wrecked. and i haven’t even bred you yet.”

jinx (hyena) - sfw ver.

“jinx—jinx no—jinx don’t bite that—!”

too late.

your poor pillow suffered a fatal neck snap as jinx rolled across the bed, snarling playfully, tail wagging, your shirt halfway up her torso and her face buried in your laundry pile.

she popped up with a grin, something lacy clenched between her teeth.

“yours?” she asked, mouth full.

you tried to grab it.

she bolted, leaping across the room and landing like a wildcat on the dresser, giggling madly. her claws clicked as she crouched.

“you smell so good,” she said, tongue flicking over her fangs. “makes me wanna bite.”

you crossed your arms. “bite what?”

she jumped down, right in front of you, eyes blown wide and bright with hunger.

“whatever part you’ll let me keep.”

jinx (hyena) - smut ver.

you should’ve known better than to straddle her lap.

she was panting before you even touched her. eyes wide. muscles twitching under her freckled skin like she was about to explode.

“you sure?” she asked, but her claws were already cutting through your panties like they were paper.

you nodded.

“okay,” she chirped, all teeth. “too late now!”

she pounced.

one second you were on top—the next, you were flat on your back, wrists pinned over your head with one clawed hand, your legs forced wide by her shoulder and the huge fucking strap she hadn’t even warned you about.

“got this specially made,” she hissed against your throat. “extra long. extra mean.”

“j-jinx—”

she slammed into you.

you screamed.

she howled.

she started rutting into you like a creature possessed, laughing breathlessly between thrusts, licking up your tears and biting your neck so hard you knew there’d be bruises. her free hand grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at her.

“mine now,” she purred. “my favorite little chew toy.”

she didn’t slow down.

not even when your legs started shaking. not even when you begged.

“can’t stop,” she gasped, still pounding into you like her life depended on it. “it’s heat season, baby—‘n you smell too sweet to leave untouched.”

and when you cried her name, trembling and spent?

she licked your lips and whispered—

“round two’s gunna be messier.”

ellie williams (wolf) - sfw ver.

you found her in the garage.

lights off. back to the wall. shoulders hunched. panting.

“ellie?” you whispered, stepping closer.

“don’t.” her voice was low. rough. a growl that barely sounded human.

you froze.

the smell hit you then—sharp and earthy, musky and hot. your pulse spiked. her ears twitched.

“ellie, are you—”

“in rut,” she bit out. jaw clenched. veins showing. “day three.”

oh god.

her eyes flashed in the dark, pupils huge. she was shaking. like she was holding herself back with sheer will alone. claws dug into her own thighs. her breath came in ragged bursts.

“i can smell you,” she said.

you flushed.

“i said don’t come closer,” ellie rasped, but there was a whimper in her throat, a tremble that sounded like a plea. “i’m not gonna touch you. if you get close, i won’t be able to stop.”

you stepped forward anyway.

and her whole body tensed like she’d just heard a gunshot.

ellie williams (wolf) - smut ver.

it happened fast.

you kissed her.

just once.

one soft, shaky kiss on her neck. a breath. a brush.

and then she snapped.

you were slammed against the wall before you could gasp, legs wrapped around her waist, her mouth crashing into yours like she’d been starving for you. fangs grazed your lips. her claws ripped through your shirt like it offended her.

“i told you not to come close,” ellie growled, voice thick with something feral. “now you’re mine.”

her rut scent drowned you. her heat bled through your skin. you could feel the bulge of her strap—huge, soaked, pressing between your folds without mercy.

she didn’t ease in. she took.

one brutal thrust.

you screamed her name.

ellie pinned your hands above your head and fucked into you with the kind of desperation only a beast could have—grinding so deep you felt her in your ribs, snarling into your neck, moaning filth against your skin.

“you wanted this,” she gasped. “you wanted me like this.”

you nodded through tears.

“say it,” she growled. “say i’m the only one who gets to fuck you through your pretty little cries.”

“y-you are—ellie, i—!”

she came with a broken snarl, clutching you so tight you thought your bones might crack. then kept going. and going.

“you’re not leaving this fucking den,” she whispered, teeth at your throat.

“not until i’ve filled you so full you forget your name.”

abby anderson (grizzly bear) - sfw ver.

she doesn’t talk much when her rut’s close.

just grunts.

growls.

grips your hips a little tighter when you pass. breathes heavier when you curl up near her on the couch. you didn’t notice at first—not until she pulled you into her lap without warning.

“abby?” you asked, voice small.

“sit still,” she muttered, voice thick, nose buried in your neck.

you could feel the tension vibrating off her. her claws were out, hooked gently into your thigh. not hurting. just… holding.

“smell so good,” she growled. “you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

your pulse spiked.

she grunted again. “don’t move.”

so you didn’t.

you sat there. trapped in the arms of a beast who was trying so hard to behave.

abby anderson (grizzly bear) - smut ver.

abby didn’t let you go home.

you’d tried. keys in hand. half a goodbye.

and then she snapped.

she shoved you against the cabin wall, teeth bared, pupils blown, her claws tearing at your clothes.

“you knew i was in rut,” she growled. “you knew and you wore that sweet little thing anyway.”

you gasped as she lifted you—effortlessly—and tossed you onto the bed like prey caught in her paws. she was already pulling your legs apart, heavy strap slick and throbbing where it pressed against your soaked entrance.

“you’re mine tonight,” abby whispered. “my omega.”

she slammed in. one brutal thrust.

you screamed.

abby moaned—deep, animalistic—and started rutting into you with the power of something feral. every movement was primal. each thrust made your back arch, made your voice break.

“you feel that?” she hissed. “that’s what it’s like when a beast claims.”

she bit your throat. gentle. possessive. her hands were everywhere—gripping, squeezing, owning.

“i’ll fill you so good,” she panted. “you’ll smell like me for days.”

“abby, i—!”

“say it.” her voice was hoarse. unhinged. “say you want your abby to ruin you.”

“i—i want it,” you cried. “please—abby—”

she roared.

and the world blurred.

mizu (panther-wolf) - sfw ver.

mizu didn’t speak when she saw you in her quarters.

you’d only come to return a blade—something minor she’d let you borrow. you didn’t expect her to be there. shirt half-undone. hair wet from rain. tail twitching once, then still.

she didn’t move.

she just stared.

“mizu?” you said softly.

her ear flicked.

you stepped forward—and she vanished from your sight.

when she reappeared, she was behind you. no sound. no breath. just her presence at your back and the weight of her hand at your hip.

“you smell different,” she said quietly.

you froze.

her nose brushed your nape. her voice—low, sharp, aching—was barely audible:

“don’t come near me again.”

but her claws curled in your clothes like she wasn’t going to let you leave.

mizu (panther-wolf) - smut ver.

you didn’t know what you’d done.

only that she locked the door. blew out the candles. and stood in the dark.

“mizu?” you whispered, heart pounding.

“i’ve gone into heat,” she said.

you took a step back.

she stepped forward.

you backed against the bed frame—and suddenly she was there, towering over you, her eyes glowing faintly violet in the shadows. she pressed you flat to the mattress with her body, her voice like a curse across your skin.

“i’ve waited years to suppress this. but you…”

her hand slid between your thighs. you were already soaked.

“you make me forget everything i’ve sworn.”

her strap was massive. cold at first. then slick with her own arousal. she didn’t warn you—just pushed in slow. torturously slow. you whimpered.

mizu didn’t moan.

she watched.

studied the way you cried, clawed at the sheets, begged for more. every thrust was precise. ritualistic. like she was offering something sacred.

“don’t look away,” she said.

you met her eyes. you couldn’t look anywhere else.

when she came, she bit down on your throat—not to hurt you. to mark you.

“you’re mine now,” she whispered, breath shaking for the first time.

“let the world burn. i’ll only chase you.”

claire redfield (jaguar) - sfw ver.

the worst part was… you never even heard her footsteps.

you were just trying to tidy up the supply room—alone—when something behind you clicked. a breath. a soft scrape. and then—

“didn’t i tell you not to be alone after sundown?”

you jumped.

claire was in the doorway, leaning against the frame, eyes glowing faint yellow. her ears were tilted back. her tail was low, slow, twitching with irritation. with restraint.

“s-sorry, i didn’t think—”

“no. you didn’t.” her voice was low. controlled. but her pupils were wide. her nose flared. “you smell like heat.”

you froze.

claire bared her teeth, just barely.

“i’m not going to touch you,” she said, like a lie. “but if you don’t get out of my sight in the next ten seconds…”

she didn’t finish the sentence.

she didn’t have to.

claire redfield (jaguar) - smut ver.

you ran.

you didn’t mean to.

but your body moved before your brain did—and by the time you hit the hallway, you knew it was a mistake.

you heard nothing.

until claws raked down the wall beside you and claire tackled you against the nearest door.

you gasped. her hand covered your mouth.

“shouldn’t have run,” she growled, voice shaking. “jaguar instincts don’t handle chase well.”

her nose brushed your cheek. then your neck. she groaned like it hurt.

“you reek of heat. you’re begging to be bred.”

you whimpered into her palm.

“good girl,” she hissed, flipping you over and forcing you down on all fours across her bed. her strap was already on—thick, curved, soaked in her own slick. she lined up behind you and slammed in with no warning.

you screamed.

claire moaned.

“louder,” she snarled. “let them all know who claimed you.”

she fucked into you hard, claws digging into your hips, voice low and broken behind your ear.

“been tracking you for weeks. watching. smelling. every time you smiled at someone else, i wanted to rip their throat out.”

you couldn’t speak.

didn’t matter.

she pinned you down, buried deep, grinding like she was trying to carve her shape into your body forever.

“jaguar mates for life,” claire whispered. “so you’d better get used to this.”

jill valentine (werewolf) - sfw ver.

“back up.”

that’s all she said.

but her voice? shaky. deep. one octave too low. her jaw tight like she was barely holding something in. her claws twitched at her sides.

you didn’t move.

you stood there—close enough to feel the heat radiating off her—heart pounding, looking into her eyes.

they weren’t blue anymore.

they were glowing. glowing.

“jill—”

“i said back up,” she growled again. her hand slammed against the wall beside your head. not touching. not yet.

“but why—”

her nostrils flared. her body shivered.

“you smell like fuckin’ heat,” she spat through clenched teeth. “and i haven’t shifted in months.”

a pause.

“and if you take one more step, sweetheart, i’m not gonna stop.”

jill valentine (werewolf) - smut ver.

she warned you.

but you didn’t listen.

now you were bent over the metal table in the weapons locker, legs trembling, panties ripped off, jill rutting into you from behind like she hadn’t seen you in years.

her grip was bruising. her thrusts? ruthless. deep enough you were gasping between moans, forehead pressed to cold steel.

“wanted to act like a brat,” jill growled, voice wrecked. “now take your fuckin’ consequence.”

she bit your neck—hard—while pounding into you with that massive military-grade strap she definitely had no regulation clearance for.

your eyes rolled back.

your knees gave out.

she held you there, panting against your shoulder, body flushed, soaked with sweat and slick.

“i can smell how much you liked that,” she muttered. “you need your alpha to fuck the attitude out of you, huh?”

you whimpered, drooling onto the table.

“use your words, cadet.”

“y-yes, alpha—”

her claws raked down your back.

“good girl,” jill whispered, fangs glinting. “now beg for me to breed you.”

you cried.

and obeyed.

ada wong (cobra) - sfw ver.

you found her draped across the velvet chaise, moonlight catching the shine of her scales, one clawed finger twirling a wine glass she didn’t touch.

“close the door,” ada said softly, without looking at you.

you did.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you whispered. “they said it’s too dangerous.”

she finally looked at you.

golden slit eyes. unblinking. sharp.

“for them, maybe.”

your breath hitched as she stood, slow and deliberate. her movement wasn’t beastly. it was too smooth. too controlled. like she didn’t walk—she glided.

“you smell like heat,” she murmured, stepping close.

you swallowed.

her tail curled once around your ankle.

she leaned in.

“i could bite you,” ada whispered. “right now. end it all.”

a pause.

“but where would the fun be in that?”

ada wong (cobra) - smut ver.

you shouldn’t have let her touch you.

her hand trailed down your bare chest with clinical precision, claws sharp but barely grazing. you lay there, trembling beneath her coiled tail, wrists pinned above your head by silken rope.

“you’re flushed,” she murmured. “pupils dilated. heart racing.”

she straddled your waist.

“this is how prey looks right before the venom sets in.”

you whimpered.

her strap pressed against your dripping heat—long, sleek, inhumanly smooth—already soaked in your arousal.

“do you want it?” ada asked, voice velvet. “do you want your predator to eat you alive?”

you nodded. she made you say it.

only then did she slide in.

not fast. not rough.

deep.

and when you sobbed—completely full, overstimulated, clenching around her—ada smiled.

“there it is,” she whispered against your throat. “the sound i’ve been waiting for.”

she fucked you slowly. torturously. venomously. her tail coiled tighter with each thrust. every time you begged for more, she gave less—until your voice cracked.

and only then did she strike.

she bit your shoulder.

you came so hard you blacked out.

chloe price (coyote) - sfw ver.

“you know,” chloe said, leaning on the doorframe of your bedroom, her tail flicking lazily behind her, “it’s kinda rude to walk past a heat-horny coyote and not say hi.”

you looked up from your book.

she was shirtless. sweaty. bandaged. one of her ears was still twitching from a fight she’d gotten into two nights ago—because someone flirted with you.

“you look like shit,” you mumbled.

she grinned.

“cool. you still smell like my favorite fuckin’ thing on earth.”

you flushed.

chloe crossed the room in three strides and flopped on top of you, tongue poking out, nose buried in your neck. she groaned.

“ughhh. you smell like warmth. like safety. like the only goddamn reason i haven’t gone totally feral.”

you laughed.

she didn’t.

not really.

chloe price (coyote) - smut ver.

she was already inside you by the time you realized she’d snapped.

you were mid-argument. something about jealousy. about space.

but chloe wasn’t listening anymore.

she’d pushed you back against the couch, clawed fingers ripping your panties clean off, strap thick and already lubed, her eyes wild and gone.

“you think i don’t see the way they look at you?” she growled, thrusting in so deep you screamed. “you think i’m gonna let some other bitch scent what’s mine?”

her hips slammed into yours again, again, again—messy, brutal, borderline desperate.

she leaned in. bit your lip. her breath was fire and sweat and need.

“you’re mine,” she snarled. “say it.”

you moaned.

“say it.”

“i’m—yours, chloe—i’m—!”

she groaned. then howled as she came, hips stuttering, strap still buried so deep you were seeing stars.

but she didn’t stop.

not even when you begged.

not even when your voice broke.

she just kept fucking you like the wild little coyote bitch she was—tail twitching, mouth open, moaning like a feral thing in heat.

“cry all you want, baby,” she whispered. “i live for that sound.”