Roic Afton

he/they aroace trans 22

[writeranon69]

Don't Fall for this scam.

Transgender community, please please please do NOT use this product! It will kill you if used, please do not use it whatsoever.

Please reblog and spread the word

[moonlitmasque]

OKAY, EVERYONE, WE HAVE A POISON WARNING APPARANTLY, SPREAD THE WORD TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW!

Edit: False Alarm, I forgot to check the timestamp.

Stay safe and be certain, of course, but this was taken care of already.

[suku-enthusiasts]

chapter ten || honey on the tongue - Ryomen Sukuna

Ryomen Sukuna X F!reader

❝You had stumbled into the forest half-dead, running from a husband who wore a badge and your bruises like trophies. When you collapsed past the tree line, you fell onto the land of Sukuna Itadori—a reclusive lumberjack with scarred hands and a silence that felt like a storm waiting to break. Taking you in should have been temporary, but your presence turned his quiet world into something violent and fragile. As he hid you from the law that protected your abuser, protection twisted into obsession, and love became a dangerous vow. In the end, the story was never just about escape—it was about what Sukuna was willing to destroy, bury, and become to make sure the man who broke you never touched you again.❞

word count; 13.5k

cw ; abuse. smut. trauma. murder

main masterlist | series masterlist | next - bonus episodes

By late afternoon, the yard looked like something out of one of the picture books you shelved in the children’s section. Paper lanterns—cream and soft sage—hung from the young trees Sukuna had planted along the fence line, swaying gently whenever the breeze decided to pass through. A long folding table sat under the biggest tree, draped with a white cloth that your mother had insisted on ironing twice, just in case the first time hadn’t taken. Mason jars filled with flowers from your own garden—zinnias, rosemary, basil that scented the air every time someone brushed by—marched down the center. Balloons bobbed on their strings, tied to chair backs and table legs, pale green and muted gold and white, like someone had given the sky a quieter palette for the day.

You stood near the back door, barefoot in the grass, one hand automatically supporting the underside of your belly as you watched it all happen, feeling exactly like the center of a very chaotic, very loving storm. “Stop moving,” Kaori scolded playfully from behind you. “I can’t tie this if you keep dancing.” You sniffled and tried to stand still. “I’m not dancing,” you protested. “She’s kicking my ribs.” Your sister snorted, tugging the ends of the olive-green top you wore, knotting them neatly just under your breasts. The fabric fell soft and loose around the swell of your belly, the ends tied in a bow that made you feel absurdly cute and also exposed. The white maxi skirt brushed your ankles, swishing when you walked. Your hair—long brown curls—hung down your back, frizzier than usual from the humidity, but there was no fixing that today. You were eight months pregnant. The baby had opinions and so did gravity. “There,” Kaori said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “You look like a forest goddess who wandered into a catalog.” You made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Don’t say that,” you whispered, eyes already prickling. “I’ll cry.”

“You are going to cry,” she said lightly. “That’s just part of the programming now. It’s fine.” “I hate you,” you told her without heat, sniffing, she kissed your cheek. “No you don’t.” Across the yard, Sukuna and Daichi were arguing with bungee cords. “Just hook it there,” Daichi insisted, gesturing toward a corner of the pop-up canopy they were trying to secure. “It’s going to sag,” Sukuna replied flatly. “I am not eating under a sagging tent. I’ve fixed too many roofs to disrespect gravity like that.” His voice carried easily over the grass. Your father, who was manning the grill like it was a mission from God, chuckled softly. “That man has opinions about tensile strength,” Aya said from your elbow.

You hadn’t heard her come up—the girl moved through a crowd like a ghost in a cardigan. She wore a mustard-yellow dress with tiny white dots, her hair pinned up in a messy bun that probably took thirty minutes to make look that spontaneous. “He has opinions about everything,” you said, but there was no mistaking the fondness in your voice. Aya’s gaze slid over you, taking in your exposed belly, the way your breasts pushed against the fabric of your top—fuller now, heavy, straining the seams in a way that had required a whole new set of bras. “Well,” she said, “if I looked like that eight months pregnant, I’d have opinions about me too.” You flushed hot, automatically bringing a hand up to cover the curve of your stomach. “Aya,” you hissed. “What?” she asked innocently. “You’re glowing. Like, offensively pretty. It’s rude.”

“I’m sweating,” you corrected. “All the time. I’m like a walking humidifier.”

“Sweating,” she said, waving a hand, “glowing, same thing.” From the driveway, the sound of a car door slammed. Suki’s shrill voice carried across the yard like a little bell. “Auntie Flower! Uncle Suku! We’re here!” You turned, heart squeezing. Suki barreled across the grass in a blur of pink overalls, her curly hair caught up in two messy buns, each secured with a ribbon that had already given up on being neat. She ran with the earnest, uncoordinated speed of a five-year-old, arms pumping, knees too high. “Careful!” Kaori called, but it was too late. Suki made a beeline for you and launched herself forward just as you braced.

Sukuna appeared at your side in a blur, hand snapping out to catch Suki by the back of her overalls and gently redirect her from a full-body tackle into more of a controlled hug. “Easy, bug,” he said, setting her down right in front of you. “Auntie Flower’s carrying breakable cargo.”

“I wasn’t gonna break her,” Suki protested, already wrapping her arms around your waist carefully instead. “Hi, baby!” You laughed, carding your fingers through her curls. “Hi, sweetheart,” you said. “You look so pretty.” She pulled back and patted your belly with great reverence. “Hi, baby sprout,” she said. “It’s your party.” That did it, you burst into tears. Suki froze, eyes wide, looking between you and Sukuna like she’d accidentally knocked over a priceless vase. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “Did I hurt the baby sprout? I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no,” you hiccuped, waving your hands. “You didn’t hurt anyone. You’re perfect. Everything’s perfect. That’s the problem.”

“The problem,” Aya stage-whispered, “is called hormones.” Sukuna’s hand came to rest on your back, warm and steady. “Hey,” he murmured near your ear. “Breathe.” You tried, sucking in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, wiping your cheeks. “Ignore me. Continue. Party.” Suki, bless her, took this in stride. She patted your arm. “It’s okay to cry,” she said sagely. “Mommy cried when I put my socks away once. Grandpa said her feelings were on extra hard mode.” Everyone within earshot laughed. “Grandpa is very wise,” Aya said, sniffling dramatically.

Your father looked up from the grill, flipping burgers with solemn concentration. “I stand by that,” he said. “Extra hard mode for at least another month.” More cars arrived, more voices layering over one another.

Your mom came bearing Tupperware and admonitions about “not overdoing it.” Your mother fussed with the corner of the tablecloth while your father kissed your forehead and told you that you “carried like your grandmother,” which made you tear up again because he said it with such soft pride. Two of your coworkers from the library showed up together—Rina, in a crisp navy dress and sensible flats, balancing a large wrapped box; and Mayu, in jeans and a pastel sweater, holding a gift bag that seemed to be entirely made of tissue paper. “There she is!” Rina exclaimed, setting the box down carefully before stepping in to hug you. “Our favorite future storytime mom.”

Mayu hugged you next, more gently, her hands lingering for a second over your belly with a wide-eyed, awestruck look. “You’re really doing it,” she said. “You’re growing a whole person.” You sniffed. “Apparently,” you said. “It explains why I can’t see my feet anymore.”

“That’s what husbands are for,” Rina said briskly. “To tie your shoes and bring you snacks and glare at anyone who breathes wrong around you.” “Already on it,” Aya chimed in, jerking her thumb at Sukuna. “He’s been in full glower mode since we got here. It’s like a security system with biceps.”

“Stop narrating me,” Sukuna muttered, but his lips twitched. A beat-up pickup truck pulled into the driveway then, radio faintly blaring some old rock song through the open windows. Toji climbed out of the driver’s side, stretching in a way that made his back crack audibly, followed by a woman with soft brown hair and a calm smile, and a small boy clutching a dinosaur toy. You’d met Toji a few times at this point—at jobsites and one awkward dinner where he’d spent the first fifteen minutes calling your garden “that vegetable war zone” before you’d pressed basil into his hand and made him admit it smelled good.

He raised a hand in greeting. “Yo,” he called. “You throwin’ a party without telling me there would be free food?”

“You’re only here for the free food,” Sukuna shot back, but there was affection under the dry tone. Toji’s wife, Aiko, came up to you with a warm, slightly shy smile. “You look beautiful,” she said simply, squeezing your arm, you flushed. “Thank you. I feel like a watermelon in a skirt.”

“A very pretty watermelon,” she said. “Megumi, say hi.” Megumi peered around his mother’s leg, dark eyes serious in a small face. He was four, with messy dark hair and a little frown like he was perpetually solving a math problem. “Hi,” he mumbled, then, after a beat, added, “My dinosaur’s name is Clover. He’s here for the baby too.” You put a hand over your heart. “Hi, Clover,” you said gravely. “You’re very important.”

The adults laughed. Megumi’s frown eased by a millimeter.

As everyone found seats and filled plates from the mountain of food—your mother’s potato salad, Kaori’s baked pasta, Aya’s attempt at deviled eggs that she’d accidentally made too spicy, Daichi’s store-bought cookies “for balance”—you found yourself drifting from person to person, your belly leading the way. Every time you thought you might get overwhelmed, a hand found you—Sukuna’s mostly, pulling you gently down into a chair, tucking a glass of water into your hand, kissing your temple in quick, absent little touches that sent warmth skittering through you.

He was wearing a dark Henley that clung to his chest and forearms, sleeves pushed up, collar a little stretched. His hair had grown out some, pale pink and soft-looking, the buzzed edges now more of a short crop. He looked unfairly good for someone who claimed to hate social gatherings.

You caught him staring at you more than once.

The first time, you were sitting in a lawn chair, Suki perched at your feet, carefully sorting a pile of small gifts into “for baby” and “for grownups” categories. Your top had shifted as you leaned down, the green fabric pulling taut over your breasts. Where you’d once been modest, almost apologetic about your body, pregnancy had made shyness and practicality collide in strange ways—you needed comfort more than coverage most days.

Sukuna's eyes fixed there for a moment, pupils darkening, before sliding up to your face. You saw the quick flash of guilt in his expression when he realized he’d been caught. You blushed, heat crawling up your neck. He shrugged one shoulder, half-smirk tugging at his mouth. “Can’t help it,” he said under his breath when he passed behind your chair to refill your plate. “My wife is hot.”

“I’m not your wife,” you whispered back, cheeks burning, but the word curled inside you like something you wanted to keep. He bent, murmuring so low only you could hear. “Feels like it,” he said. “Looks like it. World can catch up later.” Your heart did something wild and unsteady. You would have cried over that, but you’d already cried three times—once when your mother gave you a hand-knit baby blanket, once when Suki presented you with a lopsided drawing of you, Sukuna, and the baby labeled “FAMILY,” and once when your father toasted “our brave girl who walked through hell and planted a garden anyway.”

“Okay,” Aya declared, clinking her plastic cup of lemonade with a spoon after dessert. “Gift time, before Y/n dehydrates herself from happy tears.” You wiped your face with the back of your hand. “I’m fine,” you protested weakly, voice thick. “I just… everyone is so… nice.” “We’re aware,” Rina said wryly. “We’ve never seen you like this. It’s slightly terrifying.” They sat you in the best chair—the one with arms and cushions—and piled the gifts at your feet. Sukuna took up residence on the armrest beside you, one hand around the back of your chair, the other resting on your shoulder, thumb stroking absently at your skin.

You opened Aya’s gift first.

Inside were tiny, ridiculously soft onesies in neutral colors, each with a small embroidered image on the chest—a book, a sprig of lavender, a little moon. “I found them at the farmers market,” Aya said, looking suddenly self-conscious. “They’re all organic cotton and the lady who made them raises goats and has six kids, so I figured she knows what she’s doing.” You held one up between your fingers, overwhelmed by how small it was. “It’s so tiny,” you whispered. “She’s going to be… she’s going to be this small.”

“For like ten seconds,” Toji called from the grill, flipping a sausage. “They stretch out. Like puppies.” You laughed and sobbed at the same time, pressing the little onesie to your chest. “These are perfect,” you said thickly. “Thank you.” Rina’s gift was a stack of children’s books—the classics, but chosen with you in mind. Illustrated fairy tales with heroines who saved themselves, a picture book about a little girl and her garden, a battered, well-loved copy of The Secret Garden that had clearly lived a life on the shelves before she’d rescued it. “I thought Baby Itadori should have her own library,” Rina said, nose in the air to hide how emotional she was getting. “Can’t let you hoard all the good stories.”

“We don’t know for sure if she’ll like books,” you said, tears streaming freely now. Aya snorted. “With you as a mother and him as a father?” She jerked her chin toward Sukuna. “She’s going to come out requesting a bibliography.”

Your parents gave you practical things—diapers, blankets, a baby monitor your father proudly explained had “three channels.” Kaori handed you a smaller box with a softened smile. Inside was a tiny dress, delicate and white, with a smocked bodice and little embroidered flowers. You recognized the pattern instantly from old photos—Kaori and you both had worn it as babies. “Mom kept it,” Kaori said quietly. “We thought maybe… she could wear it home. From the hospital.” Your breath left you in a rush. You pressed the dress to your face, inhaling the faint scent of cedar and old drawers, and sobbed so hard you could barely see. “Okay,” your father said, dabbing at his own eyes. “That’s it, I’m cutting her off. No more sentimental gifts.”

“Too late,” Toji muttered, edging closer with Megumi in his arms. “Ours is sentimental.” He handed you a box that rattled slightly. Inside, you found ear protectors for babies—the kind they wore at concerts or fireworks—and a small, hand-carved wooden rattle in the shape of a tree.

“I work on loud sites,” Toji said gruffly, scratching the back of his neck. “Figured if you ever bring her by, she shouldn’t go deaf. And the kid helped with the rattle.” Megumi crossed his arms, offended. “I sanded it,” he said. “Dad just made sure I didn’t sand my fingers off.” You traced the smooth surface of the wood, thinking of tiny fists and gums and the way this little girl would fit into the world you and Sukuna were building from sawdust and soil. “Thank you,” you said, voice wrecked.

Sukuna’s hand tightened on your shoulder, the only outward sign of how much all of this was hitting him. At some point, Suki climbed into your lap—well, more accurately, onto the arm of your chair, because your lap was fully occupied—and rested her head against your shoulder, watching the proceedings with big eyes. “Is the baby sprout gonna like me?” she asked suddenly, loud enough for everyone to hear. You turned your head, pressing a kiss into her hair. “She’s going to love you,” you said firmly. “You’re going to be her favorite cousin.”

“What about Megumi?” she demanded, pointing accusingly, Megumi blinked, mid-bite of a cookie. “He can be her other favorite cousin,” you amended. Suki considered this, then nodded. “Okay,” she said magnanimously. “We can share.” The adults chuckled. Aya pretended to wipe away a tear. “My ovaries,” she whispered dramatically. “They’re ringing like bells.” By the time the last gift was opened and the sun had slipped lower, painting the sky in peach and rose, your cheeks ached from smiling and your head buzzed gently from the emotional roller coaster of the day. People drifted into smaller conversations—your mother and Aiko trading recipes, your father and Toji discussing lawnmowers with bizarre intensity, Rina and Mayu arguing about the best way to alphabetize picture books. You found a quieter moment near the edge of the yard, just beyond the reach of the lantern light, where the first stars were starting to wink into being above the new house. You stood there, one hand on your belly, the other resting on the fence, breathing in the scent of cut grass and charcoal and basil.

Footsteps approached, familiar in their weight and rhythm. “You disappeared,” Sukuna said softly. “I’m huge,” you replied. “It’s not like anyone could lose me by accident.” He came to stand beside you, so close your shoulders brushed. “Not what I meant,” he said. “You okay?” You nodded, eyes still on the sky. “Just… full,” you said. “In every way. My feet hurt, my back hurts, my heart hurts, my eyes hurt from crying… but it’s a good hurt.” He hummed low in his chest. “You did good today,” he murmured. “Talked to a lot of people. Let them fuss.” You snorted quietly. “Like I had a choice.” He tilted his head, studying your profile. “You always have a choice,” he said. “You could’ve shut down. You didn’t. You let them love you. That’s not nothing.” Your throat tightened. “You always say things right when I’m about to stop crying,” you complained, voice wobbling. “Call it a talent,” he said.

You turned to look at him. In the fading light, he looked softer. The scars on his hands, the lines at the corners of his eyes, the faint smudge of charcoal on his neck from helping your father with the grill. His gaze dropped, just for a second, to your belly, round and unmistakable under the green fabric, then up to your face again. “You’ve been staring,” you said, trying for teasing and landing somewhere closer to shy. He didn’t even pretend otherwise. “Can’t help it,” he said simply. “You’re… something else.” You scoffed lightly. “I’m enormous.”

“You’re beautiful,” he corrected. “You’re carrying our kid. You’re laughing and crying and somehow still worrying if there’s enough ice in the cooler.” You looked down, blinking rapidly as your eyes stung again. “Do you think she’ll like me?” you asked, voice small. “Our little girl.” He stared at you like you’d just said the sky might forget to be blue. “She’s going to adore you,” he said, no hesitation. “You’re going to read her a million stories and grow her a whole forest and cry when she brings you weeds because she calls them flowers.” You laughed, tears spilling over. “She already kicks when you talk,” you whispered. “Maybe she knows your voice.” He slid his hand over your belly, fingers spreading wide.

“Hey, little trouble,” he murmured, leaning in. “You better know my voice. I’ve been talking to you for months. Your mom cries every time I say something sappy, so you owe her some good behavior when you get here.” You swatted his shoulder gently. “She owes me nothing,” you said. “We owe her a soft start.” He met your gaze, something deep and serious flickering there. “We’ll give it to her,” he said quietly. “Whatever we didn’t get, she will. That’s the point, right?” You nodded, unable to speak. From the yard, Suki’s voice cut through the moment. “Uncle Suku!” she yelled. “Come get your cake before Grandpa eats it all!”

“Traitor,” your father grumbled in the distance. Sukuna huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh, his hand giving your belly one last, gentle stroke. “Duty calls,” he said. “You need anything?”

“Just you,” you said, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them, he stilled, eyes darkening. “You’ve got me,” he said. “Right here.” He bent and kissed you, a brief, soft press of lips under the first stars, the lanterns painting the edges of his hair with gold. Somewhere behind you, Aya whooped and someone shushed her, but you barely heard it. For a moment, it was just the three of you again—your heart, his hand, the quiet weight of your daughter between you, listening to a world that, for once, felt ready to catch her.

The pain pulled you out of sleep like a hook. One moment, you were folded into the soft dark of the bedroom, dreaming something vague about stacks of books and baby socks. The next, your whole body clenched around a sharp, hot pressure that started in your lower back and wrapped around to your belly like someone had wrung you out from the inside. You gasped, air tearing into your lungs too fast. Your hand shot out on instinct, fingers catching the edge of the sheet, knuckles whitening. For a heartbeat you thought cramp, just a bad one, just one of those late-pregnancy things you’d read about. But then the pressure tightened, sharpening along your abdomen, and something deep inside you sank.

This wasn’t a cramp. “Sukuna,” you whispered, then louder when the air refused to cooperate. “S–Sukuna—” He was already moving.

Sometimes you swore he slept with one eye open. Even after a year in the new house, he never fully sank under. A creak, a shift, your breathing changing—and he was there. Tonight was no different. The moment your body jerked and a strangled sound left your throat, he came up out of sleep like someone had thrown cold water on him. The mattress dipped as he rolled toward you. “Y/n? What’s wrong?” His voice was rough with sleep, but alert, already scanning. Another wave hit and you choked on your own answer. You felt an internal pop and then sudden warmth.

Your eyes went wide. “Sukuna,” you sobbed, reaching for him blindly. “Something—something’s wrong, it hurts—” He fumbled for the bedside lamp with one hand while grabbing your outstretched hand with the other. The light flicked on, too bright, turning the room into bleached shapes. His gaze swept over you, then dropped to the bed. The sheets under you were dark and spreading. For a split second his face went totally still—no panic, no expression at all, as his brain slotted the sight into something he’d never seen in person but had gone over in painstaking detail with Shoko.

Then he moved.

“Okay,” he said, voice snapping into focus. “Okay. Hey. Look at me.” You clung to his hand, chest heaving. “I’m sorry,” you gasped, tears already spilling hot and fast. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to wake you up—I got the bed, I—” He stared at you like you’d started speaking another language. “Are you out of your mind?” he demanded, though his voice stayed low, steady. “You think I care about the damn bed?” Another contraction hit, cutting off your apology. Your whole body bowed around the pain. It felt like your spine and stomach were being squeezed at once, your breath hitching on a whimper. “I can’t—” you panted. “It hurts, it hurts so much—” He was already off the bed, moving around to your side, one hand on your shoulder, the other heading for the drawer where you kept clean underwear, sweats. “Your water broke,” he said, more to himself than to you, grounding the situation with words. “Right on the bed. Gross timing, kid,” he added under his breath, glaring briefly at your belly. “Alright. We knew this would happen. We’re ready.”

“I’m not ready,” you sobbed. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” he said firmly. “You’re gonna say that every five minutes. I’m telling you now: you are.” He leaned down, bracing you with one arm as you tried to swing your legs over the side of the mattress. The wet sheets clung uncomfortably to your skin; you could feel warmth trickling down your thighs. “I look disgusting,” you gasped, humiliation and pain tangling. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing,” he snapped, but there was no anger in it, only something fierce and frightened. “This is how babies get out, remember? We talked about this. I watched those weird cartoons Shoko made us watch, I know what’s happening.” The memory of the educational video—the badly animated baby wiggling down a cartoon birth canal—hit you at the worst possible time and you let out a wet, hysterical laugh that turned into another sob. He helped you sit up, his big hand supporting the small of your back, the other steadying your shoulder. “Deep breath,” he said. “Come on. In for four, out for four. You did this with the nausea. Same thing.”

You tried. In. Out. The contraction started to ebb, leaving you shaking, sweat already prickling at your hairline. Your gaze dropped to the bed. The sight of the wet, dark patch beneath where you’d been lying made everything real in a way that no class, no book, no ultrasound had. “It’s happening,” you whispered, voice trembling. “She’s… she’s coming.”

“Yeah,” he said, meeting your eyes. “She is.” Fear surged up like a tide, dragging old ghosts with it—hospital corridors you’d walked in other lifetimes, loss that had lived too close to both your chests. “What if something happens?” you choked. “What if I—what if I can’t do it, what if she can’t breathe, what if—” His hand on your cheek stopped the spiral. “Hey,” he said roughly. “Look at me.” You forced your gaze up. His crimson eyes were wide awake now, no trace of sleep, only a fierce, anchoring focus. “You’re not doing this alone,” he said. “You hear me? I’m right here. Shoko’s on call. This isn’t—” he swallowed “—this isn’t before. This is now. And now we do everything right.” Your throat tightened. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, then grabbed the clean clothes from the drawer.

“I’m gonna get you out of the wet stuff,” he said, businesslike now. “I’ll make the bed someone else’s problem later. Right now we’re getting our girl somewhere with all the machines she deserves.” You let him guide you up, leaning heavily into his side. Moving hurt. Gravity hurt. Your hips ached, your back throbbed, and with every shift you felt more fluid leak, hot and mortifying down your legs, he noticed your flinch.

“Hey,” he murmured, helping you step out of the soaked pajama pants. “You’re not allowed to be embarrassed, remember? We talked about this too.”

“We talked about too many things,” you managed weakly. “That’s because I like to be prepared,” he said, sliding a clean pair of cotton underwear up your legs with careful hands. “And now we are.”

He pulled the underwear gently over your hips, then helped you step into a pair of soft sweats, drawing them up with a tender efficiency that made your eyes sting all over again. Then he grabbed one of his pullovers from the chair—your favorite, the big charcoal one that smelled like him no matter how many times it went through the wash—and eased it over your head. The sleeves swallowed your hands, the hem falling almost to your thighs, warm and familiar. He dropped to a crouch to put your slippers on, big fingers maneuvering your feet into them like you were made of glass. “You look perfect,” he said, glancing up as he tied the laces. “Like the hottest overripe tomato I’ve ever seen.” You let out a choked laugh, tears spilling. “That’s not flattering,” you told him, voice shaking. “It is to me,” he said. “Come on.”

He grabbed the packed baby bag from its waiting place by the bedroom door, slinging it over his shoulder. The car seat was already installed in the truck—he’d done it weeks ago, muttering darkly at the instruction manual until he was satisfied it would survive a nuclear blast. “You got your phone?” he asked, half-carrying, half-guiding you down the hallway, one arm banded around your back. “In… the kitchen,” you panted. “On the counter.” He cursed under his breath. “Of course,” he muttered. “You sit. Right here.” He settled you on the bench by the front door and crouched in front of you, hands on your knees.

“Look at me,” he said again. “Do not stand up unless I’m touching you. I mean it, Y/n. If you fall, I will fight the floor and the floor will win, and that’ll piss me off.” You nodded, already breathing harder as another contraction began to build. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and then he was gone in a blur—into the kitchen, the sound of drawers and a muttered “where the hell—oh” followed by him barreling back with your flip phone in hand.

He shoved it into his pocket, then scooped you up under your knees and behind your back in one smooth motion, you gasped, arms flying up around his neck. “Sukuna!” you cried. “I can walk—”

“You can barely breathe,” he said, already heading for the door. “And I am not risking you tumbling down the porch steps because you’re trying to be brave. This is not a bravery test; this is get-to-the-hospital test.” You clutched at him, stunned all over again at how easily he carried you. Your weight, the baby’s, the panic—none of it seemed to matter. To him, you were still something he could lift like it was nothing.

The cool night air hit you as he shouldered the door open. The world outside looked wrong—too normal, too quiet. The porch light hummed, moths flitting around it. The garden slept under the faint wash of moonlight, basil and zinnias and tomatoes unaware that the person who had coaxed them from the soil was about to bring something else into the world. You pressed your face briefly against his neck, breathing in sweat and soap and the faint scent of wood that never quite left him.

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I know,” he said, tightening his hold. “Me too. We’re doing it anyway.” He got you into the passenger seat as gently as if he were lowering you into water, one hand steadying your head so you didn’t bump it on the frame. Then he buckled you in himself, fingers fumbling only once on the latch. When he clicked it into place, you were already crying again, hiccuping breaths shaking your shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “I’m making you drive in the middle of the night, I ruined the bed, I—”

“That’s it,” he said, cupping your face in both hands. “If you apologize one more time for giving birth to our kid, I’m bringing it up in your eulogy when we’re a hundred and fifty.” It was such an absurd sentence that it stopped you cold. “Eulogy?” you sniffed. “Yeah,” he said. “Old lady you, still apologizing for things you didn’t do wrong. I’ll haunt you.” You laughed, wet and hiccuping. He stole a quick kiss, then slammed your door and ran around to the driver’s side. The engine roared to life beneath you, the familiar rattle of the old truck oddly comforting. As he pulled out onto the road, he flipped your phone open one-handed and hit the number for the hospital that Shoko had made him program in front of her, just to be sure. “Cedar Hollow General, Labor and Delivery,” came a calm voice over the line. “How can I help you?”

“My partner’s in labor,” he said, voice clipped. “Her water broke. Contractions are close.”

“How far apart?” the nurse asked, he glanced at the clock on the dash. “First big one that woke her up was—” he did the math out loud “—ten minutes ago. Last one was about three minutes long. She’s breathing, but it hurts like hell. Fluid was clear.” The nurse’s tone stayed calm, but there was a new sharpness under it. “Okay,” she said. “Sounds like things are moving. Any bleeding?” He looked at you; you shook your head weakly. “No,” he said. “Just water. A lot of it.”

“Good,” she said. “How far are you from the hospital?” He checked the dark stretch of road ahead. “Ten minutes if no one’s in my way,” he said. There was a tone to his voice that suggested that if someone was in his way, they soon wouldn’t be. “Alright,” she said. “Drive safe. We’ll be ready when you get here. If contractions start coming less than two minutes apart or she feels like she needs to push right now, pull over and call 911.”

“Got it,” he said, and snapped the phone shut. Another contraction rolled over you like a wave, higher, stronger than the last. You doubled over as much as the seatbelt allowed, one hand clutching your belly, the other braced against the dash. “It hurts, it hurts,” you gasped, tears spilling hot and fast. “I don’t—I don’t know if I can do this—” He reached over, never taking his eyes from the road, and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers with his. “Yes, you can,” he said. “You’re doing it already.” You squeezed his hand until your knuckles ached, riding the crest of the contraction, trying to remember the breathing exercises from class.

He breathed with you. “In,” he said. “One, two, three, four. Out. One, two, three, four.” It was ridiculous, this giant man in a beat-up truck counting like a yoga instructor on a late-night infomercial, but somehow it helped. You matched your breath to his voice, following the numbers, letting them anchor you when everything else felt like it was sliding sideways. Between contractions, the world swam in and out of focus. Streetlights streaked by in long yellow smears. The dashboard lights glowed dull orange. His hand never left yours. “I’m scared,” you whispered again, because it kept boiling up, because it needed somewhere to go. “I know,” he said. “Say it as many times as you need. I’ll still be here.”

“What if something goes wrong?” you choked. “What if—what if my body remembers—” It was an old fear, one you’d voiced after late-night nightmares, after stories from his first life, his first marriage, where everything that could go wrong had, he squeezed your hand. “Your body remembers how to survive,” he said. “It got you here. It carried her. It’s been doing its job even when your brain was convinced it couldn’t. And Shoko’s gonna be there. She’s good at this. This is not that story. We’re writing a new one, remember?” You clung to his words, trying to let them soak into the terror. The hospital lights appeared on the horizon sooner than you expected—white and harsh and welcoming in their own way.

He pulled into the emergency entrance like gravity didn’t apply to him, braking smooth but fast. A nurse in scrubs was already waiting with a wheelchair by the doors. “You’re Y/n?” she asked, eyes flicking from your face to your belly, you nodded, biting back a groan as another contraction began to build, a low pressure deep in your pelvis that made you want to curl in on yourself. “That’s her,” Sukuna said, already around to your side, unbuckling you with quick, fumbling fingers. “Eight months, water broke, contractions four, five minutes apart, no bleeding, baby’s been moving good all day—”

“Someone paid attention in class,” the nurse said, managing a quick smile even as she guided your legs out of the truck. “I’m Cara. We’ve got a room ready. Let’s get you comfy.”

“Comfy,” you repeated faintly, letting them help you into the wheelchair. “That’s a funny word.” Cara laughed under her breath. “Okay, as comfy as possible when your body’s trying to push out a roommate.” The automatic doors parted with a whoosh and the bright, antiseptic light of the hospital swallowed you.

Everything blurred into a series of snapshots. The squeak of the wheelchair wheels over linoleum. The cool touch of a blood pressure cuff on your arm, the pinch as it inflated. Monitors being hooked up—two bands stretched around your belly, one to listen to the baby’s heartbeat, one to track contractions. The steady, galloping thrum of your daughter’s heart filled the small room, a reassurance so loud it made you cry harder. Cara’s voice, gentle but efficient, asking questions: “On a scale of one to ten, how’s your pain?” (Eleven, you wanted to say, but instead you choked out, “Eight?”) “Any headaches? Vision changes? Can you feel her moving?” The triage doctor checked you, gloved fingers and impossibly intimate pressure, apologizing as he did.

“About four centimeters,” he said, glancing over at Sukuna. “She’s in early active labor. She’s doing well.” “Four?” you echoed weakly. “That’s it?” You’d read enough, heard enough. Ten was the magic number. Ten was when babies came out. “If this is four,” you gasped, “what’s ten going to feel like? I’m going to die.”

“You’re not going to die,” Cara said calmly, adjusting a monitor. “You’re going to swear and sweat and probably say some things you’ll regret later. But you’re not going to die.”

“You can have pain relief,” the doctor added. “Epidural, IV meds, whatever you decide. You don’t have to decide right now, but I want you to know you have options.” Your head swam. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “I don’t—I can’t think.” Sukuna, who had been standing at your side like a very tense statue, spoke up then. “We’ll see how it goes,” he said quietly. “She wanted to try as far as she could without, but if she wants it later, she gets it. No guilt. That’s the rule.” You blinked up at him, surprised and grateful that he’d remembered that conversation, that he’d understood what you’d been trying to say through your fear of being weak or “failing.” Cara nodded approvingly.

“That’s a good rule,” she said. “Okay. Let’s get you settled in one of the labor rooms. Dr. Ieiri’s on her way in—she was already at home, so she shouldn’t be long.” The walk—or rather, ride—to the labor room felt impossibly long and brutally short at the same time. By the time they’d transferred you to the bigger bed, hung an IV line, and dimmed the lights to something less harsh, you were trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. The contractions were coming more regularly now, a relentless rhythm your body had fallen into whether you liked it or not. Sukuna stayed glued to your side. When they changed you into a hospital gown, tying the strings loosely over your back, he turned his head away, not out of discomfort but to give you a sliver of privacy in a process that left very little.

When you gripped the bed rail so hard your fingers cramped, he gently pried your hand loose and slid his palm there instead. “Don’t break their furniture,” he murmured. “Break me. I’m sturdier.” You tried to laugh and ended up sobbing, clutching his hand like a lifeline as another wave rolled through you. At some point, Cara adjusted the monitor and frowned, then relaxed. “She’s just shifting,” she said, glancing at the tracing of the baby’s heart. “Perfectly normal.”

“What if she’s scared?” you blurted, because the thought had suddenly sunk claws into you. “What if she can feel me being scared and she thinks I don’t want her?” Cara’s eyes softened. “Babies don’t think like that,” she said. “They feel warmth and motion and the sound of your voice. She knows you. She knows him.” She nodded at Sukuna. “You’ve both been talking to her all this time, right?” You nodded, tears spilling again. “Then she knows she’s loved,” Cara said simply. “That’s what she’s swimming in.” You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hold onto that.

Time blurred.

You worked through contraction after contraction, the pain rising and cresting and ebbing, an ocean that didn’t care if you were tired. Between them, you drifted, floating in small, exhausted pockets of time where you could breathe and half-doze and listen to the steady beat of your daughter’s heart on the monitor, Sukuna never sat down. He stood, bent over you, one hand on your back, the other clasping yours, his voice a constant thread through it all. “You’re doing it,” he told you, over and over. “That’s it. Breathe. You’re doing so good, Y/n. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Once, when a particularly brutal contraction left you staring at the ceiling in a haze of pain, you turned your head to find him watching you with a look that almost broke you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, because the words were always there, because you felt like you were failing him with every cry. “Stop,” he said hoarsely. “Stop apologizing for being the strongest person in this room.” The door opened then with a soft knock.

Shoko stepped in, white coat over dark scrubs, hair tucked up haphazardly, a travel mug in one hand. She smelled faintly of coffee and antiseptic and the kind of tired that comes from years of this. “Sorry I’m late,” she said mildly. “Some impatient small person decided three in the morning was a great time to start their grand entrance.” You let out a watery laugh. “Hey,” she said, moving to your bedside, setting a hand on your shoulder with a pressure that was both grounding and gentle. “You’re doing great.”

“It hurts,” you choked, because it felt like the only thing you could say that encompassed everything. “I know,” she said. “That means your body’s working. Let’s check where we’re at, okay?” You nodded, bracing. The exam was uncomfortable, but by now discomfort was the background hum of your entire existence; this was just more precise. “About six centimeters,” she said. “You’re progressing. Slowly, but steadily. Baby’s tolerating labor well.”

“Six,” you repeated weakly, halfway up the mountain, she met your eyes. “I’m not going to lie,” she said. “It’s going to get harder. But you don’t have to do it alone, and you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. If you want an epidural, we can do that. If you want to keep going like this a bit longer, we can do that too. This is your birth. My job is to keep you and the baby safe. His job—” she tilted her head at Sukuna “—is to keep your hair out of your face and remind you you’re a badass. You don’t have to carry any other job right now.” You swallowed, tears welling again.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I wanted—I wanted to be strong, but I already feel like I’m breaking.” Shoko’s gaze softened. “Being strong doesn’t mean not needing help,” she said. “Sometimes it means knowing when to ask for it. You won’t get a medal for suffering more. You’ll get a baby either way.” You laughed, a cracked sound. “Can I… try a little longer?” you asked. “And then… see?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll be right outside if you need me. You call, I come.” She squeezed your shoulder once more, then stepped back to adjust the monitor, her movements efficient but unhurried. As she left, you turned your head toward Sukuna again. He looked wrecked—jaw tight, eyes bright, like he was holding himself together with sheer will. But when he saw you watching, he smoothed his expression, bent down, and pressed his forehead to yours. “You scared?” he asked softly, you let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Terrified,” you whispered. “Me too,” he said. “But I’ve never been more sure of anything than I am of this: you can do it. And if you change your mind and want the drugs, I’ll bully the anesthesiologist personally.” You smiled, even as the next wave gathered. “Okay,” you whispered. “Stay with me.”

“Always,” he said and as the contraction crashed over you, as your body bore down toward the moment that would split your life into before and after, his hand stayed wrapped around yours, his voice in your ear, anchoring you in the storm.

Time had become a strange, elastic thing. There were no windows in the labor room, just the dimmed overhead lights and the soft glow of the monitor screen. The clock on the wall said numbers, but they didn’t mean much. They were just white sticks moving around a circle while your body worked itself inside out. Another contraction ebbed, leaving you limp and sweating, your fingers still knotted in Sukuna’s. You lay back against the slightly-raised head of the bed, chest heaving, hospital gown sticking to your skin. The band around your belly hummed with your daughter’s heartbeat—fast and strong, the steady whoosh-whoosh-whoosh a constant backdrop.

It had been… what? An hour? Two? Since Shoko had checked you and said six centimeters. Time had thinned and thickened around pain until all you had were islands of clarity between waves. You blinked up at the ceiling and suddenly, like someone had dropped a stone into your chest, a thought hit you. “My parents,” you gasped. “Kaori. I didn’t—I didn’t tell them—I didn’t—” Your voice pitched up, panic slicing through the fog of exhaustion. “Hey,” Sukuna said, leaning in. “Breathe. You don’t have to do everything yourself. I’ll call.” You shook your head, tears springing to your eyes again. “What if they wake up and I’m just—gone,” you sobbed. “What if they go to my house and no one’s there, and I’m here and they don’t know—”

“Y/n,” he cut in gently, squeezing your hand. “Look at me.” You dragged your gaze to his. “I’ll call your dad,” he said. “He’ll get everyone. That’s how this works, remember? You have people now. You’re not alone in this.” You swallowed hard, nodding, though your chest still felt like it might crack. “I don’t want—” You gulped at the next aftershock of pain, smaller than a full contraction but still enough to make you wince. “I don’t want an epidural,” you blurted out, the other fear surfacing. “I know it would help, but the needle, I can’t— I can’t do a needle in my spine, I’ll panic, I’ll mess it up—” He shook his head immediately. “Then we won’t,” he said. “You already told Shoko that, remember? No epidural unless you change your mind. Not me. Not anyone else. If the needle scares you more than the pain, we work with that. We’re not adding new fear to the pile.”

“But what if I’m weak,” you whispered. “What if I can’t—” “You’re already doing it,” he said, voice rough. “And ‘weak’ is the last word I’d use for you right now.”

You sniffled, trying to steady your breathing as the contraction line on the monitor began to creep up again. “Just… call them,” you managed. “Please.” He bent and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. “On it,” he said. He released your hand gently, as if afraid you might fall apart without the anchor, then flipped his phone open with a snap, already hitting speed dial as he stepped just far enough away to talk but still where you could see him. “Hey,” you heard him say, voice low but urgent. “It’s me. She’s at the hospital. Water broke a couple hours ago. Yeah, she’s okay. Tired. In pain. But okay. Baby’s good. They’re tracking her. You wanna come? … Yeah. Yeah, bring whoever wants to be there. No, not in the room yet—they’ll keep it calm. Just… be here.” He listened, nodding, rubbing his hand over his face once.

“She doesn’t want drugs,” he added quietly. “Scared of the epidural. I’m with her. We’re doing breathing, all that shit Shoko taught us. Yeah. I’ll tell her. Drive safe.” He snapped the phone shut and came back to your side just as another contraction rose, a sharp, squeezing band of pain that made your toes curl and your fingers claw into the sheet. “Your folks are on their way,” he said, taking your hand again, pulling it against his chest. “Kaori too. They’ll probably bring half the house with them. Breathe, sweetheart. Come on. In. Out.” You focused on his voice, his chest under your knuckles, the rise and fall beneath the thin cotton of his T-shirt.

In. Out. In. Out.

The contraction peaked—white-hot, breath-stealing—then began to ebb, leaving you panting. “How long has it been?” you croaked. He glanced at the clock. “Little over two hours since we rolled in,” he said. “Feels like ten years, I know.” You let out a weak sound that might’ve been a laugh. “I’m so tired,” you whispered. Your eyes burned, your limbs heavy. “I don’t know how much more—”

“However much it is,” he said, “I’m right here. I’ll hold you up. You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to hate this. You’re still doing it.” You squeezed his hand, grateful and desperate and afraid all at once. Thirty minutes—or maybe an eternity—later, there was a soft knock at the door. Your head jerked up, heart banging against your ribs. “Come in,” Sukuna called, glancing at you to make sure that was alright.

The door opened and your parents slipped in, followed by Kaori. They looked rumpled and sleep-soft, dressed in whatever they’d grabbed—your mother in a cardigan over a nightgown, your father in an old T-shirt and jeans, Kaori in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. Your mother’s eyes went immediately to you, taking in the sweat on your brow, the monitors, the way you clutched Sukuna’s hand. “Oh, baby,” she breathed, crossing the room quickly, you burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” you sobbed as she reached your bedside. “I didn’t—I forgot to call—I’ve been here and it hurts and I—”

“Hush,” she said, smoothing your hair back with practiced hands. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re having a baby at five in the morning. You’re allowed to forget the phone.” Your father came to stand on the other side of the bed, eyes suspiciously shiny. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “Look at you. Doing the big work.” You sniffled, a shaky laugh breaking through. Kaori hovered at the foot of the bed, eyes wide, holding something in her hands. “I brought you something from Suki,” she said softly. “She woke up when I was getting dressed. I told her where I was going and she went running to her crayons like the house was on fire.” She moved closer and handed you a folded piece of construction paper.

You opened it with trembling fingers.

On the front, in bright, uneven marker strokes, was a drawing—three figures holding hands. One tall, with pink hair and long arms. One shorter, with long brown curly hair. In the middle, a tiny scribble with a big circle around it, labelled in Suki’s careful, wobbly letters: “BABY SPROWT.”

Above them, in large, multicolored letters, were the words: “GO AUNTIE FLOWER! YOU CAN DO IT!” Something inside you cracked wide open.

You pressed the drawing to your chest and sobbed. “Oh, honey,” your mother murmured, tears spilling down her own cheeks now. “She believes in you. We all do.”

“I—I don’t feel brave,” you choked out. “I feel like I’m being ripped in half.”

“That’s the brave part,” your father said quietly. “Doing it anyway.” Your mother set her bag on the chair and rummaged through it. “Alright,” she said, businesslike through her tears. “Hair.” She pulled out a hair tie and moved behind your head, fingers gentle and sure as she gathered your curls up and away from your face. Her touch was soothing, familiar—a gesture from another lifetime, braiding your hair before school, pulling it into a ponytail for soccer. “You’re burning up,” she clucked softly. “You always run hot when you’re stressed. There. That’s better.” You felt the weight of your hair lift, cool air brushing the back of your neck. Sweat dried there, making you shiver. “I should’ve done that,” Sukuna muttered, guilt flashing across his features. “I forgot.”

Your mother glanced at him and smiled. “You’ve been a little busy,” she said. “You remembered the phone. That’s more than your father did when I had Kaori.” Your father made an offended noise. “I was in shock,” he protested. “Also, it was the late seventies. We barely had a phone.” They bickered lightly, the normalcy of it surreal in the midst of your reality. It grounded you, somehow, tethered you to a world beyond pain.

Another contraction rose, stealing your breath.

You groaned, grip tightening on Sukuna’s hand. Your mother stepped back, her eyes full of worry and pride, as you bent into the pain, breathing hard. “That’s it,” your father murmured, voice thick. “Breathe with it, not against it. That’s what the doc told us with you. Nearly broke my hand, but it was the best pain I ever had.” You managed a strangled laugh at that, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. When the contraction eased, you sagged back, shaking. Your mother brushed a kiss against your temple. “You’re doing so well,” she said.

“We’re going to wait right over there, okay? If you want us, we’re here. If you don’t, we’re still here.” You nodded, throat tight. “I—I love you,” you whispered. “We love you more,” your father said. The door opened again and Shoko stepped in, flipping through your chart as she walked.

She glanced up, took in the cluster of family by your bed, and arched an eyebrow. “Full house,” she observed, but there was a hint of a smile there. “This is my mom, my dad, my sister,” you said, a little breathless. “They—uh—they came.”

“Nice to meet you,” your mother said, wiping her eyes hastily and extending a hand. “Thank you for… all of this.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” Shoko replied dryly, shaking her hand. “That’s mostly her.” She nodded at you. “I just get to take some credit at the end.” Kaori and your parents backed toward the small couch against the wall as Shoko set your chart aside and snapped on gloves.

“Let’s see what your body’s up to,” she said, moving to the foot of the bed. “You feeling more pressure down low? Like you need to go to the bathroom, but… times a thousand?” You flushed, the question both too much and not enough. “Y-yeah,” you admitted. “It’s… different now. Lower. I feel like I need to… but I don’t—”

“That’s your baby’s head doing its job,” she said. “Okay. Legs apart for me. Deep breaths.” You obeyed, cheeks hot, grateful and embarrassed that your family was even in the same zip code as this, though they stayed tactfully focused on anything but the lower half of the bed. Shoko examined you with quick, practiced movements. Then her eyes sharpened. “Well,” she said, a small pleased note in her voice. “Look at you.” Your heart stuttered. “What?” you gasped. “Is something wrong?”

“Quite the opposite,” she said, straightening. She peeled off her gloves and tossed them, then patted your knee. “You’re fully dilated. Ten centimeters. We’re ready.” The words dropped into the room like stones into water, sending ripples through everyone. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth. Your father exhaled sharply. Kaori let out a little choked sound, your own breath hitched. “Ready,” you echoed faintly. “Ready for… for what?”

“For the part where you do what your body’s been gearing up for,” Shoko said gently. “Pushing. Getting this kid into the outside world. You’ve done the hard prep. Now we ride the waves in a different way.” Fear surged up so suddenly you almost gagged. “I’m scared,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t—I don’t know if I can—”

“You can,” Shoko said firmly. “You’ve already proven that. But this next part is… intense. You need to focus. Which means…” She glanced at your family pointedly, though kindly. Your mother nodded immediately, swiping at her cheeks. “We’ll go wait in the hall,” she said. “We’ll be right there. You yell if you need anything.” Your father leaned over to kiss your forehead, his stubble scratching your skin lightly. “Proud of you, kiddo,” he murmured. “More than you know.” Kaori squeezed your foot through the sheet, her eyes shining. “You got this,” she whispered. “You always have. We’ll be right outside, okay?” You nodded, swallowing hard, vision blurring. “I love you,” you said again, because it felt like an incantation. “We love you more,” your mother repeated, tears spilling freely now.

They filed out quietly, casting one last look over their shoulders before the door closed with a soft click, leaving the room smaller, quieter, the focus narrowing to you, Sukuna, and the small army of medical professionals. Cara and another nurse moved with quick efficiency, adjusting the bed so you were more upright, pulling out hidden stirrups, checking equipment. Shoko stripped off her coat, leaving her in dark scrubs, and moved to the foot of the bed again, all business now. “Alright,” she said. “Game plan. You’re about to start feeling a lot of pressure with each contraction, like your body is demanding you push. When that happens, I’m going to walk you through it. You’re going to tuck your chin, curl around your belly, and bear down like you’re trying to… well, you know, use the bathroom. Glamorous, I know. We’ll do it in sets. You tell me if anything feels wrong or if you need a break.” You stared at her, heart beating so fast it made you lightheaded. “What if I can’t?” you whispered. “What if I freeze?” She held your gaze.

“Then we breathe,” she said. “We regroup. And we try again. There’s no failing here, Y/n. There’s just working with what your body can do. And from what I’ve seen, your body’s doing a hell of a job.” She glanced up at Sukuna. “You,” she said. “Up by her head. Stay out of the way unless she wants you down here. Your main job is holding, encouraging, and not passing out.”

“I’m not going to pass out,” he muttered, already moving to your side. “Big guys go down like trees all the time,” she said dryly. “Wouldn’t be the first. But don’t. We need you upright.” He snorted, but his hand trembled slightly as he brushed damp hair back from your face. “Hey,” he murmured, leaning over you, his forehead nearly touching yours. “We’re here. You and me and her. You’re about to meet our kid.” Tears spilled down your temples into your hair. “I’m so scared,” you said again, because the fear was a living thing in your chest now, thick and heavy. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, wiping away sweat and tears. “Me too,” he said softly. “But I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust you. If anyone can do this, it’s you. I’ll hold you. I’ll count with you. I’ll yell at anyone you want me to yell at.” You let out a shaky laugh.

The monitor beeped softly as another contraction began to build, the line on the screen starting its slow climb. You felt it before you saw it—a deep, powerful pressure, lower than before, like the earth itself was pushing up through your bones. Shoko’s eyes flicked to the trace, then back to you. “Okay,” she said calmly. “Here we go. Next one, we’re going to try a practice push. Just see how it feels. You ready?” You weren’t.

But between the tightening in your pelvis, the steady beat of your daughter’s heart, and the warm weight of Sukuna’s hand around yours, there was nowhere to go but forward.

You nodded, terrified and trembling. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.” And as the contraction swelled, filling your body with a force that felt bigger than fear, you drew in a breath, tucked your chin, and braced yourself for the moment everything would change.

The contraction rose like a tide, starting low in your spine and rolling forward, gathering weight and heat until it filled your whole body. “Here it comes,” Shoko said, watching the monitor and your face. “Alright, Y/n. When you feel it peak, tuck your chin and push down like we talked about. I’ll count for you.” Sukuna’s hand tightened around yours. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, bending close, his forehead almost touching yours. “Right here. Breathe in. Big breath.” You dragged a lungful of air in as the pressure crested—massive, unbearable, like your pelvis was being forced open from the inside. “Now,” Shoko said. “Chin to chest, curl around her—push.” You folded yourself around your belly as far as you could, curled into the wave of pain instead of away from it. You bore down, every muscle straining.

“One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten,” Shoko counted. You let the air explode out of you in a gasp, head falling back against the pillow. “That was good,” Cara said from somewhere near your knee. “You moved her. Do it again.” You sucked in another breath, face hot, the world narrowing to the burn low in your bones. “Again,” Shoko said. “Right now. Push.” You pushed. The sound that tore out of your throat was nothing like the quiet girl you had been; it was raw, animal, the sound of something ancient and alive and not interested in decorum.

Sukuna’s arm slid behind your shoulders, helping you curl up each time, his other hand locked with yours. You could feel his breath on your cheek, hear his low murmur over the blood rushing in your ears.

“That’s it,” he said. “That’s my girl. You’re doing it. You’re so damn strong. I’ve got you.” Three pushes per contraction. Then a pause—if you could call it that—where the pressure eased just enough for you to pant, to shake, to wonder how there could possibly be more. Then the wave rose again. Time lost its edges. The world shrank to the bed, the hands on your body, the voices guiding you. “You’re bringing her around the curve,” Shoko said after what felt like forever, her tone more focused now. “She’s doing great. Heartbeat is steady. You’re doing beautiful work.”

“Then why isn’t she out?” you gasped, tears leaking into your hairline. “I can’t—there’s nothing left—”

“There is,” Shoko said calmly. “You have more than you think. When you feel that burn, that’s not you breaking. That’s her coming down. It’s supposed to feel like too much.” Another contraction surged. It felt like the earth had shoved its fist up through the bed and into your pelvis. You whimpered, panic sparking. “It’s too big,” you cried. “She’s too big—”

“She’s exactly the size she’s meant to be,” Shoko said, firm but gentle. “Take that fear and push it out with her. Chin down. Let’s go.” You curled, bore down, screamed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. It wasn’t meant to be. It shook your ribs, tore your throat. Sukuna’s grip on your hand never faltered. “Good,” Shoko said. “Again.”

“I can’t,” you sobbed. “You are,” Sukuna said roughly in your ear. “You are, sweetheart. Look at me.” You forced one eye open, vision blurry. His face hovered above yours, damp hair falling over his forehead, jaw clenched, eyes shining with tears he wouldn’t let fall yet. “You promised me a kid,” he said, voice shaking. “You think I’m going to let you back out now?” A hysterical little laugh bubbled out of you. “Asshole,” you croaked.

“There she is,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “C’mon. Show them what you can do.” The next contraction came like a freight train. This one was different. The pressure was lower, heavier, shot through with a searing burn that made you jerk. “Oh God, oh God,” you panted. “It’s burning, it’s burning—”

“That’s the head,” Shoko said immediately. “You’re crowning. This is good. This is what we want. You’re going to feel like you’re going to split open. You won’t. I won’t let you. Breathe through this one—little pants. Don’t push yet. Just breathe.” You tried. Little huffing breaths, shallow and quick. The burn stayed, a ring of fire around something unyielding pressing against you. “I hate this,” you cried, voice high and broken. “I can’t—there’s no room—she’s stuck—”

“She’s not stuck,” Shoko said, all calm steel. “She’s right there. Do you want to feel?” You stared at her, horrified. “No,” you whispered. “Yes,” Sukuna murmured, something fierce in his tone. “You do. It’s her. She’s right there, Y/n.” Your heart hammered. With shaking fingers, you reached down between your legs, guided by Shoko’s gloved hand. Under all the strangeness—stretching, slickness, the surreal sense of your body as something both yours and not—you felt it: a small, hard curve, ridged with hair.

Your baby’s head, you gasped, eyes flying open. “Oh,” you whispered, all the breath knocked out of you. “Oh—she’s real—” “She’s real,” Sukuna said thickly. “Now bring her home.” You pulled your hand back up, clutching at his shirt, at his skin, at anything. “Next contraction, we’re getting the head,” Shoko said. “Listen to me, Y/n. When I tell you to stop, you stop. When I say push, you push. Short pushes now, okay? Don’t rush. We don’t need fast, we need steady.” You nodded, sobbing, trying to memorize her voice, to anchor yourself to the rhythm of her words.

The wave rose again.

You sucked in a breath, tucked your chin, curled forward. “Small push,” Shoko said. “Just a little. Bear down—good, good. Now breathe, breathe, breathe—don’t push—” The burn intensified. You screamed, high and raw. “I know,” Shoko said. “I know. Almost there. Short push. Now.” You pushed. The world narrowed to that single act. “Good—good,” she said. “Stop. Breathe.” You panted, shaking, tears and sweat running together.

“One more,” she said. “You can do one more. Right, Sukuna?” He was crying now and didn’t seem to care that anyone saw. “One more, baby,” he whispered. “You’ve done a hundred. You can do one more. Please. She’s right there. I can see her hair.” That lodged somewhere in your chest like a wedge—your daughter, with hair, visible. You dragged in one more breath as the contraction crested. “Now,” Shoko said. “Push.”

You did.

It felt like something tore, like the world split and suddenly— Release. A slippery, heavy sensation, a rush of warmth, a shift in pressure so abrupt you gasped. “The head is out,” Shoko said, clipped and pleased. You heard her murmur to someone, “Nuchal?” and another voice answer, “Cord is clear.”

“Okay, Y/n,” she said. “One more little push for the shoulders, and she’s here. You ready?” You were beyond ready. You were wrecked and open and desperate. You bore down with what was left of you. There was another wet, sliding rush, and then— A weight left your body. The absence was immense. You felt hollowed out, light and heavy at once. For half a heartbeat, the room held its breath. Then a sound split the air—a sharp, outraged cry, high and startling and so alive it made your vision go white, you choked on your own sob. “She’s here,” Cara laughed, voice wobbly. “Oh, she is not happy about being evicted.” You craned your neck, chest heaving, as Shoko lifted a small, vernix-slick body up, quick and sure, and then— She placed her on your chest.

Warm. Heavy. Damp.

Your hands flew up instinctively, shaking as you gathered her in, the hospital gown bunched under her, her skin against your skin. She was… smaller than the pain had made her feel, and yet massive in your arms. Pinking up fast. Her hair was damp, plastered to a head that seemed impossibly perfectly shaped. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face scrunched in furious protest, her mouth wide on another wail.

You broke.

A sound came out of you you’d never made before, half laugh, half sob, pulled straight from your soul. “Hi,” you gasped, tears spilling freely. “Hi—hi, baby—oh my God—” Your hand spread over her back, feeling each tiny vertebra, the impossible rise and fall of her breath. Sukuna made a noise next to you—a strangled, disbelieving sound. You looked up at him. He was staring at her like the universe had just rearranged itself in front of him. His eyes were red, tears spilling over unchecked, his mouth slightly open. For a moment, he looked younger and older all at once, all his defenses stripped away. “She’s… real,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “She’s… she’s really here.”

“Do you want to cut the cord?” Shoko asked quietly, offering a pair of scissors, he blinked, torn between you and the small, pulsing cord still connecting your daughter to you. “Go,” you whispered, cupping the baby’s head, already intoxicated by the smell of her—warm, raw, like wet cotton and something that was just hers. He stood on shaking legs and moved down the bed. Shoko clamped the cord in two places and handed him the scissors. “Right between the clamps,” she instructed. “Firm snip.” He nodded, jaw tight, and closed the blades. The snip was soft, almost anticlimactic, but something reverberated through you at the sound. Your body, your blood, separate now; your daughter her own person.

“Nice work,” Shoko said. “Dad.” He sucked in a breath like the word had hit him physically. When he came back up to your side, you shifted your arms, making room. “Come here,” you whispered. “Meet her properly.” He leaned over, one big hand hovering hesitantly over her head. You nodded, tears blurring everything. “It’s okay,” you said. “Touch her.” He did, the pads of his fingers barely grazing her damp hair, smoothing it back. “Hey,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Hey there, little trouble.” Her cries softened, stuttered, then picked up again as she flailed one tiny fist against your chest, searching for something she didn’t have words for yet. “She knows your voice,” you choked out. “I told you.” He swallowed hard, tears dripping onto the blanket tucked around her.

“I didn’t… I didn’t break you,” he whispered, mostly to himself, thumb curling along the shell of her ear. “You’re here. You’re really here.” Shoko and the nurses moved quietly around you—delivering the placenta, checking for tears, doing the necessary, messy work of birth. It was hazy, distant. There was some stinging, some tugging, but nothing that could compete with the weight of the small body on your chest, the steady thrum of her heart against your skin. “Her Apgars are great,” Cara said softly. “She’s perfect.”

“Of course she is,” Sukuna muttered hoarsely, brushing your hair back from your forehead with trembling fingers. “Look at her mom.” You laughed, disbelieving and exhausted and euphoric. The baby—your baby—rooted blindly, mouth nuzzling against your chest. “Do you want to try feeding her?” Cara asked quietly. “No pressure. We can wait if you need.” You looked down at the tiny, furious face, the little tongue pressing against her lip, and felt something deep and ancient in you answer. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I… I want to try.” With gentle hands and soft instructions, Cara helped you shift the gown, guided the baby’s head. The first latch was clumsy, more gums than anything, but the moment her mouth closed around you properly, you felt a strange tug—a pulling, a suction, a sensation that was intimate and wild and unlike anything you’d experienced, you gasped.

“That’s it,” Cara murmured. “She’s got it. Look at her go.” You looked. Her hand, no bigger than your thumb, rested against your skin. Her lashes were damp fans against her cheeks. Her hair stuck up in places already, stubborn even wet. She made small, contented noises as she swallowed. Emotion swelled in your throat until you thought you might choke on it. “Is this real?” you whispered, voice shaking. “Is this actually… happening?” Sukuna sank onto the stool by your bed at last, as if his legs had given out, his hand never leaving your arm. “It’s real,” he said. “You did it.”

You did it.

Not the universe. Not luck. Not the people who had hurt you or the ones who had failed him before.

You.

A little while later—minutes or hours, you couldn’t tell; time had gone syrup-thick and sweet—someone gently suggested they take the baby to the warmer for a quick weigh and measure. You resisted immediately, arms tightening. “No,” you said hoarsely. “Don’t take her—”

“Just for a second,” Shoko soothed. “She’ll be right there. In the same room. You’ll see everything. We just need to weigh her, give her a quick once-over, and she’s back on you. I promise.” You hesitated, then reluctantly loosened your grip. “Stay with her,” you told Sukuna, panic rising.

He was already up. “You think I’m letting her out of my sight?” he muttered. “No chance.” He followed the nurse to the clear bassinet-like bed by the wall, standing over it like a guard dog as they gently unwrapped your daughter, wiped her off more thoroughly, and laid her down. “Seven pounds, three ounces,” Cara announced. “Nineteen inches. That’s a good size, mama.” You let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Seven-three,” Sukuna repeated, like he was carving the numbers into stone. “That’s… that’s solid.”

“Do you have a name for her yet?” Cara asked, wrapping the baby back up, deft hands swaddling her in a soft pink striped blanket. You swallowed, throat suddenly thick. You and Sukuna had whispered names in the dark for weeks, turning them over on your tongues like new coins. There had always been one that you came back to, the syllables soft and bright. You met his eyes across the room, your heart in your mouth. “Do we?” Cara prompted gently. Sukuna looked from you to the baby and back, his expression going soft. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “We do.” You nodded, tears pricking again. “Himari,” you said, tasting it out loud for the first time in the presence of the person it belonged to. “Her name is Himari.”

Cara smiled. “That’s beautiful,” she said. “Sunlight, right? Or sunflower?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, stroking the air as they brought her back to you. “Our little sun.” When they placed her in your arms again, you murmured it against her soft hair. “Himari,” you said. “Hi, Himari.” As if recognizing herself, she made a small sound, a sigh almost, her face smoothing as she settled against you. Sukuna sank back onto the stool, leaning in, one finger tracing the edge of her swaddled form. “Himari Itadori,” he said under his breath, awe and pride braided through the words. “You’re in so much trouble, kid. You have no idea how loved you are already.”

An hour later, the room was quieter. The monitors still hummed, Shoko had finished her careful stitching and slipped out with a tired but satisfied smile, and the nurses had dimmed the lights further, giving you space for the so-called “golden hour.” You dozed and woke in loops, always with Himari somewhere in your arms or on your chest, her tiny sounds—sighs, snuffles—keeping you tethered to the surface of sleep. There was a soft knock on the door. “Ready for visitors?” Cara asked, peeking in. “They’ve been hovering in the hallway like it’s a concert.” You smiled, exhausted and glowing, and nodded. “Yeah,” you said. Your voice came out scratchy. “Let them in.”

The door opened wider and your mother slipped in first, followed by your father and Kaori, all moving as if entering a church. They stopped a few feet from the bed, taking in the sight of you propped up against pillows, hair a messy knot at the top of your head, cheeks flushed, hospital gown askew—and the small, swaddled bundle in your arms. Your mother’s hands flew to her mouth again. “Oh,” she whispered, eyes filling instantly. “Oh, sweetheart.” Your father made a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “She’s so small,” he said. “And yet… not.” Kaori pressed a hand to her chest, tears slipping down her cheeks, a wide, shaky smile stretching her face.

“You did it,” she breathed. “Oh my God, you did it.” You laughed, the sound wet and disbelieving. “I did it,” you echoed, looking down at Himari. “We did.” Sukuna stood at the side of the bed, one hand resting lightly on the rail, like he needed the contact to stay upright. He looked rumpled and sleep-deprived and utterly undone, and you loved him so much in that moment it almost hurt. “Do you want to meet her?” you asked, voice wobbling. Your mother nodded so fast her hairpin wobbled. “Yes,” she said, already swiping at her eyes. “If you’re ready. If you’re okay with us… touching her.”

“She’s your granddaughter,” you said, tears spilling again. “Of course.” Cara appeared long enough to raise the head of the bed a bit more and adjust a pillow, then melted back into the hallway, giving you privacy. You shifted Himari carefully, supporting her head, and held her out. Your mother approached like someone walking into a dream. She took the baby with practiced hands, all your old memories of being passed from arm to arm clicking into place in her movements. Himari fit into the crook of her elbow like she’d always been meant to be there. “Oh my God,” your mother whispered. “Look at her. Look at those cheeks. Look at her little mouth.” Her voice trembled. “Hi, tiny love. I’m your grandma. You made your mama very tired, you know that?”

Himari blinked sleepily, lashes fluttering, her mouth pursing. Your father came to her shoulder, peering down with brimming eyes. “Well, aren’t you something,” he murmured. “You’ve got your mama’s nose. I can see it already.” You choked on a laugh. “Don’t curse her so early,” you rasped. “It’s a good nose,” he insisted. “Sturdy.” He brushed one knuckle along the baby’s swaddled arm, his big hand dwarfing her. Kaori edged in on the other side, peeking over your mother’s arm. “She’s so little,” she whispered. “I forgot how little they are.” You thought of Suki’s drawing, tucked safely in the bag by your bed. “She brought me this,” you said, voice thick. “Before. The ‘baby sprout’ picture.”

“Oh, she’s going to lose her mind when she sees the real thing,” Kaori said, laughing through tears. “We told her she couldn’t come right away because hospitals aren’t very fun for five-year-olds. She argued that she’s almost six, so.” Himari made a small noise then, a whimper that was almost a complaint. Your mother automatically rocked her, swaying gently. “It’s alright, little bean,” she crooned. “You’re safe. You did your big job. Now you just get to be held.”

“Can we know her name?” your father asked softly, looking up, you glanced at Sukuna. He nodded, his gaze fixed on you like the moment mattered more than any other. You took a breath, your heart full to the brim. “Her name is Himari,” you said. Saying it in front of them made it feel official, like you were introducing not just your daughter but a new piece of your family’s story. “Himari Itadori.” Your mother’s face crumpled beautifully. “Himari,” she repeated, tasting it. “That’s… that’s perfect.”

“It means sunlight,” you said softly. “Or sunflower. We thought… after everything, she deserved to have light in her name.” Your father swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “Sunlight suits her,” he said, voice thick. “She brought it into this room.” Kaori laughed, wiping her cheeks. “Auntie Flower and her little sun,” she said. “Of course.” You burst into tears again, because it was all too much and exactly enough—the baby in your mother’s arms, the way Sukuna’s hand settled on your ankle under the blanket, grounding you, the quiet reverence in the room. After a few minutes, your mother reluctantly brought Himari back to you, her eyes shining. “Here,” she said, carefully transferring her. “She knows her mama best.” You gathered your daughter back against your chest, her warmth sinking into you like honey.

She blinked up at you then, just once, her eyes unfocused but open, and for a heartbeat you swore she was really looking, seeing you. “Hi, Himari,” you whispered, tears slipping into your hair. She made a soft, sleepy sound, her tiny body relaxing fully into yours. Sukuna sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, mindful of your legs, of tubes and wires, and laid his hand over both of you—your shoulder, her back.

The three of you fit together like a puzzle you hadn’t known you were missing pieces to. In the quiet that followed, with the early morning light just beginning to creep through a high, frosted window, you realized that for the first time in a very long time, your life didn’t feel like something you were merely surviving. Here, with Himari’s breath warm against your skin and Sukuna’s palm heavy and sure, it felt like something you were living.

Something you had made.

A whole new chapter, breathing softly in your arms.

authors note; I LOVED THIS STORY AND I LOVED WRITING IT OMG- it was just so soft and so gentle, and it had the drama I needed with a happy ending, bc yall know im evil and dont always do happy endings. I will be releasing some bonus chapters soon, enjoy MWAH

@beereadzzz @jupiteralexandra @softknj @ignited-residue @lkukaknka @doulcha @chupaee @mossgreenivy @kytnyxsstuff @diorsvnz @hobbitbitch @lizzjupiter @onlykuna @jkslvsnella @popcatx0 @marcelinebtw @silvertokio @eli54sa @puttyly @wockberry @grimm3r @luvwithau @happiness2112 @whitemelanin @teatime030 @scrumptious-27 @anubisvoid2 @lazyalchemist75 @ane5e @pookalicious-hq @whatitdodobby @diponmytip @oranoyaora @meeekozs @suzuyamitsuki @blublublubby @beaniesayshi @kittyykoi @5seos @ellsiedjarin @satorupied @tojiswifeforlife @tsumoorin @fushiguroooozzz @lizzjupiter @oranoyaora @planeth3r @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis @tearsdntfall617 @audiblez 

[rosettaafton626]

I just read this whole f**king series i kid you not, even the bonus chapters.... i have never felt so f**king moved and immersed in my entire life dude, i will not hold anything back when i say i cried, more then i probably should have but who cares, this was sooo beautifully written i will probably have dreams about this in like 30 minutes because it's currently midnight, and i started the series at like 9.30, so yeah safe to say its a favorite now.

[rosettaafton626]

Dispatch has a grip on me i fear, anyway heres selene she is a Dispatch oc who was an astrophysicist before she got her powers and now she has space powers because of a fatal level of spectral radiation, aka space radiation, after she was trapped in a space ship pod while it was being tested, she survived the pod however did not, because at the same time a supernova had gone of several thousand lightyears away, and the radiation from those can travel far, so she was hit with it and fell back to earth still in the pod and woke up with the powers, she was quite a influential person in the science world so several villains have kidnapped her to try and get her to make them things like weaponry and power enhancers.

She is the reason prisum can't have sparkels on her suit, she does feel bad about that though...

[rosettaafton626]

I hath returned! With another art dump, most of these characters where made via randomizer challenges, but there is one i made up all on my own, she is the only one with a name other then the galaxy lady whom i have dubbed ebony! If you have any ideas for names for anyone drop them in the notes/comments, as always i do take constructive criticism and feedback, as i am always looking for ways to improve my art!

[rosettaafton626]

Im back with more art! I made a small change to ace, and made the oc i made with my brother when he made ace! Welcom tori! I made a legends of avantris oc as well specifically a once apon a witchlight oc! She is a fire ginshe like gideon, her name is silva ashton! I made the lovely lady on the top of this post out of a random pause unpause art challenge! Though i don't have a name for her yet. :,( If you can come up with a good one let me know in the comments! Hope you all have a good day/afternoon/night!

[rosettaafton626]

Ok, this is getting annoying, i know a lot of people will probably disagree with me but the white people centering the white people in the sinners movie is fine! It will happen! We are not all bad about it though, i am very white, and i focus on smoke and stack, and i am very understanding on why people have comments about things like plantation owners daughter reader or having slave relationships with the black characters, but this happens to literally everything! It doesn't matter what fandom it's going to happen, just get over it! And i don't say that in a rude way, but sinners is already a darker film, that just means most of the things people write about it will also be dark or disturbing! Thats the whole point of darker films and writing that is akin to said film! Like if you think this is bad go look at literally any other dark films fandom, i know people have the right to not want to see things like that but instead of complaining about something they can't control they could block the tag or just ignore it. I understand sinners is a play on the dark parts of black history and culture, but in literally every other movie that focuses on a dark part of any history there will always be people what like the darker things they could pull and make from the films because thats just how they are, but at this point people need to learn that they can just ignore it, or look up very specific tags that they like, or like i said block the ones they don't like seeing for one reason or the other.

[rosettaafton626]

Another art dump, this time with another male character! All of them have names, the red head is Elisabeth Johnson, the dude is Ace Carmine and was actually made in collab with my bro! The other lady is Serenity she is a siren from the borderlands games but is also an oc.

Hope you like, and i do take constructive criticism! :)

[pluvio-tea]

I can’t remember if it was you but I remember seeing a post talking about modern au titus being widowed and having a cute neighbor and he like denies himself any sort of relationship with them until his kids are gone for the night and it gets a little freaky deaky and im not saying i’d be pleased to see you write that but that’s exactly what im saying. Love your work, love your style, and if you want to ignore i still love your work

Guuurrrlll yes that was me and one other mutual! I swear to God i tried finding the post but tumblr ate it or something!!!!

100% I still have hopes on writing that.

It's gonna be so juicy okay cause here's the set up:

New neighbor!reader takes on the job of baby-sitting Titus' kiddos so he can take a couple extra shifts at his job to better provide for them.

You were instantly attracted to the older man but he seemed keen on keeping things friendly but still professional. But here's the thing, normally you'd take the L and just focus on the kids but you see the way he looks at you. How he stares when he thinks you're not looking.

So you hatch a plan to seduce him. One incident leads to another and one night when the kids are over at their grandparents for the weekend you offer to cook Titus a good homecooked meal only you do it the most innocently scandalous outfit you can conjure up.

One thing leads to another and BOOM the gentle giant rocks your world and nearly puts you in a coma the dicking-down is so good. I have it all mapped out anon don't you worry your pretty little head.

[rosettaafton626]

Another art dump! I have names for all of them this time just didn't include them into the drawings. Except for a couple. A very mixed bag this time too! `:)

[rosettaafton626]

Another art dump, this time transformers flavored! Used the same reference for both of them, still not used to digital art. :'( but i have names for them both and there alt- forms too. :).

[rosettaafton626]

Art dump, made this oc for the one piece Fandom, fist time doing digital art. Don't know what to name her, suggest some stuff in the comments. 😅

[tiredfox64]

Could you write something about a reader falling in love with Syzoth, them developing a cute relationship but the reader finding out that he has some kind of breeding kink?

I've noticed that almost no one writes about Syzoth and that's so unfair 😭

Slither In

Yip notes: Is it really a breeding kink if it's in his nature?

Pairing: Syzoth x Afab reader

Warnings‼️: NSFW, breeding kink, two down there (I can't say it), monster fucking, biting

Your boyfriend is the absolute cutest. He is the sweetest reptilian you ever met. His eyes shine brighter than emeralds in the sun whenever he looks at you. You are his queen whom he would gladly impregnate with his kin.

And I mean gladly.

Ever since you both met, he knew he could trust you. You never feared his true form. You loved both forms equally. You actually found it awesome and were fascinated by it. You would marvel at his long, strong tail. You would hold onto his face as you took in every detail like his sharp teeth or his slit eyes. You looked at him like he was the most beautiful creature you ever laid your eyes upon. For that, you gained his affection.

You were the one person he would visit when he went to Earthrealm. He would wait for you when you’d come to visit him in Outworld. He couldn’t get enough of you. You were like a juicy bug that he had no idea was induced with addictive drugs. He needed to see you the second you visited or the second he stepped into Earthrealm.

Of course, you two would develop a relationship. He was comfortable with you because you didn’t judge him. Even when he ate crickets in front of you, you never grimaced. You actually started buying him crickets for him to eat when he visited. Gosh, his heart melted and he knew you were the one for him. Not even his own people treated him this well.

You two became quite the talking point. Johnny was congratulating Syzoth for finding a wonderful lady like you. Kung Lao was quite jealous of him while Raiden told Kung Lao to just be happy for him. Even Liu Kang was happy to see that something good came into Syzoth’s life.

Trust me when I say you two were THE couple. Girls were jealous that you had a good man following you around, staring at you with love in his eyes. He would ask if you wanted him to do anything for you like carry you around if your feet got tired. No, he knows you can walk on your own. He wants to take care of you, that’s all. It’s all because of love.

When love combines with his Zatteran nature, he starts to act differently.

You started noticing Syzoth act differently after dating for half a year. This whole time he has been polite and sweet to you. The perfect gentleman really. But then he started getting frustrated, not with you but with himself. You couldn’t understand at first until you saw the signs. You heard him stomp his legs whenever you turned your back to him. Or he would bob his head before holding his neck like he was trying to stop himself from doing it again. You couldn’t miss those moments when you and Syzoth would cuddle and you felt his hands rub your belly. It wasn’t in circles but up and down like what one would do to a pregnant belly.

When you’d ask him what he was up to he would stop immediately before apologizing.

“I-I’m sorry, my beloved. I did not mean to disturb you.” He’d remove his hands from your stomach and go back to the cuddling position you two were in before.

“There’s no need to apologize. I was just curious.” You didn’t sound upset at all but he would refrain from telling you his true feelings.

The truth is…Syzoth wants to mate with you. He understands that humans don’t work the same as him regarding breeding. He doesn’t want to make you feel trapped or scare you away with his wants. You’re the first good thing he has gained since leaving Zattera. So he keeps to himself and pushes down his nature. Easier said than done.

More stomping, more head bobbing, more staring at your stomach. He’s damn near clawing the kitchen counter trying not to pounce on you when you turn your back to him. He started looking up at you with pleading eyes whenever he rested his head on your stomach. He was like a dog begging for a treat. He was begging you to have his babies. Yet his mouth wouldn’t move to ask you the question.

Syzoth grew sad quickly. Rubbing one out would not fulfill his needs. He couldn’t do anything with you because he knew he wouldn’t pullout. This irritation grew more and more every day. Since Syzoth wasn’t telling you what was wrong you thought it was a guy issue. You invited Johnny over to see if maybe he could get an answer out of him. And an answer he received the moment he sat down on the couch and asked him what was wrong.

“I cannot take it anymore, Johnny!” Syzoth grabbed Johnny by the collar of his shirt as he hissed out his words.

“Can’t take what? Relax, man. You’re acting desperate or something.” Johnny teased to lighten the mood, but after looking at Syzoth, he realized he was telling the truth.

“I-I want—I need…” Syzoth took a deep breath before continuing, “I want to breed her. I need to. I am unable to help it.” He pulled his hood down to hide his shameful eyes.

Johnny was doing his best to make Syzoth calm down. It didn’t help that he was not saying that it was normal but instead saying it’s just how he is because he is a huge lizard. Never ask this guy to comfort anyone.

Little did they know that you were just around the corner. You heard everything and were slightly shocked. You’re not oblivious to his animalistic nature but you thought he had it under control or even adapted to not having a breeding period. You’re not mad at him and you wanted to comfort him to let him know it was alright to feel that way. But you decided to wait. You didn’t want him to know you were listening. You would wait for Johnny to leave before confronting your boyfriend.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Once Johnny left you told Syzoth to come to your bedroom as you had something to discuss. His heartbeat raced to the point it felt like it was thumping against his chest. He was concerned about what you had to say.

You began telling him about what you heard and you watched his face fill with shame. He was like a guilty puppy. Before you could finish and bring up your next point he was already on his knees, beginning for your forgiveness.

“I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave me. I will not force you to do any-“

“Syzoth!” You yelled which stopped Syzoth from rambling.

“I’m not mad at you. I was just surprised that this was something you wanted. I just wished you talked about it with me so we could have discussed it further.” Your hand went down so you could stroke his hair. He was still shocked but it calmed him a little.

Syzoth really should have said something. He should have known you wouldn’t judge him. If you could handle his real form you could handle his need to breed you. He sighed in relief as he let you pet him. That was until you spoke again.

“Now, how about we fix that little problem of yours?” You teased.

Syzoth looked up at you. At first you were unsure if you offended him. But then his large tail popped out and started pounding the ground. Yeah, he’s ready for this.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Oh dear, he was holding back a lot. He’s an animal in bed, not literally but it will happen soon.

Syzoth was quick to take his clothes off. His two cocks were standing proud before diving into your warm pussy.

You stared into his eyes as he pounds into you, his second cock rubbing against your clit. The tip of his second cock tapped against your stomach every time he thrusted in. It left little droplets of precum on your stomach. The one that was in you felt like it was touching your stomach from the inside. He knew how to use it well.

He was rough but not fast. His mind was more on the goal of cumming deep inside of you. He can’t risk going fast and having it accidentally slip out. With each thrust, it reached places no guy had hit. But Syzoth isn’t your ordinary guy so why even be surprised?

He was watching every reaction you let out. He watched how your eyes rolled back before looking back at him. He watched you struggle to keep yourself quiet by biting your lip. Meanwhile in his mind he was already imagining you becoming more plump as you carry his children. He would be there to protect you and the babies, however many there would be. He’ll take care of everything so you don’t have to lift a finger. All you would have to do is stay healthy and be his beautiful woman. And soon, he’ll make you his wife.

But let’s get through the baby making first before getting to that.

Syzoth moved your legs to lay on his shoulders. It gave him easier access to go deeper and you felt that immediately. He shoved himself deeper until you were seeing stars every time he hit your g-spot. Or those could have been halos from the heavens above. Anything works, the fact was he was making you his. The closeness was nice as well. Feeling his skin against yours as you burn up like a sinner. It was intimate and it was passionate.

Somehow your mind could not process the fact that you were about to cum until it was too late. One second you were giving your usual moans and pants, the next your head went back and you were clenching the sheets as the orgasm hit you. It took your breath away, causing you to only focus on how it came in waves. Your pussy was clenching around his cock while your clit grew sensitive to his other cock rubbing against it. He stopped once he realized you came.

You took a moment to catch your breath. There was a slight smile on your face from the burst of dopamine you just received. You were about to ask Syzoth if he was good until you realized he never came. You became puzzled and were about to ask him what was the matter. He pulled out and flipped you on your stomach.

Alright, now here’s the fun part.

You didn’t know what Syzoth was doing until the bed creaked as if something huge was just dropped on it. No, he can’t be.

You felt him press against your back, feeling rough scales come into contact with your skin. Large hands wrapped around your hips with claws that were slightly digging into them. He nuzzled his large head against yours to keep you calm. That wasn’t necessary because you already felt calm. You were surprised that you weren’t at all freaked out by what was about to happen. But you trusted Syzoth to not hurt you. You knew he would be gentle and make sure you had a good time.

Your hand went up to give his head a light pat. He let out a low growl that rumbled his chest. You felt a much bigger pair of cocks press against your already sensitive pussy. It gathered some of your wetness before slowly slipping in. Your hands gripped your pillows as you felt it stretch you out. What you weren’t ready for was the ridges. The base was ridged. That’s a new texture that no human man can provide you.

Your legs immediately turned to jello from the feeling it provided. Not to mention the other cock was rubbing against your clit again, this time with a more bumpy texture. Don’t worry, Syzoth has a good hold on your hips. So just relax and enjoy the ride.

Nothing in that room was quiet. The bed squeaked with every movement you two made. Syzoth was letting off low rumbles as he felt your warm pussy squeeze around him. And you? Heh, your voice is gonna be hoarse in the morning. The pillow could only do so much to silence your moans. You occasionally had to lift your head up to breathe better and that’s when your moans were heard the most. The prettiest sound Syzoth would ever hear. The sounds of birds could never compare.

You began to pull away from him to relieve yourself of being overstimulated. You could already feel your eyes watering up from the pleasure being too much for you. But Syzoth won’t let you get away. You are gonna stay there and take it all. He pulled you back roughly which made you see those bright lights again. You soon felt his sharp teeth prick the skin on your shoulder. He slowly pressed them down but not enough to break your skin. For once throughout this whole debacle you felt some fear. But that fear turned to pleasure once you realized you liked it. You liked how he was so close to fully biting you just to make you stay. It’s safer to accept what’s about to happen.

Tears began to slip down your cheeks. Drool slowly dribbled past your lips and down your chin. Your pussy was a dripping mess. You’re a dripping mess.

Wet, squishy sounds were heard every time Syzoth thrusted in. You couldn’t hear it over your own moans but you could feel how easily he was slipping in and out. One of his clawed hands reached forward to grip one of your breasts. His claws dug into the round flesh but never pierced it. He could already imagine how big they would get once they fill up with milk. He wouldn’t mind getting a taste of it for himself. He knows you’ll produce enough for the babies and him. Oh gosh, the thoughts are really getting to him.

You felt his thrusts become sluggish and his growls become deeper. You knew he would cum soon. Thank goodness, you couldn’t tell if you would last any longer.

A few more thrusts and he was soon filling your pussy with his cum. It was really filling you up. It’s a large cock what else could you expect. His other cock was shooting some cum out as well which painted your stomach and tits. It also landed on the sheets which is fine he will clean it up later.

Syzoth pulled out and watched some of his cum pour out of you. It fell onto the sheets and dripped down your thighs. You fell to your side and let out a sigh of relief. It’s over, what an experience for you.

Syzoth went behind you to cuddle you, still in his true form. His tail wrapped up and pressed against your front. It was like he was already preparing to cradle that big belly that would soon form. You found it cute and brought his tail closer to you. You begin to pass out, feeling his warm breath blow behind you.

Now, you’re not too sure if birth control will work with Zatteran cum. Guess you will find out soon.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

AND IT DOES NOT!

That little pill was not gonna work with that large amount of cum. Which is fine, it worked out for Syzoth in the end.

He was ecstatic to become a father once more. He will make sure to protect you well and keep your baby safe. He made sure to do everything for you even though he couldn’t do the laundry, cook, go grocery shopping…okay he did the best he could. You wanted to do things yourself anyway. Pregnant women gotta stay strong and active. You appreciated his efforts though.

In the end, it was worth it. Seeing his eyes sparkle whenever he looked at your pregnant belly was something unforgettable. The love he has for you grows stronger every day. He can’t thank you enough for giving him a family.

And it could have happened quicker IF HE JUST FREAKING SAID IT.

Yap notes: So sorry I’ve been MIA. The depression hit like a bitch, the motivation was down, I got overstimulated and cried, and my body needs different things. I have excuses for days and I’m gonna go cry about tortoises. I at least fixed my raccoon tails. Adiós!

[c-y-g-m-c-o]

Inhuman looking characters have no right to be so damn fucking hot

[rosettaafton626]

Dear Supporter,

I hope this message finds you and your family in good health. My name is Eman Zaqout from Gaza. I am reaching you out to seek your urgent help in spreading the word about our fundraiser. I lost both my home and my job due to the ongoing genocide in Gaza and we are facing catastrophic living conditions. 💔

I kindly ask you to visit my campaign. Your support, whether through donating or sharing, will help us reach more people who can make a difference. Thank you for your continued support for the Palestinian cause. Your dedication brings us closer to freedom. 🙏🕊

Note: Verified by several people as 90-ghost and aces-and-angels. ☑

https://gofund.me/b141d50f 🔗

Hey peps i know its been awhile since I've done anything, but this man and his family have reached out for help, sadly i can not help as i still depend on my parent but if any of you can please go to his campaign and donate anything you can, and even if you can't donate anything please share/repost this to get more people to help. #helpgaza

[forsworned]

Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.

It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.

[kiwicopia]

🔞 Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Fem!Reader (blurb) 🔞

CW: Remy being soft, spooning, neck kisses, cock warming, hints of sex at the end.

Note: I haven't seen Deadpool & Wolverine yet, but spoilers let me know that Gambit girlies ate well. That being said, I'm basing this around 97's Gambit. Pardon if my French is poorly written.

Rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains of his room, illuminating your sleeping figure beside him. The sheets were draped over your hips, allowing for his fingers to gently dance along your side. Remy wasn’t a pious man, but moments like this seemed like a small slice of heaven for him. Moments that he could selfishly cherish every morning. His body scooted forward a little, the added warmth of his chest against your back causing you to stir slightly. 

“Ma chérie,” he whispered. His lips pressed against your bare shoulder, trailing soft kisses up to the sweet spot behind your ear. He heard you chuckle in response, the sound causing his lips to curl as he pressed another kiss behind your ear. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“It’s fine,” you told him. “I have to get up, anyway.” Your body shifted as you tried to roll over and face him, but he slid an arm around you, keeping your back flush against his chest. “Remy—.” 

“Stay,” he said. His arm tightened around you while he adjusted himself, moving so that your head now rested on his outstretched arm. “Drills can wait, mon amour.” Remy was a stubborn man and lover—something you had learned the more time spent with him—and you knew how much he disliked your morning drills in the Danger Room. They were mornings in which he deemed could be better spent with him instead. 

A small sigh fell from your lips. “Fine, morning drills can wait a bit longer.” He smirked a little before letting a hand drift down your stomach, relishing in the way your thighs parted, as if expecting his touch. Instead, his hand slid under your thigh, fingers curling around the plump flesh before lifting your leg up a little. It was just enough for the head of his cock to push through your folds before letting himself rest in your warm, gummy walls. The feeling of being filled caused your body to squirm a little against him. “What are you doing?” You asked. It was a rhetorical question, really. You already knew what he was planning. 

“Stayin’ warm,” Remy answered. His eyes closed while his lips trailed kisses from the spot behind your ear and down to your bare shoulder. You wanted to roll your eyes, but all you did was moan when his dick twitched, causing your walls to squeeze him just enough to make him groan in satisfaction at the feeling. “Makin’ it difficult to stay warm, chérie.” Remy’s fingers dug into your thigh a little. “We can have a little morning drill of our own, yeah?” 

The suggestion he tossed out was too good to pass up—as if he’d ever let you in the first place—and your head gave a small nod. “Okay,” you agreed. A little workout before morning drills never hurt anyone, right? Your lover smirked against your skin, soon peppering a few more kisses to your shoulder before trailing up to your neck. Unbeknownst to you, however, the Cajun man had no plans on letting you go for drills. Not for a while, anyway. 

[thehumorbot]