#if someone writes this or has found it please put it in my inbox

[average-ww-enjoyer]

Might get crucified for this but

Someone should write a Nick Bottom x Shakespeare fanfic called "Bottom's gonna be on top".

[mononijikayu]

to you 2,000... or... 20,000 years from now… — ryomen sukuna.

As they stand to leave, his gaze drifts to one of his portraits—a work that captures a moment from another time, another life. In it, the King of Curses sits beside his beloved concubine, her expression full of light and laughter, radiant in a way that suggests an unbreakable bond. Ryomen Sukuna pauses, his hand still entwined with hers, and a rare, gentle smile crosses his face. Looking at the painting, he lets himself hope, just a little. Perhaps, even in a world he once saw as cold and unyielding, there are threads of something beautiful woven into his story. Perhaps, even for someone like him, there could be a happy ending, one he’d never dared to imagine. He leans down and whispers softly, almost as if confessing a secret. “I like to think they found each other again, you know? That somehow… this time, they got to be happy.”

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation;

WARNING/S: post canon, future timeline, fluff, possible romance, getting together, mild angst, reincarnation, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, dreams and nightmares, distress, grief, feelings, physical touch, character death, moving on, flashback, humor, no curse future au, pining, light-hearted, happy ending, depiction of the future, depiction of reincarnation, depiction of letting go, depiction of flashback, depiction of getting together, depiction of depiction of character death, depiction of distress, depiction of grief, mention of character death, mention of the past, mention of letting go, mention of grief, reincarnated! sukuna, reincarnated concubine! reader;

WORDS: 15k words.

NOTE: this concludes the final part of the main story of the other woman. i'm genuinely grateful for you love and attention towards my story. this was never supposed to be a series, it was supposed to be a one off fic. but because of your love for concubine reader, i was inspired to bring more to her life.

as i promised, this is a happy ending. well, the happy end that i think would suit the story. of course, this is not the end of concubine reader's story. there will be drabbles of sukuna and concubine reader's life that i never managed to put out.

if you have any suggestion or questions about the story, you can drop some words down in the inbox!!! i'm very happy when you ask questions about the story or have suggestions of what you wanna see next!!! please do so everyone!!!

i hope you look forward to them!!! thank you for reading, thank you for your support and love. i'll continue to write for you all!!! i love you <3

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if you want to, tip! <3

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HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW HE’LL GET THROUGH THIS. He’d never felt like this before. What do his other artist friends call it? Oh, that’s right. A slump. An artist’s slump. Yeah, that’s what it’s called. He’s never had that before.

But why should he? Ryomen Sukuna was a protege. He was a stellar artist with a golden hand, one who never stops. The one who works as though he’s running out of time. It’s him. 

And yet, at that moment, he wasn’t.

Ryomen Sukuna had a problem.

He was stumped from hell and back.

And he doesn’t understand why.

A loud exhale releases from his mouth as he looks up at all the drying canvas in front of him in the various easels. They’re all beautiful, don’t get him wrong. But they’re all the same.

And that bothers Ryomen Sukuna as he purses his lips in a flat line. His own studio has become a homage to these paintings and sketches as of late. There was nothing else coming out of him. Nothing else was occupying his mind.

In the maze of half-finished canvases and dried paint of his studio, there were only those same eyes staring at him. He could feel it even now under the dim lighting casting long, wavering shadows across each and every tender gaze.

He couldn’t stand up anymore. He’s exhausted. He’s been up since god knows when. Everywhere there was paint. His hands are stained, his shirt splattered with colors that have long since dulled. It’s been weeks.

He doesn't know how to deal with this. How could he, when she finds him in every moment? How easy it was to be that way. He’s stopped keeping track of time, because time means nothing when all he can see, all he can paint, is her.

As of late, it was this that haunted him. It was the same as always. It was this woman with those kind eyes looking back at him. That same tender smile greeting him. That same beauty yearning towards him. Everything about the woman’s face consumes him. Everything that she is continues to follow him like a ghost, over and over. 

He can’t even pinpoint when it started. It just started happening out of nowhere. At one point there were normal dreams and soon enough, there were something else.

And as time passed by, there was nothing else left but her. Her beautiful smiling face looking at him. Every single time, she never fails to be warm towards him. As though she could feel him, as though she could see him.

She’s become more than a fixation; she’s an infection, seeping into every corner of his mind, haunting the hours he’s awake as much as those precious few where he drifts into a broken sleep.

She first appeared in his dreams like a fleeting whisper, but her image has grown, intensifying with each passing night, filling his dreams with a crescendo of color and dread. And over and over, it was repeating.

Like a piano key stuck on the board, playing over and over that same repetitive note. And yet, it was still lovely. It was still tender. And then suddenly, it wasn’t. That was the worst part of it all, he thinks. He captures the beauty of her and then suddenly, it just disappears. It goes. Almost like smoke. 

The dream is always the same every night. At first it was terrifying to him. He’d never seen anything like her before. He’d never seen what happened to her before, not to anyone. Not ever. But with her, it repeats.

That nightmare continues over and over again. And he hated it. He hated how he has memorized it. He has hated how it was all he could see over and over again. He hated how this was the fate that such a beautiful, kind woman had to meet.

That beautiful lady, she would stand there and smile at him. Often, she stands at the edge of a crumbling cliff, the ocean roiling and dark beneath her, waves crashing against jagged rocks far below.

She turns, her eyes fixed on him, lips curling into a smile that might be tender, might be mocking, it shifts each time, eluding any attempt to decipher it.

She extends a hand, beckoning, imploring him to come closer. His heart races, his feet propel him forward, but just as he reaches for her, she slips, and he’s left grasping at nothing but empty air.

Again and again, he tries to save her. Again and again, she falls.

The dream wakes him in a cold sweat, heart pounding, breath shallow. He stumbles to his studio, and without thinking, he begins to paint. Her face materializes with each stroke, her eyes holding secrets he can’t unlock.

Her smile flickering with a mystery that tightens his chest. He paints her until his fingers go numb, until his eyes blur from exhaustion. He paints her even when he’s on the verge of madness. And he hates it—hates her—but he’s powerless to stop.

The people around him have noticed the shift, though they don’t understand it. They speak of his new works with reverence, captivated by the haunting beauty of the unknown woman he’s made famous.

But they don’t see the toll she takes on him. They don’t see the shadow of sleeplessness etched into his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the wild desperation lurking just beneath his cool exterior.

Every time he tries to paint something else. Absolutely anything else, it does not work. Not anymore. He would feel his hands freeze, his mind goes blank, and all he can see is her smile.

She’s everywhere, a ghost in his waking hours, her gaze piercing through every wall he builds to keep her out. The thrill of creation is gone; all that remains is the raw compulsion to recreate her face, an act that feels more like exorcism than art.

Ryomen Sukuna slumps back into his chair, eyes trained on the painting before him, hands limp and smeared with shades of red and soft violet. Her face, the delicate arch of her brows, the smirk teasing at her lips. All of it stares back at him, alive, taunting. 

It’s as though she’s watching him, laughing softly at his obsession, fully aware of the hold she has over him. The painted eyes seem to flicker, and in his exhaustion, Sukuna wonders if he’s the one painting her, or if she’s the one reaching through the canvas, carving her image into his mind with a precision that leaves him helpless.

“Damn it. This is so annoying.” he mutters, his voice echoing hollowly in the quiet room. He reaches for his brush, the movement automatic, but his hand falters, dropping it back onto the table as he releases a frustrated sigh. 

The curse feels weak, a pitiful attempt to regain some control, but he knows it’s useless. She’s an endless riddle, one he’s compelled to solve yet doomed to never fully understand.

No matter how many times he paints her, he can’t capture her—not completely. The harder he tries, the more elusive she becomes, as though she’s slipping through his fingers, mocking his every attempt.

He sits there, shoulders slouched, the steady tick of the clock filling the empty space around him. Hours blur into each other, and yet he can’t bring himself to look away, his gaze locked on her face, that faint smile hinting at secrets she will never share.

And then, just as the clock strikes midnight, he hears it. That tender voice giving him grief. That warm voice turning him cold. That voice echoed that whisper, soft as a breeze, calling his name.

“My lord…..my lord Sukuna.”

He closes his eyes, the sound reverberating through him, familiar and yet so distant. She’s there, in his mind, like an echo carried across lifetimes, the warmth of her voice stirring something deep inside.

He knows it’s a dream, an illusion conjured by his own obsession, but he doesn’t care. For a brief moment, he lets himself lean into it, lets her voice wash over him like a balm.

“My lord, my beloved lord Sukuna…” Her voice is softer this time, coaxing, filled with a strange tenderness that he’s certain only exists in his imagination. He can almost feel her fingers trailing along his cheek, the faintest touch, leaving warmth in their wake.

“What do you want from me?” he murmurs, his voice a weary plea, barely audible, as if afraid to break the fragile spell she’s cast over him. “You’re there every night, haunting me, making me see you even when I close my eyes. But what do you want?”

In his mind, her laughter echoes, soft and familiar, as if she’s toying with him. “You know what I want, my lord Sukuna. You’ve always known.”

He clenches his fists, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “Then tell me, damn it. Tell me what I need to do to set you free.”

“Set me free?” she repeats, and there’s a hint of amusement in her voice, as if the very idea amuses her. “Oh, my lord Sukuna… it’s not me who needs freeing.”

His breath hitches, her words cutting through him like a blade. The realization settles over him like a heavy weight, and he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she’s right.

She isn’t the one trapped here—he is. Bound by his own memories, his own regrets, unable to let go of the past that has woven her image into every part of him.

He opens his eyes, staring at the canvas again, her face seeming to shift. It was almost ever so easy for her to taunt him like that, to tease him. Everything about her gave him that feeling that overwhelms him. Feelings that he's never felt in his entire life.

He could feel her eyes glinting with a knowing look that sends a shiver down his spine. He reaches for the brush, hand trembling as he adds another stroke, trying to bring her into focus, to finally capture the essence of her that has haunted him. But no matter what he does, he can’t reach her, can’t grasp the fleeting vision that seems to dance just beyond his reach.

“I’ll keep painting you. I swear.” he whispers, his voice raw, laced with something close to desperation. “Every night, every dream, until you’re satisfied. Until you let me go.”

But he knows, even as the words leave his lips, that she won’t; she’ll never truly leave. She’ll linger there, a silent muse, a relentless force guiding his hand, embedding herself deeper with every brushstroke.

And he, trapped in this beautiful, maddening cycle, will keep painting her face, night after night, each canvas only revealing a fragment of her and yet never enough.

The clock ticks on, marking the hours that slip away in her wake, but he’s long since stopped noticing. She’s there, in every line, every shadow, every flicker of light on the canvas.

She’s his prison, his muse, his madness—and he knows, even as he tries to break free, that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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BY THIS POINT, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN FINISHED WITH HIS COLLECTION. Usually, Ryomen Sukuna finishes his pieces weeks ahead, leaving everyone else; especially Gojo Satoru—scrambling to catch up. Well, perhaps because he usually doesn’t work until he stops messing about. 

Still, the rivalry is a running joke among their peers. Gojo Satoru  would tease him endlessly, his voice loud and mocking. “The world might as well end if you didn’t finish first, Ryomen Sukuna. I’d have to check if hell froze over.”

Gojo Satoru would say with that infuriating grin, and Sukuna would just roll his scarlet eyes, barely dignifying it with a response. He didn’t need to—he’d simply outdo him, his work claiming the prime spot at the National Gallery, cycle after cycle. That’s just how it works for them.

But now, as the days tick by and his canvas remains trapped in this maddening loop, the weight of that old joke feels heavier. Maybe it would be better if the world did end, he muses grimly, his frustration boiling under the surface. Each day that he fails to paint anything else, fails to break free from this woman’s image—drains him. 

Every line, every shadow, every detail is etched with painstaking care, and yet each piece feels incomplete. He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes narrowing as he looks once more at the canvas, the same haunting face staring back.

Another artist would leave the piece for a day, perhaps even a week, and come back with fresh eyes. But not Sukuna. He’s stubborn, relentless. Yet this time, it feels as though he’s been bested, and that thought is infuriating.

A soft knock sounds at the studio door, but he doesn’t respond. The door creaks open, and he doesn’t need to look up to know who it is—he can practically feel Gojo Satoru’s grin from across the room. This was a rare visit from his rival and somewhat friend. But, he already regrets giving him his address.

“Not done yet?” Gojo drawls, strolling in with a lazy confidence, hands shoved into his pockets. “Well, this must be it—the end of the world. Should I start making apocalypse preparations?”

“Leave, Satoru.” Sukuna mutters, his voice a low growl. But Gojo just chuckles, unperturbed.

“Can’t. I live wayyyyyy tooo far. Besides, I came all this way to see the fall of the great Ryomen Sukuna. And boy, is it a sight.” Gojo steps closer, his gaze shifting to the canvas. “Her again, huh? Your mystery woman? I thought you were done with her!”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “Say another word, and you’ll be painting with your own blood.”

Gojo just laughs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the wall. “Fine, fine. But it’s… interesting, don’t you think? You, stuck on the same image, over and over. And all of this because of one woman.”

Sukuna can feel his patience fraying, each word from Gojo Satoru like sandpaper on a wound that refuses to heal. But Gojo doesn’t stop, his tone shifting from mocking to genuinely curious. It’s already giving him a headache.

“So, bestie……” he says, a glint in his bright blue eyes. “Who is she? A muse? Some long-lost love? Because whatever it is, you’re about to drive yourself mad over her.”

“She’s nothing.” Sukuna says sharply, but the words lack conviction. He doesn’t want to dive into it. Especially for Gojo Satoru. He’d only try to make it all a joke and laugh about it. “Just a woman. Just a damn face that refuses to disappear.”

Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow. “Nothing? Could’ve fooled me, seeing as she’s all you’ve painted for weeks. Either she’s ‘just a woman,’ or she’s haunting you.”

Sukuna clenches his fists, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I can’t… get her out of my head, no matter how many times I try. It’s like she’s taunting me. Every stroke feels like a chase, and I can’t catch her.”

For once, Gojo’s grin fades, a shadow of understanding passing over his face. “So that’s it, huh? You’ve finally found a challenge you can’t conquer. Even after all these years.”

Sukuna scowls, eyes narrowing. “It’s not a challenge. It’s… more than that.” His voice trails off as he glances at the painting, his expression a mixture of longing and frustration.

“Then stop,” Gojo says bluntly. “If she’s driving you insane, stop trying to capture her. Paint something else. Anything else. Get back to your work, to the craft that’s kept you sane all this time.”

But Sukuna only shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the canvas. “It’s not that simple, Satoru. I can’t stop. I need to understand… Why is she here? Why does she keep coming back to me?”

Gojo sighs, running a hand through his bright snow colored hair, clearly torn between amusement and pity. “Well, I can’t say I envy you. But maybe you should try looking beyond the canvas, for once.”

Sukuna scoffs, though a hint of doubt creeps into his expression. “You think there’s anything outside this room that could give me answers?”

Gojo shrugs. “Who knows? Sometimes the answers we need are the ones we’re not looking for. But if this is what’s keeping you chained…” he nods towards the door, his voice lowering, “then maybe it’s time to find out why.”

Ryomen Sukuna says nothing, his gaze flicking between Gojo and the woman’s face on the canvas. And as Gojo slips out the door with a knowing smile, Sukuna feels the weight of his words lingering, as if daring him to break free of the chains he’s crafted for himself.

Gojo Satoru stayed in his studio for a while; the entire time his head hurt. But he couldn’t help admitting that his frustration was put on hold and that he was grateful for it. Annoying as he was, it was better than suffering what he had been suffering with the woman that haunts him.

But when Gojo Satoru leaves, he finds himself unable to leave either. From the night before, he hadn’t really found himself to sleep. But if he was still being honest, he really doesn’t think he made any progress from the ones he had already made  that he feels happy about.

Well, except perhaps three more additions to his deluded dreams of this woman. He couldn’t stop with that. That was not something he could enjoy. It didn’t look good. He didn’t think it was the best he had ever done. He looks at his canvas again and squints his eyes. It was as though he was hoping that he had painted something else. But he knew he hadn’t. There was no need to double check. 

Okay, well, he should be more honest — it’s four now. This is the fourth one. The fourth one for a while and it’s only past lunch time the next day.  Wait, is it really lunch time? He looked around again and saw his clock. His mouth agape in shock. It’s already been a whole day? It’s already the blue hour? What the actual fuck is going on?

He groans as he puts down his paintbrush and covers his face with his hands. A loud groan echoes against his skin, reflecting that bitterness he feels. He was going mad, he’s genuinely sure that he’s really going mad. This time for real. The world is ending and he’s going mad.

Once more, Ryomen Sukuna sits slumped in his studio chair, the dim, cold light from the nearby cityscape casting a pallor over his face. How can this be possible? He's rubbing his temples, staring at yet another drying and yet truly unfinished portrait of her when a familiar voice cuts through his brooding. Ryomen Sukuna turned his back and turned it back once more, just as quickly.

Fuck, its Uraume.

Shit, shit. Is it already that time?

He hasn’t messaged them for two days.

How the fuck is he going to survive—

“Sukuna–san, you have the exhibition in two weeks, you know that!” Uraume reminds him, waking over with their tone both gentle and insistent. They’re standing at the edge of the cluttered studio, arms crossed, their eyes flicking between Sukuna and the growing stack of canvases lining the walls. “Everyone’s expecting new work, Sukuna–san. You can’t just say you aren’t producing anything when this is—”

He cuts them off with a frustrated wave of his hand, as if trying to dismiss both them and the exhibition out of his mind. “I know, I know, Uraume–san. You already know that I know. Don’t you think I know? I just…… What’s the point of even going here? It’s not…it’s not finished—nothing is complete.” 

“That’s not what you’re supposed to be telling me—”

“I know, I know.” His voice trails off, heavy with exhaustion. He looks at the half-finished canvas before him, her familiar eyes staring back, mocking him. “Look, I need time. Okay? Just a little more time to get over it. I promise. It will be done soon.”

Uraume steps carefully, sidestepping the mess of brushes, scattered paint, and half-finished canvases that litter the studio floor. Their usual calm is tinged with a hint of bewilderment, their brows furrowing as they glance over at Ryomen Sukuna, who sits slouched in his chair, staring blankly at the portrait before him. 

This is the first time they’ve seen him like this—so unfocused, so… lost. It’s unnerving. For as long as they’ve known him, Sukuna was always in control, his power and his confidence absolute. Nothing stumped him; nothing could shake him from his single-minded determination.

And yet, here he is, surrounded by portraits of a woman they’ve never met, trapped in a spiral of obsession that they don’t understand.

“Get over what, exactly?” Uraume asks, a soft but firm edge to their voice, breaking the silence that has grown heavy in the room. “The exhibition is practically sold out already. You are the star of this show—you know that.” 

They hesitate, crossing their arms as they study his profile. “If you let yourself slip now, you’re going to lose everything. They expect something… groundbreaking, something other than…”

Their voice trails off as they catch sight of another painting, and then another; all of them of her. Each one shows a different expression, a different tilt of her head, a different light in her eyes, but always the same haunting face. Uraume’s gaze lingers on the latest painting, her smirk, subtle yet all-consuming, as if she’s daring anyone who looks at her to understand.

They shake their heads slowly, exhaling in frustration. “This obsession of yours…” They struggle for the right words, their gaze hardening as they glance back at him. “I don’t understand it. Who is she? And why are you letting her control you like this?”

Sukuna looks up, his expression weary, but there’s a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, a glint that only appears when he’s truly challenged. “You wouldn’t understand, Uraume–san.” he mutters, his voice low, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “No one would. Not unless you felt what she did to me.”

Uraume raises a brow, taken aback. This isn’t like him—this vulnerability, this almost painful honesty. They’ve seen Sukuna bring cities to their knees, watched him command fear and respect with the simplest look, but now? Now, he looks more like a man haunted than a man in control. 

“Then tell me, Sukuna–san.” Uraume says, their voice softening slightly, more curious than before. “What is it about her? Why does she matter so much?”

He leans back, a bitter smile crossing his lips. “It’s like… no matter how many times I paint her, she’s always out of reach, Uraume–san.” he says, his eyes flicking to the painting in front of him, the smirk that never changes. “Every stroke, every color—it’s as if she’s taunting me, daring me to try again, knowing I’ll never capture her.”

There’s a pause, the weight of his words settling between them, thick and tangible. Uraume takes a step back, their expression wavering. They’re used to seeing Sukuna drive toward a goal with relentless force, breaking anything that stands in his way. But this? This is something else. Something they can’t touch.

“Is she worth all this?” Uraume asks, more gently than they intended. “Worth losing your edge, your control?” They gesture to the canvases around them. “If she’s haunting you this much, perhaps it’s time to let her go.”

A dark laugh escapes Sukuna, low and humorless. “Let her go?” he repeats, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’ve tried, Uraume–san. But she’s there, every time I close my eyes. And I can’t…” He stops himself, the words caught in his throat. “She won’t let me go.”

Uraume watches him, feeling a pang of something they can’t quite name—pity, perhaps, or fear for what this fixation could mean for him. They take a step forward, daring to place a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re stronger than this, Sukuna–san.” they say softly, but firmly. “Whatever hold she has over you, it doesn’t control you. You’re the one in charge here, remember?”

For a moment, Sukuna seems to consider their words, a flicker of clarity in his eyes. But then he glances back at the canvas, at her knowing smile, and his face hardens, as if he’s resigned to the fact that he’s already lost.

“I thought so too, Uraume–san.” he murmurs, barely loud enough for Uraume to hear. “But I’m beginning to wonder… maybe she’s the one painting me.”

Uraume watches him in silence, feeling the cold truth of his words settle between them. They realize, in that moment, that they may be witnessing the unraveling of the man they thought was unbreakable. And for the first time, they wonder if he can even escape from the shadows of his own creation.

Sukuna follows their gaze, feeling a surge of irritation and helplessness. “It’s not that simple, Uraume–san. God, it’s just….” he mutters, running a hand through his messy fuschia hair, which is starting to look as unruly as he feels.

“She’s—she’s everywhere to me. And maybe that’s why she’s always here. Every time I try to start something else, there she is. Like a bad dream I can’t wake up from.” 

He glances at Uraume, searching their face for some flicker of understanding. “Don’t you get it? I need to work through this. You can’t just snap your fingers and make it go away. If I had magic, it would have been fine, but I just….”

“Then maybe make her part of it.” Uraume replies, unphased by his frustration. “People will want to see this obsession—whatever it is. But they won’t be satisfied with half-finished canvases of the same face over and over.”

He stands up abruptly, pacing, as if movement will shake off the weight pressing down on him. “It’s not an obsession,” he says, though the words sound hollow, even to him. “I just need… time. To figure this out. To move past her.”

Uraume watches him with a calm patience that only irritates him further. “You’ve had time, Sukuna-san. And every day, I’ve watched you do nothing but chase shadows.” They gesture to the rows of unfinished canvases, the dozens of faces that all share her haunting expression.

“Maybe you don’t need to get past her. Maybe you need to go deeper, to figure out what she’s trying to tell you.”

Sukuna clenches his jaw, feeling the heat rise in his chest. He hates that Uraume, of all people, might be right. But how could he go deeper when she’s already consuming him? They should know that this is not what he needs right now. He needs support about this trying situation. He needs kindness about this. He needs—

He turns his eyes slightly and soon enough, they land on the first portrait he’s drawn of her. It was rough around the edges, it was true. But he was trying really hard to capture what he had found in her. He thought he would never see her again. That first time, it was all too interesting. Because he thought he would never see her again. And her smile would have been everything even that one time. 

That once would have been enough, it would have fulfilled him whole enough. That one portrait, that first one — it would have been enough for Ryomen Sukuna to feel like someone was always going to look at him kindly. 

That someone would always look at him with such tender eyes. He purses his lips in a line. Here she was. Once again, staring into his soul. Frozen in time. Looking towards him as though he was the world. As though life can only be known through looking at him. He gulped.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.” he says finally, forcing his voice to steady. “Just… let me handle it my way.”

Uraume sighs, a long, exasperated sound. “Fine. But remember, Sukuna–san, time waits for no one. Especially not for you.” 

And with that, they turn, leaving him alone once more in his dimly lit prison, with nothing but her face and the ticking of the clock to keep him company. Ryomen Sukuna could not move anymore for a while. He couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him like that.

The echoes of the night pangs into the slumber of the bright starry sky, and the silence in Ryomen Sukuna’s studio is absolute, broken only by the occasional soft creak of his chair or the quiet scratch of his brush against the canvas. And he despises it. Usually, he would be happy about that. It helps him focus on his work. 

Yet, he’s almost afraid to move or make more noise or appease the silence with his enjoyment. Ryomen Sukuna was afraid that if he does, he’ll break the spell that’s settled over him, the fragile connection that’s come alive between him and her.

This ghostly woman, this chasing woman who has rooted herself so deeply in his psyche. He knows she’s not real, and yet every inch of him feels as if she’s in the room with him, closer than a shadow, more vivid than any memory.

The woman on the canvas feels different this time. He’s pushed past the limits of his frustration and reached a depth of expression that feels raw, unnerving. Her face, no longer a series of lifeless shapes and colors, seems to breathe on the canvas. 

Her smile is softer now, her eyes almost… knowing. But the knowing isn’t comforting; it unsettles him, strikes some primal nerve deep inside. He steps back, shaking his head as if to clear it, to dispel the irrational thought that she’s looking back at him with intent, with purpose.

But even standing back, even half-closing his eyes, he can’t unsee her. She seems more real than ever before, like he’s peeled away another layer, only to find her hiding deeper within. He feels his heart beat faster, a slow wave of dread creeping into his veins. How can a face he created himself feel so alive? So sentient?

He backs away from the canvas, his hands covered in paint, feeling a chill settle over him. He’s been pushing himself to exhaustion these past few weeks, painting her in every possible way, but this—this feels different, like he’s crossed an invisible line. For the first time, the compulsion to paint her is laced with fear.

Still, he can’t look away. Her presence fills the room, and he feels the weight of it like a physical force. His eyes roam over her face: the faint shadows around her eyes, the suggestion of pain hidden in the tilt of her lips, the look of sorrow mingling with defiance. Each detail tells a story he’s not sure he wants to know, yet he’s desperate to understand it.

Uraume’s words echo in his mind again: Maybe you don’t need to get past her. Maybe you need to go deeper, to figure out what she’s trying to tell you.

He shudders, the thought reverberating through him. What if this woman, this apparition, isn’t just an accident of his imagination? What if she’s here for a reason, some purpose he’s been too afraid to uncover?

He recalls the dreams—the cliff, the ocean raging below, the way she extends her hand to him with that haunting smile, beckoning him forward only to disappear again and again. It’s always the same. He can’t save her, but he can’t let her go.

He’s always believed that his art comes from somewhere deep within him, from emotions he doesn’t fully understand, from memories he can’t articulate. But this feels different to him. He had never dealt with this before. 

It was almost as if it’s coming from outside of him, as though she’s reaching through the boundary of his mind, using his hands as a conduit. He lets out a shaky breath, clutching the paint-stained edge of his workbench. Is this woman, this image, an echo from his past? A ghost? Or something darker, something he’s unlocked without meaning to?

The thought stirs something in him, a strange, unexplainable pull to keep going, to lose himself in this process of bringing her fully to life. He walks back to the canvas, hand trembling as he picks up his brush once more.

This time, he paints her hand, reaching out, as if extending toward him. The fingers are delicate, almost ghostly, and he layers shadows beneath them, giving them depth, weight. He works until the details blur, until his vision is smeared with exhaustion.

He steps back again, chest tight. Her hand stretches toward him now, inviting him, her fingers just a breath away. The air in the room feels thick, electric, as if she’s drawing him closer, beckoning him to cross some unseen line. He reaches out instinctively, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the canvas.

In that instant, a shiver courses through him, the chill going bone-deep. He feels his hand pull back, but it’s as if something is holding it there, holding him in place. His heart races. He hears the ticking of the clock, each tick louder, more insistent. The woman on the canvas seems closer now, her eyes sharper, more alive, her expression shifting as though she’s on the edge of speaking.

He tears his hand away, stumbling backward, the sudden movement jarring him back to himself. His studio comes into focus, the familiar mess of paint and brushes scattered around, the quiet hum of the city outside. But she’s still there, her face on the canvas, watching him with that faint, knowing smile.

His heart still pounding, he grabs his coat and stumbles out of the studio, leaving her behind, feeling her gaze burning into his back even as he shuts the door. The air outside is cold, crisp, and he gulps it down, trying to shake off the feeling that he’s walked out of a nightmare he can’t wake from.

But even as he steps into the city streets, even as the lights and the noise surround him, he can still see her in his mind, as clearly as if she were standing beside him.

And he knows, with a strange certainty, that no matter how far he runs, she’ll be waiting for him, waiting in the studio, in his dreams, until he finally dares to confront whatever truth she holds.

══════════════════

HE REALLY CAN’T HELP IT. Ryomen Sukuna’s heart hammers in his chest, louder than the muffled hum of voices in the museum, louder than the memories raging through his mind. He stands frozen, his scarlet eyes locked onto her.

This was the woman from his dreams, the face he painted until his hands went numb, until his sanity frayed. The woman he has known is like the back of his hand. She’s here, in the flesh, not on a canvas or a hazy memory, but real, close enough to reach out and touch. And yet, at this moment, she feels farther away than ever.

The woman doesn’t notice him. Of course she wouldn’t have. Why would she? He doesn’t expect her to know what he’s feeling now. She’s oblivious to the storm her presence has unleashed in his chest, the way his pulse spikes as he watches her, every nerve in his body caught between reaching for her and running away. 

She’s gazing intently at the displays, her head tilting thoughtfully as she studies each artifact, and with each subtle movement, she reminds him achingly of her—of the woman he’d known in that past life, his concubine, the one he’d lost so long ago. She has that same air of quiet intensity, that gentle focus, the same soft curiosity he remembers.

And then she steps closer to the display holding the hairpin. That hairpin—the one he’d given to his concubine as a symbol of the promise he couldn’t keep, the one she had treasured even on the darkest nights, when the weight of their hidden love had pressed heavy upon them both. The hairpin he’d clasped in her hair before she was taken from him.

The sight of it had been a punch to the gut even before he saw her. But now, watching this woman—a stranger, yet painfully familiar—reach out as though to touch the glass, Sukuna feels something crack open inside him, a wound he’d buried lifetimes ago tearing fresh and raw.

She lifts her hand, her fingers hovering near the glass, her eyes lingering on the hairpin with a look he recognizes—sadness, longing, nostalgia she can’t possibly understand.

Her face is calm, her expression serene, but he knows that look, knows that feeling. Does she feel it too? Does she feel the echo of something lost, something distant yet so deeply embedded in her soul?

His own hand trembles at his side. He wants to go to her, to pull her aside, to demand to know if she remembers, if somewhere in her heart she feels that same aching void he’s carried for centuries. But the reality sinks in, cold and unyielding: to her, he’s a stranger. 

She has no idea who he is. She doesn’t remember their stolen moments under moonlight, their whispered vows, the quiet, forbidden love that had bound them tighter than any promise. She doesn’t remember his face, doesn’t know the agony he’s endured, living each lifetime haunted by her ghost, painting her face in the desperate hope it might bring her back.

And yet, the hairpin calls to her. He watches her, rooted to the spot, as she studies it with a reverence she can’t name, can’t explain, an inexplicable connection to something lost to time. He can almost see the weight of her past life hovering over her like a shadow she doesn’t even know is there.

Sukuna’s fingers twitch, aching to touch her, to break this unbearable silence and tell her everything: that he’s waited lifetimes for her, that he’s dreamed of her every night, that every stroke of his brush was a desperate attempt to remember her, to reach her, to feel even an echo of what they once had. But how could he explain that? How could he unload centuries of grief, of longing, on her shoulders, when she doesn’t even know his name?

She turns, moving slowly to the next display. But for a single heartbeat, her gaze drifts in his direction. Their eyes meet, and in that split second, the air thickens, everything around him falling away. Her eyes—those same eyes, dark and deep, full of questions and secrets—fix on him, and he feels the weight of their shared history settle like a heavy cloak over them both.

He watches as something flickers in her gaze, an almost imperceptible flash of recognition. She blinks, and it’s gone, but he clings to it, desperate. Did she feel it, even if only for a moment? Did she feel the weight of a life before, a life they shared, a love they lost?

But she turns away, her brows furrowing slightly, as if shaking off a strange thought, and the moment shatters, leaving him stranded in a sea of regret and unspoken words. She disappears around the corner, her silhouette swallowed by the shadows of the exhibit.

A bitter pang cuts through him, deeper than anything he’s felt in centuries. She’s here, alive, within his reach, and yet she’s still lost to him. He’s still haunted by the echo of her smile, the shadow of her memory, the woman he could never save.

Slowly, Ryomen Sukuna forces himself to step away, his gaze lingering on the hairpin. He clenches his fists, feeling the familiar sting of regret, of promises broken, of lives tangled and torn apart.

He’d thought he was prepared to face her, though he could handle the pain that would come with seeing her again. But the reality is raw and relentless, tearing open old wounds he thought were healed.

In that moment, he was the only one who knew the truth: he’ll always be trapped in this cycle, drawn to her only to watch her slip away. No matter how many times he finds her, she’ll always be just out of reach, a dream he can never wake from.

Ryomen Sukuna’s heart nearly stops when he feels a soft hand on his arm, drawing him back to the present. His present. In front of this woman, this woman who haunted him with everything and anything in him.

“Are you… okay?” the woman asks, her voice gentle, her eyes warm with concern.

He’s stunned, his breath catching as he looks down at her, the stranger with the face he’s known all too well, the stranger who feels like a ghost comes to life. But he forces himself to gather his thoughts, to act like this is a normal interaction with a stranger, even though every nerve in his body feels charged with recognition.

“Ah… yes, I’m….I’m good.” he finally says, his voice rough but steady. “I just find the gallery… interesting.” The words feel absurdly inadequate, but it’s the only thing he can manage.

A small smile breaks over her lips, and the sight of it sends a sharp pang through him. It’s so familiar, so achingly familiar, that he has to clench his fists to keep himself grounded. She glances around the exhibit, her expression softening with a hint of pride.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, stranger.” she says. “It was… hard to tell the story. To do it justice, I mean.” Her gaze returns to his, warm and inviting. “I’m a Mikoto, by the way. A descendant of Hiromi.”

He feels his heart stop at the name, and it takes him a beat to respond. “Ryomen… Ryomen Sukuna, that’s my name.” he says, his voice catching slightly as he introduces himself. 

He could only watch as her eyes widened in surprise, and she studied him, the weight of recognition glinting faintly in her gaze, though she didn't seem to realize its true depth. She probably did not expect him to have that name, that exact name, also.

“A descendant of Hiromi, too?” she asks with a soft laugh, her expression open, friendly. When he doesn’t answer, she shakes her head with a lighthearted smile. “It’s okay. The family’s too big for everyone to know where they come from anyway.”

He nods stiffly, a bit overwhelmed, struggling to keep his composure as memories flicker before him. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he aches to tell her, but he swallows it all down, letting the silence sit between them, as heavy as it is fragile.

Then, gathering his nerve, he glances at her. “Can I… can I ask you something about the exhibit? About Ryomen Sukuna?”

She tilts her head, curious. “Of course, you can.” she says. “But fair warning—it’s going to be a long story. A sad story.”

He meets her gaze, and in that moment, he sees a flicker of recognition in her eyes, something deep and familiar that calls to him. He nods. “That’s okay.” he says softly. “I think I need to hear it.”

She studies him a moment, as if trying to understand his need to know. Judging from her own reaction, it's a difficult story to even try and tell. But he was curious. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he wanted to know so badly.

He wanted to know more than anything how these two people lived. How she lived, that woman in his dreams — the woman right in front of him. He looks at her tenderly, curiously. And she nods, a quiet understanding in her expression. 

“Ryomen Sukuna… and his concubine. Their stories are really not easy. Nor is her own. His concubine’s story is difficult. She led a long, sad life. They were together for a long time, longer than Sukuna and Hiromi were wed.” Her eyes lowered, the sight gleaming with sorrow as she touched the glass, trying to reach for the hairpin. 

“She was devoted to him, in all the ways that one could describe devotion. And yet….she suffered under him… Quite a lot, if we’re to be honest. She gave him a son and she lost him and his indifference at times, it broke her.” She hesitates, glancing at him before continuing. “Though in his own way, he loved her. But well, was it enough? We cannot truly tell. From what we know from Ryomen Chiharu, she died without knowing. But perhaps, those are claims.”

The words pierce him like a knife. Hearing it from her lips, from her gentle voice, makes it all feel too real. The bitterness, the heartbreak, the weight of it all surges within him, yet he can’t look away from her. Is that what she has had to live through all that time? Was it only the heartbreak she had lived through? In that past life, in her past life — was it just grief born out of more, one after the other? Is that why she kept falling to her death? Suffering in all that pain? 

“If he had loved her then….” Sukuna could feel some sense of anger bubble through him. “Why is it not ever clear, his feelings? If you love someone, you….you tell them! You make them know when they’re alive. Not when they’re gone! What kind of man is he? Is he even a man at that point? That’s cruel….That’s…..”

In that moment, her eyes turned wide as she gazed at him. She had seen people get angry on behalf of the long suffering concubine of the King of Curses. That was normal, to feel anguish on her behalf. And yet, this mayhaps is the first time he’s ever seen someone so infuriated. And aggrieved. And bitter. Truly, in the sense of the word. Her heart felt warm about that. 

She smiles softly at him and places her hand on his own. “You know….he still did care. Even if he was a terrible man. In some ways.”

“Even then—”

“Come with me, stranger!” she says, her voice soft as she takes his hand, her touch sending an electric shock through him. She leads him to a long table draped in dark fabric, a single scroll lying open at the center. It was a magnificent piece of work.

In the middle was her, that concubine. With her elegant features and her bright eyed gaze, her tender smile that could bring life to a mundane world. The colors illuminated her with such ethereality that one couldn’t even understand. It would have taken much too much time to do this in their lifetime, during the Heian Era.

 And yet, it was so carefully made, carefully thought of. So full of devotion to her, details that one couldn’t even find in any other portraiture in that time. Sukuna could only watch as her fingers glide along its edge with a reverence that pulls him in, as though she’s sharing a secret between them. Her smile grows wider.

“This is painted and written by Sukuna himself, mayhaps, a few years before she passed.” she whispers, her eyes shining as she looks at him. “We don’t know, if he had painted and made this in secret. Or if she had known and seen it.  But….it was to her… a message. From him to her.”

The scroll is faded, ink blurred by age but unmistakable. And as Sukuna reads it, he feels his breath leave him, his pulse racing as he takes in the words he never thought he’d see again. In ancient script, barely visible, are the words he remembers writing so many lifetimes ago, a promise that felt foolish and desperate even as he wrote it:

“To you, my little one, from a thousand years to another twenty thousand years from now, you who will continue to be dear to me.”

His vision blurs, and he forces himself to swallow down the ache rising in his chest. How is that man ever so contradictory? How could he cause her hurt and then do…do something like this? How can one ever make amends, or show love, knowing they had caused grief and pain and suffering? 

He purses his lips, his face echoing in conflict. He could feel his hand tighten in a fist. The woman he saw in his dreams, and the woman he sees before him now. How they both suffered to get to this point. 

That smile a thousand years ago, so gentle and yet….so pained. And now, so beautiful and serene, happy. Truly so happy. He couldn’t help but be so overwhelmed by emotion. By all of this. She looks up at him, her face soft with empathy and warmth, her hand still resting lightly on his arm.

“What kind of person do you think could write something like that?” she asks gently, studying his reaction.

He swallows, searching for the right words, his voice barely a whisper. “Someone who knew… he’d never find peace without her.” he says, almost to himself, his gaze lingering on the scroll. “Someone… who wanted more time.”

Her eyes meet his, something unspoken passing between them, a quiet understanding that hangs thick in the air. She doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts, her gaze softening, as if she’s sensing something she can’t quite place, something from another life pressing against the present.

In that moment, he knows he can’t tell her, can’t burden her with the weight of it all. This life may not hold the memory, the pain, the love he’d lost, but here she stands, still at his side. The universe, fate, something unknown has brought them here, and for now, in this fragile moment, it’s enough.

Sukuna’s mind swirls, each beat of his heart drumming louder against the silence that now surrounds them. The faint traces of this man’s ancient words—his promise, his plea—are scrawled on the scroll, untouched by time. 

The weight of it feels unbearable, as if this fragile piece of paper holds not just a message from the past but the entirety of his soul. He risks a glance at her, the woman with his concubine’s face, her warmth, her spirit.

She’s watching him with an intensity that pulls him back from his reverie. “I wonder if he ever found her, if he was ever reborn and given new life.” she murmurs, more to herself than to him. “If… across all that time, they somehow managed to find each other again. And are more truthful to each other. I always thought that, even when I was a child. I hoped and prayed that they found happiness together in a new life.”

Her words send a chill down his spine. He wants to tell her they did, that he’s standing here, right now, because of her. But he knows he can’t—no matter how much his heart aches to reach out, to let her in on the truth he’s carried alone for so long. The curse of knowing, of remembering, is his burden alone.

Instead, he lets his fingers drift across the edge of the scroll, keeping his gaze lowered. “Maybe he never stopped searching. Even if he is reborn. Maybe if he doesn’t remember it all. He should find her and make amends.” he says softly. “Maybe that’s why his name and his memory linger even now. So that she’ll notice. And…maybe they’ll live the way you want them to.”

She tilts her head, considering him, her smile touched with the slightest hint of sadness. “That’s a beautiful thought. Almost… almost as if he’s still out there, waiting. Even if he had to endure every lifetime alone.”

Sukuna swallows, struggling to keep his composure. “Sometimes, we don’t have a choice, about it all.” he says, his voice low. “We’re bound by memories we can’t remember, by the promises our futures will have to remake, even if we have to carry them alone.”

She studies him for a moment, her expression thoughtful, as if she’s trying to glimpse the truth beneath his words. “That sounds like something he would have said, perhaps….perhaps to her.” she murmurs, almost to herself.

The weight of her gaze feels like a hand pressing against his heart, pulling him toward her, tethering him in a way that feels more ancient than memory. But she turns her attention back to the scroll, breaking the spell, and a soft smile touches her lips as she reads the words he once wrote.

“You know,” she says after a pause, “my family used to tell stories about Sukuna. He’s more of a legend now than a real person, but there are so many conflicting tales. Some say he was ruthless, others say he was capable of great kindness. I’ve always been fascinated by that contradiction.” She glances up at him, eyes alight with curiosity. “What do you think? Was he a monster… or was he something more?”

Sukuna’s breath catches at the question, the answer sitting like a stone in his throat. How can he possibly explain that the truth was more complicated than either legend or history could capture? That he was both and neither, a man torn by his own humanity and haunted by a love he couldn’t protect?

“It’s hard to say what he was.” he answers carefully. “Maybe he was both. A monster to some, but to others… he was someone who gave everything he had. No one is….no one is truly a villain, after all.”

She nods slowly, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “I like that answer.” she says quietly. “I think we all have pieces of light and shadow inside us. Maybe he was just… someone trying to find a balance, even if he had caused so much hurt. Even if he had failed.”

The irony cuts deep, the tragic poetry of her words like salt in an old wound. Her voice is gentle, but there’s a conviction in her tone that makes his chest tighten. If she knew the truth—if she knew what he’d lost, the sacrifices he’d made—would she still look at him this way, with this soft reverence and understanding?

Lost in thought, he hardly notices her reaching for his hand. Her fingers wrap around his, warm and grounding, and he’s stunned by the simple, natural ease of her touch, as though they’ve done this a thousand times before. Her hand fits perfectly in his, and for the first time in centuries, a glimmer of hope stirs within him.

“Come with me again, stranger.” she says, leading him past the scroll and into a smaller room at the end of the hall. “There’s something else I want you to see.”

They walk in silence, and he lets her guide him, his heart racing, wondering if perhaps, just maybe, she’s starting to feel the pull too—the invisible thread binding them across lifetimes. She stops in front of a display case holding a small, intricately carved pendant, its silver chain gleaming under the soft lights.

“This pendant, it was passed down to Ryomen Chiharu, after a few years.” she says, gazing at it with a fondness that surprises him. “It belonged to her. His concubine. One of the only things she kept close to her heart.”

Sukuna stares at it, his mind reeling. The pendant was once his gift to her, that King of Curses—a token, a promise of protection. Seeing it now, preserved and cared for, feels surreal, a whisper of the life they once shared. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, his voice thick with emotion he’s barely keeping in check.

He wondered, maybe if it was the right time, the right place. If he hadn’t been so enthralled with another — maybe it would have been a match that would have ended with less pain and more joy. Perhaps if the King of Curses had found himself able to move forward, he would have been happier. Maybe his concubine would have been happier. 

But that was a thousand years ago. And humanity keeps making that same mistake. Little by little, you could find people repeating it over and over again. That makes Sukuna so bitter and sad, grievous and angry all at once. How could fate be so twisted? How could fate seem so indifferent to it all? How could…how could fate not stop such suffering of people who wish to be happy? 

“I always thought it was sad, you know?” she continued, her tone soft. “She must have known he’d never be hers completely. But she still kept this close to her heart.  Thinking of him. It’s like she never stopped hoping.”

Sukuna’s throat tightens, the weight of her words pressing into the raw ache within him. “Hope….hope is fragile.” he echoes, his voice hollow. “It can be a painful thing to carry, especially when there’s no chance of seeing it fulfilled.”

Her gaze turns up to him, searching, as though she can sense the depth of his grief but can’t name its source. “Maybe.” she says, her voice a whisper. “But sometimes… hope is all we have.”

He looks away, afraid she’ll see the truth in his eyes. He wonders if she understands, if somewhere deep down, a part of her remembers. But even if she doesn’t, he can feel her empathy, her gentle warmth reaching out to him, soothing his restless spirit.

She squeezes his hand, her touch gentle and grounding. “Thank you,” she says, smiling softly. “For listening to her story with me. I know it’s heavy, but… it’s part of our legacy, isn’t it?”

He nods, his heart raw and open, feeling the weight of the centuries fall away, even if just for this fleeting moment. It’s not enough—not enough to heal the wounds, to bring back what they’d lost—but for the first time, he feels something close to peace.

And in that silence, in her quiet smile, he dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, there will be a way to find and know each other again. She was right there. He likes to think she is. Right in front of him. There was hope, somehow. 

That she would be happy. That maybe, just maybe – he could see her smile so beautifully again. A smile that would reach all the way to her eyes and warm her face and towards the reach of all the heavens.

Sukuna stands there, his fingers still brushing the edge of the glass case, the pendant gleaming faintly beneath his touch. He feels an unfamiliar warmth stirring within him, a strange, hesitant urge for something… more, something real and tangible. He looks down at her, her expression still soft with that quiet empathy that unsettles him as much as it comforts him.

Before he can second-guess himself, he clears his throat, casting a sidelong glance her way. “Would you, uh… would you like to grab a coffee sometime?” he asks, a bit gruffly, as if trying to sound casual. “Maybe you could help me with some ideas for my art. I’m….an artist by the way. ”

The question hangs in the air between them, and for a moment, he feels exposed in a way he hasn’t in centuries, like he’s offering a piece of himself he’s long since hidden. He braces himself for rejection, for her to smile politely and turn him down.

Sukuna watches her smile, a genuine, radiant expression that spreads across her face like dawn breaking over a darkened sky. It’s infectious, igniting something deep within him, as though it was a feeling that has lain dormant for centuries beneath layers of pain and regret. 

Everything in him felt warm inside. Everything in him grasped to life, hoping that she could nourish it to last forever. Her acceptance feels like a lifeline thrown into the stormy sea of his existence, and he clings to it with a desperation he can’t quite articulate.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect, stranger.” she says, her voice a gentle balm against the jagged edges of his heart. “Oh, I should stop calling you that, shouldn’t I? My apologies, Sukuna–san. I wanted to tease you for a little more time.”

As she writes her number on a slip of paper, the world around them fades into a blur. The museum, the exhibits, the weight of history—all of it dissolves until it’s just the two of them, suspended in this fragile moment of connection.

He takes the paper from her, fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second. It sends an unexpected spark through him, and he’s momentarily lost in the warmth of her skin, the softness of her touch. He forces himself to pull away, catching her gaze again, wanting to savor the moment a little longer.

“What do you like to drink?” he asks, trying to keep the conversation going, to stretch this fleeting connection into something more tangible.

“Coffee, mostly. I love a good espresso.” she replies, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “But I’m always open to trying new things. I’m sure the cafe will have new wonders. How about you?”

He nods, remembering the countless cups of coffee he’d consumed over the years, each one a bitter reminder of the countless sleepless nights spent alone. “I’m more of a dark roast person myself. Stronger the better.”

“Then I’ll make sure to introduce you to the best place in town. They have the most incredible brews, fit for a long suffering artist.” she says with a playful grin, and for the first time, he can’t help but smile back. It’s a small, simple thing, but it feels monumental, like a bridge forming over a chasm he thought would always divide him.

“Great….I uh….” he replies, his voice a little steadier. “I look forward to it.”

They linger for a moment, both seeming to hesitate, caught in a bubble of anticipation and something deeper that he can’t quite name. He’s never been one for lighthearted interactions, especially when it comes to connections. Yet here he is, standing before a woman who feels like a piece of his lost history, someone he feels inexplicably drawn to.

With one last lingering look, she steps back, her smile still warming the air between them. “See you soon, then, Sukuna–san.” she says, her voice light yet meaningful.

“Yeah….. I’ll see you soon.” he echoes, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches her walk away, the soft sway of her figure leaving him breathless.

As he turns to leave the gallery, the weight of the memories of a thousand years presses less heavily on him. He had left behind Sukuna's world, and birthed a new. He hopes he can. He wants to. He wants to make that woman happy. She deserves to. She deserves to be happy, in the way he couldn’t do it. He promises himself that.

For the first time, he feels a flicker of inspiration reigniting in his chest, like a spark that’s been waiting for just the right moment to burst into flame. The idea of coffee, of sharing thoughts and laughter, of discussing art with someone who understands the nuances of his legacy—it excites him in a way he hadn’t felt in what seems like an eternity. It excites him to burn with joy.

The streets outside are bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, the colors alive and vibrant, reminding him of the canvases he has yet to fill. He can almost picture it now, a new piece forming in his mind—a swirling mix of shadows and light, of loss and hope, reflecting everything that has led him to this moment.

In the days and nights that follow, he begins to sketch again. The woman’s face, a beautiful blend of familiarity and freshness, dominates the canvas, layered with strokes of longing and the bittersweet pang of memory. He paints her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and the gentle warmth that radiated from her smile.

Every brushstroke feels like a conversation, a way to weave their stories together—a blend of art, history, and the unspoken connection that binds them. The artist’s block that had once felt insurmountable begins to crumble, each session at the easel pulling him deeper into his thoughts and feelings, and farther from the suffocating grasp of despair.

He dreams of their meeting, the way her presence felt like coming home, and as their coffee date approaches, he finds himself wrapped in a mix of excitement and nerves. What would they talk about? What would she think of his art?

That evening, as he stands in front of the mirror, he catches a glimpse of himself—disheveled fuschia colored hair, weary bright scarlet eyes; but beneath it all, there’s a glimmer of something he hasn’t seen in ages: hope. A hope for the future. A hope for a new world, a new life. One that will echo years and years from now about joy.

Tomorrow, he tells himself as he brushes down his shirt, it will be different. 

Tomorrow, he’ll make her the happiest person in the world.

Tomorrow, he’ll hope that she will never have any more days to frown.

When the sun rises, he feels it all too well. There was a flutter of anticipation in his chest as he prepared to meet her. Each step feels lighter, each moment filled with possibility. The thought of sharing coffee and stories—his past entwined with hers—ignites a spark of creativity he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

As he enters the café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelops him, and he scans the room, searching for her familiar face. When he spots her, seated at a cozy corner table, her hair cascading softly around her shoulders, he feels a rush of warmth.

Her smile brightens the space around them, and as their eyes meet, he knows he’s ready to embrace whatever this connection holds. It’s a chance to delve deeper into their stories, to explore the tangled threads of fate that brought them together.

“Hey!” she says, her voice lighting up the air between them as he approaches. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” he replies, the weight of the past lifting as he takes a seat across from her. “So, what’s first on the menu?”

As you sit together, enveloped in the warmth of shared memories and laughter, Sukuna leans forward, his gaze both intense and gentle. The edges of his usually guarded expression soften, and the small lines near his eyes deepen with a smile that’s almost boyish.

“You know," Sukuna says, his voice low and thoughtful, “I have to say this to you… but… I never thought I’d find someone who could understand me like this. The things I’ve seen—it’s hard to explain to people who haven’t lived through the same nightmares."

He glances down at his coffee, a faint smirk on his lips. “But with you, it doesn’t feel like explaining. It’s like I’m just… remembering with someone else who was there too. This feels so natural. Between you and I.”

She smiles, feeling a warmth blossom within her. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, if someone had told me even a month ago that I’d be here with you, talking like this…” She trails off, laughing softly, feeling a little lost for words. “I would’ve thought they were crazy. But here we are.”

Sukuna chuckles, the sound surprisingly warm, free of his usual biting edge. “Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He pauses, his gaze meeting hers, searching as if he’s trying to decipher something hidden. “It feels like I know you… not just from now, but from a long time ago. Almost like I was meant to find you.”

His words send a shiver through her, a feeling both comforting and unsettling in its intensity. She nods slowly, letting the feeling settle within her. “I know what you mean,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “It’s like we’re picking up where we left off… wherever that was.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving hers. “Every lifetime,” he murmurs, as if saying it to himself. “Every single one, I think I’d find you.” His hand drifts across the table, his fingers brushing hers in a tentative, almost reverent way. “And every time, I’d be the luckiest man alive.”

She looks down at his hand, his touch grounding her. “Do you believe in that, then? In soulmates? Lifetimes together?”

He smiles, almost a little sadly, as if unsure of his own answer. “Maybe I never did before… but with you, I can’t help but think maybe I was wrong.”

A comfortable silence settles between them, the words hanging like a delicate thread binding them together. After a while, he speaks again, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You… you make me see things differently, you know that? I just met you, but I just… I think it’s meant to be.”

There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, one she’d never expected to see. “Like maybe life doesn’t have to be as lonely as I thought it was. Or maybe, it just doesn’t matter, as long as I’m here… with you.”

Her heart aches at his words, sensing the pain he’s carried and the hope he’s now daring to hold onto. She laces her fingers with his, giving a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Sukuna-san,” she says softly. “Not as long as we have this. As long as we have each other. Maybe… maybe we’ll find something more to life together.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. When he opens them again, there’s something raw, something almost fragile in his gaze. “I’m… I’m honored,” he whispers gently, a small smile forming on his face. “If that means I’ll be able to live by your side in this life.”

She blushes, feeling the depth of his sincerity. “I’m just as grateful, you know?”

“Thank you.” he says, the words rough, yet sincere. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“You never have to say thank you to me.” She whispered back to him, smiling even wider. “Or say sorry. Okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles back at her, almost contagiously. 

“So, do you….do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

“I’d be honored.”

In that moment, it feels as though nothing else exists—just her and him, caught in the quiet gravity of each other’s presence. 

As the sun sets outside, casting a warm glow over their table, Ryomen Sukuna feels a flicker of something he thought long extinguished. 

And as long as she’s beside him, he knows he’ll be right there with her, finding a new meaning to every breath and every heartbeat, perhaps better than he’d ever dreamed. 

After that day, Ryomen Sukuna stopped having those nightmares about that long suffering concubine.

Instead, he started to dream of a tall man and that long suffering concubine, walking away from him — smiling. Together.

══════════════════

HE WAS LUCKY HE MADE IT. He hadn’t slept much, but it was all worth it. He liked to think that he made his best gallery presentation yet. He knew she liked it just as much as he did. And that had made him even more happy. 

He wasn’t the best of storytellers, he knew that much. Writing was more or less something else to him. But, art like this? He could do it. And so, as he promised, he would make happiness appear on his canvas. He would make that concubine happy again. 

 As the evening progresses, the atmosphere in the gallery transforms, infused with a blend of excitement and reverence. Guests drift in and out, their whispers and laughter weaving a tapestry of shared appreciation for Sukuna's work. 

The vibrant energy of the space pulses with life, but at its core lies a poignant sense of introspection; a collective acknowledgment of the stories each painting holds.

Sukuna stands near the centerpiece, his gaze lingering on the depiction of himself and his concubine, locked in an eternal moment of tenderness. The hues swirl together, capturing not just their faces but the very essence of their souls; a connection that feels almost palpable. Each brushstroke is infused with the weight of longing and regret, but now, standing beside his companion, he recognizes a glimmer of hope amid the sorrow.

As the crowd ebbs and flows, Sukuna finds solace in watching her interact with the guests, her warmth radiating in waves. She engages effortlessly, sharing her thoughts on the art, her enthusiasm infectious.

He catches snippets of their conversations, her laughter ringing out like music, and he can’t help but smile at the ease with which she navigates the social landscape. It’s a stark contrast to his own guarded demeanor, and yet, her presence encourages him to lower his defenses, to engage in this world he once viewed from the shadows.

With each passing moment, Sukuna feels a shift within himself. The uncertainty that had plagued him for so long begins to dissolve, replaced by an exhilarating sense of possibility. As the crowd gradually dwindles, he glances at the painting again, his heart swelling with emotion. It’s more than just an image; it’s a testament to love that transcends time, a narrative that binds past and present.

Suddenly, he turns to find her standing close, her expression reflecting a mixture of admiration and something deeper. “You’ve poured so much of yourself into this, Sukuna.” she says softly, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. “It’s not just about the concubine; it’s about you, too. You’ve laid bare your soul.”

The intensity of her gaze sends a shiver down his spine, and he swallows hard, feeling exposed yet liberated. “I wanted to capture the essence of what we had… to honor her, in my own little ways.” he replies, his voice low and steady. “But I realize now it’s also about my journey. This is as much about my pain as it is about her love.”

She nods, her understanding palpable, and in that moment, he feels a deep connection; there was an unspoken bond that links them through shared experiences and emotions.

The weight of his past no longer feels like a burden; instead, it becomes a source of strength, a wellspring of creativity he can draw from as he embraces this new chapter in his life.

“I think you’ve done an incredible job of that, you know?” she says, her voice softening. “You’ve shown that even in our darkest moments, love remains a guiding light. It’s beautiful.”

Sukuna’s heart races at her words, and he feels a warmth blooming in his chest—a mixture of gratitude and affection. “Thank you, really.” he replies, his voice sincere. “It means a lot to hear that from you. You’ve been… a source of inspiration for me.”

Her smile deepens, and there’s a spark of something electric in the air, a subtle shift that sends his pulse racing. “I’m glad I could be here for you, you know?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a privilege to witness your journey, to see you reclaim a sad story to a happy one.”

He looks at her, the soft glow of the gallery lights illuminating her features, and he feels a wave of emotion wash over him. For so long, he had been shackled by the weight of his past, haunted by the ghost of his concubine and the mistakes that had led to their separation. But here, in this moment, standing with her amidst the beauty of his creations, he feels the chains loosening.

“Will you stay a little longer?” he asks, almost hesitantly, fearing her response. “I’d like to talk more… about the paintings, about everything.”

Her eyes light up, and the warmth in her smile reassures him. “I’d love that.” she replies, and they find a quieter corner of the gallery, away from the remnants of the evening’s festivities.

As they settle into a cozy nook, surrounded by the lingering essence of art and history, Sukuna feels a sense of calm wash over him. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of them and the unspoken connection that has blossomed between them. 

“What do you see in these paintings?” he asks, eager to hear her perspective.

She leans forward, her gaze thoughtful. “I see love, loss, and resilience. Each piece speaks of a journey, a struggle to find beauty amidst pain. But what resonates most is the longing—the desire to reconnect with something that was lost. It’s powerful.”

He nods, her words echoing his own feelings, and as they discuss each painting in turn, he feels an exhilarating rush of creativity and clarity. The art becomes a conduit for their emotions, a way to explore the complexities of their shared experiences.

They dive deep into conversation, their voices low and intimate, each word exchanged drawing them closer together. She shares her own stories of loss and heartache, of moments when she thought she’d never find her way again. It’s a cathartic exchange, and he listens intently, captivated by her honesty and the strength she exudes.

With each revelation, Sukuna feels the walls that the King of Curses had built around himself begin to crumble. He shares his own struggles, the weight of his legacy, and the guilt that had shadowed him for centuries.

And perhaps, redemption may soon come for him in love.  In this safe space, he finds himself opening up that man, that myth, that curse,  in ways he never thought possible, unearthing emotions he had long buried. 

The night wears on, and as the last of the guests trickle out, the gallery transforms into a cocoon of intimacy. It’s just him and her, surrounded by the echoes of their stories, and for the first time in ages, he feels a sense of belonging—a connection that transcends time and pain.

“I never thought I could feel this way again.” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “After everything I’ve lived through… I thought I’d lost the ability to truly connect with anyone.”

She reaches out, her hand brushing against his in a gentle, reassuring gesture. “You haven’t lost that ability, Sukuna. You’ve just been waiting for the right moment, the right person….the right time.” she says, her gaze steady and filled with warmth. “I’m here now, and I want to be part of your journey.”

The sincerity in her words washes over him, and in that moment, he knows he’s found something rare—a connection that has the potential to redefine his understanding of love, art, and the future. The vulnerability he feels is both terrifying and exhilarating, but he knows he’s ready to embrace it.

As the last notes of music drift into silence and the soft, warm lights dim, the two of them sit close, hands intertwined, surrounded by the vibrant, intimate world he has created.

Each painting on the wall, each sculpture in the dim light feels like a memory brought to life, and she feels him relax beside her, the weight of his past somehow easing with each quiet heartbeat.

His thumb gently strokes her hand, and in that small, tender motion, she feels him say more than words ever could. With her here, in this sanctuary he’s built out of his own creativity and passion, he’s no longer the solitary figure haunted by shadows. He’s simply a man who has finally, against all odds, found someone who can see past his darkness and anchor him in light.

As they stand to leave, his gaze drifts to one of his portraits—a work that captures a moment from another time, another life. In it, the King of Curses sits beside his beloved concubine, her expression full of light and laughter, radiant in a way that suggests an unbreakable bond. 

Ryomen Sukuna pauses, his hand still entwined with hers, and a rare, gentle smile crosses his face.

Looking at the painting, he lets himself hope, just a little. Perhaps, even in a world he once saw as cold and unyielding, there are threads of something beautiful woven into his story. Perhaps, even for someone like him, there could be a happy ending, one he’d never dared to imagine.

He leans down and whispers softly, almost as if confessing a secret. “I like to think they found each other again, you know? That somehow… this time, they got to be happy.”

She squeezes his hand, her eyes shining with warmth and understanding. “I like to think that too.” she replies gently, her voice full of affection.

They walk out together, the cool night air surrounding them as they leave his art behind. And as he catches her smile, he feels his heart swell with gratitude and a strange sense of peace.

For once, he isn’t looking back, haunted by the ghosts of what once was. Instead, he’s looking forward—toward a future that, with her beside him, feels so much brighter than he ever thought possible.

In his heart, he offers a silent prayer, hoping that they’ll continue to find each other, in this life and in all the ones to come. And as they disappear into the night, hands intertwined, this Ryomen Sukuna hopes that the King of Curses finally allows himself to believe that, this time, happiness might be his after all.

══════════════════

THERE WOULD BE NO MEMORY OF THIS WHEN HE’S REBORN. Ryomen Sukuna knows that much. That is the will of the unknown, of the gods unseen and unheard. He does not care much about the propriety of the accuracy. Why should it matter what their name is? He was dead, why should he care?  

In the stillness of the afterlife, everything feels suspended, timeless. Everything was not what he had expected. Long ago, he had resigned himself to the thought that a final death would lead to the depths of burning inferno. And yet, it was not. He was stuck in a journey, a journey that continuously repeats over and over again. 

He does not know what those gods intended with that. What was the purpose designed by the gods? What was the purpose of this journey? He had asked himself that for hundreds of years, walking and walking like the pilgrim he was and yet without end in sight. There was no road that was left to find a stop.

Perhaps, that is until now.

Ryomen Sukuna was the first to notice.

There was a wide shoji that appeared before them.

Ryomen Hiromi was quite unsure about what that was all about. But when she stepped right in front of it, the field protecting it had barred her from even touching it. She pursed her lips in a flat line. This door was not one for her to enter. 

And she probably had already known that. Looking at him with those knowing purple eyes, she knew that it was not for her. It was for him. The gods had sent him a path, and it was not to be with her. It was a road for him to take, a road that was for him. Only him.

He took a short step towards it and allowed his hands to feel the space occupied by the massive wooden shoji. His touch could pierce its space. It was truly for him. There was no mistake in that. Uraume looked at him with a tense uncertainty. His most loyal Uraume is quite that timid  child, still. Just as when Sukuna had met them years and years ago. 

For a moment, it reminded him of Chizuru. That gentleness of that youth, that tenderness of youth. He could only see his little one. The little one that he misses most. His soul is already at peace, and perhaps Sukuna would never see him again. 

He doesn’t deserve to. He wasn’t a good father to him. But moments like this, it gives him relief. Even if Chizuru didn’t need him anymore, then someone else did. And that someone still needed him. Even if he wasn’t the person suited to be needed.

Sukuna looked down at them, and then nodded reassuringly. Uraume reached forward and gasped. Their touch too pierced through its barrier. Of course, Sukuna thought to himself. Uraume tied their entire life to him.

They were one in the same. The loyal servant cannot live without the master. No, no. Sukuna corrects himself. There was always a need for someone. People will always need people.

He stands there idly as Ryomen Hiromi stood beside him, though keeping a distance. Everything around them had grown brighter. Brighter than before. All that surrounded them had been bathed in a soft, eternal light that neither burns nor fades. 

This place, this moment, is for closure—a place where the bonds of the past can either linger or be released. A purgatory for souls, sinner or not. All souls look the same to the gods. Well, that’s what Hiromi had told him.

Sukuna’s gaze rests on Hiromi, taking in the warmth in her expression, the calmness in her presence. Even here, she glows with an inner light that he has always cherished. Serene as the moonlight, as mellow as the clouds. 

There had always been a quiet grace that no one could replicate. He had known that in his long lifetime. And for as long as he had lived, he thought that his job had been to protect it. To protect her. No matter what, with everything in him —  even if it often meant tearing down the world around him.

For a long while, they simply stand together, the weight of their shared history resting between them. A thousand years, feeling even more than that, reflected in the understanding that came in the silence. He had known her too well, she had known him too well.

There was nothing left between them. Only knowing. And perhaps, that’s why it wouldn’t have ever worked. He thinks about that. Knowing someone, even too well, will never truly be living a life with them. 

There was too much he did not know about her life. There was much she did not know about his own. They had lived lives that grew out of their tender love. People who loved each other so much, that they risked everything in the world — finally became two boats in the night waiting for each other to pass. 

Perhaps that’s all that there could be, he thinks about it now. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he still does love  her — they were parallel lines. Right people, wrong place. Right place, wrong time. 

That in itself was hard to admit, he knows that. He always has. But it was hard to say. It was hard to accept. Perhaps it always will be. Yet there is so much more beyond that grief of something already lost. Of life already lived and passed by. No matter how much he wants to follow Ryomen Hiromi with all the love in his heart, with all the devotion given from all his life, there will always be fate. And fate knows better than he. 

As much as he tries, he was not a god.

He will never be one, he has tried to be.

He was just a sinner, a cruel cursed sinner.

Taking a deep breath, Sukuna speaks, his voice soft, yet resolute. "I can feel it, Hiromi." he says, looking down at his feet. “Somewhere out there……..I am soon to be reborn. Soon….I must enter this door.”

Ryomen Hiromi’s face softens, and a knowing smile tugs at her lips. She tilts her head, teasing, but with a hint of sadness that she can’t entirely hide. How could she? Ryomen Sukuna was her person. He was her family. Her dearest friend, her confidant.  The man she loved, still does love. The love of her life. 

But she knew that he was not yet ready. Perhaps he will never be ready to move forward like this. There was much tying him to the world of the living. To the earthly life. And she knew it wouldn't be her. It will never be her. 

She could see it in the corner of his scarlet eyes. He too had lived a life. He had moved on. And he wants to see that loved one again. He wants to return. Even if he does not know it. He wants to see that smile on her face again.

"So, you’ll stop following me now, huh?"

He chuckles, the sound quiet, almost reverent, as he brings her hand to his chest. "I’ll love you most in the world, you know that.” he murmurs, each word weighed with truth. “You were the part of me that was good, Hiromi. Everything I am….was because of you.”

She looks at him, shaking her head. She remains smiling. “Endless flattery is not your style.”

His eyes warmed towards her. “It is not flattery if it's true. You know that most. I do not lie, not easily. Not without reason.”

“I know.” She huffs back in response, her eyes lowered to the floor. “I know you too well.”

“I need to go. You know that. There are still…..too much left undone. I have a lot to make amends for, things I must repair.” His voice grows steady, almost solemn. “I need to start with someone else I love. Someone who’s waiting, on the other side of the shore.”

Hiromi’s gaze flickers, her surprise shifting to understanding. There’s a light in her bright purple eyes, a pride that only deepens as she studies his face. For a moment, she wondered when he had grown up. When had he aged this well, lived this well. A part of her mourns the things they never saw. But she knew it was too late. He had someone else waiting to see those sides of him now. 

“I always hoped you’d find something worth living for, beyond me. Beyond our clan. Beyond Jujutsu.” she says, her words carrying an emotion he hadn’t expected. She laughs. “You’ve done well, Sukuna. I know you would. And now you’re better at admitting your faults. You’ve….you’ve truly grown up! Father and uncle would be so glad to see it, don’t you think?”

The weight of her words settles deeply into him, her silent devotion across lifetimes coming into sharp focus. Ryomen Sukuna closes his eyes, feeling the immensity of all that they’ve shared, all that he’s never truly expressed. 

“There’s still much for me to set right, Hiromi.” He looks at her, his expression softening as he finally speaks the words he’s never quite managed to say before. “But the love we shared… It's the best part of me. It’s the part of me I want to carry into the next life. Everything you taught me, it will be for the better.”

A soft laugh escapes her once more, and she shakes her head as if she’s hearing a promise she’s waited lifetimes for him to make. Her hand reaches up, gentle, almost motherly, as she brushes a stray hair back from his face. Leaning in, she presses a delicate kiss to his cheek. 

“You don’t have to say anything else. I’ve always known you loved me.” She pulls back slightly, her hand lingering against his face. “I’ll always love you too, Sukuna. But we have different lives now. Paths that aren’t tied together anymore. No paths are bound, after all. Isn’t that what was taught?” 

Her words are tender but firm, and he nods, finally accepting what she’s known all along. “I know.” he whispers, the smile on his face tinged with the bittersweet ache of goodbye. “But I think I’ll be alright, night flower. I’ve found something, someone… who I believe can make me better. She’s out there, waiting.”

For a moment, she could feel her heart shatter. In that moment, to remember what he had called her. With those words, with that tone of finality. With that tone of farewell. She could feel the warmth of water echo through her eyes. But she tries to make sure they do not pour. Those tears shouldn’t be poured. Not for him. He does not need it. She must send him happily. She must send him off with a smile. A good farewell.

Hiromi pulls away, her hand slipping from his, though her gaze remains fixed on him with a profound love and pride. Her bright eyes gleamed at him, even brighter than before. She smiles at him, though he could notice how tight it was. No matter how happy she is for him — she will mourn. She can’t help it. 

“Then, I want you to find her, hm?” she says softly, the conviction in her voice like a benediction. “Find her and find your happiness, the kind that lasts. The kind that you finally deserve.”

He nods, and there’s a rare, open softness in his expression, a gratitude as deep as the ages they’ve spent together. He takes a good look at her, as though he was memorizing this moment. For as long as it still lasts, he wants to remember it. He wants to remember her, giving her blessing. 

“Then, I’ll go, nightflower.” he says, his voice low and filled with purpose. “I’ll find her… and try to live the life I dreamed of with you.”

Hiromi smiles gently, and with one last lingering look, she turns to leave, pausing only to say. “Someday, I hope to meet her too—the one who brought you peace. Bring her back with you. So that I may thank her for taking care of you.”

He nodded at her. He takes a deep breath as he lowers his gaze and sees Uraume looking at him, as though asking for courage. Sukuna takes Uraume’s hand and tightly grips it, but is careful not to hurt them. A ghostly smile appears on his face, beaming it towards them. 

Uraume could feel their eyes glisten as they felt the warmth of that smile. Uraume could feel warmth in them, tenderness — tenderness that molds their will to live with courage. Sukuna turns his head slightly, looking at Hiromi. His smile gets wider, and becomes more honest than before. She smiled at him, waving him off. 

As he and Uraume walked towards the shoji, Ryomen Hiromi knew that she too has to move away. Ryomen Sukuna slowly watches her walk away into the path of light, alone, feeling the weight of a thousand lifetimes lifting from his shoulders. He could feel his breath hitch as he watches her walk away, perhaps for the final time, perhaps until they get reborn again. 

If you were not waiting for him, if he had not met you, if he had not loved you — perhaps he would have turned away from these doors and moved towards the path of life and rejected rebirth. He would have let his soul rest in peace for all of time. But he knows that he was no longer that person anymore. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to break the cycle. He wanted to be with you.

Ryomen Sukuna is ready to face the world again, this time with a purpose that is as clear as the love he feels for the woman he will now seek.  He must atone. He must live a new life. He must make you happy. 

Both of you will be happy, he knows that. And as he steps forward, towards his own rebirth, he carries her blessings, his heart finally open to the happiness he had once believed was out of reach. He will live it now. He will atone, he will find redemption. He will make you happy.

[sunaluv]

hey!!! big big fan! your writing is amazing!

what if you did a you should come get your man but instead make it ‘you should come get your reader’

i just want to see characters get jealous basically lol. hope you’re doing well !!

🗣️getting rid of my drafts, drop some more prompts in my inbox.

Pairings: kaiser, reo

———————

KAISER

as the game ended and the fans started to filter out of the stadium, you hung back waiting for your boyfriend. now that the seating area was almost empty, kaiser could finally talk to you.

he called out to you as he jogged over. “did you enjoy the game, my love?” you took his outstretched hand and climbed onto the field.

“of course I did,” you swung your interlocked hands. “you were amazing as per usual.”

the two of you chatted aimlessly, walking around the field as kaiser started to come down from his post-game high.

"alright, I'm gonna go freshen up and get my stuff," he kissed the back of your hand. "wait for me?"

you nodded, eyeing the man as he vanished down the hall.

"i can feel you staring!" he called without looking back, making you chuckle.

deciding to be useful, you gathered kaisers left belongings off the bench and started to make your way towards the stadium exit.

"you kaiser's girl?" a voice from behind you.

startled, you turned around to see a guy dressed in the ubers uniform. you don't recognise him and you've met all your boyfriend's teammates, so you deduced that this guy is probably a rookie in training.

"that's me," you smiled politely, "can i help you with anything?"

"you sure can help me with something," he smirked, rubbing his chin. "for starters, you can tell me how that egomaniac managed to bag a gorgeous girl like yourself,"

how he managed to both complement you and diss you (indirectly) you found quite fascinating, but you weren't having any of it.

"he was a real sweetheart." emphasis on the sweetheart. "I'm sure if you use a more friendly approach you can get whoever it is your looking for."

the guy clearly didn't seem to get the hint. "so you're into nice guys, huh. why are ya' with michael then. guy's an ass."

"'guy' also thinks you should show a little more respect to your superiors, rookie."

smirking, you turned around to find your knight in shining armour eyeing the rookie with a smirk.

"my fault boss," his attitude was nonchalant. "keep a tight leash on this one though, or else i might get tempted again."

he smirked, trying to barge shoulders with kaiser as he passed, grunting under his breath when he didn't move an inch.

"you should go fight him, defend my honour." you nudged his side once he was out of earshot.

he chortled loudly, "you're such an instigator, I'm not fighting him."

"you'll do it if you love me?" you questioned blinking up at him with innocent eyes. the things you would do you see michael throw hands with someone.

his big hand pushed your face away from him. "ill do you one better and make his training with the ubers unbearable, how does that sound, hmmmm?"

a pout formed on your lips as you sighed. "...ill take it i guess."

REO

the clock has just passed midnight, but the party your boyfriend had invited you to was at its peak. enjoying the buzz of the alcohol that was once in your empty glass, you headed over to the bar.

"hey," you flagged the bartender down, "could i get a refill on this please?

the neon blue lights of the bar made the sparkle in his eye more evident when he caught sight of you.

"whatever the pretty lady wants," he brushed his fingers against yours when taking your glass. "what can i do for you?"

the brief contact and the intense eye contact quickly fought off the oncoming buzz. "the pretty lady is taken, but she is willing to forget about this if she could get a pornstar?" you offered.

"oh you can get a pornstar alright," he winked. "give me a sec, sweetheart."

alarm bells rang in your head as his back was towards you, meaning your glass was out of sight.

there was no way in hell you were gonna drink whatever he put in front of you.

he returned a short while after, sliding your drink across the bar.

"you know, if you wanted, i could give you another pornstar you'll really enjoy." he pulled back your glass when you reached out for it.

"no thanks. boyfriend." your smile came tight and fake.

"come onnnn, princess," he smiled wider. "aren't you having so much fun at this party? spend the night with me and i can make sure you can get into all the exclusive parties you want."

"she'll pass." came mikage's voice from your side. he wrapped an arm around you, in an attempt to smooth your tense muscles as he dragged the glass back over with two fingers.

the bartender's face hardened, "the lady can speak for herself, thanks bro."

"m' not your bro." reo's brows furrowed. "you're making my girl uncomfortable, did you put anything in her drink?"

the guy shook his head wordlessly, prompting reo to sip the glass.

"wait, what if-"

"don't worry, sweetheart," his hand dropped to stroke your thigh comfortingly. "it's clean, but I'm sorry this happened to you. i should've noticed sooner."

you relaxed with his touch, "it's not your fault, reo. sometimes people can't handle rejection."

"i'm right here ya know?"

two pairs of eyes stared the guy down, one neutral, one daring.

rolling his eyes, mikage turned to face the guy. "between you and me, you might need to find another bribe to pull ladies with because i can tell you now this will be the last gig you'll ever do."

the guy gulped under reo's intense gaze.

"alright man, in understand the ladys' taken, you don't need to go threatening my job."

"you threatened your won job once you tried it with her,"

you placed a hand on his arm as a reminder to be rational.

"i'm sorry baby," he pecked your forehead. "you ready to go home?"

you nodded.

[petew21-blog]

Family fun

"Hi, I'm Simon and I'm an alcoholic." Haha. I'm just kidding. I'm just a normal nineteen year old kid still living with his widowed father and his three brothers. Today I was suppose to go on a trip with my 4 friends - Michael, Nathan, Daniel and Connor. I was ready to leave, but suddenly my - always happy and kind dad - started screaming about me not doing enough for our family, not doing chores and he banned me to go on the trip. I texted my friends, but only Connor replied:"Better luck next time. C ya". Then my dad even took my phone from me. I have no idea what I have done, but I didn't question him right now. Maybe later when he cools off.

My brother Alex came downstairs and offered me to go with him to the store. He acted different. I can't tell why, but he kept teasing me, which he usually doesn't. He is the quiet one.

We got into the store. I went to get some vegetable and when I got back to him. He was standing there completely naked

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Hurry. Give my some clothes!!! I lost them!"

"How can you just loose your clothes you're wearing?!?"

"Doesn't matter. Give me something."

I gave him my jeans, my shirt, leaving me only with my socks, sweatshirt in my hand and my boxers. He put on the rest and then laughed as he took the sweatshirt from my hands and ran away.

I was standing in a storeonly in my underwear. How embarassing. Alex was standing outside of the store with a phone in his hand already recording and laughing

"What the hell is wrong with you today?"

"Haha. Nothing. Just... enjoying life."

We returned back home. Alex went to show my other two brothers how he humiliated me. I went upstairs to find my father in my bathroom completely naked. He held my phone in his hands and tried to take a nude.

"DAD! What are you doing?!"

He wasn't even shocked and kept trying to get a good photo.

"Oh hey, I was going through your phone and I found this Grindr app where most of the profiles had pictures like this. I thought that maybe it is a dating website and I might have a chance. Maybe I'll find someone there."

THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING

"Dad, please. Go away. And don't install that app. I'll explain that to you later."

He checked himself out again and then winked at me

"Don't act like this isn't the dick that made you. You owe me for that, you know"

Has everyone gone crazy this morning or what the fuck is happening?

I went downstairs, ready for some more weird stuff. But fortunately my two brothers - Joe and Kyle fought. Thank god. The most normal thing in our family that could be happening right now. I sat outside on the porch just briefly watching them fight.

But suddenly the fight turned into this

They made out passionately as many couples in love do. But THEY ARE MY BROTHERS!!!

"STOP! SOMEBODY EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!!!"

All four of the stared at each other back and forth. My dad was the first one who started laughing, then the rest did too.

"What's so funny? Have you all lost your mind?"

"Oh come ooooon. It's just a prank, BRO" said my father

"Besides, would your brother that you secretly have a crush on let you do this?" Alex came to me and placed my hand on his abs, just going up and down and finally going down.

"How... Connor?"

"BINGO! You figured it out. We swapped bodies with everyone in your family just to mess with you. We discovered we could do that last night when we arrived at the campsite, but we decided to surprise you. So, what do you think?"

"Wait. What about my dad and my brothers? Where are they?"

"In the campsite hopefully. But they keep calling your phone, so that's why we took it from you. Seems like we might have some explaining to do. So, until we give these bodies back and might never use them again?" All four of them smiled.

I couldn't believe how perverted my freinds are. And I couldn't believe I didn't really protest.

A story from the inbox: Hello! I love your stories😍😍😍 can u write a story about some friends are doing prank by body swapping with his male family members?

[suugarbabe]

completely fine if not!! just wanted to ask if in the end you were going to write the Mattheo x animagus!reader thingy i sent in some time back, but absolutely just out of curiosity!! i hope i don't come across as pressuring or similar, because i'm also very excited for your other projects and i can't wait to read them!!🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Omggggg I’m trash I’m trash I’m trash! I swear I did have this done. It’s right here. I’m so sorry I had this in my Google docs and lately I’ve been working straight from my inbox so I forgot I even completed it. Please don’t hate me I’m so sorry love :((

One of your favorite things about being in your cat form was basking in the sun. It really helped whenever you were stressed, or anxious, or tired, or whenever you really just needed to get away from other people. Today's basking came from just needing to clear your head.

You stretched your little black paws out, letting out a soft meow like yawn before turning on your side right in a sun spot. You were nearly drifted off into a light sleep when you hear someone slump against the other side of the tree.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you slowly stalked around the trunk to see none other than Mattheo Riddle. He didn’t notice you at first, his head sitting in his hands and breathing deeply.

You nuzzled your head against his thigh, his head snapping up at the motion. “Well hello there, beautiful,” he get your head an affection pet, looking around the courtyard for another person, “Are you out here by yourself? Where is your owner?”

You nudged his hand with the top of your head. He laughed lightly, “Okay, okay, I get the picture.” He started to lightly scratch the space between your ears, earning an affection purr from you.

You stayed cuddling with Mattheo like that for a good hour before he had to go. He said his apologies to you, saying he hoped he ran in to you again soon. You rubbed yourself against his legs before he left, then you went and sat in the sun again.

Later that day at lunch, you were talking with Susan Bones when Mattheo came and sat down next to you, a rather large smile on his face. You rested your head in your hand as you turned to look at him, an inquisitive look on your face.

Mattheo caught you staring, “What? Something on my face, Princess?” You laughed, dipping your finger in the pudding bowl next to you before tapping his nose, “You’ve got some pudding right about…there.”

Mattheo’s mouth dropped open in shock, “Oh you’re gonna pay for that later, Y/l/n. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” This sentence caught your attention, “Oh? And what has put Mattheo in a good mood today?”

His smile was smug, “I made a new friend. Well, she’s a cat. But she’s beautiful and cuddly and…you know what I should just show you. She seems to hang out in the courtyard.”

Mattheo grabbed your hand, dragging you out of the Great Hall. You gave Susan an apologetic look, but see only seemed to be smirking. When you reached the courtyard, Mattheo was disappointed to see the cat was not there. You tried to give him a sympathetic look, without giving away that you knew why the cat was no longer there.

The next morning Mattheo found you again, in cat form. Giving you cuddles and ear stretches and belly rubs. It was the most physical affection Mattheo had shown you, even if he didn’t really know it was you. But you couldn’t give it up, not with the crush you’ve had on him for the last two years.

At lunch the same day Mattheo tried to show you the car, again. But again, it wasn’t there. For obvious reason. It went on like this about every other day for two weeks. Mattheo would find cat you in the morning, he started talking to you, telling you why he was upset, or about his day, his worries.

You started to feel a little bad every time he tried to show you the cat and it not being there. But nothing could prepare you for what Mattheo was essentially confessing one morning.

You were laying in his lap, stretched out while he made gentle circles on your belly. “Have you ever had feelings for someone that you weren’t sure if they liked you back?” You looked up at him from his lap, your little black ears perking up at his question.

He huffed to himself, “What am I saying, you’re a cat. You just look for rubs and cuddles. Ugh, gorgeous I really like this one girl. But we’re such good friends I don’t know if I should tell her. I keep trying to show her you. I really want to have something just between us, think maybe it’ll bring us closer,” Mattheo picked you up, holding you so your body stretched down but your little cat nose and his were nearly touching, his tone turning to baby voice, “but you always seem to be gone when I bring her, don’t you beautiful?”

He sighed, setting you down. You felt so guilty. You had to tell him the truth, you started running towards a set of trees on the other side of the courtyard. Your mad dash away startled Mattheo, him getting up and trying to chase after you.

Once behind the pair of trees, you transformed back to your regular self. Mattheo peaked around the trees, jumping back slightly when he saw you, his face quickly turning in to a smile, “Y/n/n, did you see her? The cat. She came right this way.”

You looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “Teo…I, I am the cat.” Mattheo let out a chuckle, “What do you mean, love?”

You took a deep breath, looking down at the ground, “I, erm, I’m an animagus. A black cat more specifically. It’s why…why, erm, you could never show me her. Well, I was her.”

There was silence. You waited a beat, expecting him to be upset for keeping a secret or get upset for allowing him to be so vulnerable and essentially lying to him for the last three weeks.

What you didn’t expect was his arms to wrap around you, for him to pull you close and squeeze you tight before pulling back, “That is so bad ass.”

Your face broke out into a smile, “Really? You’re not, like, made or anything? I know I should’ve told you sooner but I just…liked being close to you. Even if it had to be that way.”

You met his eyes shyly, only to be met by his shining, “Y/n/n, this is seriously so cool. Merlin, I thought I loved you before but this is so amazing. You’re so amazing, beautiful, gorgeous. Human form and cat.”

Mattheo’s eyes widen at the realization of his confession. “I, erm, I’m sorry I-”

“I love you too, Teo,” you cut him off. He flashed you a dimpled smile, “Yeah?” You nodded your head, lifting up on your tip toes to press a light kiss to his cheek, which instantly flamed.

He looked at you with shy eyes, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “Now that you’re secrets out, don’t think we could maybe…erm, use your animagus to prank the other boys one day?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, nodding, “Under one condition.”

Mattheo placed his hands on your waist, “What’s that, love?”

You couldn’t resist the urge to be cheesy in the moment, “You call me officially yours, both human and cat form.” Mattheo’s smile widen impossibly larger. “That I can do, Princess,” he leaned in, stealing another sweet kiss from your lips.

[authorhjk1]

Hwasa X Moonbyul

(I apologize for writing this so late. Someone requested this, but it somehow got lost in my inbox. I can't find the original request anymore. I hope this is what you had in mind.)

"Got you."

Moonbyul's eyes widen in surprise, before she spins around. But it's too late. She barely manages to catch a glimpse of the furry handcuffs that close around her wrists with a fateful click.

Hwasa spins her back around, pushing her forward. The older of the two stumbles forward, against the makeup table. She sees herself in the mirror, bend over, hands cuffed together, still in her stage outfit.

"Wait...!"

Moonbyul realizes what's going on too late once again.

Hwasa has already pulled her pants down to her knees. It makes it impossible for the blonde to get away, or properly move even.

"Where is it?"

She can't see it, but she can hear the youngest rummaging around in her purse. After a couple of seconds, Hwasa looks at her through the mirror, a triumphant smile on her lips.

"Found it."

Moonbyul swallows hard, knowing what's next. It seems like Hwasa still isn't over the fight from last night. She should've known. Moonbyul should've seen this coming.

She unconsciously rubs her thighs together as she watches the younger one pull out what she was searching for. Her eyes are glued to the large black strap on in her hand.

"C-Can't we talk this out?"

Hwasa shakes her head.

"I'm sorry, unnie. The time for words is over."

Moonbyul can't do anything else, but watch as Hwasa starts to put the dildo into position. After securing it around her waist, Hwasa gives the blonde a slap on her naked ass cheek.

Moonbyul involuntarily let's out a moan.

"Seems like you want to be punished."

"N-No."

Hwasa chuckles, before pulling down Moonbyul's panties. They are simple. Just white fabric. But a small wet spot is already visible.

"Don't get too excited."

Her mocking tone makes Moonbyul shiver.

She closes her eyes, expecting Hwasa to thrust into her without warning, or build up, or anything. Instead, she feels the younger one's hands groping her chest. Her tits are still covered by her skimpy top, but her nipples harden at her bandmate's touch. The black plastic grazes the skin on her ass as Hwasa leans forward.

"Can't wait, huh?"

Moonbyul's eyes shoot open.

"No. I don't-Ouch!"

Hwasa pinched one of her nipples through her top. Moonbyul's breasts are very sensitive. Especially when she is turned on. She doesn't want to admit it. But it starts to become quite obvious.

"Let's see..."

Whispering more to herself than to Moonbyul, Hwasa reaches underneath her unnie with her left hand. A gasp escapes the blonde as she feels a finger invade her pussy.

"Tight and wet. Just how I like it."

"Pl-Please. Can't we talk about this? You're always so rough, when-"

A loud spank shuts her up. Hwasa grins as she watches the blondes cheek ripple. Her hands wander over Moonbyul's back towards her waist. Her strap on is resting against her bandmate's folds.

"Time for some fun, unnie."

Moonbyul escapes a low grunt as she is pushed forward. Hwasa buries herself deep inside her pussy, making Moonbyul hiss in pain.

"Nice, huh?"

The blonde's eyes are closed as she tries to get accustomed to the size. But Hwasa doesn't let her. She quickly pulls out, before thrusting into her again. Moonbyul gets rocked forward once more.

And so, Hwasa soon starts to get into a relentless rhythm. Moonbyul is powerless, only able to moan and scratch at the table's surface as she gets railed from behind. Her eyes are closed, not wanting to see the younger one's smug grin on her face.

"It's so easy to fuck you. You are so wet."

Hwasa's compliment falls on deaf ears. Moonbyul's moans drown out any other noise. Her hard nipples rub against the cold white surface of the desk. The result of being pressed down by one of Hwasa's hands.

The younger one now moves that hand around Moonbyul's waist. A moment later, she feels a finger on her clit, slowly starting to move in circles. She knows she is done for. There is no way she can resist Hwasa, when she wants to make her cum. But how is she gonna explain this to the people who come in later? A shiver runs down her spine at the thought.

The combination of Hwasa's powerful thrusts and her finger on her clit bring Moonbyul to that edge of the cliff. As her body keeps getting rocked back and forth, her nipples rubbing against the wood, she knows it's only a matter of time until-

Moonbyul suddenly stops. Only a second longer and Moonbyul properly would've cum. The older one shakes, almost cuming untouched.

"Fuck, Hwasa."

She groans, well aware that Hwasa is having the time of her life.

"Call me unnie."

"What?"

Moonbyul can't believe her ears.

"Call me unnie and I let you cum."

"No way. I-"

Hwasa starts pounding her again without warning.

"Oh, fuck!"

Moonbyul is send back into this mindless state, almost where she left off. It only takes Hwasa a couple of thrusts to bring her close to climaxing again. But just when Moonbyul is about to cum, Hwasa stops again.

"Oh, damn!"

The blonde groans. The pleasure in her body keeps rising and rising, but she can't find release. The pressure inside her is building up.

"Say it."

"No way."

Moonbyul's breathing is heavier than before, but she doesn't want to give in.

"Suit yourself."

Hwasa begins to fuck her again. Slower this time. Almost too slow. Moonbyul feels how the hard plastic drags along her walls, the friction starting to become too much.

"Do it. Admit you're mine."

Moonbyul shakes her head.

Hwasa reaches forward with her free hand, the other one is still slowly rubbing the blonde's clit, and takes a fistful of her hair. Pulling at it, she forces Moonbyul's head up.

When her eyes eventually open, Hwasa immediately starts thrusting into her again.

"Oh, god!"

Moonbyul bites her lip at the sight in front of her. Hwasa, in her black leather top and jeans, fucking her from behind and pulling her hair. While she can't do anything. Her hands are still cuffed, her legs are still tied by her own pants and panties.

The finger on her clit brings Moonbyul towards her braking point. Fast. She breaths faster, trying to hold it in. But as she gets closer and closer, she realizes she already lost.

"Unnie!"

A second later, Hwasa lets her cum. Moonbyul's body shakes, her legs buckle. Her juices, which have only run down the length of the black plastic inside of her until now, are now gushing out of her. A puddle quickly builds on the dressing room floor as Moonbyul orgasms, bend over the table.

"Good girl."

[sokoviansimp]

I loved the last Drabble so much! Can you do one of reader getting scared whilst with someone else and wanting her mama and for a second everybody is assuming she was asking for her birth mom but she was asking for Wanda? Please??

Mama

✒ Pairings: Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes x Child!Reader (platonic)

✒ Summary: Reader gets scared whilst with someone else and wants her mama and everybody assumes she's asking for her birth mom

✒ Tags and Warnings: anxiety, flashbacks, lmk if I missed any

✒ Author's Note : I really appreciate the request! I was SO excited to write this one, what a cute Idea! Hope you enjoy. To the other requests in my inbox, I am sorry I am so slow but I will be getting to them, they're all so good :)

✒ Word Count : 2953

✒ Read Time: 15 minutes

Masterlist : The Package AU

Natasha was sitting on the floor of the living room, surrounded by a pile of toys that you had dumped out. You were crawling around, picking up different toys and examining them before discarding them just as quickly.

Examining the mess, Natasha picked up a stuffed bear and held it up to her face, pretending to growl at you. Your face lit up as you let out a squeal of delight. Natasha repeated the gesture a few more times, each time eliciting more giggles from you.

Eventually, she laid down on her back, still holding the bear up in the air. You walked over to her and climbed onto her chest, your little arms wrapping around Natasha's neck, she couldn't help but smile at the adorable sight.

"Are you trying to give me a bear hug?" Natasha asked, chuckling. You just giggled in response as you nodded your head against her chest, your tiny fingers playing with the strands of Natasha's red hair.

For a moment, Natasha forgot about all the darkness and danger that surrounded your lives. All she could see was the innocent joy and happiness on your face, and it warmed her heart more than anything else in the world. Once you were settled on her chest for the hug, you stayed put enjoying the comfort. Mindlessly playing with the redhead’s hair as you relaxed with her. 

Moments later, Wanda meandered in from the kitchen to see the two of you on the verge of sleep cuddled together on the floor. The sight was perfect, her two favorite people. It looked as if Nat was guarding you from the world, as long as you were in her arms, nothing could harm you and you’d be perfectly safe. Or maybe that’s not what it looked like to everyone, but it sure looked that way to Wanda. Maybe that’s because that’s the way that Natasha has always made her feel. When her brother died, she was there for her, no matter what she needed, sometimes before she even know she needed it, Nat provided. 

The day they found you on the mission, Natasha was there to provide support for Wanda, to make sure she knew that she’d be there to make sure no one ever hurts you again. As she watched the two of you, Wanda realized that Natasha was more than just her best friend. She felt a connection with her that she couldn't deny. It wasn't just the way Natasha made you laugh or held you when you cried, but the way she made Wanda feel when they were together.

Wanda had never felt this way before, she made her way over to pull a blanket off of the couch to lay over the two of you. She knew that she was falling in love with Natasha. She tried to push the feeling aside, telling herself that it was just a crush or infatuation, but she knew deep down that it was more than that.

You had only been with Wanda and the Avengers for a couple of months, but you were already starting to feel at home in the compound. You loved exploring the vast rooms and corridors, playing with the Avengers and their various gadgets, and spending time with Wanda, who had completely taken you under her wing. But there were still moments when things reminded you of your old life and made you scared of this new environment.

Wanda was more nervous about the night than she wished to be. Worrying about what she should wear that was appropriate but may also catch the other redhead’s eye. It was silly, they’d been friends for years and Natasha never noticed before, or was it because Wanda wasn’t trying to catch her attention, surely today would be no different. To her, Wanda was sure she would never be seen as more than a friend. She couldn’t help but think about what Nat would think of each outfit she picked out though. 

This evening was special because, for the first time since you resided at the compound, there would be guests joining for one of Tony’s gatherings. It was more tame than Tony’s parties are typically known for, it was mostly for a press announcement regarding a new watch that Stark Industries released. 

The StarkWatch, set to land on the market two weeks from today, would be equipped with state-of-the-art sensors and algorithms that can accurately measure your heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and other key health metrics. It would also have a built-in GPS and a voice-controlled digital assistant that can help the user navigate, set reminders, and perform various tasks hands-free.

One of the most innovative features of the StarkWatch would be its holographic display, which would allow the user to access their smartphone apps and notifications in a fully immersive and interactive way. They could simply raise their wrist and see a floating 3D image of their screen, which they could manipulate with hand gestures and voice commands.

The ultimate gadget for the modern tech-savvy individual who wants to stay healthy, connected, and stylish at all times. Or at least, that’s what Tony was saying about it. The watch would be available in a range of colors and styles, and would come with a custom-designed charging dock that doubles as a stylish desk accessory. 

With the rise in smartwatches, the press was on the edge of their seat waiting to see what Stark Industries had cooked up for the market of consumer-based wearable tech. 

Every Avenger was in the audience for the announcement to show their support for Tony, even you. Wanda wasn’t planning on staying the entire time but it was important to her to at least make an appearance. Once Tony’s speech was over, the crowd shifted their attention to the tables that held food and drinks. 

While the guests were mingling and filling their plates with the finest catered food around, Tony made his way over to the crime-fighting group that you sat with. The congratulatory wishes poured from their mouths as they welcomed their friend off the stage. 

Throughout the speech, and even now, you sat comfortably on Wanda’s lap with your back to her so you could see everything that was happening. Wanda’s focus shifted from the stage to Natasha every so often as she stole glances at the redhead. You had been very well-behaved and hadn't made a sound throughout the whole event. Now that everyone else was getting out of their seat and your friend, Tony, was no longer on stage, you started to get a bit antsy in Wanda’s grasp. 

At first, you were just shifting your weight from one leg to another, but soon you were trying to wiggle your way out of her hold and off of her lap. She tried to explain to you that the appropriate thing to do right now is to keep still but you just wanted to get up and stretch your legs, and well, now that you think about it you want to go play. The event was quite boring, mostly made for grownups, and the only reason you were even there was to show support, you don’t even know what you’re supporting. Tony was up on a big stage though, I guess that’s kind of cool. 

“Are you thirsty, baby? Want me to go get you some juice?” Wanda asked into your ear as she leaned down toward you. 

“Yes, juice!” you nodded your head, “can we pway now?” you wondered as you met her eyes over your left shoulder. Your patience was wearing thin, and as much as you wanted to behave, you also wanted to go and play with your toys. You were hoping that getting up to get juice could be the perfect gateway to leave. It felt like you had been sitting in that room for hours. 

Tony caught wind of you wanting to skip out early and in an effort to keep your attention, he mentioned how you’re not going to want to miss the next act. You were instantly intrigued by his sentiment. He continued on, telling you how they’re going to demo the new features and there's going to be a whole show on stage.

The possibility of what could take place on stage left you in excited anticipation, going over different impossible scenarios in your mind. What if someone came walking in riding on a triceratops? Surely you wouldn’t want to miss that. 

Lost in your thoughts, Wanda picked you up from her lap as she stood and placed you down on the seat she was just occupying, “Can you stay here with the team while I go get you juice?” 

You nodded in response as Natasha offered to go with her. Wanda immediately tensed at the thought of being alone with her, what would they talk about? Would she make a fool of herself? Until she quickly remembered she’s her best friend and it’d be crazy to let a little crush ruin that, she had to act normal. After confirming with the team that they would be ok to watch you while she retrieved the juice, she and Nat walked off. 

“Are you thirsty too?” Wanda raised a brow to Natasha as they settled in the beverage line. 

“Thought you could use some company,” Nat answered. The past couple of days, it almost seems like Wanda has been avoiding her and she’s not sure what she did, or if she did anything for that matter. Most importantly, she wants to make sure her friend is okay because she’s just seemed off.

“Oh, thanks”

“Of course, is everything ok? -it just seems like you’ve been a bit off lately”

Wanda felt embarrassed that Natasha had noticed the shift, “how do you mean?”

“Well, I- I guess, I just haven’t seen you in a few days really. You’re not avoiding me, are you? Did I do something?” Natasha sputtered out. 

Truthfully, Wanda was avoiding Nat. Of course, she did nothing wrong, maybe even just too many things right, but surely she couldn’t admit that. “No- god no, of course not!” Wanda tried to reassure her, the last thing she wanted was to make Nat feel like she did something wrong, “I- I’ve just been busy, I’m okay though.”

“Promise?” Nat double-checked

“Promise,” Wanda reassured her

“You know you can tell me anything, Wands. I’m here for you,” the nickname made Wanda’s stomach flip. It’s not like she hasn’t heard it fall from her lips a million times before, but this was the first time after she’s begun to see Nat in a different light and it hit very differently. 

“I know, you always have been,” Wanda affirmed. 

“You look stunning today, by the way moy drug,” Nat commented. 

Muy Drug. The statement of friendship felt like a dagger to the heart for the Sokovian, “Thanks, you look good too tovarishch” she responded. 

During their wait in line for drinks, the demo had begun setting up. The two were 3rd in line when the lights began to dim and a dramatic soundtrack blared through the auditorium, “I’m sure Y/N’s on the edge of her seat right now,” Nat mentioned as Wanda let out a chuckle and a nod hoping to make it back soon enough to see your reaction. 

The sounds began to lead up to something as the two redheads approached the front of the line. Just as the server was handing Wanda your glass of orange juice, fireworks are set off at both sides of the stage. Immediately, Wanda knew you were going to go into a panic, she quickly gave the drink to Nat and she set off for you. Natasha knew exactly why Wanda was rushing to get back to you so quickly and still, the two of them were slowed down by the crowd of people. 

At the sound of the fireworks, you immediately covered your ears and closed your eyes as tears began to form in your eyes. The sounds sent you back to your time with Hydra, as you started to shake and rock back and forth, “MAMA!” You called out, hoping she would hear you and come running to comfort you.

The sound of you calling out for your mom broke Bucky’s heart as he tried to calm you the best he could. He knew your mom was never coming back but he didn’t know how to explain that to a 3-year-old. “Y/N, it’s ok, they’re just fireworks. It’s fake booms.” He tried to tell you. 

“Want mama,” you stated as you began to cry.

“I know, I’m sorry kid, your mama isn’t here,” he said as he reached out to hold you. Bucky begins bouncing you up and down in an attempt to soothe you when Wanda and Nat finally return with your juice.

“MAMA!” you yell as you reach your arms out toward Wanda.

Bucky was taken aback by your action, he assumed that when you were calling for your mama, you were wanting your birth mother. The entire team had a similar reaction in their heads. It was heart-warming to see that you thought of Wanda as your mother. As soon as she’s within arms reach, she takes you from Bucky, silently thanking him for taking care of you. 

You quickly nuzzled into Wanda’s neck as she rocked you back and forth, rubbing your back in sooting circles. You soon calmed down, feeling safe and sound in her arms. 

Natasha, standing there holding your juice was taking it all in. The way Wanda was so attentive and caring for you made her smile, and now to see you calling her your mama, Natasha was so happy for Wanda. She knew how much having a family meant to her, and she was so happy to see it happening before her very eyes. The love she held for you both was immeasurable. 

“Juicy,” You say reaching toward Natasha for the juice she held for you. It took Natasha a couple of seconds to register that she was meant to respond by handing you your juice, lost in the way Wanda was coddling and swaying you, “Yes, here you go, Y/N careful small sips,” she mentions as she raises it to your lips for you to drink. 

“Tank yew Natty,” you muttered with a smile on your face as you pulled pack from the straw to nuzzle back into Wanda’s neck. 

“I think we should go now, congratulations again Tony,” Wanda sincerely noted to her friend as she went to carry you out of the theatre. 

“Natty come too?” You said reaching one arm out toward Natasha. The action was too cute to turn down, not that she wanted to anyway.

“Of course” she said as she followed you and Wanda out. 

Once the 3 of you reached the common room, Nat suggested watching a movie to calm down from the chaos of the night, “Fwozen?” you wondered

Nat chuckled, having watched Frozen with you twice already this week, “Frozen it is!” 

Wanda internally winced at the decision, becoming tired of the same movie occupying the screen everytime she sat in front of it, but she didn’t say anything as she knew you had a rough night. 

Wanda sat on the couch with you snuggled up against her, wrapped in a warm blanket as they watched Frozen on the TV. Natasha was sitting on the other side of the couch, but Wanda couldn't help but notice how she kept inching closer, until their legs were touching.

As the movie played on, Natasha reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from Wanda's face. Wanda felt her heart race as she turned to look at Natasha. Their eyes met and Wanda felt a sudden jolt of electricity between them.

They both looked away, pretending to focus on the movie, but their minds were elsewhere. As the scene with Anna and Kristoff began to play out on screen, Natasha's hand found its way onto Wanda's thigh. Wanda felt her skin flush as Natasha's fingers began to rub soothing circles.

Wanda couldn't concentrate on the movie anymore. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of Natasha. As the scene played out with Anna and Kristoff sharing a kiss, Wanda couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. She wanted nothing more than to be the one sharing a kiss with Natasha.

As the movie came to an end, Wanda got up to put you to bed. As she tucked you in, she couldn't help but feel distracted. She knew she had feelings for Natasha now, and she couldn't shake them. As she turned to walk back to the living room, she was met with the same emerald eyes that have been consuming her thoughts for the past week. 

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Nat offered

Without a word, Wanda walked past Natasha so that she could leave you alone to sleep, Nat took this as a queue to follow, “I’m fine Nat, I promise” Wanda insisted, wanting desperately to let this whole thing go. 

“Hmm” Nat hummed in response, knowing that there was something on her friend’s mind. Surely there was something on hers too, but she wasn’t sure if it was the right time to bring it up. 

“Hmm? What’s that supposed to mean?” Wanda countered, pressing on. 

“Means I don’t believe you,” Nat said as she walked out, leaving the redhead alone with her thoughts and her feelings. Thoughts swirling around her head of what Nat really knew. Was she being too obvious? Nat’s her best friend, of course, she can see something is off, but did she know that it was because of her?

Taglist: @mymommawanda@livslifeonline@reggierizzoli@mythixmagic@lesbicentism@marvelogic@katethewriter @inluvwithfictionalwomen @spooky-reader1 @marvelogic ​@kissforvoid

[yourheart-inmyhands]

HIIIII I LOVE YOUR POSTS SO MUCH IF YOU DIDNT NOTICED I WAS ONE OF YOUR FOLLOWERS WHO LIKE YOUR POSTS THE EARLIEST ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT AND AMAZING DAY I HOPE YOU FEEL HAPPY AND JOYFULL! STAY SAFE :DDDD

Oh and btw i love love LOVED the last post you made :3 wasnt able to like it early since i was at school but can i please req a Zoro reader with a yan Yelan , Beidou , Alhaitham (all hail the ham XD) and Neuvillete (idk how to spell his name😒🙄) ANYWAYS PLEASE TAKE YOUR TIME REMEMBER TO EAT REST AND DRINK WATER <<<333

Plus points if reader is in luffys pirate crew , has 3 swords and stronger than Beidou and Yelan 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

YOUR THE BEST POOKS EHEHHEHEHE<<<<333 :D :3

(stan chuu 🥰🥰🥰😱😱😱)

LOVE YOU POOKS 🥰🥰🥰😍😍😍😍

i didn't wanna answer this one cause it's so cute and i wanted to keep it in my inbox foreverrrrr but i really appreciate the compliments ;v; <33 also i won't lie, Zoro is not one of my favorites from One Piece (i like greasy/deranged men) but i love his character, i was also binging some episodes while writing this and also this is pre-timeskip zoro cause that's where i'm at currently and brainrot be real but i hope you enjoy :D <3

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behaviors, implied being held against will, mentions of violence, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Yelan would be stressed out, not only do you wield three swords and seem to always get yourself in trouble, but you’re always getting lost. She’s at least glad that you can take care of yourself if the need arises but your obsession with being Teyvat’s Greatest Swordsman is a little out of control. She prefers that you don’t go out without her because she knows you’ll get lost, but if you should otherwise she’ll be sure to send out someone to follow you, keeping her informed of your location and every move.

Yelan smiled to herself as you trained in the backyard. While your bizarre workout routine often had her a bit worried, she admired your dedication to her work. There was a lot about you she loved, but your dedication to your goals was what drew her in, reminding her of herself sometimes. She had to keep you on a tight leash though, your lack of direction often leaving you in places you shouldn’t end up in. She never minded though, it was just another of your adorable quirks, something she found keeping her on her toes. Yelan loved you and all your strange, unique quirks. 

Yandere!Beidou would find you very admirable, chasing so strongly after your ambitions as she had. While killing a Leviathan and becoming Teyvat’s Greatest Swordsman are two different life goals, she thinks you're an amazing individual for chasing your dreams so wholeheartedly.

Beidou smiled down at you from the top deck, watching as you polished your blades. While she didn’t understand the need for three swords, she knew you enjoyed it and so she never questioned it. She was grateful you didn’t put up a fight when it came to traveling on the Crux with her, not that you ever seemed to know where they were headed. It just made it easier for her to keep an eye on you, with your habit of wandering off and getting lost just to end up in a fight that she later patches you up from. She loved you and all your quirks but sometimes she wondered how you came to be this way, it wasn’t something you seemed keen to talk about.

Yandere!Alhaitham would find a beloved like this both a blessing and a curse. He loves your passion for swordfighting, often fighting with you for a bit of practice. While you certainly outmatch him with just one sword alone, he uses his intellect to spar with you, learning your moves and putting you into positions where you have to adapt and overcome. He finds the exercise to be an enjoyable break from his work, allowing him to keep his physical skills as sharp as his mental ones. He refuses to let you go anywhere by himself though, worried you’ll get lost and run into trouble, again.

Alhaitham smirked as he blocked another attack from you, having memorized every attack you’ve ever used against him. It was times like this that he enjoyed most with you, a proper challenge between brains and brawn. While your workout routine was intense, his mind was equally as polished, leaving the duels between the two of you relatively intense. On afternoons where you weren’t dueling, it was common to go into town, with Alhaitham usually picking up books or other things at stores while dragging you along with him. Even if he knew you were going to nap the whole time he was gone, he still didn’t trust you to not fight something or get lost while he was gone. So instead he took you to every store with him, keeping a tight watch over you and oftentimes tying a ribbon gently around your wrists that connected to his belt.

Yandere!Neuvillette has no choice but to keep you locked up inside while he’s gone simply because he knows otherwise you’ll get lost and he’ll be seeing you in the courtroom for yet another fight you got into. He doesn’t mind it though, knowing that at home you only do a few things, train, polish your swords, and nap. And while he admires your dream to be Teyvat’s Greatest Swordsman, he thinks you should settle for the strength you currently possess and simply stay here in Fontaine with him.

Unlocking the door and stepping in after a long day in court, Neuvillette isn’t surprised to see you napping in the livingroom. He will admit that the first few times he saw you napping, simply sitting on the floor up against a wall with all three swords nearby, he thought it was strange, insisting that you sleep in the bedroom or at least on the couch. Now though, he understands that it’s simply the way you are, quietly approaching and smirking as your eyes flicker open, looking up at the man. “Your senses are as sharp as ever I see.” Neuvillette offers you a hand, gently pulling you to your feet as you stretch, asking about his day. He enjoys the quiet life he has and he prefers to try and force you to comply than let you roam free, after all he’s doing this for the betterment of society. You’re simply too dangerous.

[f1bordeaux]

The String That Binds Us. (Prologue) | ln4, cl16

You fell in love with this sport all because of him. It would be selfish not to thank that boy for his help in getting you here today, even if you both ended on rocky terms. However, after finding yourself in the same paddock as your childhood best friend, your mentor, your first true love, and the boy who left you for the bigger picture, you realize that he wants nothing to do with you. So, as fate has it, perhaps you'll end up in the arms of someone else. Or maybe, just maybe, that string that has been tied to the two of you together since birth will pull you back into eachothers lives. Warnings: none Pairings: Lando Norris x Reader, Charles Leclerc x Reader Word Count: 769 Poetry style | Story style A/n: I have returned with yet another series >:) this has been rolling around in my mind and yes its a super simple, done before, run down prompt but I promise to make it worth wild! I feel as though my writing has improved since my last series(which i'm gonna go rewrite) so please enjoy! Ill update as quickly as possible. This is just the prologue so look out for chapter 1 soon, and let me know if you all would be interested in me posting this on Wattpad for easier reading! Much love! Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

prologue; y/n.

There was simply no way, not in this world with all of its coincidences and twists of fate, that things did not happen for a reason. From the minute you’re born until the day you die, there is a reason for everything. An invisible string runs through each and every one of your actions, no matter how little or grand they may be. You were sure of it. There were so many instances you could think of. When you failed that math test and got put back into a different class-the one where you met your first boyfriend who you no longer speak of. When you visited the beach one Summer all the way across the ocean in the United States, and met a girl from your hometown who ended up becoming your life long friend you attended university with. And perhaps the most vital one, when you grew up next door to a boy, only a year older than you, who possessed a love for cars and all things involving them. He would sculpt your life into one of his own, beginning from only the age of three. The two of you would form a shared love, a shared passion, for one sport. However, you found more interest in the mechanical side of things while he preferred to take the wheel. Still, you often wonder how your life would have played out, what you would have done, where you would have gone, who you would have become without him. What would have happened to you if he didn’t live next door? You could never even picture it. Especially now, fresh from university with a degree in automotive engineering hanging on your wall. But the craziest connection of them all? Getting an offer to work in the same sport as your neighbor-no, your childhood best friend. You just couldn’t believe it.

“Y/n you’re joking.” Sophia said on the afternoon the offer popped up in your inbox. She sat on the beanbag chair you used to have in your dorm. You were laying down in bed, lazily scrolling through Twitter before deciding to check your inbox. Now, you were sitting up straight, hand cupping your mouth as you read the email. “Let me see!”

You spun the laptop around, watching her eyes dart across the screen. “It’s not real, there is no way.”

But it was. The email would turn into a phone call, the phone call would turn into a headquarters visit, the visit would turn into a contract. Soon, only a few months after your January graduation, you would be in the Formula 1 paddock, clad in red, tending to the Ferrari livery.

You called Lando only a few weeks before the season started. The two of you hadn’t spoken in a while.

“Hello?”

“Lando, hey.” You scratched the back of your neck. How would he take it? Would he even care at all? Why were you calling with how things ended between the two of you?

There was a second of silence, although it felt like minutes. “Y/n, it’s been a minute. I heard you graduated. Congrats.”

“Oh? Who told you?”

“Mom. You know she's still best friends with yours.”

“Right,” You sighed. He didn’t like your Instagram post that compiled all your grad-photos. Of course he’d only heard it involuntarily. “How have you been?”

“Good.” He responded. “Just preparing for the season, you know?”

“That's actually what I was calling about,” Your heart was pounding. You were so excited to tell him, to let him know that not only did he make it into his dream field, but so did you. “I got a job.”

“Cool. Where at?”

“Ferrari.”

The silence that hung over the line only a little while ago returned. “Like at a shop somewhere in the UK?”

Not exactly the celebration you were hoping for. “No, uh, in F1. I’ll be in the paddock working on either Leclerc’s or Sainz’s car.”

“Oh.” He sniffled. “How’d you manage a job like that straight out of uni?”

“I applied. Didn’t think I would get it but here we are.”

“Well I guess I’ll see you around then.”

And that was it, your big call, your big announcement, all concluded with a ‘see you around’ like it was a conversation to be had in a school yard. You were hurt, your childhood best friend chalking your achievements up to something not worth being impressed about, but you didn’t have time to think about it. You had a job to do and damnit, you were sure you’d be doing it the best.

[insomanic-fanfication]

Batfam's reacting to you falling asleep on Tim

Author's note: Full fanfics will have to wait, but I will be doing these types of things for a bit. Feel free to send in asks! I thought this post was cute and got my creative bug working again. I also wanted to avoid spamming Gator's inbox cause' I already sent in one or two.

Dick Grayson: The proudest brother alive! Look at Timbo finding love! Would definitely put a blanket over you both, and the group chat with his friend would be spammed with pictures and messages of how cute you guys are, how excited he is about Tim opening himself more, Trying to figure out what your couple name should be. Goes to leave but turns back around to make sure Tim's progress is saved and see if the laptop needs to be charged. Then leaves the room, to let you guys cuddle and sleep in peace, telling the rest of the batfam to keep quiet and not disturb you two.

Jason Todd: Found out what was up when Dick was telling everyone not to disturb you love birds. The man was just reading his book in the library, and he got his Flamboyant older brother wagging his finger in his face. Keep quiet, like bitch, your the loudest out of all of us. Decides to weigh the options of maybe writing something on Tim's face in washable marker, to ruffle dick's feathers a little. However, upon entering the room, he sees how content you both are and doesn't have the heart to mess with you. He can't help but let a soft smile creep up while leaving, happy to see Tim finally taking a break from fight or flight. Damian Wayne: No! Of course, he's not doing an FBI-level background check on you because he's worried about his brother! It's essential to know the information of people close to their work as heroes! No, he's not nervous about possible changes in the family's route; that concern is for babies! 'Alferd, could you ensure they drink water and a snack when they wake. Drake probably hasn't touched a glass of water in days'.

Alfred Pennyworth: Would 100%, if told to or not, bring you both snacks and water bottles for when you both wake up; however, I also feel like he would also bring you headache meds. He's had to raise Bruce and insomniac Wayne and has been around the block more than once. Could you check on both laptops to see if they need to be charged? Quite happy to see that Tim has found someone that makes him happy, as well as that Tim's brothers are pretty excited. However, he is a little concerned that Damian may be unable to handle another change within the routine again so soon. It'll just be something that must be talked through with time.

Bruce Wayne: He'll probably be hyperfocused on doing research and stuck in his own thoughts. Cause he's over the moon that Tim's found someone. However, he needs to figure out how to follow the parental rules for same-sex relationships. He wants to keep the rules fair between his children, but like..??? So many questions, not enough answers yet. You can just get ready for awkward but supportive conversations to come.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like what you read? Please check out my blog and other works! Do you know that you can’t write yourself or have no time? Request or send in an ask! I also have a Masterlist for all my Reblogs, so you can check out other Fanfication Writers!

[the-s1lly-corner]

The Angst Alphabet

NOTE: any letter/alphabet prompts that have been made and put in the masterlist that do not specify which list theyre from, assume they are fluff alphabet prompts if they are posted prior to 6/19/24! Always worth to doublecheck, however this is a general thing!

Similar to the fluff and tropes list, you can turn to this list of prompts for ideas of what to request! This list will also be open indefinitely, hooray! If you're unsure if a character has already had any specific prompts done, you can always turn to the masterlist! You can find this list and other pre made prompt ideas at the bottom of the main masterlist! All will be in my pinned! You can find the rules for this alphabet under the cut, please keep them in mind when requesting! You are also free to use these prompts for your own writing!

Naturally, there is a chance that this list may contain subjects that can bring discomfort. I want to make it very clear that for the majority, if not all, of these prompts are in no way meant to be romanticized. That being said a lot of these prompts revolve around emotionally charged mistakes as well as people being naturally flawed; unless the scenario and character calls for it, assume that these are relationship hiccups.

CWs: mentions of death and grief, injuries, mentions of murder, talks of scars and while it can be seen in any way it can be seen in a S/H way however its a vague prompt, general mentions of loss, possibility of trauma depending on character and prompts that are requested together,

You can request up to 3 prompts and 2 characters in a single request! As long as I write for the character (I will let you know if I don't! We'd be here forever if I listed every character I write for..) and what fandoms I currently write for (can be found in the pinned as well as the status! If it says its ongoing, you're good to go!). As stated in the opening note, if youre unsure if a few prompts had been done for a character, check the Masterlist! Or alternatively you can ask me via inbox if it's been done yet! Speaking of, I only accept requests through the inbox since it's easier to keep track of.. as well as this I work on a queue system so expect your request to take a while; you're always free to ask when its expected to be posted! Request status will also be kept up to date in my bio! A lot of these prompts can be applied to romantic or platonic relationships however on the chance you ask for a character i only write platonic for and ask for a prompt that is more romantic leaning, I will do my best to make it platonic. If it cannot be done I will make that aware to you! Tags do not equal the fandoms I write for as thats subject to change! If a fandom is not listed or it's been a while I recommend looking at my pinned to see fandom statuses!

Admirer- What are they like when they have a crush on you, but they already know you dont notice them or reciprocate? Or alternatively, what if you were asked out by someone else before they got the nerve to do it themselves?

Break up- What can break your relationship? How are they like afterwards?

Clique- What if their group of friends and/or family disapprove of you, or outright hate you? How likely are they to crack under the pressure? Will they side with you or them, or will they choose to stand in the middle?

Distrust- How do they try to get your trust back? What can you do that breaks their trust?

Ex- What are they like when your ex turns up? Whether the ex in question is bad or not, how do they work through these feelings? Are they okay with you being friends with an ex?

Fight- How nasty can they get in an argument? Who walks away first, if there is any walking away?

Guttural- How do they show their emotions, do they talk about it? Do they silence themselves? Do they generally keep quiet or do they feel that they can't talk about it?

Heal- How do they make it up to you after a fight? Do they make a promise to do better or do they remain stagnant? Change is not linear, what will progress look like?

Jealousy- Very similar to the E prompt, as well as the Jealousy prompt from the fluff alphabet. How do they handle these feelings? What makes them jealous? Both in general, as well as when it comes to you?

Injury- Much like it's fluff counterpart... how do they handle you when your hurt... however, in this list... how are they in the moment?

Kill- Would they kill for you/out of revenge?

Lonely- How often do they feel alone? Do they seek you out or do they swallow their feelings?

Misery- How do they cope after your passing? How long does it take for them to pull themselves together ect ect

Nightmare- How do they soothe your nightmares? Do they have nightmares themsevles?

Opened- Will they throw something in your face in the heat of the moment, knowing it will hurt you? How do they proceed after the immediate damage?

Protective- How far are they willing to go to protect you? If they give everything they can, and you still get hurt... how do they react? Will they blame themselves, or you? Or will they go quiet?

Quake- Something in the past the effects how they move forward, in general and/or within the relationship

Rejected- How do they handle feeling rejected? Not just a rejected confession, but rejection as a whole? How do they cope when they feel rejected by you?

Strangers- What's it like when you find yourselves in the same space, after breaking up? Will they approach you or will they pretend they don't know you?

Two faced- How likely are they to lie to you, what would they lie about? What happens if they're caught?

Undying- In the case one of you are immortal or otherwise live long... how does that effect the dynamic?

Valentine- Different from its fluff alphabet counterpart, how will they feel if you stood them up on valentines day? On the flip side, what kind of emergency would make them stand you up?

Wounded- Do they have any scars, of any origin? How do they feel about them? How do they treat your scars, of any origin?

Xray- How obvious are they when theyre around something they hate/when you do something that upsets them

Yearn- Similar to it's fluff counterpart, how do they deal with separation or rather, how do they cope with wanting something they've lost and/or don't have?

Zestless- What happens if one or both of you lose your spark for the relationship? Will you try to ignite it, or will you simply part ways?

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hello I have a question on behalf of my friend who doesn't have tumblr. So, my friend has been working on her long story for about 2 years now when she found time after school. However, it was recently discovered that she has a tumour in her brain that she will have surgically removed within the coming months and while she told me the chances of anything happening is low, she is still worried and has expressed concern over her story. She told me that she has so much of the story planned out but not written down, so many details or plotpoints etc.... So her question is: how can one prepare for the worst case senario if you have an unfinished story? There are so many details and conversations that need to happen.

Friend Concerned About Surgery/Not Finishing Story

It's very nice of you to ask on her behalf. Just to clarify, though, I'm not a legal expert, so I can't give you or your friend legal advice. Just some ideas based on personal experience.

As much as I wish this would be an easy thing for your friend to address, it isn't. Our stories are copyrighted the moment they are written down in a tangible form, and if something happens to us, that manuscript and all of the pertinent documents and notes become part of our estate. That said, it would be up to the executor of the estate to determine what is done with the story based on the person's wishes as outlined in their will. If someone wanted another person to finish the story for them, they would be designated as this person in their will and the executor would contact them and give them any documents and instructions that were needed. But, ideally, this will have been arranged between the writer and other person long before. If there isn't time for those conversations, your friend could put as much of the detail and instructions as they can in a document and have it kept with their important documents.

If your friend doesn't have a will or an estate (if they're a minor, for example), this is just something that will have to be arranged between them and the person they want to finish their story, but they should also make sure to notify their parents/guardians that this permission has been given, and may even want to give the person a notarized document stating that they give the person permission to finish the story. Otherwise, the friend's family could potentially file for copyright infringement.

I worry a little because I remember getting a similar ask a while back about someone who had been reading a story in progress, and it looked like the writer had passed, and this person wanted to know if they could just finish the story since they'd talked to this person and knew where the story was going. And I'm hoping this ask isn't coming from the same person looking for some loophole that would allow them to go ahead and do this. So, just in case and to clarify: you can't finish someone else's story without their express written permission. It doesn't matter whether that story was posted online and abandoned, or whether they told you what was going to happen and you're the only one who can finish it, or even if you had a verbal agreement. The best anyone could do in that scenario would be to contact the family (who either hold the copyright or have a right to contest infringement) and ask for permission.

And, in the case of this ask specifically, if the friend wants you or someone else to finish their story if the worst happens, they need to make sure they have granted you written permission that is notarized or otherwise legally commissioned.

Ultimately, your friend probably will want to talk to a lawyer. Though, I am deeply hoping that they come through their surgery safely and successfully so they don't have to worry about it. ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[dragonmasterhiccup]

*UPDATED 11/15*

You can find the headcanons I use here!

NEW RP/ANON THREADS: OPEN

See below for details and blog rules!

(((IF ABOVE STATES AS CLOSED: Anons can still ask Hiccup questions, but I can't take on any additional storytelling anons or threads at the moment. If we already have one established, we can keep going until it concludes. When things have calmed down, I'll switch it back to 'open'. Please let me know if you have any questions!

RULES:

I'm going to try to keep this short and sweet, but as time goes things will be added.

My blog is family friendly, please keep content PG! No language is preferred, but any strong language will not be answered, and only deleted.

I will do limited threads, just mainly focusing on asks/anons. Things are limited because I work a full time job, and I am married and have some additional responsibilities.

I have 10+ years of RP experience. Open to M!A and to anons! Any asks that do not follow the rules will be deleted. I will try to message you privately if I can, but if done on anon I will have to make a public post.

I only ship Hiccup with Astrid, and write him as straight. Please refrain from sending any asks hinting or stating that Hiccup has flirted/kissed any other characters.

HOWEVER, sometimes there is undeniable chemistry, in which case I may be open to shipping the two characters.

Anon/RP asks may be reblogged, but if it's an RP thread that gets reblogged by me and the other writer, please only like so it can easily be kept track of.

If you're an anon, and pretending to be a character from the movies or shows: if there are multiple different anons portraying the same character, it gets confusing fast. I may not respond if I already have another thread going with another anon for that character.

No godmodding, no grabbing or dragging Hiccup [without permission], no controlling Hiccup's or Toothless' actions, and no smut.

Mun is 21+, I just like to keep things clean.

For anything coming into my inbox: unless it's specified for the mun, please make sure it's something Hiccup can respond or react to in some way.

You do not have to match my length, however, if all of your replies are essentially one to three sentences, I also struggle with responding to those as well. I work a very mentally demanding job, so sometimes I can't fill in the blanks, unless the muse is particularly strong with our thread.

If you're interested in bringing in more characters from the HTTYD universe, just discuss it with me first! I will extend the same courtesy to you if I'm interested in bringing in more characters from your muses world.

I have the right to decline any starters for threads that come into my askbox.

It's nothing against your writing, sometimes I'll read one and Hiccup just goes: 😐😑😐🤐

Writing styles: For some reason, when someone writes with me and they're using first person pov (I, me) it's extremely off-putting. I've tried to continue despite that, but for some reason it just causes the Hiccup muse to shut down 🤷‍♀️ Third person works best, since rp is telling two different characters perspectives.

The only exception is if you're asking Hiccup a question, and it's not in conjunction with quotation marks for dialogue, I have zero issue with that.

I only add this because it's come up a few times: Hiccup is the type to ask questions when he thinks of them. If your character sits down and says "You must have some questions for me, ask away!" I tend to panic because everything we've ever written together immediately drops from my brain. I also use the app to write more than my computer, and it can be difficult to track down and reread our threads. Please try not to ask this of Hiccup unless it pertains to something that was revealed in your current response, I'd really appreciate it!

Brief list of storylines I will not write or take part in can be found here. This list will be updated if more come to mind or come up in conversation.

Got an idea for a thread? Let me know! I love to plot!

Do not be stressed to reply quickly, real life always comes first!

I will never pressure you to write a response. If you want to quietly drop the thread, that's ok! If you don't think our writing jives well, or have trouble responding, just let me know! I will completely understand.

Want to bug Hiccup a bit? Send some fun anons! Ask him questions!

Don't know what to ask? Check out the tag #ask memes on my blog for inspiration!

Have questions for me? Message me! I'm open for chatting.

Mun fc is Rapunzel!

As for all of the HTTYD media, I have seen the movies, short films, and Race to the Edge. I have also read the books, and The Serpent's Heir. I have not had an opportunity yet to watch Defenders of Berk or Riders of Berk just yet.

Thanks for reading! Send me a "My ring's outside" so I can know you read this all the way through!)))

[toxicanonymity]

Hey there ✨️

I love your work 💕 I'm a long time fan 🫶🏼. I've been on tumblr a few years now, but I'd never found the courage to post anything of my own til now. I've been feeling a little optimistic these days, and genuinely excited about posting some of my writing and sharing it with the people out here. Do you have any advice on how to start posting and interacting from scratch? Cause I'm low-key nervous abt it and it seems like my target audience has already formed a solid community I don't know how to get into 🥺

Hi! 💕 Thank you so much. This is exciting. I’m flattered as heck but jeepers, a little underqualified. So, good news - I consulted a few friends for this, too.

Engage with the community early and often – writers, artists, anyone. Even if it seems like they’ve formed a solid community, there are likely still people joining or else it would die out.

Everyone loves to get feedback on their fics, so this is a good entry point. Comments, reblogs, thoughtful asks. If you have the time and interest, maybe a little fic mood board to slide into someone’s inbox. Tag games, etc. Have perseverance. It can be scary to put yourself out there socially, but this part can’t be any scarier than putting your fics out there, can it?

Become a “regular” on your favorite blogs, and you’ll start getting recognized. This will mean when you post your fic, there will be some name recognition, and they may think “Oh, she loves [fave writer], so we have common interests” *open fic*. Hopefully, you'll also get support from your favorite writers if you engage. It doesn't matter how "popular" someone is, they (most?) still notice and connect with regulars. I’ve had many readers turn into writers and am thrilled to support them. 

Accepting requests is a fantastic way to build connections and have things to talk about. Submitting requests, too.

Pay attention to the fandom tags and how they are used.

@aurorawritestoescape: I’m sure they have their fav writers/writers who inspire them and I saw many say that they love to be tagged in other ppl’s fics [toxy note: agree, please feel free to tag me!]

@beefrobeefcal: Dive in feet first. Throw caution to the wind. The first five tags are the one tumblr recognizes for some weird reason. Tag who you inspires you. No door is bolted shut in this community and everyone is welcome! [toxy note: hard agree!]

You've got this, it's gonna be great! Excited for you. Feel free to follow up if you have more specific concerns or questions. My DMs are open too. If you tell me the fandom I might have other ideas.

[afterhourswjay]

So sick (but not of you)

Got a cold, so now i'm gonna write some hcs of some of my favorite characters helping reader you back to health. This is my first time writing something like this for the Genshin characters, so please go easy on me :)

Characters: Alhaitham, Tighnari, Childe, Zhongli, Wanderer Requests are open. Feel free to pop by and drop some requests in my inbox Warnings: nope no warnings

Alhaitham

you two have been friends for forever, and you guys often hang out in the comfort of one of y'alls living rooms (usually alhaitham's)

usually, your found wearing a tank top and shorts and even then, you could be doing nothing and still start sweating

so when alhaitham comes over to your house and you open your door, looking not only disheveled and tired, but wearing a hoodie and long pants, it didn't take a genius to guess that you're sick

despite clearly not feeling well, you put on your best fake smile it doesn't fool him for a second and ask what he's doing here

'we agreed to hang out and have tea today' 'oh shit, that was today??' 'yea. but your clearly not feeling well, and you should get some rest. have you tried eating something, like soup?'

your stomach answers for you, singing the song of its people, and you cover your face in embarrassment - simply mumbling a no in response

he invites himself in, ushering you to bed. your protests fall on deaf ears, and he gets to work making you soup

when the soup is done cooking, he brings it to you. he reads a book until your done eating, and then washes all the dishes he used

probably whistles a tune as he works. makes his way back to your room and sits in the chair in the corner and picks his book backup, reading as you rest (despite your arguments of not needing rest, you conked out real quick)

Tighnari

you were scheduled to go on a patrol with him, collei, and a small selection of other forest rangers, but when you didn't show up early like you usually did, he decided to stop by your hut

normally, he'd've waited for you to answer the door before inviting himself to enter, but you didn't answer the door

so, he opens it and sees that you're still sleeping away. you're hanging halfway off your bed, with your blankets desperately clinging to said bed

he's about to leave, when he notices a slight grimace on your face and, upon closer inspection, he sees that you're a bit flushed and appear to be sweating

he moves further into your home, making sure the door is shut, before moving over to you and checking your temperature

that makes sense, he thinks. he'd noticed for the last few days that you've been more worn out than usual after your patrols

he rifles through his bag for some of his medicine and he mixes that together before gently waking you

despite his best efforts, you wake with a start which causes you to fall from your previous precarious position on the bed and fall to the floor

you squint at him through the feverish haze, wondering how he got into your hut

he offers you some of the medicine he prepared for you, and was about to explain that he was going to take you off the patrol list for the foreseeable future when he was stopped by the sound off deep snoring

he lets out a slight huff of amusement, deciding to just let you sleep for now. he has a patrol to oversee. he'll be sure to let one of the elders know of your condition before leaving, that way someone's keeping an eye on you

Childe/Tartaglia

despite the fact that Childe's a fatui harbinger (the eleventh), you two are pretty close friends

your feelings towards him were rather.... negatory.... in the beginning, but the more you two spared with each other, the closer you two managed to get

you notice leading up to your weekly sparing/hangout session that your more worn out than usual, an ache settling itself into your joints. what's stranger than that is the fact that you trade your typical tank top and shorts for a hoodie, pants, and hiding amongst a mountain of blankets and your clean clothes pile (you've tried many times to sort them into the drawers in your room but you have an 'out of sight out of mind' mentality and don't wanna 'lose' any of your favorite to wear clothes)

you gave childe the spare key to your home, not that either of you ever hang out in your house

because the fact that your basically buried alive under all the soft things you own, you don't hear childes approach until he's invited himself into your room, calling out to you

your response is, obviously, muffled. he digs a hole to your face, which causes you to tiredly scowl at him

while you may be sick, you do not appreciate basically being blinded by the light. 'i'd appreciate it if you covered my face back up, and leave me alone. i'm not feeling great, as you can see, so no more sparing until i'm feeling 100%'

he frowns at you and escivates your body from beneath the mountain of comfort, much to your chagrin

childe is a surprisingly good cook idk if he actually is since i don't have him, but i choose to believe that most of the characters are good cooks, and asks if there's anything in particular that you want to eat

you ask him if he can make a sticky honey roast, having been craving that for the last few days, but not having the energy to make it yourself

he grins at you, and gets to work making some for the both of you as idle chatter fills the air

Zhongli

good luck actually managing to hide the fact that you're sick from him :)

not that he actually has to try to tell if your sick. you literally sound like a croaking frog

he ushers you back to bed

he's not quite sure how to help you so he stops by bubu pharmacy and asks Baizhu for some medicine, and probably asks for ways to help you

while he looks calm and collected on the outside, he's kinda freaking out mentally

you mean a lot to him, and you also take longer to heal from ailments

because your not sick to your stomach, he cooks some bamboo shoot soup for the both of you to chow down on

while waiting for the soup to be ready, he makes sure that your comfortable in your bed, and he also makes sure you got everything you could need for the amount of time he'll be in your kitchen he doesn't want to end up ruining the soup

when he gets back with the soup, your not in bed. where did you go??

with a bit of searching, he finds you snoozing away under your bed. apparently, you got a bit too warm under the covers and decided the optimal naptime spot would be on the floor under your bed

well, he manages to coax you out of your hiding place, gets you to eat your fill of soup, and then lets you go back to sleep

Wanderer

you do not pass the vibe check :)

all jokes aside, its almost as tho he has a 6th sense for when your sick

'Disgusting. And you call yourself an adventurer? How have you not keeled over by now, I wonder??'

any on-looker would assume that he hates your guts, but your used to his abrasive comments by this point

you know him far better than anyone else, having seen his past from before it was erased from Irminsul, so you know that he's not as mad as he seems

a disgusted scowl is almost permanently etched onto his face pretty much the entire duration of you being sick, despite the fact that the puppet is unable of catching any sort of sickness

despite the aggressive words given to you, there is a gentleness that is also gifted to you if you know what to look for. gentle gazes in your direction when your not focused on him, homemade soup, freshly brewed tea with a bit of honey added to soothe your raw throat, your trashcan emptied when it nears overflowing, and a new tissue box placed at your bedside when the other was emptied

yes, he may call you a disgusting human, but don't let that fool you. he doesn't really mean it

[nerdynuala]

Hi, love your hcs from last time! Could I make a hange request? I'm intrigued to think about random real life situations of her. Like, I feel like at least once is her life she was bullied, humiliated? Why do people do that with all nerds lol. how do you think she deals with those situations?

Also, (teenage or youth edition) about how is her relationship with her friends, what habits she has in her daily life, I don't know, I leave you free creativity space!

Hello please forgive me, I don't even know how long this has been sitting in my inbox T_T

I haven't been thinking or writing headcanons lately, but I'll give you my best try because heck you sent this so long ago I definitely owe you at least an attempt lol

Sorry again, I hope you can enjoy this anyway.

I've decided to focus on the prompt of Hange being bullied or humiliated more than anything else, but I threw in some things about childhood/youth friendships (truth is, I don't think Hange had many friends as a child or teen) and some veterans

Here we go:

- a classic, Hange wearing glasses since a very young age, she got called four-eyes ever since she started hanging out with other kids. Did it hurt her? Well, she never would admit it, but until the age of 12/13 she did wish her eyesight was better just so that kids would stop making her feel different, in a bad way. She used to laugh it off when people teased her, but in the privacy of her bathroom at home she would squint at her reflection in the mirror and wish she could walk around without her glasses.

- Being a very curious and somewhat savage kid, with a passion for every kind of bug, did not help her making friends. She was called a weirdo for collecting bugs, showing them to every kid, and knowing all the weird names of the insects. But it was her passion, in this case she really couldn't care less what other kids thought of her. She did befriend a boy who also loved bugs and they used to go looking for them in the forest.

- Hange used to get along better with boys. Girls talked behind her back and found Hange dirty and wild, they used to tell her she "should have been a boy". Hange did not care for "being a girl or a boy", she was "just Hange, take it or leave it". Boys did like Hange's company though, they could play more competitive and sporty games with her and she did enjoy every bit of pinecones and stones wars.

- When Hange grew up, as a teen she often wished she could fit in better with girls in her environment, but she caught some of them talking behind her back, saying Hange was not feminine and an intense nerdy weirdo and that no one, boy girl or wathever, would want to be with her. Hange was really independent at the time and was not looking forward to any relationship in particular, but it still hurt because she only wanted someone to be able to talk to and that would listen to her and talk to her with the same passion she put into things she liked. She stopped talking to the girls she overheard, but she never stopped smiling and waving at them when they crossed paths. Hange did not want them close in her life anymore, but that didn't mean she would stop being kind even though they had not been to her once. Hange understood she was kind of different and that these girls probably weren't open-minded enough to understand that not everyone has to be the same.

- What hurt Hange the most, however, happened in her early adult life. Being a scout, a Squad Leader, and most importantly a Titan Researcher, she once had to present her advances in Titan Research to a large crowd of Scouts and MPs, even higher ranks. She put much effort into it and she was sure that, this time, she had a lot of new information about Titans that would thrill and help everyone out. She did present and, in the middle of the presentation she heard some people giggling and making comments she couldn't hear. It bothered Hange because, heck this was a serious matter and it was important to her and to anyone interested in defeating the Titans. She was interrupted by someone from the Military Police who raised his hand to ask, quite literally, "who the dickhead that let her funds for this bullshit was". The dude even had the courage to say that the money would have been better spent for "hiring some sluts to lift the spirits of the Scouts". It was the first time that Hange was at a loss of words and couldn't bite back. She felt like crying from anger and feeling helpless. She normally dealt with people belittling or bullying her by biting back with some sarcastic remark, but her mind went blank. She couldn't finish the presentation like she had in mind and felt depressed for a whole month after that. Her job, her research and the passion she put into it was the most important thing to her. She could deal with people making fun of her for being weird, for being "not feminine", for wearing stupid glasses... But not with people thinking her work was worthless, she discovered.

After this episode, Levi offered Hange a lot of late night tea and even let her rant a lot. He even asked how she knew that titans don't poop.

Also, a few weeks after that, Hange heard rumors that the MP dude who interrupted her presentation was beaten up by a short guy who ended up being stronger than 5 men all together. They said the guy was probably raised in the underground, as he fought like a thug from down there.

Side note, Erwin subtly raised funds for Titan Research and provided her with a brand new laboratory and named Moblit her assistant, officially. Moblit helped her to find the spark she had lost after being humiliated, he gave her a collection of new Titan drawings that were bound together in a new book, which had a lot of blank pages to fill in with new research. Mike and Levi also promised, without sounding too grumpy, to capture a Titan so that they could study them better.