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missadangel · 4 days ago

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AMOR MEUS AETERNUS

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

Chapter 1: Sol Invictus

Summary: You are an assistant to a costume designer on a busy movie set, where the pressure is high and the work is exhausting. One difficult evening during a lunar eclipse, you suddenly spot a man in a Roman military outfit materializing out of nowhere. Chapter Word Count: 14k (sorry but I had to introduce characters properly :)) authors note: It's a bit of a romantic-comedy-drama stuff because Marcus doesn't know that he traveled to 2025, LMAO poor baby (and you know I'm a hopeless romantic). I'll explain in more detail in chapters why he ended up here and what led him to meet the reader, but I'm avoiding spoilers. And the reader will help him get back to his time but accidentally travel to ancient Rome because of something; i can't talk more, lol. Wait for the episodes, please thank youuuu. if you wanna be tagged lemme know! Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut Chapter Word Count: 14k (sorry but I had to introduce characters properly :)) Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk, its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 42, reincarnation my masterlist series masterlist

....Chapter Theme.....

**Rome, 205 AD***

"Acacius! Acacius! Acacius!"

"Saviour of Rome!"

"Hail to the new general of Rome!"

"Hail Acacius!"

The streets of Rome reverberated with fervent cheers, a tidal wave of voices rising in tribute to a singular figure: Marcus Justus Acacius.

At forty years of age, Acacius had recently ascended to the prestigious title of general, his fame forged in the fires of battle and cemented by the decree of Emperor Severus. A man of unwavering loyalty and formidable skill, he had never tasted defeat, a fact that resonated deeply with the hearts of the Roman people.

As he emerged from the shadows of the grandiose triumphal arch, bedecked in gleaming white armor that caught the sun in a dazzling display, the crowd surged forward, intoxicated by their adoration. The very air around him crackled with electricity, a palpable sense of reverence enveloping the scene.

For the citizens, he stood as a titan, almost a god among men—a triumphant commander, a stalwart soldier, an indomitable leader whose very presence instilled terror in the hearts of enemies. Joy radiated from the crowd, their faces alive with hope and gratitude, caught in the spell of the day's celebration.

High atop the temple of Jupiter, Emperor Severus basked in the same jubilant spirit, joined by the Roman princes, Geta and Caracalla, his twin sons, all eagerly awaiting Acacius's arrival. Laughter and cheer rang out like festive bells, painting a tableau of optimism for the future.

Yet amidst the fervor and celebration, one heart was not aligned with the jubilant chorus.

Marcus Justus Acacius wrestled with a storm of unsettling emotions. While the victory was undeniably sweet for Rome, a bitter taste lingered on his tongue.

Inside, he simmered with frustration and discontent. Shadows clouded his thoughts; the thrill of his triumph felt hollow. He couldn’t escape the dark fantasy that had taken root in his heart—a yearning for death, an echo of despair that whispered sweetly of peace.

He envisioned his lifeless body passing beneath the triumphal arch, believing it might convey a deeper significance than his living presence ever could.

But that notion, in this moment, felt like a cruel mirage in an unforgiving desert. What was left for him now but emptiness, a void peering back at the mask he wore for the thrumming, joyous masses?

The sword’s brutal strikes, the faint scratches from arrows, the battle scars etched upon his skin—each bruise and cut, still glistening with crimson remnants, tells a tale of relentless struggle. These visible wounds bear testament to his long, agonizing wait and evoke the depth of his longing for eternal rest.

Yet, fate has thwarted him once more.

He found himself back in this city, a paradox of breathtaking beauty that thrived, yet concealed a well of sorrow beneath its surface. He had returned as a harbinger of victory, bringing new territories and a flicker of hope, but for himself, there was only void. He was a soldier, defined purely by duty, reduced to the relentless cycle of war and struggle.

Tomorrow would bring the same grind, as it always did. Day after day, he would rise to the call of arms, trapped in this existence until his weary soul finally departed from its mortal shell. Until that fateful moment, he walked as a living ghost, haunted and hollow.

The pain of loss had transformed him, for it had been this way since the day he lost the one he loved most dearly, and perhaps it would always remain so. Deep down, he might have yearned for oblivion more than his fiercest enemies ever could. Yet, the fires of his fighting spirit, relentless and unyielding, refused to dim.

It felt as though he was cursed, damned, ensnared by divine forces that reveled in his struggle — a pawn in a game that pit him against his own fate. Mars, the god of war, must have wielded his destiny with cruel hands, stripping away his heart and filling the gaping void left in its place with a relentless tide of pain, turmoil, and unquenchable rage.

The following day, as the resonant echoes of the Colosseum games, held in his honor, continued to reverberate through the streets, Marcus found himself immersed in the elegant atmosphere of the evening banquet. The air was thick with the intoxicating aroma of spiced wine and savory roasts, yet he felt like an outsider, trapped in a performance he neither wanted nor understood. Banquets and grand gatherings had never been his domain; he was an island amidst a sea of laughter and merriment.

His social connections were tenuous at best—a woman who was his father's second wife and his half-brother shared their deceased father's vast villa. He remained a mere shadow in their presence, offering nothing of himself except the occasional nod. Only his brother, Julius, his father's son from a second marriage, was a solitary beacon of understanding in Marcus's otherwise lonely existence.

Rumors clung to him like ivy on crumbling stone, painting him as a frigid, soulless warrior. The tale of his coldness often traced back to the haunting loss of his mother in childhood, yet the truth lay deeper, buried beneath layers of unspoken grief.

"General Acacius," a voice rang out, cutting through the revelry. Severus approached him, the gleeful cheers of the crowd fading into the background as he placed a hand on Marcus's shoulder.

“Emperor Severus," Marcus replied, straightening to salute, the laurel crown still uncomfortably perched upon his brow—an ornament he detested.

"I hear the medicus has been tending to your wounds. You owe it to yourself to find rest now; no new wars loom on the horizon. Our foes cower in fear before the prowess of our expansive territories, all thanks to you, my glorious commander,” Severus proclaimed, his expectant smile radiating insincerity.

Marcus remained a stone wall, responding only with a slight nod. Nearby, the young princes Geta and Caracalla watched him, their expressions a blend of awe and envy, their ambivalence swirling around him like shadows.

“While you recover, I need you to contemplate another matter,” Severus continued, his tone shifting with purpose, eyes flicking toward the animated guests. “You’ve earned the title of general, and it is imperative that you embody that honor. I envision a worthy marriage for you—one that reflects your esteemed status.”

The tension in Marcus’s features tightened, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the emperor. “I intend to arrange a union for you with a woman deserving of a general’s stature. I have my sights set on Lady Octavia, the eldest daughter of Consul Sextus. Her family traces an illustrious lineage among the Roman patricians, steeped in history and prestige. And I daresay they boast a legacy known for producing fruitful descendants,” he added with a hint of jest.

Marcus’s eyes, cold and unyielding, settled upon the beautiful, charming woman beside the senator, her allure seemingly reduced to mere decoration.

He felt nothing.

The wine glass nestled in his hand suddenly felt far more inviting than any prospect of romance. "What say you?” Severus pressed, confidence bleeding through his words.

“I am honored, Your Highness,” Marcus responded, his voice steady yet underscored with reluctance.

“Should I take that as a yes?”

“With all my heart, no.”

Severus’s brow furrowed, caught in a limbo between amusement and frustration. “You’ve reached this age without a wife. If not now, when? Or is your heart entangled elsewhere?”

Marcus shook his head, the familiarity of this conversation wrapping around him like a well-worn cloak. There was comfort in the predictability. “I am a soldier, eager for the next battle. I would never want to make Senator Sextus’s beloved daughter a widow. Lady Octavia deserves a far richer union than I could offer.”

Severus exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment pressing heavily upon them. “Or are the rumors true? Is your heart still bound by grief?”

Then he saw a flicker in Marcus's eyes, a brief spark of something unnameable, before the mask fell back into place. “What can I say? People will always talk. As I said, I have no such intentions, nor will I. My duty lies with serving Rome, you, and your sons. That is my happiness.”

Severus drew a troubled breath, disappointment washing over his features. “I hadn’t expected such a sharp rebuttal. You remain a steadfast soldier; that much is clear.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “What about Lucilla? I thought there was some chemistry brewing between you two. Although she is no longer young enough for childbearing, that’s why I didn’t suggest her. Would you hesitate to marry her simply because she was the lover of your former commander? Surely, she would choose you as her protector; after all, she shows weakness for soldiers, I presume.”

“I would never allow such thoughts to bloom regarding Lady Lucilla, nor would I presume,” Marcus’s tone cut through the air, sharper than the gladius resting at his side.

Severus, sensing the unyielding edge in Marcus's voice, took a measured sip of his wine, the edges of his mouth curling into a sardonic smile. “Very well, so be it. As my glorious and modest general wishes, I shall not press you further on the matter.”

Marcus dipped his head in gratitude, a flicker of relief breaking through his hardened demeanor. “I appreciate your understanding, Your Highness.”

One night, Acacius, the new general of Rome, sat alone in his barracks headquarters, trying to decide whom to choose as his second in command. His restless mind, always in motion, could not bear the silence that surrounded him. It was almost unheard of for a war-weary general to return to the barracks so soon after a battle to devote himself to the drudgery of duty. In fact, it was rare, perhaps unprecedented. It was astonishing that he would limit himself to mundane duties when he could have had anything he wanted. He could have spent the evening with any number of women from the pleasure houses, or ordered his men to bring them to him, but he didn't, didn't even think about it. This bizarre behaviour led to gossip among the soldiers in the barracks, many of whom could not believe it. After all, what man, especially an unmarried, handsome general, would do such a thing? It might have sparked rumours that he preferred men to women, were it not for an earlier event that had already dispelled such notions.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the stillness outside, echoing through the dimly lit barracks. At this late hour, only a handful of soldiers remained, their slumber deep and untroubled. When Acacius noticed the lack of sentinels, an uneasy instinct stirred within him, compelling him to grasp the hilt of his sword. His instincts, finely tuned by years of combat, alerted him to danger just as a dark figure leaped from the rooftop, descending like a shadow. In a swift motion, he overpowered the masked attacker, enveloped in a black robe that concealed their identity. But Acacius was not alone in facing danger; from the depths of the night, more cloaked figures emerged, their intentions as sinister as the darkness that surrounded them, all eager to bring the general down.

It was a very despicable attack, there were about six of them and they chose the darkest hour of the night. A group obviously with military training who had come specifically to kill him. He wouldn't have had a hard time fighting against them if he hadn't been so tired. But he still managed to overpower four of them with skill and agility, with accurate sharp blows and lethal cuts.

After a long resistance his strength began to fail and he received a cut on his shoulder and one of them managed to knock him down. But even on the ground he cut another one. Then the last one, in a split-second after his attack, aimed for Marcus' chest and stabbed him with the knife he drew with his other hand. Marcus was fast, he grabbed his hand first with one hand but the knife was going deeper, piercing his armor and then the skin and strong pectoral muscle just below it.

He gasped, moaned, groaned with sharp pain, with rage.

With the instinct of survival he grabbed the attackers knife, this time with both hands, but in that moment he understood.

When the sharp metal pierced his ribs and reached his heart, when he felt the wave of blood rushing to his throat.

Even in that state he killed his attacker with a short knife, which he found by groping on the ground with his other hand.

But it was too late.

He coughed, followed by a bloody eruption from his mouth. The blood from the cut on his chest didn't stop, it was like a river.

But it was a relief, like a steady release, a fleeting moment of freedom—almost. The very moment he had long anticipated had finally arrived.

So this is what death feels like, he pondered, gazing up at the half-blackened moon suspended in the inky dark sky. The pain had been unbearable; it clawed at his insides with merciless intensity. Yet, in a strange twist of fate, he felt nothing as his body surrendered to its finality. His ears fell silent, and a profound numbness enveloped him. The pain had vanished.

A blink of an eye.

Darkness.

Another blink.

And suddenly, he felt again.

How could this happen? What did it mean?

Then he saw it—the familiar visage of someone he hadn’t encountered in ages.

Maximus.

A serene smile graced his lips, reminiscent of days long past.

“True. Elysium. I must have ascended there,” he thought.

Maximus shook his head, as if he had heard the silent longing behind his words.

“Not yet, brother,” he whispered, his voice gentle yet firm. “Your time has not yet come.”

Marcus frowned, confusion etching lines across his brow. “But why?”

Maximus’s expression shifted, dimming like a candle flickering in the wind. “Or have you forgotten your prayer, your supplication?”

The depths of confusion deepened within Marcus. “My prayer…” he murmured, trying to grasp the fading memory.

“Your prayer was answered, child.”

That voice—it was unlike anything he had encountered.

It wasn't Maximus, he was now gone at his sight.

The sound that transcended humanity; it could not be earthborn or mortal. It was an ethereal quality, a melodic and divine sound that ignited every nerve in his body, powerful enough to raise goosebumps and destructive enough to permeate every cell of his being. The tone held both confusion and promise, intertwining hope and fear.

Suddenly, light began to pour forth around him, casting everything in a radiant glow, while a gentle wind kissed his face.

Another blink of an eye.

His body felt as though it were being drawn forward, tethered to the swift pull of an invisible chariot.

But instead of pain, there was only the caressing touch of the wind.

Then another blink.

He found himself still lying on the ground, and once again, he raised his gaze to the moon, a celestial sentinel in the dark sky. This time, it was shrouded in total darkness, its edges enveloped in a halo of brilliant white light. As though awakening from a deep slumber, his senses returned in a rush; first, he felt his heart start beating once more, as if claws that had pierced him were now pulled away. Then the warm breeze danced over his skin, breathing life back into him. Control of his body surged back.

With disbelief coursing through him, he turned his head. What he saw was astonishing. Light flooded the landscape, blinding in its intensity—so much that the stars themselves seemed to vanish against its brilliance. He was taken aback when he stood up and touched his own body. His armor had tears where cuts had been, yet there was no blood—no trace of his former suffering. He could breathe easily, and a newfound strength surged through him, more potent than he’d ever known.

He was miraculously, completely healed.

It felt like…

Rebirth.

It should have been a miracle, a divine blessing. Yet he wrestled with surprise and disbelief, knowing he had seldom uttered even a single prayer in his life. Anger boiled within him for the gods; why should they reward him after all?

Was this reprieve the reason he couldn't set foot in Elysium?

How had his prayer been answered then?

It was all so strange. The Pantheon loomed nearby; some of the structures were familiar while others stood oddly illuminated, foreign and surreal.

Perhaps this was a realm of torment.

Just then, something occurred that cemented his apprehension.

He heard footsteps—soft yet deliberate—approaching from behind, followed by a feminine voice that sliced through the air with unexpected sharpness.

When he turned, disappointment washed over him like a cold wave.

This was not what he had envisioned. This was not his prayer.

Surely, this must be a punishment.

Before him stood a woman dressed in garments unlike anything he had seen before. Anger flared within him again as he noted the disdainful grimace on the woman's face; she hissed a phrase that was foreign to his ears.

“What the fuck?” the woman exclaimed, her tone dripping with contempt.

Yes, he was undeniably trapped in a place of torment, and he realized with growing dread that his suffering was only just beginning.

***Italy, Rome, 2025***

Earlier that day.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” The words tumbled from your lips as panic washed over you, eyes zeroing in on the cruelly bright numbers glowing on the clock: 7:45. You sprang out of bed like a rocket, hastily shedding your pajamas and tossing them behind you, landing who-knows-where in the fray of your cluttered room. Clothes lay in chaotic heaps, sketches of costumes scattered like fallen leaves, remnants of your frenzied creative process. You had been drowning in work on the movie set, and though you promised yourself time and again to clean up, that day didn't afford you a moment to spare. With a hasty comb through your tousled hair, you bolted for the door.

But just as you reached the door, you realized you had forgotten your bag. You backtracked, grabbed it, and hurried out again. In your rush, you slammed your sister's door twice to wake her. “Lizzie! Hurry up, or you’ll be late for school!”

The sound of a scientific discussion filled the air, coming from either the TV or her laptop: "Time is characterized as a motion; however, it is fundamentally impossible to traverse backward. Moreover, to progress forward necessitates the existence of a specific negative mathematical function. Nevertheless, from a mathematical standpoint, there is no inherent rationale preventing such movement. This phenomenon illustrates the complexities associated with the concept of time as described in Einstein’s theory…"

“Ugh, not this again,” you muttered under your breath. Your sister was a total science fiction junkie and often had those brainy shows on first thing in the morning.

“Hey, nerd! Turn that off and get to breakfast, now!” you called out.

Moments later, she emerged, phone in hand, video chatting with a friend. “Yeah, it’s been a crazy day,” she yawned, plopping down at the table. You rolled your eyes at her. Worst of all was having both a science geek sister and a best friend who was just as obsessed.

“Every damn morning...” you grumbled while munching on your toast.

She eyed the nearly burnt toast you’d made and poked it with her finger. “I’d better eat at school,” she remarked.

You had to agree; you never quite mastered the art of cooking. The more skilled you became at drawing and sewing, the worse you were in the kitchen. It was almost tragic that you couldn't even toast a simple piece of bread.

“Sorry, I was in a rush, honey,” you replied apologetically.

“You can’t give a proper toast, even when you’re not in a rush,” she replied with a smirk. “The real issue is that you just can’t let things go.”

“Hey, how about being a little nicer to your sister?” you said, trying to defend yourself.

“But you’ve been seriously cruel to this poor bread!” she teased, pretending to listen to it. “What’s that?” she joked, acting like she was having a conversation with the toast. “It says it’s going to sue you!”

You narrowed your eyes and grabbed the tongs, playfully pointing them at her. “If you want to avoid the same burnt fate, you should run to school now!”

She held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m teleporting!” she declared, leaping to her feet, snatching her bag, and sprinting out the door, making you giggle as you followed her.

You took another tentative bite of the almost burned toast and scrunched your face, nudging it away. “Oh man, the next time I walk into the kitchen, it’ll just be to tackle the dishes,” you joked, embracing your cooking woes with a laugh.

As you drove with a mouthful of croissant, you tuned into the radio, soon catching the latest world news.

“On this sunny spring day in Rome, the city is buzzing with life once again, full of energy and charm. This magnificent, romantic city never truly sleeps and is always teeming with tourists.”

You flipped to another channel.

“Tonight, around 1 AM, there’s an exciting celestial event on the horizon. Known scientifically as the ‘Total Lunar Eclipse’ and popularly nicknamed the ‘Blood Moon,’ this event will be visible from Italy and other parts of Europe. Unfortunately, folks in North and South America and Eastern Europe won’t get a glimpse.”

“Just what we need—more tourists,” you muttered under your breath.

Historic sites were already packed to the brim, a reality you faced almost daily. While most filming typically took place away from the city, a brief scene was scheduled to be shot near the Pantheon, drawing you back for three consecutive days. Permission to film at this busy location had only been granted by the Ministry of Culture after 6 PM, adding a layer of tension to the crew’s dynamic. Everyone was eager to wrap up filming quickly over those three days, leaving you with some errands to tackle before heading back in the evening.

Your first stop? The hospital.

Yes, the hospital. Your father had been in a coma for ten years following an accident—the same tragic event that had taken your mother. You visited him every day. Your family had moved from the States to Italy when you were just five, and while you adapted to the language and culture fairly quickly, the accident forced you into a dual role, needing to be both a mother and father to your younger sister.

As you pulled up to the hospital, you checked your watch—only thirty minutes left until you had to head to the set. You placed the fresh flowers you had picked up from the florist into a vase in your father’s room and began your usual update about your day. Although talking to someone who couldn’t hear you felt a bit silly, it brought you comfort. When Givorni, a member of the hospital board who knew your father, stepped into the room, he brought unsettling news.

“Look, honey, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s been over ten years now. The head doctor mentioned that the chances of him waking up are getting slimmer, and soon, you may have to make a tough decision.”

How could you let him go, your father? You stuck to your resolve, as you had every time the doctors suggested there was no hope. You wouldn’t pull the plug on him. Maybe one day he would wake up—you held onto that hope. But, of course, these decisions came at a price; paying for his hospitalization meant you had to work more than one job.

You threw yourself into work, juggling multiple jobs to keep afloat. The design gigs you found online were mostly project-based—some involved theater costumes, others were special designs for wealthy families, and a few focused on accessory design. Yet, nothing compared to working on a film set. Despite the exhaustion, the pay was decent, and you gained invaluable lessons under the head designer, essential for your career advancement. You knew that hard work was necessary to eventually rise to the role of head designer or costume supervisor.

On set, you forged strong connections with others, often reuniting for films or documentaries with similar themes. Another perk of being on set was the chance to mingle with famous actors and actresses. They weren’t always what they seemed; some were charming in front of the camera but difficult behind the scenes, while others proved surprisingly kind. However, some would overstep and forget your role as a costume designer.

You still recall that time when an actress had you rush out in the rain to grab her some coffee, only to scold you because it had gotten cold by the time you brought it to her.

Cruel bitch.

Despite being part of the cast, you chose not to watch the film afterward out of sheer annoyance.

During a break before the night scene, the other girls on set invited you to lunch. Although the food provided on set was good, space was tight, and meals were only served at 6 PM before filming resumed. So, you were relieved when they suggested stepping outside for some junk food. As you exited the trailer, you found yourself surrounded by tourists, eagerly snapping photos with their phones, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite stars. The security team was struggling to manage the crowd, a daunting challenge that would only ramp up over the next three days—all for a mere ten minutes of footage.

“Girls, check that out!” One of them pointed to a shop on the way back from lunch, its neon sign flashing: palm reading, tarot reading - book your session today.

Love, Destiny, Fate.

“What do you think? Should we try a tarot reading?” she asked, her tone pleading.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, guys, these things are a joke; they don’t really do anything.”

To your annoyance, they insisted.

“Let’s just do it for fun, please!”

“Yeah, come on! Just this once!”

You had always been a skeptic about such superstitions, especially after the tragic loss of your parents and your sister's autism diagnosis following that incident. You had more than enough reasons to doubt fate, luck, or even love.

As the girls eagerly paid for their tarot readings—a decision you thought was a complete waste of money—you decided to just watch. But eventually, their relentless begging wore you down, and you agreed to join them so they wouldn’t be disappointed.

When it was your turn, the fortune teller—a woman dressed in an eclectic manner—shuffled the cards and asked you to draw a few. As she laid them out in a specific spread, her expression changed immediately. “Oh dear, you’ve been feeling quite overwhelmed and drained,” she began. She turned over another card. “You may come off as a tough nut, but deep down, you really want to help others.” Then she revealed a third card. “Hmm, it seems like success is on the horizon. You’re working hard, and soon you’ll start to see the fruits of your labor.”

“I hope so,” you muttered.

When she flipped the next card, her eyes sparkled. “Ah, there’s a man here. He’ll enter your life in a way that he’ll soon become your whole world.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, yeah, right,” you scoffed.

“Seriously, trust me,” she insisted.

“That sounds nice,” one of the girls said eagerly.

“What’s he like?” another chimed in, excitement in her voice.

“Come on, girls,” you sighed in exasperation.

The fortune teller frowned. “Love is in the cards, okay? Let’s just enjoy this.”

Rolling your eyes again, you tried to keep your cool as frustration bubbled inside you.

She continued, flipping over another card. “Look here! Again, it’s all about this guy! Trust me, he’ll settle right in the center of your heart!”

"Woooo!"

“Oh, how lucky you are!” the girls exclaimed.

As your irritation peaked, you struggled to maintain your composure.

The woman pressed on, “This man is...,” she hesitated, as if struggling with a foreign language. “from...,” she raised an eyebrow, “the past.”

“From the what, past?” you asked, intrigued despite yourself.

“Oh, it must be your ex or something,” one of the girls guessed.

"I sure hope not," you grunted.

“Maybe, but it’s a new kind of love,” the fortune teller hesitated, seeming surprised by something.

“What nonsense is this?” you pouted, pursing your lips.

Seemingly annoyed, she replied, “My insights are always spot on, sweetheart.”

Despite your skepticism, you waited as she looked at the last card. “Ah, you’ll have to make a choice,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “You can either stay with him, or you won’t.”

Okay, that was enough.

“Again with the love nonsense? Don’t you see anything about my career?” you scoffed.

“I’m just interpreting the cards you drew, dear,” she said defensively.

You sighed and stood up. “I don’t need love. I don’t need a man; I need money.”

As the shoot finally wrapped up, it was time to tidy up for the crew, and you found yourself chatting with the girls about tarot readings while you worked. They kept inquiring about your past relationships, but you had none to share. Aside from a brief fling in high school, you hadn't been in a serious relationship. You didn’t want to bring up that one encounter, which had ended in frustration. The guy who left you at the altar would occasionally show up at your door drunk, and you’d promptly kick him out. End of story.

A man from your past, but a new love?

What the hell?

That seemed as impossible as the sun rising in the west.

Once all your tasks were complete, exhaustion hit you, and heading home felt like an uphill battle. You made your way through security to your buddy Leo. “Evening went off without a hitch, huh?” you asked.

“Yeah, just had to deal with a few overzealous fans tonight, but now that our big star's gone, they won’t be coming back,” he replied, propping his feet up on the opposite chair while sipping his beer. “Want some?”

“No, thanks. No moonlight tonight?” you quizzed.

“Didn't you hear there’s an eclipse?”

“Eclipse?”

“Yep, if you look carefully, you can see it. Guess you’ve been too busy to catch the news.”

Rolling your eyes, you replied, “Story of my life.” Then you remembered that morning when you first heard about it on the radio.

You walked a bit further outside, fiddling with your phone's camera settings to capture a glimpse of the eclipse. As you focused on the moon being gradually engulfed by the Earth’s shadow, you heard murmurs behind you. Turning toward the bushes, you spotted three girls. “What’s going on? Who are you?” you asked.

They jumped to their feet, looking nervous and frightened.

“Ah, I see, you’re fans too, huh? You must’ve snuck in; good job, Leo,” you muttered. “Alright, girls, time to head out. Our big star has left. You really think he’s just hanging around in a trailer or something? He’s off at a hotel.”

Disappointed, they exchanged glances.

“Which hotel is he at?” one of them asked, grinning.

You sighed and grabbed her arm. “Move! Get out of here, fast!”

After escorting the girls to Leo and the security team, you made your way back to the trailer, where a nightmare awaited you. It was an absolute mess—fabrics and materials were strewn everywhere, and scattered papers littered the floor. Who had created this chaos?

When you asked one of your colleagues, he told you it was the props manager and his team who had left the mess behind. They must have mistaken the design trailer for another. Some papers looked ancient, clearly part of a realistic set design, with a few appearing to be genuine antiques. Recognizing they would be used as props, you took them over to the other trailer. Just as you were about to leave, a sudden gust of wind blew one of the papers from your hands, and as you bent to retrieve it, a strange sensation washed over you.

“Whoa.”

What was that odd feeling?

You carefully picked up the scrolls and placed them into the box, something caught your eye. Drawn to the writing, you felt an inexplicable familiarity, as though you had encountered it before. A wave of emotion washed over you, and your eyes began to well up. But why were you feeling this way?

The script was in Latin—an old form, likely dating back to ancient Roman times. Curiosity sparked within you. What could it possibly say? With no one around, you reasoned that there was no harm in taking a closer look.

You fished your phone out of your pocket and opened the language translation app you had downloaded earlier, eager to decipher the text. Aiming the camera at the writing, you waited patiently. After a few moments, the app began to translate, though the phrases came through fragmented.

“Please... accept my sacrifice... I offer you..." It was all pieces meant nothing but then you realized that sentence: "If that person is engulfed in distress or peril, grant him the chance to rise to another life, another time…"

Another what? Life? Time?

“What on earth is this?” you muttered to yourself, realizing that the translation seemed nonsensical. “Stupid app.”

Suddenly, hearing footsteps approach, you panicked and accidentally tore the edge of the paper.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

Frantically, you tucked it into the back pocket of your shorts. Better to hide it than risk being caught holding it.

“What are you doing here?” the props manager snapped, glaring at you. His expression shifted to shock when he noticed the decor papers you had just brought in. “Hey, you didn’t mess with these, did you? Some are authentic; we barely got permission from the collectors' family, and they need to be delivered the day after tomorrow.”

“Are they real ones?” you asked, pretending to be innocent.

“Yes! Please don’t tell anyone—the director must have lost his mind. He asked me to use the authentic ones as props. We had no time to find replicas. You didn’t touch them, did you?”

You nodded. “No, of course not,” you lied. You had no idea why you’d even done that. “But shouldn’t these be in a museum or something?”

“No, they’re antiques, imported specially from a private collection.”

And now you’d ripped one of them.

You were really in hot water. Exiting the trailer, you returned to yours. When you pulled out the antique—likely priceless—that you had stuffed in your pocket, you felt a wave of dread.

It was crumpled and had a torn edge, but fortunately, the writing remained intact, albeit looking a mess.

But it wasn’t entirely your fault.

Why had they sent the wrong trailer?

Oh right. Wrong trailer.

Couldn’t the crew member who dropped it off have mixed it up somewhere?

Yeah, that was a reasonable thought.

At least they could believe that—until you fixed it.

You really should have contacted your friend Katie, the antiquities expert at the General Directorate of Museums, right away.

It was just Latin script on the paper with bullshit, but that didn’t change the fact that it was an invaluable artifact.

You were so fucked.

The rest of the night unfortunately took a turn for the worse after that call came in. The antique paper you had accidentally torn was missing, and everyone was turning the place upside down looking for it. But how could you admit that? Confessing it could get you fired, and it didn’t really matter that it was someone else's family heirloom. After all, it wasn't your fault. It was all the mistake of whoever had brought it to the trailer in the first place.

You tried to reassure yourself as you pretended to help with the search. While you were busy suppressing your guilt, you suddenly heard a sound. But there was no one in sight—was it one of those girls again?

“Oh, I’m really tired. Whoever you are, just show yourself now,” you called out as you walked forward. The eclipse had hidden the moonlight, plunging everything into darkness. The only illumination came from the distant lights of some buildings ahead, but it was still shadowy where you stood. As you approached to the sound, you caught sight of a shadowy figure with back turned, draped in a long black cloth.

A strange feeling washed over you. You crept closer, and the odd sensation intensified.

It was a man—yes, definitely a man—well-built, in a black robe, holding… a sword?

Your eyes widened in shock.

“What the fuck?"

He turned to face you, and the first thing you felt was a perplexing déjà vu, as if you knew him but couldn’t place him. His intense gaze and striking features seemed familiar, yet you couldn’t put your finger on it. And those clothes…

"Who the fuck are you?”

Wait a minute.

This wasn’t your first encounter with someone like him. He had to be one of those extras—probably overworked and known for causing trouble on set. He must not have bothered to change out of his costume and was relishing this unexpected role.

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble, but I really need you to take off that costume. I’m responsible for the outfits, and if anything happens to it, my paycheck will take a hit, okay? Didn’t anyone give you a heads-up?” You stepped closer, but he just stood there, staring at you like a statue.

Taking a closer look, you noticed the armor beneath his robe was unlike anything you’d ever seen on set. Had they started filming something new without you? That couldn’t be right—or worse, what if he had stolen it? Wonderful. You reached out to inspect it further, but in an instant, he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and shoved you away like you were nothing.

“Aaaah!” You winced, clutching your sore wrist and glaring at him in frustration. “Are you out of your mind? Get that costume off now! Can’t you hear me? Are you deaf or something?”

He sighed, casually wiping his sword with the hem of his robe and sheathing it as if he did it every day. He performed the action with such style that even a seasoned actor might be impressed.

“I see you’re really into character. Nice job!” you said with a hint of sarcasm. “But as I said, I need you to take it off. Now.”

“What kind of shameless woman are you to demand that I undress?”

What the hell was that? His accent, thick and unfamiliar, rolled off his tongue in a way you had never encountered. It was as if a whisper from another age echoed through each word he spoke.

“Undressing? Oh God, what kind of maniac are you?” You sighed. “This is your last warning; I’ll call security.”

He frowned, as if hearing the term for the first time. “Security…” he muttered to himself, clearly annoyed.

Just then, you heard someone call your name. Turning around, you spotted Leo and hurried over to him, grabbing his arm. “Leo, that guy seems either like a maniac or he’s drunk. I think he might be an extra, but he could also be an intruder.”

Leo looked just as taken aback as you were. “I’ve never seen him before. Is that a sword?”

“It’s probably fake,” you muttered.

The man glared, brandishing his sword as he pointed at you. "You two, tell me where I am."

“Yeah, he’s definitely drunk,” you whispered to Leo.

Leo played it cool. “Listen, man, I need you to come with me right now. I need to figure out why you broke into the film set.”

“The film… set...” he repeated to himself in confusion.

“Why is he acting like he’s never heard of it?” Leo asked you, both of you now staring at him nervously.

“I told you he’s crazy or maybe psycho. Do you think he could have escaped from a mental hospital or something?”

“Let’s hope not. But what would he be doing here? If I could get the cuffs on him without freaking him out, we could call the police.”

“Great plan, go for it,” you urged, giving him a gentle nudge to encourage action.

As Leo pulled the handcuffs from his waistband, the strange man eyed him suspiciously, as if he posed a threat. “I’m going to put these on you now, alright?”

The man's face remained expressionless, cold yet menacing. “And what if I refuse?”

You gulped. “What are you doing, mister? He’s the security guard—don’t make this any harder.”

“You asked for this,” Leo said angrily, pulling out his baton.

You were taken aback when the man tightened his grip on his sword in response as Leo stepped closer.

“Listen, we all know that sword’s fake—”

Out of nowhere, he sliced through Leo’s baton with a swift, precise motion.

You froze for a moment, unable to process what had just happened.

Leo turned on his heels and bolted. “Police! I’ll call the police!”

“Where do you think you’re going? Wait for me!” you shouted in panic but a hand suddenly grabbed your arm. The man’s sword was still clutched in his grip, and you couldn’t help but notice the red stains on it. Could it be b-blood, real blood? Fear began to creep in, and you started to tremble.

“Look, please don’t hurt me! I’m really sorry for calling you crazy, a psycho, and a maniac. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m begging you, forgive me!” you said, almost sobbing.

"I assure you that I have no intention of causing any harm. I need to uncover the truth of my surroundings. Please, help me understand where I am, what is this place?"

What the hell? It was like he’d lost his memory or something or his mind.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to come up with a way to wriggle free.

"I find myself in a familiar location; however, the surrounding environment appears to have undergone significant changes."

You leaned closer to him. “Are you sure you’re not just drunk?”

You swallowed hard as he shot you an angry glance.

“There he is!”

“Let her go now!”

Leo and the others had arrived, guns aimed and ready.

“I suggest you surrender, sir. Just do as they say, and they’ll help you. If you really can't remember where you came from, they can sort it out,” you urged him, hoping to de-escalate the situation.

“Put down your sword now,” Leo commanded.

“They'll help me, you say?” the man muttered, his gaze fixed on them.

This might be your best chance to get him to back down. “Yes, definitely. The police will help you,” you replied, offering him a reassuring smile.

“Police,” he repeated, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

He was behaving like a little kid, learning new words by repeating them.

“I will release this woman,” he stated, finally sheathing his sword. Everyone took a deep breath.

“He'll surrender,” you relayed to your friends, then turned back to the man. “But I need to take your sword back to where you got it.”

“The gladius is mine.” His tone was resolute, as if the sword had belonged to him for years.

However, if he had stolen it from the prop crew, you could land yourself in a heap of trouble, far worse than the mess you’d made with the paper.

“But it poses a danger to them. If they can’t trust you, they can’t help you. So, please hand me the sword,” you insisted.

He paused, contemplating your words, then took the sword scabbard from his waist and looked at you sternly before handing it to you. “Promise me you’ll protect this with your life.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “What is this? Are we filming a movie or something?”

He grabbed your arm and shook you. “Promise me.”

As soon as you picked it up, you staggered under its weight. It was a real sword indeed. With a sigh, you relented. “Okay, okay, I promise.”

As he relinquished the sword as if it were the most precious thing to him, Leo and the others looked on, intrigued, surprised.

He must’ve truly lost his mind or something. Watching him leave with the security guards, you couldn’t shake a sense of curiosity about what he’d been through. After they were gone, people who had heard the commotion on the film set gathered around you. This was far more interesting than searching the area for antique parchment, and they listened in fascination as you recounted the bizarre encounter.

As the security guards urged Marcus to speak, his gaze was fixed on the screens in the security room. He was mesmerized by the footage playing out before him. What he saw astonished him—moving images flickering in small boxes, an experience he had never imagined and could never have anticipated.

“Hey, look up here!” Leo snapped his fingers, trying to regain Marcus's attention. “What kind of freak are you? Don’t you have any ID or something on you?”

Marcus didn’t even seem to register the question; he was too transfixed on the screens. Leo took a deep breath, his anxiety bubbling over. “Listen, mate, for us to help you, you need to spill the beans. What were you doing on set? How did you manage to sneak in? And where did you get those clothes and that sword? You know it’s illegal to carry a real sword in this country, right?”

Just then, he spotted you on one of the monitors. The footage showed you walking out the outer door, leaving the premises.

“That woman,” Marcus murmured, “that woman said you would help me, and I gave her my sword in return.”

'She promised," he thought.

“Alright, we’re trying to help you, but you have to answer my questions,” Leo insisted.

“Tell me how to reach there,” Marcus urged, pointing at the screen. “Is that another life? I need to go there.”

Leo and the other guards exchanged glances, bewildered. “What did you just say? Another life? Come on, what kind of joke is this? ‘There’ is right outside, you fool!”

Suddenly, Marcus sprang to his feet, and Leo stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Hey, you’re not going anywhere until the police get here!”

With a roll of his eyes, Marcus swiftly grabbed Leo and shoved him aside, causing the guards to stumble into one another in the chaos.

“Hey! Stop!” they shouted after him as he dashed away.

You were examining the sword in your hand as you stepped off the set and into the parking lot toward your car. It was undeniably real, yet it looked so pristine. Perhaps the scabbard had been restored; its craftsmanship clearly reflected a lot of effort. You had seen replicas before, but this one was strikingly accurate, almost like a genuine ancient artifact.

However, according to the set crew, the sword wasn’t part of the props. You were supposed to take it to the museum tomorrow—maybe they would decide what to do with it. You opened the car door, placed your bag and the sword in the back seat, and shut the door. But just then, you noticed him—the crazy man. He was sprinting toward you.

That lunatic.

You quickly flung open the driver’s door, jumped into the seat, and turned the key in the ignition. As the engine roared to life, Marcus approached, bewildered; he had never encountered a car door before. Taking advantage of his astonishment, you drove onto the bustling street, and to your surprise, he dashed after you, but soon he captivated by the scene.

Standing there, mesmerized, he absorbed the chaotic sight of the vehicles surrounding him—their strange forms, the symphony of sounds, and the dazzling lights. In that moment of realization, he understood: in this extraordinary place, horses were no longer needed for riding. These remarkable machines forged their own path, free from the constraints of the past time, his time.

A taxi pulled up, and the driver, who must have seen way too many movies, rolled down his window and leaned out. “Hey! Do you want to catch her?”

Marcus was taken aback but nodded eagerly.

“Jump in then, man!” The cabbie said, chuckling at Marcus's surprised expression as he opened the back door for him. He thought this strange carriage didn’t need a horse, but seeing how you had gotten in earlier made it a bit easier for him. He climbed in and followed the cabbie’s instructions, pulling the door shut behind him. He was astonished when the cabbie hit the gas and effortlessly steered the vehicle. Looking out the window, he couldn’t help but marvel at the unfamiliar street, the other cars—everything felt so foreign and unusual.

“Don’t worry, mate, we’ll catch your girlfriend!” the cabbie reassured him.

“Girl...friend…” Marcus mumbled under his breath, another strange word to add to his growing list.

“Awkward outfit choice, buddy. No wonder she ran away,” the cabbie laughed. “Did you try to surprise her like this? Maybe next time, try a Batman outfit—it worked with my girl.”

Another odd phrase and a joke that flew right over Marcus’s head.

After a short drive, the cabbie brought the car to a halt, noticing that your taxi had stopped as well. “There’s your girl!” he announced.

Turning his head, Marcus spotted you getting out of the other taxi and heading toward an apartment building. He tried to recall how the taxi driver had opened the door for him earlier. The cabbie noticed his bewilderment and smirked. “Seriously? You can’t open the door? You must be pretty drunk,” he teased. “Come on, mate, you’re gonna wanna dash now.”

“I owe you one, coachman,” Marcus said, grateful.

The cabbie laughed hard. “You owe me 26 euros, that’s right.”

Once again, Marcus encountered another strange term, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The moment the cabbie shouted at him, “Hey, you haven’t paid!” Marcus felt the pressure to hurry. He pressed the door shut, but the cabbie opened his window, yelling, “You didn’t pay!”

The honking alarms from the cars behind startled Marcus, but he stayed focused. “You didn’t pay!” the cabbie shouted again.

You turned around at the ruckus, nearly fainting when you spotted him.

“No way!” you exclaimed, worried.

As you hurried toward the apartment block, Marcus pulled out a denarius from a pouch on his belt and tossed it to the taxi driver. The cabbie caught it, turning it over in his hand, recognizing the face of Emperor Severus, which he swore he had seen in a museum. “What the hell is this? A prank? Where's the damn camera?” he muttered.

How could he still be chasing you? You reached into your bag for your keys. It was late, and the streets were nearly empty, but he appeared resolute in following you.

“Stop!” you called, holding your hand up.

You pulled your phone from your pocket. “Stop, or I’ll call the police!”

For your words to be taken as a threat, Marcus had to understand their meaning, and he didn’t, he had no idea. “Give me back my sword,” he demanded.

“Okay,” you replied, opening the car door and grabbing his sword. “Just take it and leave me alone.”

He reached for his sword, examining it, while you quickly grabbed your bag. Your hand searched for the pepper spray you kept for emergencies.

While you were rummaging, Marcus noticed a parchment in your bag.

“Okay, now can you go?” you said, turning to leave. “Good night.”

“Wait.”

“What now? I gave you your sword. Please, just leave me alone,” you whined.

“That parchment—let me see it.”

He noticed it?

“Why?” you asked, wary.

“I may have seen that before,” he murmured.

You were exhausted and just wanted this absurd night to end. Reluctantly, you handed it to him. As he read, his eyes widened in surprise.

“This...” He looked up at you in awe. “Did you read or spelled any of this, by any chance?”

“Yeah, so what?” you replied defensively.

“You’re the one who called me.”

You raised your eyebrows, baffled. “What did you just say? Why would I call you? I don’t even know you!”

He took a step toward you. “Those words—this is what brought me here, I’m certain.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you shot back, taking a step back yourself. “Look, I’m done with your nonsense, okay? Just leave me alone!”

"I need to return. Whether I traveled here or was brought here, I certainly need to head back to… my own time."

You erupted in laughter.

Did he really just say that? Maybe you were stuck in some ridiculous dream. “Seriously? That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. Tonight has been full of absurdities. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m heading home to rest, and I warn you—stay away from me.”

Just then, you heard your sister call out from the window.

“Get inside now!” you shouted at her. Fumbling with your keys, you opened the apartment door and stepped inside. The man remained outside, but you ignored him, shutting the door firmly behind you and starting up the stairs. As you climbed, he repeatedly scanned the words written on the paper, hoping to find a way back to his own time.

But nothing happened.

Why had this girl—you—read it and made him arrive here? What was the secret to unlocking the path back?

For the first time in ages, you woke up not to the blaring sound of an alarm, but to the ping of your mobile phone. It was someone from the set, and they sounded quite anxious about the events from the night before. They informed you that a strange man had taken you hostage and assumed you must be feeling pretty shaken. As a result, you were given the day off. You felt a wave of relief; in fact, you were eager to see Katie and sort out the whole parchment mess, so this felt like a great opportunity.

After hanging up, you snuggled back under the blankets, but a sudden thought nagged at you—what if that man was still out there? He was a maniac, after all.

But could he be crazy enough to have spent the entire night on the street?

Reluctantly, you peeled yourself out of bed and peeked out the window. To your relief, there was no one in sight. However, you soon noticed a commotion below. People on the sidewalk were stopping, giggling, and snapping pictures of something. Straining to see from your high vantage point, you could only make out the awning of the pizza shop below.

“Could that lunatic be down there?” you wondered aloud.

His outfit undeniably could capture people's attention and spark their curiosity.

A voice inside you insisted, “Forget about it. You don't know him. It doesn't matter what he does.”

But your conscience nagged at you—maybe he was a mentally unwell person who truly needed help. Perhaps his family was searching for him. “Fuck it,” you muttered, sliding out of bed and throwing on your dressing gown as you made your way downstairs.

Stepping out into the street left you in shock. There he was, just as you remembered.

It wasn’t a dream or a nightmare.

He was sitting on the ground, still dressed in that strange outfit from yesterday—his Roman soldier costume. Passersby, especially tourists, were snapping pictures. He didn’t react at all; his head hung low, probably accustomed to the attention after sitting there since morning. A pang of guilt hit you, seeing him like that. You inched closer. He caught sight of your feet first, then looked up at your face, and immediately stood up, turning his head away for some reason.

“Do you really have nowhere to go?” you asked. He shook his head. People were still stopping to take photos, but you warned them off and pulled at the man's arm. “Come with me, you pain in the neck.”

Just then, you heard a familiar voice call out—Enzo, the owner of the pizza place below your apartment. “Do you know this guy? He’s the reason I’ve got so many customers today,” he said with a grin.

You glanced inside the bustling restaurant. It was packed. You smiled at Enzo and explained that he was a friend and kept tugging the psycho along.

“Where are we going?” he asked, clearly confused.

“To my apartment. Would you rather just sit on the street?”

His expression hinted that he would rather not engage. You walked in silence, hoping that Mrs. Costa, your landlady and the owner of the flat, wouldn’t spot you as you passed her door. Every glance at the peculiar man trailing behind you revealed an expression of wonder, as if he were seeing an apartment building for the very first time. When you reached your apartment, you unlocked the door and said, “Come in.”

He peeked inside, his eyes darting around. “Is this... where you live?”

“Yeah, technically.”

He seemed to avoid looking directly at you, which felt strange. What wasn’t strange about him was the real question.

“It’s not safe for a woman to let a stranger into her home,” he remarked.

You raised your eyebrows playfully. “Seriously? Wasn’t it you who followed me here?”

“It wasn’t my intention,” he replied.

“What do you mean by intentions? I'm trying to help you!”

Suddenly, you heard a door open downstairs, and instinctively, you shoved him inside. “Get in quickly, or go back to the street. I really don’t care!” you snapped.

He complied, and just as you were about to close the door, you heard your landlady's voice call up to you.

“Sweetie, is there a problem? I thought I heard a man's voice.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Costa! Everything's fine, don’t worry.”

“My ears must be deceiving me. Good morning, dear. I thought it was that man again.”

That man being your ex-fiancé, whom you'd kicked to the curb just last week.

“No, he didn’t come. He can’t come back.”

“Okay, cara mia, see you later.”

“See you.”

You closed the door and let out a deep sigh. As you turned around, you nearly collided with the psycho who had followed you right behind. You stumbled, almost losing your balance, but he acted quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist. Both of you were taken aback by the sudden closeness.

“Who the hell is this guy?” your sister Lizzie asked, staring wide-eyed at the two of you.

He quickly pulled his hands back, and you stepped away.

“Wait a minute, isn’t that the guy from last night?” she questioned.

“Don’t you have to get ready for school?” you responded, glancing at her.

“Don’t you have to get to work too?”

“Nope, I’m off today.”

“Oh, really?” She examined the man, they exchanged confused looks.

“This is my sister Lizzie, and this is... um... what’s your name again psycho?” you stammered.

He didn’t answer, keeping his gaze averted. Lizzie looked between you both, clearly intrigued by what was unfolding.

“Do women in your world always walk around with their legs uncovered?” he whispered, leaning in close to your ear.

Ah, so that’s what the sidelong glances were all about. You glanced down at your short shorts. “Do you have to get weirder every second?” you snapped through clenched teeth.

“Or is he just a friend from the film set or something?” Lizzie chimed in as she returned with her bag.

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s the outfit he’s wearing. That looks like a Roman soldier’s garb, probably a general’s,” she observed.

“Your sister is quite clever,” he said with a smile.

Your jaw dropped the first time you saw him smile.

And it was also when you realized he was rather handsome.

What on earth?

Was it really time to think that?

“Anyway, I’m late for school. Bye.”

“Bye, sweetie.” You shut the door and turned to him. “Are you seriously just going to stand there? Come inside.”

Suddenly, he grabbed his arm. “Could you hand me a piece of cloth?”

“What did you say? For what?”

He removed his black robe, and your eyes widened at the sight of blood running down his arm. “What happened to your arm?”

“A pugio grazed it.”

“A what?” you exclaimed.

“In a fight. Not here. Back in my time,” he explained.

“Here we go again,” you muttered as you headed to your room for the first aid kit. When you returned, he was in the living room, observing everything with his usual expression as if seeing it all for the first time.

You studied him before entering—his armor fit him as if he wore it daily, and he moved and spoke with a familiarity that was unsettling.

Could he truly be from another time?

Did time travel actually exist?

If so, why had you never encountered it before?

And why was it happening to you?

Shaking your head, you tried to dismiss the ridiculous thought.

Come to your senses girl.

You steered your thoughts back to logic. He was strange, or maybe just nuts; there had to be a rational explanation for this, had to be.

“Why don’t you sit down? Let me take a look at your arm.”

“What’s this?”

“First aid kit. It’s the first time you’ve seen one, isn’t it? This is tincture of iodine. We need to apply it to the wound to prevent infection. I’ll bandage it too,” you said as if explaining to a child. You reached for the supplies and began cleaning the wound. It was deep, but he didn’t flinch as you treated it. Instead, he focused intently on your face, avoiding looking down at his injury.

“Acacius...” he murmured.

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Marcus Justus Acacius, commander of the Roman Legions, having recently been entrusted with the esteemed position of General of Rome."

Your jaw dropped.

He said it in such a way that it was difficult not to believe him.

How could he pull that off?

You bit your lip, stifling a laugh. “Of course you are, and I’m Queen Elizabeth, by the way. Nice to meet you, Mr. General.” As you extended your hand, it was clear he was unsure of what to do next with the handshake. With a sigh, you stood up after wrapping up his arm.

“In this place, do you people really think everything is a joke?”

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but if you decide to go to the police, you must tell them everything. They’re the only ones who can truly help y—”

Suddenly, he seized your wrist. His rudeness was starting to grate on your nerves. “Read the parchment again. I need to get back to my own time; I’ve already lost too much of it here.”

“You can’t be serious.”

"I find myself in a precarious situation. Upon my initial arrival in this place, I believed I had entered a state of bliss akin to Elysium. However, I have come to realize that this environment is far worse than one might imagine. The Rome I once knew has vanished entirely; I am uncertain of how much time has elapsed, but it is clear that I cannot remain here. So please, read this.”

“Why not read it yourself?”

He released your arm. “I tried; it did not… work.”

“Maybe it’s because it doesn’t do shit and there's no such thing as time travel at all.”

“Listen, at this point, woman, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Read this at once. Someone betrayed me, and my brother might be in danger too. I need to return and find out. So spell it.”

“You must have a fascinating life. Fine, Mr. General. As you wish.”

You took the paper from him and reread the lines you had seen earlier.

"If that person is engulfed in distress or peril, grant him the chance to rise to another life, another time…"

Marcus glanced around, a look of disappointment spreading across his face. “I’m still here.”

“Yes, you’re still here. I told you. Maybe you’ve got brain damage or something, and lost your memory or mind. There’s got to be a logical explanation though. Just come with me to the police station; the cops will help you.”

“What does ‘cops’ mean?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll see when you get there. Trust me, okay?”

He nodded. “You trusted me enough to let me into your house. I guess you’re the only one I can trust here.”

How could you have imagined things would become even more complicated once you stepped into the police station?

“No ID, no passport, no fingerprints, no phone records in your name… no family, no home, and no birth record… nothing.” As the officer spoke, you found yourself wondering just how much more surprising this situation could get.

“I was born in the year when Consul Postumius Albinus and Atilius Serranus were in power in the Senate.”

Everyone stared at Marcus in shock—officers paused their work, and even the criminals in the holding cell burst out laughing. The officer shook his head in disbelief as others struggled to control their laughter. You buried your face in your palms, mortified. The officer, clearly racked up, signaled to the other officers to seize Marcus by the arm. Then turned to you.

"Is he a refugee? Did he enter the country illegally? And let's not overlook the clothes he's wearing, which seem to match his strange way of speaking."

“Illegally? No,” You glared at the officer as they shoved Marcus into the holding cell. “Look, officer, I think this guy might be—” You gestured around your head, making a circular motion. “Have you checked the mental hospital records?”

“I told you, ma'am, there’s no record under the name he provided. I’d be surprised if there were any.”

“Are you really planning to keep him locked up?”

“He assaulted a security guard and vandalized a film set. He’s scheduled for court.”

“What if they drop the charges?”

“Then he’ll be released soon, but not without providing us with some form of ID.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He looked so out of place in the cell, standing apart from the other criminals who were looking at him like he was from another planet. You felt a pang of guilt for bringing him there.

“You said they’d help me, but now they’ve locked me up. Are they going to execute me?”

“What? No, of course not! Look, I thought they’d be able to find your family with your name, but I was mistaken. Are you sure you have your name right?”

He shot you an incredulous look. “Why would I lie about my name?”

"Well, it sounds ancient and a bit strange. Just like you," you muttered.

“It’s complicated. You don’t have any ID or passport. I do have a plan to help you get out of here, but you might need to spend the night.”

He gripped the iron bars, thinking. “I can wait one night.”

“If you have amnesia or something, you need to shake it off and remember your family. Otherwise, you’ll end up a refugee, and I could find myself in here with you for trying to help.”

He frowned. “I don’t have any of those things.”

You exhaled a troubled sigh. Had he really lost his mind? Based on his appearance, he seemed to have Italian roots. His accent was odd but articulate; he couldn’t possibly be a refugee.

“My bulla—why did they take it?”

"Bulla?"

He pointed to his neck. "The thing I was wearing."

“Ah, your medallion? Unfortunately, you can’t have accessories while in custody. It's good we left the sword at home, like I suggested,” you whispered, ensuring no one could overhear.

“That item is very important to me. I want you to take care of it, just like my sword, or maybe even more.”

“Look at you giving orders. I’m starting to think you really are a commander,” you joked.

But he stood there, still and serious. “It’s General,” he corrected you.

“Right, Mr. General,” you replied with a smirk, but he frowned. “Fine, I’ll take your precious medallion and head home. Tomorrow, I’ll chat with Leo, the security guard, and have them drop the charges against you. Who knows, maybe someone from your family will show up by then.”

“Will you return tomorrow?”

“Yes, don’t worry.”

He nodded. "I trust you."

You felt goosebumps ripple down your spine at that deep tone. How could he express such conviction? He truly was an extraordinary character.

When you stepped into Katie's spacious office, filled with antiques, in the General Directorate of Cultural Heritage Protection and Museums, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that yesterday had been a dream. It was all too surreal. You shook your head as you glanced down at the medallion in your hand, a tangible sign of that extraordinary day with the mysterious man named Marcus.

It was hard to believe that everything actually happened. You hadn’t come here for him, but rather to discuss the parchment you had accidentally damaged. Katie, an expert in antiquities and assistant manager, was someone you trusted implicitly. She had known your parents well and had been incredibly supportive, particularly when she took your sister Lizzie under her wing every summer. Lizzie had been diagnosed with mild autism, but her intelligence shone brightly, and you were thankful to Katie for giving her a supportive environment.

After a brief catch-up about your father's health, you finally pulled the crumpled parchment from your bag. “Please tell me you can fix this.”

Katie examined the paper closely, putting on her glasses. “Wow, this is the real deal. The keeper must have taken great care of it, despite its age.”

“Yeah, until I got my hands on it,” you mumbled, feeling sheepish.

“Well, we’re lucky it didn’t tear all the way through the writing. But you really need to be more careful; this is a rare artifact.”

“I truly didn’t mean to,” you admitted, your embarrassment evident.

“It might take a couple of weeks,” she replied gently.

“What? I need it sooner! It's only torn a little; can't you just glue it?”

She shot you a look. “This isn’t like sewing a costume, you know. First, I need to analyze the type of material. To repair tears in parchment, I’ll need to use gelatin or other animal-based products, and I have to determine the right one. As for smoothing out the wrinkles, the entire document might need to be placed in a humidity chamber.”

You stared at her, wide-eyed. “Seriously? I had no idea restoring paper was that complicated.”

She chuckled. “Parchment isn’t like your everyday paper. It’s made from animal skins, and you should be grateful it’s not papyrus, which is made from plants. Parchment has some serious advantages, like being more durable in humid conditions and allowing writing on both sides. But if you need this so bad, I can whip up a replica for you; it might just fool the decor crew.”

“Oh, that would be amazing,” you replied, relieved.

She smiled and headed to a large cupboard brimming with various papers and parchments. “Here,” she said, returning with a similar piece of parchment. “This one looks a bit like yours.”

“Katie, thank you so much,” you said sincerely.

“Anytime.”

“You can read what’s written on it, right?” you asked, curiosity piqued. “I looked it up on my phone, but you know, the scriptwriter is really after authenticity.”

“Of course,” she said, glancing at the paper. “It’s a prayer.”

“A prayer?” you echoed.

“Yep, according to this, it’s addressed to Janus, the god of beginnings and endings, who’s second only to Jupiter,” she explained, pulling out a book titled *Ancient Roman Mythology and All the Gods*.

“But Janus has two faces,” you remarked, examining the page in the book.

“Exactly—the past and the future,” she replied, shaking her head. “The prayer mention like 'another time' and 'another life', which possibly could be hinting at escape or a peaceful death. The meaning of many artifacts like this often remains a mystery, even to historians and archaeologists.”

You paused, suddenly uneasy. Could it be true what happened with Marcus?

No, that seemed impossible.

But what if it was?

“Can I ask you one more thing? I was talking to the scriptwriter earlier, and I think he could really use your help with something he’s stuck on,” you said, pulling the medallion out of your bag. “He’s trying to figure out how someone wearing this medallion could travel through time. Is that even possible, or does it sound kind of ridiculous? Does that make sense?”

Katie furrowed her brow, scrutinizing the medallion with her magnifying glass before holding it under ultraviolet light. She looked at you, astonished. “This is incredibly rare. Your scriptwriter must really be into these. But the engravings aren’t connected to time. Did he notice the sun-like symbol?” It was prominently displayed at the center of the medallion, next to the inscriptions. “That’s Sol Invictus—the official sun god of the Roman Empire and protector of soldiers.”

A wave of realization washed over you. “Did you say soldier?” your voice quivered.

“Yes, it’s an amulet or talisman designed to offer protection to the wearer against all evils. The inscriptions indicate this. It’s beautifully preserved. Most in the museum are worn down, but this one looks almost brand new,” she remarked, her admiration evident.

Yet, as you absorbed her words, a tightness gripped your chest. Part of you wished she had dismissed the medallion as a fake. Why did it have to be real?

“But I’m not quite sure how the prayer on the paper connects to time or anything like that. It seems we’ll have to do quite a bit of digging to unravel that mystery,” she added with a grin.

“Maybe it has something to do with the symbols,” you suggested, noticing the same sun sign on the necklace, which was also etched small in the corner of the paper.

“No, I don’t think that’s it. There’s no symbol on the paper—just the inscription. The purpose of the parchment serves a different role, but—”

“There it is,” you interrupted, gently pointing to the symbol with your fingertip. Katie looked at you, puzzled.

“Honey, there’s no symbol there—just some wear and tear.”

How could she not see the symbol you noticed? You glanced again to double-check; it was definitely there, but she remained firm in her denial. Or could it be that she simply couldn’t see it, while you could?

What on earth was happening?

Maybe you were truly starting to freak out. As you got ready to leave Katie’s room, a question bubbled up inside you. If, by some impossible chance, that man had traveled forward in time to your era, how would he ever make it back to his own? “Katie, let’s say—it’s unlikely, of course—but how could this time traveler, from the film, have arrived? And how would he return? Do you have any logical ideas?”

“This might sound a bit far-fetched, but if it were possible, I’d suggest a portal would have to open, and it would need to reopen in the same spot for the person to get back,” she explained.

“In the same spot,” you echoed quietly.

“Exactly. The audience would be blown away, right?” she replied. “Oh, absolutely,” you chuckled, a bit nervously.

“Just one more thing, Rose,” she said before you left the room. “It sounds silly to mention this without thorough research, but it’s quite possible that the individual who wrote that parchment and the one who inscribed the medallion could be the same person.”

You nodded slowly, “Yeah, I see what you mean. Thanks.”

You sat in the car for hours before finally starting the engine, resting your head on the steering wheel as you drifted into thought.

How was this even possible?

This man was from another time, an era long gone.

But how?

How did you end up in this bizarre situation when nobody makes films or TV series about this kind of thing anymore?

Was Marcus correct?

Did reading that parchment somehow summon him or cause him to travel in your time?

Suddenly, a wave of sympathy washed over you. It must be incredibly hard for him. Then you recalled the harsh words you’d thrown at him: “freak,” “maniac,” “psycho.”

With a deep sigh, you turned the key in the ignition. You should have freed him from the police station sooner.

When you arrived, it was a challenge to convince the officer. Fortunately, after you called Leo for assistance, the crew from the set decided to drop their complaint since no damage had been done. You signed a form acknowledging that you were responsible for knowing this stranger and agreed to return his lost ID soon. Before long, a policeman escorted him inside.

You swallowed hard as your eyes met his, still struggling to wrap your mind around the fact that he was a soldier from ancient Rome.

“You came as you promised,” he said as the car rolled away.

He still didn’t seem accustomed to the ride, curiously fidgeting with everything around him.

“Yeah, I had to—considering your obsession with promises,” you managed to murmur, your voice shaky.

“Or do you believe me now?” he asked, hopeful.

“I’m still unsure and in shock, to be honest. But I think I’ve figured out how to get you back to your time.”

“Is that right?”

“I’ll read the parchment again, in the same place,” you explained, the plan crystallizing in your mind. He nodded slowly, contemplation etched on his face. "That is a logical conclusion."

“By the way, I’m Rose,” you said quietly.

He turned to you, intrigued.

“Rose,” he repeated, your name lingering in the air. “Rosa,” he repeated again, trying to pronounce it in his own way.

“In Latin, yes,” you confirmed, your smile widening as his expression softened. “It’s a beautiful name,” he remarked, the tenderness in his voice stirring something deep within you.

“Thanks, yours is nice too, I suppose,” you replied shyly as you pulled into the parking spot.

“Here?”

It was dark now, and fortunately, Marcus had led you to a secluded spot where the set wasn’t too crowded. He mentioned that this was where he first opened his eyes.

“Forgive me for not providing you with clean clothes,” you said, noticing he had been wearing the same outfit for days.

“That’s alright. There were times when I didn’t take off my armor for twenty days,” he replied confidently.

You grimaced. “Ew. Didn’t people around you douse you with water? You must smell terrible,” you joked, laughing.

You couldn’t help but notice the flicker of a smile across his face—was he smiling?

How could he be that handsome?

“Let’s get on with this; I need to head back,” he said, fastening his medallion around his neck again. “A present from someone important?” you mocked.

He brushed off the question, his expression shifting to one of seriousness. “Spell the words,” he instructed, his tone commanding.

Where had the smiling guy gone? Regardless, he was about to leave, slipping back into whatever life he had come from, and soon he would be entirely out of your world. Why did it matter to you?

You pulled out the parchment from your bag and draped it over your shoulder before glancing down to read. “I guess this is goodbye, Mr. General.”

He shook his head. “It is.”

You extended your hand. “It was nice to meet you after all; I hope everything goes well for you.”

He looked at your hand, seemingly unsure of how to shake. You grabbed his hand with both of yours and smiled. “That’s how you do it,” you said, initiating a proper handshake. He nodded but quickly pulled his hand back, clearly eager to return. You looked back at the parchment, and shock gripped you as you witnessed the letters begin to shift.

Yes, they shifted. They fucking moved!

"This is just some magical shit," you barely muttered.

Whether they danced before your eyes, or you were losing your grip on sanity, you couldn't quite tell.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing your sudden change in demeanor.

“Nothing, it’s just…” How could you articulate the absurdity of it all?

You fumbled through your thoughts without reading the text, aware that the words had morphed, and your grasp of Latin was sufficient to recognize the difference.

"If that person is engulfed in distress or peril, grant him the chance to rise to another life, another time…"

In that instance, a blinding flash erupted behind Marcus, framed between the ancient stone pillars of the temple. Oh, fantastic. Everything behind the brilliance blurred, and a peculiar wind started to stir, filling the air with an unsettling energy.

“It worked,” Marcus declared, excitement radiating from him. He boldly approached the radiant light, but oddly, it didn’t seem to pull him in. He furrowed his brow and glanced in your direction. “Something’s not right.”

“Tell me about it,” you retorted, your mind buzzing like a beehive with confusion. This was all too overwhelming.

He stepped closer and snatched the parchment from your grasp. “What’s written here has changed. What kind of lesson is this, gods?” he bellowed, frustration edging his voice.

“Hey, I’ve done my best. I’m done, okay? Just go back to your own time!”

“It doesn't say ‘that person’ here; not anymore at least. It says ‘those... two," he murmured, suddenly contemplative.

“So?” you asked, regretting it immediately. You didn’t like the look on his face.

He moved toward you. "You called me, and I believe you should come with me."

You backed away. “What? Are you out of your mind? I didn’t call you! Stay away from me!” you wailed.

But he kept advancing, and just as you were about to turn to escape, he grabbed your wrist.

“Let go!”

"I assure you that I will bring you back. I must return now, for this may be my only chance."

“Let go of me! No, you can’t! Please.” But your struggles were futile, like fighting against stone. Why couldn’t anyone on set hear you, for heaven’s sake?

With a fierce determination, he pulled you toward the blinding anomaly, despite your protests. The last thing you remembered was the wash of light enveloping you.

And then, in the blink of an eye—

A strange wind giving you goosebumps.

Another blink. Marcus stood before you, a triumphant smile on his face. The bastard was elated.

But why?

You quickly grasped the reason as your eyes scanned the surroundings, the realization hitting you like a painful shock. “This is impossible,” you gasped, disbelief washing over your features. There were no skyscrapers, no trailers, no street lights—only temples, countless temples, all illuminated by the flickering light of torches lining the streets. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening,” you exclaimed, frantically searching for the rift or portal.

Where had it gone?

Marcus watched your frantic search, his brow furrowed.

“We have returned to my time.”

Was he smiling???

That was the last straw. You glared at him, anger boiling inside. “We? We have returned? Are you fucking kidding me? You dragged me in here! Why did you do it? How could you?” With all your might, you punched him repeatedly in the chest.

"Stop it. I gave you my word that I would help you return in your own time. You can trust me on that."

“How? How do you plan to do that? Do you think this portal or rift or whatever it’s called just pops up everywhere, asking, ‘Hey there! Anyone want to time travel?’ I can’t believe you. After everything I’ve done to help you, you’re just a jerk, ungrateful bastard! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” You kept punching him on the shoulders and chest, but he didn't even feel hurt; he only sighed deeply.

Suddenly, he covered your mouth with his palm. “Call me whatever you wish, but I swear I’ll keep that promise, on my life. Now, please, keep your voice down. The guards are patrolling nearby, they might hear us.”

You didn’t care; tears streamed down your cheeks as your mind struggled to comprehend this unreal situation. How? Why? The questions spiraled endlessly.

In the distance, the Colosseum came into view. It was undamaged, intact, perfectly circular. This bizarre reality only deepened your confusion, and you could take it no longer. You crumpled to the ground, unable to stand.

hope you enjoyed the chapter guys, thanks for reading ❤️

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year ago

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Supply Closet [Avenger!Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Just some filth in a supply closet tbh. (w/c 1.7k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki x female reader. Smut. Loki in a V-Neck, semi-exhibitionism, PV/Oral. Established relationship.

You looked over Steve’s shoulder as the door edged open and Loki’s face slid into view.

Steve turned, sighing as he saw the god’s chest sidle through the crack, his fingers curling around the inside handle.

"My sincerest apologies," Loki hummed unapologetically, "-but I need to borrow our darling Agent here. It’s urgent." Steve raised an eyebrow. "How urgent?" he said. "Quite urgent, I assure you.” said Loki gravely.

Another sigh rattled Steve’s chest. He fluffed the papers on the desk before scooting them towards you and leaning back in the chair.

“You heard the man-’ he barked, casting a perishing look over his shoulder. He pulled out his phone as you stood with mumbled apologies, saying you’d be back as soon as you could.

“Doubt it.” Steve said while his keypad beeped.

A smirk began to creep across the feigned innocence of Loki’s expression as you pressed your fingertips against his chest, edging him out the door. “What are you doing?” you hissed as Loki’s smirk grew wider. The door clicked shut behind you. He threw his hands up in remission, mischievous smile in full force. Your fingers grasped around the collar of his v-neck, pulling him into a kiss that knocked the air from his lungs. Loki’s tongue jammed into your mouth, wet kisses waxing and waning against the clash of teeth as you landed him against the wall with a thud. “I missed you,” he gasped as his fingers worked up the base of your neck. “It’s been thirty minutes-” you said, giving the back of his hair a sharp yank. ‘You said twenty-five.’

Loki hissed. His cock was hard and proud against his chinos, stretching in a thick column up to his hipbone and rubbing against your thigh. The v-neck clung like a second skin to the outline of his abdomen; flexing against the muscle with every shallow breath.

“This is a very compromising situation you’ve put me in, Agent-” he growled wet in your ear. You shot a glance to either side of the hallway. “Come on.” you said, sliding a hand down the thick meat of his forearm and linking his hand in yours.

Beside the meeting room there was a humble supply closet. You and Loki bundled inside, closing the door as softly as you could. A nervous giggle erupted from your mouth, immediately silence by Loki’s hungry kiss. He backed you against the shelves at the far end of the closet, catching a mop before it fell without even looking in its direction.

The cleaning supplies gave a brief rattle of discontent. Your pulled at his t-shirt, the quietly expensive material that clung so perfectly to every godly inch of him sliding through your fingers. You whined into his open mouth.

The god replaced his lips with a silencing finger. He kicked your feet apart with practiced skill; the finger pulling at your bottom lip as he sank to his knees.

Loki looked up from smouldering eyes beneath a dark line of lashes, brows peaking while his hands slid up trembling thighs.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully…" he said solemnly. His eyes flashed in the way they only did when he was interrogating a suspect. An enemy. You’d told him how you almost came when you’d worked a mission together recently and seen it in action. And now, it was time to play.

Loki’s voice was commanding even through a whisper. "You’re going to cum in my mouth, darling..." he said. "I want to be absolutely dripping. Drowning. Tasting you for days. I want you to ride my tongue like its your route to freedom. Do you understand?" You nodded mutely, hand clasped over your mouth as his thighs spread wider on the tiled floor.

"And then – I’m going to fuck you." Loki murmured menacingly, dragging a manicured fingernail against the plump of your thigh- "And you’re going to take all of me, everything I have to give. And you’re going to be quiet. Do you understand?" You nodded again, a small squeak of anticipation erupting. "I’m sorry…" you whispered, unable to contain a smile of utter glee. Loki frowned disapprovingly, but the side of his mouth twitched.

He hoisted one of your legs over his shoulder. Without another word, the god reached up and guided your hands to the back of his head, pressing them into his scalp. On instinct, they tangled in his curls as his tongue met your swollen clit. You let out a shuddering sigh.

The flat of his tongue reached to the back of your slit, already sticky and desperate for him. His nose rested on your mound, disappearing and dragging back on your clit with every breathy gyration of his jaw. Loki’s hand slid to your knee, steadying it from the shakes that had begun. The other pressed up against the back of your thigh near his face, opening more of you to the leisurely lap of his tongue. One of your hands left his hair, grasping at the shelf to the side. Your head fell back, unable to take the sight of the god of mischief spread on his knees; eating your pussy with his eyes closed and his brow creased in pleasure. You thrust against his tongue, each thick stripe and suck of his expert movements making you see stars.

"Loki…" you mouthed as quietly as you could manage as your head fell forward.

He suckled at your clit in worship, filthy moans bubbling in his throat. He opened his eyes, meeting your own as he flattened his tongue and withdrew it...making sure you were watching as he slid it back between your legs. Your grip on his hair tightened.

Loki’s cock was even bigger now- fat and straining against the chinos stretched across his thighs. It twitched for freedom while your hips began to shake; your fingernails scraping against the shelf. With a silent scream, you came shamelessly on his lapping tongue. Loki didn’t stop; easing the flat gently against your pussy as he held you steady to his face.

"Loki," you panted again, patting him on the shoulder. Loki shook his head. In seconds, the crest of another orgasm ran over you like a train; heavy puffs filling the air as you tried not to create a red alert.

"Oh my god, oh my god…" you slurred under your breath, flopping into Loki’s rising body as he stood. He kept your leg elevated, hooking it around his hip. You heard the pop of his trouser buttons, felt the dip of his knees as he hoisted himself free.

"Be a good girl for me, Agent." Loki whispered with a wolfish smile. Hair fell around his face, strands sticking to the glisten coating his lips and chin. You kissed him in response, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth while your arms slid over his shoulders. Loki growled. He dragged his heavy cock between your folds, coating it. "Quiet." he ordered calmly, before bottoming out with a single thrust. It lifted you from the floor. Bottles rattled on the shelf behind, knocking into one another. Loki’s hand steadied one about to fall, his fingers gripping against the shelf when he was done. His hips lilted against your core with the tiniest of movements; stretching your cunt the way he always did. One of his pretty little staggered moans fluttered over your skin. And then, he began to thrust. Loki’s grip tightened on your bare calf, sinking into the soft flesh as he bottomed out again and again. Your fingernails dug deeper into his shoulders, mounds meeting with every fuck between an obscene squelch. The scent of your cum on his mouth with every increasingly heavy breath made you clench, the t-shirt tangling beneath your grasping fingers at his back. You pulled the neckline down, sucking against his chest as his head fell back. Loki’s teeth were gritted to the ceiling, shadows carved into his cheekbones under the single fluorescent light that hung as witness. With every nailing buck of his hips, air was knocked from your lungs. But you kept your word – you were quiet; internally screaming his name as Loki of Asgard fucked you against the bleach and paper towels.

His head fell forward, slutty strands of hair sticking to a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. The effort of restraint was getting to him too, it seemed.

‘Going to cum,’ he mouthed with slanted, subby brows. You nodded, mouth hanging open. Loki’s lips crashed to yours, a force of air pummelling down your throat as he groaned his thundering climax deep into your mouth. His hips shook, the bottles behind you tumbling together. There was a thick crunch as the shelf he was gripping splintered in two. Loki broke from your kiss, moist forehead pressed to yours. He was panting heavily, Norse curses coming jumbled in breathy croaks.

"Fuck…" he choked. You slid your palms up his cheeks, pushing the hair back from his face.

"At least I was quiet," you whispered. Loki chuckled, sighing against your cheek. "This is what you do to me, woman-" he hummed, carefully returning your leg to the floor. There was a delicious throb in your pussy as his cock slid free.

You paused the work of his hand as he attempted to return it to his underwear; crouching down and sucking the remnants of arousal from the tip. He squeezed it from the base, making a fresh pearl appear. You licked it, placing a lingering kiss on the tip and looking up at him as you did it. "Fuck." the god repeated quietly. The hard K lingered.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in a dingy mirror in the corner. Cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, hair...un-salvageable. "We can’t keep doing this, Loki.’ you said decisively. ‘Steve’s not stupid."

“You asked me to come and save you from your scheduled drudgery with Rogers, so I did.” He stepped closer, drawing his nose down your temple, placing a soft kiss at the edge of your ear. “I always will,” he whispered, “you know that.” He wasn’t just talking about the meetings.

"I didn’t think you’d wear the tight v-neck, Loki…" you mumbled, trying frantically to fix your hair into some semblance of non-fucked-outness. "You know what that thing does to me." "Perhaps next time, you can assign an outfit in my possession that does not provoke this reaction," Loki purred, sliding his hands around your hips.

He kissed your neck, slow and deep; working his lips into the curve. "Personally I cannot think of one..." he whispered coyly in your ear.

A/N. Just a little note to say that my posting schedule (such as it is) is dropping slightly (actually, it already has - but I like being structured, so here we are) I'm planning to post a oneshot every two weeks for the foreseeable, at least the next few months. This will most likely be a Wednesday, as per 🤗

So, Wednesday March 13th, Wednesday March 27th and so on.

I'm balls deep in a project which I am SO EXCITED ABOUT and it's taking up a lot of time (which is great, because it's fun!) but as you know, my Loki stories and little fantasies mean the world to me and I love being involved here, it makes me really happy, so that's also very important. This way, I can manage both♥️

I know there will be no complaints, I'm aware how lucky I am to have some of the kindest, sweetest readers around. I just wanted to solidify The Plan™️. I'm still here in between posting dates with my usual nonsense obv, no change there 🤣🕵️

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autonomystic · 20 days ago

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Adorno against "nothing ever happens":

Criticism of tendencies in modern society is automatically countered, before it is fully uttered, by the argument that things have always been like this. Excitement - so promptly resisted - merely shows want of insight into the invariability of history, an unreasonableness proudly diagnosed by all as hysteria.

The accuser is further informed that the motive of his attack is self-aggrandizement, a desire for special privileges, whereas the grounds for his indignation are common knowledge, trivial, so that no-one can be expected to waste his interest on them. The obviousness of disaster becomes an asset to its apologists - what everyone knows no-one need say - and under cover of silence is allowed to proceed unopposed.

Assent is given to what has been drummed into people's heads by philosophy of every hue: that whatever has the persistent momentum of existence on its side is thereby proved right. One need only be discontented to be at once suspect as a world reformer. Connivance makes use of the trick of attributing to its opponent a reactionary and untenable theory of decline - for is not horror indeed perennial? - in order by the alleged error in his thinking to discredit his concrete insight into the negative, and to blacken him who remonstrates against darkness as an obfuscator.

But even if things have always been so, although neither Timur nor Genghis Khan nor the English colonial administration in India** systematically burst the lungs of millions of people with gas, the eternity of horror nevertheless manifests itself in the fact that each of its new forms outdoes the old. What is constant is not an invariable quantity of suffering, but its progress towards hell: that is the meaning of the thesis of the intensification of antagonisms. Any other would be innocuous and would give way to conciliatory phrases, abandoning the qualitative leap. He who registers the death-camps as a technical mishap in civilization's triumphal procession, the martyrdom of the Jews as world-historically irrelevant, not only falls short of the dialectical vision but reverses the meaning of his own politics: to hold ultimate calamity in check. […]

Horror consists in its always remaining the same - the persistence of 'pre-history' - but is realized as constantly different, unforeseen, exceeding all expectation, the faithful shadow of developing productive forces. The same duality defines violence as Marx demonstrated in material production: 'There are characteristics which all stages of production have in common; and which are established as general ones by the mind; but the so-called general pre-conditions of all production are nothing more than … abstract moments with which no real historical stage of production can be grasped.'

In other words, to abstract out historically unchanged elements is not to observe neutral scientific objectivity, but to spread, even when correct, a smoke-screen behind which whatever is tangible and therefore assailable is lost to sight. Precisely this the apologists will not admit. On one hand they rave about the derniere nouveautés [latest news] and on the other they deny the infernal machine that is history. Auschwitz cannot be brought into analogy with the destruction of the Greek city-states as a mere gradual increase in horror, before which one can preserve tranquillity of mind. Certainly, the unprecedented torture and humiliation of those abducted in cattle-trucks does shed a deathly-livid light on the most distant past, in whose mindless, planless violence the scientifically confected was already teleologically latent. The identity lies in the non-identity, in what, not having yet come to pass, denounces what has. The statement that things are always the same is false in its immediateness, and true only when introduced into the dynamics of totality. He who relinquishes awareness of the growth of horror not merely succumbs to cold-hearted contemplation, but fails to perceive, together with the specific difference between the newest and that preceding it, the true identity of the whole, of terror without end.

**I think Adorno's remark about India here is diminishing of the gravity of colonialism and creates an unjustified distance between Auschwitz and EIC/British rule over India, which was likewise marked by horrific butchery and the deaths of millions, and thus he bends the stick too far in the opposite direction of his criticism - but I don't think this really diminishes the claim overall.

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apas-95 · 1 year ago

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It is an eminently respectable and solemn demonstration of commitment to action, but, ultimately, isolate acts like these are a consequence and demonstration of popular discontent, not an actual catalyst for action.

The problem in the current movement is not a deficiency of popular will - there is an overabundance of popular will and discontent against the status quo being imposed by the ruling class. The problem is that there do not exist the advanced class organs that could channel, refine, and express this outpouring of popular will. The tactics of 'propaganda of the deed' implicitly rely on an image of the popular movement as lacking willpower, lacking knowledge, and needing to be shocked into deciding to just Do Something. In reality, the deficiency in the popular movement is found not in the masses, but in its vanguard - the people are not unenthusiastic, the advanced elements of the movement have simply failed to organise them.

In the final analysis, even if a thousand other people were inspired to replicate this action, it would do nothing to actually develop the movement's capacity to materially impede the US war machine. Again, the issue is not a lack of awareness or willingness to act, it is one of a lack of meaningful means by which to act. If the same inspiring commitment and strong principles could be applied to the arduous task of organising, that issue could be rectified.

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thebardostate · 2 years ago

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It's difficult to sustain doubt in your own consciousness once you've had a near-death experience and observed yourself from the ER ceiling as your body lies on a gurney, your EEG flatlined, and the code blue team struggles to revive you.

In a flash of clarity, all of these CogSci arguments are suddenly laid bare as pilpul. Despite having no brain activity, you are still aware of what is happening - as a matter of fact, you are more sharply aware than you've ever experienced before in your life. And after you have been revived you can remember the experience, despite the fact that your brain wasn't working during the NDE.

There are literally thousands of case studies documenting the NDE phenomenon. It is a medical fact that these patients were not capable of brain activity, so as such NDEs constitute an edge case that must be accounted for in any model of hard consciousness.

In science, all models are wrong. Some models are useful.

That bears repeating.

I have a certain amount of admiration for cognitive scientists who are prepared to cut the Gordian knot of defining what a mind is and simply deny the validity of their own subjective experience. I mean, obviously someone who looks you in the eye and says "I'm not actually conscious, I just behave as though I am" is full of shit, but you've gotta respect the audacity.

#consciousness #cognitive science #mind body problem #eliminative materialism #daniel dennett #materialism and its discontents #illusionism #near death experiences #nde #ndes

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thebardostate · 3 months ago

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Susan Blackmore mentions the view that as far as what we call “mind” or “consciousness” is concerned, there are only neurons and their connections (Review, 1 October, and Letters 29 October). In particular she refers to Francis Crick who believes that “our joys, sorrows, ambitions and even free will are nothing more than the behaviour of those neurons”.

Such arguments seem to me to be analogous to saying that, for example, the differential equations of physics are nothing more than the behaviour of the circuits and chips within the computer solving them. The counterpart of “Your mind is nothing but a pack of neurons” is “Computation is nothing but a pack of chips”.

Both are examples of what the late Donald Mackay used to call “nothing-buttery” or, more formally, metaphysical reductionism: the doctrine that if something can be explained by reducing it to its elements at some particular level then it can be dismissed as “nothing but” the activity of those elements.

A. Danielian, letter to the editor of New Scientist, November 19 1994

#consciousness #materialism and its discontents #nothing buttery #philosophy of mind #susan blackmore #scientism #philosophy #metaphysics #reductionism

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kamesama · 1 year ago

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— ravishing: ryōmen sukuna.

— notes + warnings: human! husband! sukuna x wife! reader. slightly suggestive. domestic bliss because i am a self-proclaimed domestic fluff provider™ for a reason. — word count: 1094

he was lounging on the sofa, phone in hand, crimson eyes seemingly deeply immersed in whatever was on-screen. the remains of his coffee had gotten cold, but he held onto an unspoken intention to finish it within the upcoming minutes. there was little to no fatigue clinging onto him, but the aftermath of his day stained his frame nonetheless; the pair of buttons undone to reveal his clavicle, an occasional yawn that he did not bother to veil with the palm of his hand, the subtle bend of his spine that suggested leisure. he is begging for it, you concluded.

confidence seeped from your pores as you stepped into the living room, wordlessly demanding attention. however, your stomping was too subtle to capture sukuna’s interest. perhaps he had taken notice of your footfalls but refused to humour you – you couldn’t tell.

you coughed, clearing your throat.

it was enough to make him look up, his brows going up to express an undeniable interest at the sight; your proud expression bearing gingerly mischief at its outlines as you slowly swayed your hips in order to make the skirt of your dress flow as if in the spring breeze. it was a lovely piece, hardly provocative save for a subtle v-line providing a small glimpse at cleavage. innocent. too innocent – excluding the way it revealed dying love-bites creeping up your neck. he would have to revive them, he thought.

something in your eye – an expectant, hopeful gleam – reflected an eager impatience; you were waiting for a praise, for something saccharine. honeyed. perhaps just a little indecent. you saw it in his gaze; coated and hazed with something akin to amour, softened in the manner familiar to you alone.

“oh? what’s this?” sukuna hummed, “do a little twirl for me, doll,” his phone was now abandoned and left to lay by a cushion, “let me see the whole thing.”

you obliged with sheer delight, the pirouette causing the material to flutter like a bud opening into a graceful flower. the movement exposed your knees for a split-second; a sight of forbidden fruit, teasing and tempting. a sense of warmth filled sukuna’s chest – you were utterly endearing and a sight to behold.

he would have patted his lap, as he always did when you, his precious little thing, chose to treat him to such a show. however, before he could set his palm onto his knee to deliver a message of that nature, you waltzed over with a grin tugging at the corners of your painted lips, straddling him with breathtaking decisiveness. the palms of your hands nested against his chest and made his body lean against the backrest of the sofa. instinctively, his own large ones came to lay across your thighs, moving up a little and dragging the skirt of the dress up merely a few inches.

his gaze gently devoured the make-up on your face; every hue, every line, every blend. the angle of your jaw. the tease at the edges of your lips. the loving provocation reflected in your eyes as you teasingly ran your palms across his breasts before wrapping your arms around his neck.

there was something in-between the lines of your approach that made it vividly demure. your skin did not seem to ache for the fervorous touch and bittersweet bites. you looked at him with a tender genre of hunger which let him know you would prefer he lay you gently rather than pin you down.

“you like it?” you whispered, your lips ghosting against the shell of his ear before you kissed his jaw. it sent shivers down his spine and then caused his body to relax.

“yes,” he admitted, “you look lovely, little one.”

“lovely?” disappointment dripped off your tongue as you pulled away to look down at him, your lips pursed and expression distorted to further express a sense of discontent. there was a dose of sarcasm subtly sprinkled over your alleged chagrin. sukuna chuckled at your reaction; a smooth, rich sound that never failed to tug at your heartstrings and stir something deep within the pit of your stomach.

“ravishing, my dear,” he added, lifting one of his hands off your thigh to cup your face between his fingers, “delectable,” his digits pressed into your skin, the pad of his thumb tapping over your pouting lips as if to inspect the lipstick and its quality, “and a little needy, too, i would say.”

his other hand trailed up your leg, slithering across your hip before moving to squeeze your buttock. you smiled, your own moving to rest against the one on your face.

“you’re imagining it,” you uttered against his thumb, placing a small kiss onto it before nuzzling his palm with your cheek, “i saw it on sale today. had to get it.” you elaborated for no reason in particular, “it’s so… dainty. leaves a lot to the imagination, doesn’t it?” there was something suggestive in your tone, dragging and tugging at your words very subtly.

“not everything,” sukuna claimed, his hand nudging your chin up so as to have you expose your neck all the more. the dress left a good patch of your skin bare, nearly to the valley of your breasts. sukuna leaned in, pressing a small, chaste kiss against your collarbone before moving his lips up towards your pulse. his open mouth ravished the expanse above your clavicle, and you shut your eyes in ecstasy as your fingernails gently scraped across his scalp; digits sunken into the strands of his blush hair. it was a form of encouragement.

a soft breath drifted off your lips, urging him to kiss you all the more; his teeth grazed your skin just enough to leave it ever so slightly aroused and pink.

the air grew thicker and sweeter; honey-like.

the dedication with which sukuna tended to you made you aware that his mind was slowly getting clouded by desire. the way he pulled you closer against him, his hands trailing across the outlines of your body, spoke volumes of starvation slowly heating up inside of him.

you had to make it worse.

“i might have bought new lingerie, too…” your voice trailed off, and you could almost hear the way sukuna’s eyes rolled back behind his closed lids as he groaned against the sweet spot at the curve of your neck. it took him just a second to push you down onto the sofa.

it was nearly a pity that his desire to undress you peaked whenever you chose to dress up for him.

thank you for reading!

— kamesama.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk sukuna #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #kamesama

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sifu-kisu · 6 months ago

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I’ve sensed a stir of discontent surrounding my thoughts on the live-action remake of Avatar: The Last Airbender. please allow me to illuminate my perspective. In the animated series, we poured our hearts into crafting the action, for ATLA is at its core essence, a martial arts odyssey, even an epic—an art form that I’ve spent much of my life mastering, practicing, and teaching with unwavering devotion.

The live-action adaptation, however, seemed to stumble over the very foundation that made the original so captivating. To me, it felt as though the essence of the source material was either misunderstood or disregarded. The choreography (or lack there of..) , which should have been a dynamic homage to the intricate art of bending, came across as lackluster and devoid of the authentic martial arts movements that once breathed life into it. Firebending for instance, is not like tossing a stone. It has a process that entails a beginning a middle and end…

That being said, I’ll concede that the costumes and some of the special effects caught my eye, but beyond those fleeting moments, I found little to hold onto. Am i “mad” about it? Nope. Was I upset about not working on the project? Nope. (I don’t do that sort of work anymore.) I’m just enjoying my life, And let me make one thing clear—my opinion is mine alone.

Be well😋

#sifu kisu #atlab #northern shaolin #lok #northern shaolim #kung fu #jian #baguazhang #atlab lok #piandao #avatar live action

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thebardostate · 1 year ago

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Everything, except one thing: for a system to engage in goal-directed behavior (like your steam generator) that goal must be exogenous to the system. Goals are exogenous variables. So for example, a thermostat can help a boiler to maintain a particular temperature, but the goal temperature itself must be supplied by something outside the system boundaries. This applies no matter how large the system is. To continue your example, you could define a system the size of the entire universe (i.e. the whole of spacetime), but if goal-directed behavior is an attribute of anything in the universe then the choice of that goal must have come from outside the boundaries of the universe (i.e., it's meta).

That has profound implications. If a desired outcome exists in the universe, that purpose must have originated from somewhere outside of the universe of spacetime.

Life is certainly goal-directed behavior - it seeks to survive. But from whence does the will to live arise? Any proffered "Theory of Everything" that can't satisfactorily account for the origin of the will to survive is not worthy of the name; it just a materialist fantasy. Even if we are merely selfish genes as Dawkins argues, that selfishness has to come from somewhere, and it's not from the genes themselves.

One of the things they don’t tell you is that you’ll take a grad-level engineering thermodynamics course and it will permanently alter the way you experience reality.

So in undergrad, we learn that everything is just shunting the Big Bang around. I’m not even just talking about the obvious stuff, like sunlight -> grain -> people, but like. Here:

Big Bang -> ancient star -> supernova -> molecular cloud -> our solar system -> water, carbon, sunlight -> Carboniferous-era swamp plants -> methane -> liquid hydrogen, kerosene, liquid oxygen -> humans walk on the moon.

But then later you learn that you can take any process of energy flow and represent it as a bond graph, where each node represents a handful of differential equations:

This is a steam generator, and the bond graph of energy flowing through it. It looks complicated but a one-semester course will teach you how to read it and solve it.

Then you realize that you can stick the bond graphs for a nuclear reactor core on the “heater” input and a turbine generator on the “environment” output and turn it into one bigger graph.

Then you realize you can just keep doing that forever until you get to the Big Bang on one end and this tumblr post on the other.

And if you really really wanted to, you could put all those equations into one gigantic matrix and solve the whole thing. It would be gnarly, but it’s. It’s everything. This is everything.

I need to lie down.

#systems science #systems theory #system dynamics #forrester diagram #control system #materialism and its discontents #bond graph

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muntitled · 1 year ago

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Can I request babysitter Seunghan who’s also a plug ( you don’t have to add the plug part if you don’t want to) hired to watch you because you’re a troublemaker

A/n: I love this man and this request... as always, I kinda just wrote and allowed whatever extra stuff to spring up but I hope you like it

𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐁𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐲 | 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐧

Babysitter!Seunghan x fem!Reader

Warnings: Language, Forbidden Romance, Brothers Best Friend au!, Brief!Mentions of Suicide, Angst, Recreational Drug Use, Enemies to Lovers, Smut (+18), Dom!Seunghan, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Marking, Innocence Kink, Masturbation (fem!rec), Praise Kink, Massive Degradation Kink, Breeding Kink, Dry Humping

The coldness of the heavily chlorinated water hits you first and you distinctly remember thinking: You really should not have finished an entire bowl of pasta before going for a late night dive.

But here you are, and there the ledge is… far from your grasp.

The panic sets in causing a gust of bubbles to rush up from your nose while you cradle the cramp stopping you from swimming all too well. You're trapped in the aquatic abyss, flailing your arms while bouts of water make it inside your system. You're drowning.

Your lungs are thinning.

You need to swim to the ledge but it's too far.

You're getting weaker and weaker.

Your brain has rung the alarm and your mouth opens, subconsciously gulping in a generous bout of pool water. Before you can swallow, however, there's a pair of hands under your armpits dragging you to the ledge.

While you gasp in air, your arms shakily hold onto the concrete.

His voice is far too mellow over the sound of your raucous, sickly sputtering as you fight to find your footing in the shallow end of the pool.

"I don’t know what's worse.” The voice says, breathing heavily, “You trying to kill yourself, or you trying to kill yourself on my watch."

There is nothing but vexation and discontent laced in his baritone.

It looks far too natural on Seunghan's face. It is a look of contempt usually aimed at Sungchan who deserved it, and Eunseok who reciprocated it.

He lifts himself effortlessly out of the pool but not without shooting you an icy, unimpressed glare.

While you were not very often on the receiving end of his disapproval, his glare is nothing new to you. In fact, you're more focused on regaining your breathing pattern.

This glare is nothing new at all.

"You must be evil to kill yourself on my watch," he laughs humorlessly to himself (That earth shattering, blood-rushing row of perfect teeth) as he walks over to the deck chair adjacent to the neon-lit swimming pool.

"Couldn't you have found some other night to do it?” He asks as he angrily pats down at his drenched shorts with a towel. Seunghan mindlessly hooks his fingers into the hem of his soaked shirt, and you fight the urge to look away as he peels the material off of him.

Your weak arms finally garner enough strength to push yourself out of the pool. Thousands of beads of water that could have been the weapon of your destruction eases down your soft body, before sinking into the generic one piece swimming costume you had slipped into.

You're not sure why you feel self conscious right now but you do. How dare your self consciousness decide to rear its ugly, insecure head in the presence of your adversary?

"Who the fuck let in?" You ask in a dangerous octave, despite already knowing the answer. "I thought I told Sungchan to stop letting his strange boyfriends into our crib."

Once you've recovered from the overall shock of nearly dying (at perhaps the sight of a shirtless Seunghan) you manage to glare perfect daggers up at him.

Seunghan releases a humourless chuckle as he plants his butt onto the deck chair, “Down tiger,” he teases before rolling his dark eyes into the back of his head. His earrings glint under the moonlight as he pushes a hand through his jet black hair.

"Of course your brain can't comprehend this as a moment for you to be grateful." He looks up at the night sky, releasing a sigh to the constellations before patting his hand down on the towel in search of his prized tiny metal container.

"You really do stress me out," he whispers in complete awe.

“You can't smoke here,” You try helplessly.

“We're outside.” He says, before sighing heavily with his eyelids heavy, “You don't own the outside.”

You pad over the other presiding deck chair, in quick succession. Hoping you aren't in his presence for any longer than you have to be.

He curses under his breath as he bends over his open metal tin, gliding his fingers over what you knew was a significant amount of weed.

Another byproduct of Sungchan and Seunghan's friendship.

You feel zero empathy for his complaints, choosing instead to roll your eyes to the back of your head as he continues, "Now it's gonna make for a sucky roll. Thanks."

"Your suicide water got all over the paper." He says monotonously.

You're quick to wrap the towel around your front, terrified of the very real possibility that any other one of Sungchan's raucous frat boyfriends might pop up around your parents' villa.

If Sungchan was asking for the family villa, then he had nothing but partying on his mind.

You knew absolutely nothing good could come from your adoptive brother proposing a 'relaxing weekend getaway' to your parents before the academic year began. You saw past the doe eyes and over the exaggerated poutiness.

Your parents, however, were not completely unaware of Sungchan's intentions.

“That's fine,” your mother had said. "But take your sister with you," Ignoring your fierce protests, your mom looked squarely into Sungchan's pleading eyes, challenging him to talk back to her.

"Those bags under your eyes are only going to grow darker, honey" Your mother had chided you, "You're going."

Something that perhaps doubled your complaints was when your mother suddenly exclaimed, “I'd feel better if you take that Hong Seunghan with you as well,” she shook her head before smiling dreamily, “He has been such a good influence on you, Sungchan.” And you had resumed your dinner in a troubled silence while your mom piloted the conversations.

She should've just left you at the damn orphanage…

You understood the trip for what it really was. A chance for Sungchan and his close-knit group of degenerates to get high or drunk or both.

"I'm so very sorry that my drowning killed your vibe." You shoot at Seunghan before gathering up your belongings up from the deck chair. Instead of turning back to catch a glimpse of Seunghan swiping his tongue over the rolling paper, you evade all eye contact.

You sigh as you walk past him, hell bent on making your way inside the villa and locking yourself in your bedroom for all time. Never turning around, you firmly say, "I definitely don't have time for this-"

"I appreciate the apology." He says, nodding in gross sincerity, "I'd just prefer it if you don't let this suicide shit happen again? You fucked with my ritual." He looks up at your retreating frame, smiling boyishly before lighting the end of his blunt.

You bristle in the knowledge that Seunghan was once again put on babysitting duty.

While Seunghan blows out wispy clouds of smoke, he interrupts, "-Is what I said when I found out I'm stuck here while your brother bones one of the other island girls."

"I don't need a babysitter." You hiss while your fingers curl around the thin glass panels of the sliding door. "I haven't needed one for 15 fucking years-"

"-She says, after having just attempted to drown herself." He snorts and he pulls back and concludes with, "Evidently, Princess, you kinda do." You hated the satisfaction in his tone. You abhorred how absolutely satiated he appeared when your blood ran hot and your limbs shook with ferocity.

You wished he died...

You knew your aberration extended to your brother as well, for sinking his claws into your crush before you could ever work up the courage to talk to him. 10 years in and that big brained, sensitive tree of a boy you jad initially fallen in love with is gone.

Or perhaps you wished he had never met Sungchan.

Lost in a vague reanimation of your brother.

You wished to hurt him as much as he hurt you everyday he spent at your brother's side and so, without breaking eye contact, you quietly and succinctly said, "Yeah well, you're just his lap dog that he sends to babysit his little sister-"

Seunghan only laughs unperturbed, "Sick burn from the basket case-" and you quickly shoot back.

There is complete silence between the two of you. A silence that hangs like wet washing.

"You're not even really a part of them," you snicker, "Where do you think they all are right now? Probably at a party by the beach, doing lines of coke down a model's sternum." The worse flow from your lips in quick succession. "All of them just fucking relieved to get rid of overbearing, burden Seunghan." You say, "Seunghan the prude. How utterly sad."

"I'm not a prude." He says quietly, hands stilling on his lap. You're utterly, mystified to find that you've struck some sort of nerve.

Perfect…

"It's the 21st century, Seunghan. It's okay to be a virgin," you nod condescendingly. "It may not be cool but it's definitely okay!" You exclaim before turning on your heels, letting the big open mansion swallow you whole, while you hum in utter glee.

Before you're out of earshot, his voice reaches your ears. They perk when you hear a very low, very deep

"Fucking bitch,"

-which not only has you smiling wider... but it has a deep warmth running hot in your core.

You plop yourself down on your bed, before staring up at the beams in complete and utter silence. Almost instinctively, as if you had no say in the matter at all, your short manicured nails trail down your belly before stopping right above your pubic bone.

You're peeling your clothes off of you the very second you make it back into your room, having climbed the elaborate wooden staircase two at a time. His words seem to have rocked you to your very being and your stomach does fiery somersaults as his words replay like a broken record within the confines of your brain. For 3 whole years since you've pledged to forgo this childish crush on him and it's as though your feelings have only doubled in magnitude.

A thick wad of saliva fights to make its way down your throat as your eyes finally give in to the darkness by fluttering shut.

Who does he think he is, your mind echoes wildly.

Who is he to think he can talk to you however he pleases?

It enrages you to imagine Sungchan has given him this right, and it enrages you further to imagine yourself growing impossibly hotter at his tense and crude tone of degradation. It was a feat to get Seunghan to swear, the boy was something akin to a turtle. Never without its shell. Never without the threat of sinking back into himself when things got uncomfortable.

‘Fucking bitch’

You finally accepted the knots in your stomach for what it was before plunging your hands in between your open legs.

You'd always prized yourself on your self control but that is a fickle thing as you press your palm to your slick and sticky cunt. You spread your arousal all over your inner thighs as your back arches off the mattress.

“Fuck-” you hiss into the quiet night air, as you picture a very distinct smile from a very distinct ravenlike boy, hovering above you. You imagine him watching you try helplessly to please yourself by withholding his own ministrations as some sort of punishment. You swear you can feel his lips brush against your ear and you can hear the soft tinbre of his deep voice as he whispers, “You're such a fucking slut, you know that?”

Your desperation tumbles out of your mouth, and you vaguely are aware that you're too far gone, trapped in the web of the fantasies that you've woven.

“F-Fuck, Seunghan- I'm close- ” And the embarrassment of crying out into an empty room, about a boy who could not give less of a fuck whether you live or died, is suddenly, made very fucking real, very fucking quickly when you hear-

“Hey… So, I just wanted to apologise-”

Your thighs clamp shut around the hand that was coaxing you to orgasm, while your knees simultaneously lock around you.

Seunghan stands there in your open doorway, sans blunt or shirt, with his plump pink lips hanging open in stark shock.

How enamoured by your own fantasy you had been, to not realise that you had left the door to your room wide open. How deep had you sunken into your own lust not to have noticed the boy standing at the door?

“Oh my fucking God-” your heart sinks into the very pits of your stomach as you rush to pull your pillow over your naked frame. Every nauseating emotion: fear, pity, acrimony, embarrassment, antipathy and worry, wash over you like a volcanic wave of molten lava. There are tears stinging your eyes as you move to rush over to the door. Before you're able to move however, Seunghan's voice is very stern and very quiet when he says, “Lay back down,”

There is a ringing in your ear that is spurred on by your erratic heartbeat and the wave of emotions running through your mind…

“W-What?” You truly felt as though you're unable to talk, unable to form any coherent response that might do this moment justice.

Here he is, the boy you have quite literally been pining over since your brother had been parading him around you.

Here he is, stepping over the threshold of your bedroom, but not before sending one gaze behind his back.

“You heard me,” Seunghan says before swinging your door shut using his back, so as never to remove his eyes from you. “You better make it quick.” He warns, “I don't know how long that party might keep your brother entertained.”

A billion questions stream through your consciousness but they all fail to reap even a single explanation and soon, you're idly complying. Pushing your head back slowly, until your braids are buried in the Egyptian linen. Your heart races when you hear his footsteps close the distance between the two of you and somehow you're still fighting to convince yourself that this is real. That Seunghan, and his dangerously sweet smile and inky black hair, is standing above you right now.

While you are here… naked.

That is enough to want to illicit a wave of nausea because no way, on God's green earth, were you going to let him see you naked.

“This is fucking insane-”

“Sit the fuck back down.” He does not shout, but still relays a level of conviction that has you propping yourself up by your elbows as you gaze up at the man in front of you.

“So she listens to orders,” he notes quietly, “Interesting…” Seunghan immediately lowers himself on the edge of your bed, careful not to let your skin touch as he flutters his eyes closed, seemingly thinking something through before nodding with finality.

“Make your fingers wet for me,”

“Seunghan-”

“Is that a no?”

You couldn't very well tell him how desperate you are. You couldn't tell him that his presence and his voice alone has your legs tense and trembling under the pillow. Instead, all you do is hesitantly bring your index and middle finger up to your lips. You suck on them without ever bringing eye contact and once again, Seunghan shuts his eyes in an almost pained expression.

“Fuck, we should not be doing this-”

He says to himself, completely eliminating you as an entity of reason in the space around him, which was fine by you because you can feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into subspace.

“I shouldn't be doing this,” He says, despite having the bed dip as she shifts closer towards you.

“Sungchan is gonna fucking freak,” he says before finally laying his palm against your steepled knee.

“I don't care,” it's the first words you've said since the severity of the situation sunk in and your voice is hoarse.

Seunghan's earings glint under the warm lights of your bedroom lamp and you never break eye contact once.

“Lay back down and open your legs for me.” He commands oh so quietly until yojre automatically complying; removing the pillow from your front until you were naked in front of him.

Every bad feeling is overridden by lust as you watch Seunghan's heavy eyes skate over your body. “I really wanna watch you fuck yourself with your fingers,” he admits gravely.

Almost instinctively, your hands begin to move in between your parted thighs but he stops you- “Next time.” He promises, and it sends a wave of goosebumps over your skin along with harsh shivers.

“Right now though,” Seunghan gingerly grabs at your waist, until soon, he's manoeuvring you on top of him. You're straddling his hips as he lowers his back onto the bed and Seunghan immediately presses your hips flush against his clothed cock.

“F-Fuck-” both your hips stutter against each other. Yours and Seunghan's lips are hanging open, seemingly surprised by how much you've actually needed each other until now. He cranes his neck back as he rocks you back and forth against him. Yous eize the opportunity to latch your lips onto his skin, eliciting a long and pained groan from him.

“I need to fuck you,” he admits, pawing at your breasts desperately. You whine against him, mind still fuzzy from Seunghan's hard-on rubbing against your soaked cunt.

You're a whimpering moaning mess when he latches his other hand against your throat, pulling you up until his lips were crashing onto yours.

He wastes no time, kissing you hard and rough with his velvety tongue pushing inside your mouth.

“If we carry on like this I'm gonna cum,” he says before pulling his hand away from your boobs and down to his cock in between you both. “Can't have that,” he whispers.

“I'm close too,” you whisper back, “It's fine-”

“You're so fucking desperate. Just be patient.” Despite the iciness in his tone, Seunghan is shocked to find your hips stuttering against him at the words.

“You like that?” He asks breathlessly as he pulls his cock out of his shorts. “You like being my desperate little slut-”

“F-Fuck Seunghan, you need to fuck me p-lease-” before the words even leave yoir mouth, he's sinking into you with an acute roughness that has you screaming in your room.

“Oh my fucking- fuck-” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your hips almost instinctively begin to ride him, your body now hellbent on chasing it's own orgasm.

You prop yourself up by your arm, leaving Seunghan to stare up at you and clamp his hand around your tits once more.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, never once taking his eyes off your completely fucked out expression. “You're being such a good fucking girl.”

The depth in his voice, the aching expression in his face and his cock fucking into you at such a rabid pace has your inhibitions melting into incoherence. You were completely and utterly cock drunk. You would do anything he asked you to. Anything he wanted you to do.

“Fuck- You're fucking filth, y'know that?” Seunghan whispers, unable to stop his hips from fucking up into you, “But you're so fucking pretty too?” He says, “M-My pretty girl- FUCK-”

And somehow, those exact words have you both cumming with your moans swimming in the open air. He clutches you tightly as he emptied himself inside of you and you let him, with your eyes rolled back and your tits pressed firmly,against his chest. He claws at your back while you both fight to keep your eyes from slipping shut.

After what feels like ages, you're both breathing heavily and the weight of it all comes crashing down.

“You're so fucking hot." Seunghan's fingers draw lazy shapes against your back as he looks up at the ceiling. “I've always thought that.”

“Well why didn't you say anything?”

“I'm saying something right now.”

Apologies for grammatical or spelling errors, it's 1am

#riize #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize fluff #seunghan x reader #seunghan #riize seunghan #hong seunghan #hong seunghan x reader #hong seunghan smut #seunghan smut #seunghan x you #riize smut #sungchan x reader #riize angst

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trumanbluee · 1 year ago

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the only time i feel i might get better - matty healy

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!!

please reblog if you like it! ᡣ𐭩

content: you get sick at matty's and he takes good care of you <3

word count: 4.6k

warnings: mention of vomit, oc is on her period :( , a bad ending, and matty being very very darling.

a/n: hi!! i know i said i wasn't going to post again for a bit but i think this is so cute and its just sitting in my drafts!! enjoy ( and pls reblog if you do! ) :)

She groaned in her sleep, stirring slightly as she felt another cramp tear through her stomach, the ache travelling down into her legs as she tucked them to her chest, brows furrowing at the sudden pain. She hadn’t slept well all night, spending an hour of it with her head in the toilet, Matty holding her hair back and rubbing her back softly, bless his heart.

Her heart dropped at the thought of him having to see her in that position, retching what little food was in her stomach, up. They were a relatively new couple, having been dating for almost 6 months, and, of course, she’d had her period around him, but she’d never gotten it at his place, and never felt as sick as she did right now around him either. She felt horrible, half from the pain in her slightly puffy, bloated, lower belly, and half from the embarrassment of him seeing her like this.

Fluttering her eyes open, she saw that Matty’s side of the bed was empty and, upon further inspection with her outstretched hand, he’d been up for a while, the sheets a crisp cold feeling compared to the warmth of her blanket cocoon. She sighed, wondering if he’d been able to go back to sleep at all after the nights events, before her thoughts of uncertainty were interrupted when he tiptoed into the room, obviously under the impression she was asleep, holding a tray of pancakes, orange juice, a cup of coffee, and a vase of fresh flowers.

He stopped when he turned towards the bed, noticing her eyes peeking out from behind the fluffy duvet, and smiled softly, head tilting to the left as her asked her sweetly, “Morning, baby. Feelin’ any better today?”

This earned him a firm shake of her head as she sat up in the bed, lip pouted slightly to show him her discontent. He cooed, placing the tray of food in front of her on the bed, ensuring the legs of the miniature table were stable before he sat down on the other side of the bed, planting a soft kiss to her temple.

“Don’t have to eat it all if you don’t want, honey, I just wanted to wake you up with something nice after you had such a horrible night.” He said, sitting cross-legged next to her on the bed. He pointed to two little white tablets that lay next to her orange juice. “Brought you some Panadol too, baby. Make sure you eat at least a little before you take it, don’t want you getting sick again, yeah?”

She nodded, “Thank you so much Matty,” She croaked, throat still sensitive from the acidic bile she’d thrown up in the night, “I’m sorry about last night.”

His eyebrows raised, face scrunching in disbelief as he tried to process what she’d just said. He moved closer to her on the bed, hand coming to rest on her knee above the blanket she’d wrapped herself in.

“Sorry?” He tutted, shaking his head, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about baby, what'd you mean ‘sorry’?” His lips turned into a slight frown, disheartened at the fact that she felt the need to be sorry about being sick.

“Ju-Just, you havin’ to stay up with me… I just feel a bit bad that I ruined our night, I guess,” She spoke sheepishly, noticing the disappointed look on his face as she spoke.

“Oh sweetheart,” He cooed, moving to place the breakfast tray on the floor, before scooting close to her on the bed, pulling her into his chest, one hand rubbing her back in a light rhythm, the other combing through her hair. “You don’t have to say sorry, ‘kay? It’s my job to look after you. Don’t ever apologise for being sick, baby. It happens to everyone.”

He felt her nod against his chest, and he stopped his fingers carding through her hair as she looked up at him, thinking twice about leaning up to kiss him as she realised she hadn’t brushed her teeth yet this morning.

Almost as if he was reading her mind, he shook his head, laughing to himself softly.

“Baby, really?” He chuckled, brushing a little bit of sleep from her left eye with the soft pad of his thumb as he did so, “ You wanna kiss me, you can. I think we’re way beyond worrying about morning breath, don’t ya’ think, darlin’?”

She blushed, surprised that he could read her so well, shoving her face into the soft fabric of his white shirt, earning another chuckle from Matty, the sound rumbling in her mind and warming her insides, affecting her probably more than it should have given her in her ill state.

She detached from his chest, fishing the tray of food up off of the floor beside her, and placed it on the bed, before leaning into Matty again, his right arm wrapped around her as she picked at the sweet blueberries that decorated her pancakes.

She sighed contentedly, sipping on her orange juice as she lay, listening to Matty’s steady heartbeat as he sat beside her, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger lazily. She’d be lying if she said that this side of Matty didn’t turn her on, his need to comfort and protect her rising to the surface in a similar way as it did after he’d been particularly rough with her in bed. The idea of him taking care of her a particularly good one in her mind.

She felt a familiar heat pooling between her thighs as she sat beside him, glancing up at him occasionally as he typed on his phone one-handed, most likely making note of lyrics he’d thought of, his brain constantly moving 100km an hour. She watched as his slender thumb glid smoothly across his screen, pressing the keyboard expertly.

‘This shouldn’t turn me on so much.’ She thought, biting her lip lightly as she shamelessly observed him, now sitting up further in the bed to gain a better view.

She blamed it on her period. Sure, Matty was hot, and, God, she’d fuck him 10 times a day if she had the stamina, lord knows he probably did, but getting turned on by typing? That’s pathetic.

Finally, he saw her out of the corner of his eye, lower lip between her teeth and cheeks a light red as she watched him. He raised an eyebrow, turned his head to face her quizzically.

“What are you looking at?” He smiled at her and she blushed, quickly averting her eyes to the half-eaten pancake in front of her, picking at it delicately.

He laughed softly, “Going shy on me, baby?” he asked, bringing the arm that was wrapped around her shoulder up to her hair, ruffling it playfully, before leaning down to press a firm kiss to her cheek.

She tucked herself deeper into his side, having once again discarded the tray of food onto Matty’s bedroom floor. He wrapped his arm around her once more, giving her a tight squeeze.

“You okay, honey?” He asked softly, looking down at her as she lay on his chest, tracing her finger softly on the front of his t-shirt, “Feelin’ a bit clingy today? Is that it, huh?”

She nodded, moving impossibly closer to him, wrapping both her legs around his left, her arms wrapping around his bicep, clinging to him like a koala.

He chuckled softly at her, peering at her from the corner of his eye as he watched her cling to him desperately. His attention turned completely towards her however, when he heard a small whimper sound from next to him, at the same time as she’d fidgeted in her spot, causing her sensitive clit to lightly brush the side seam of his sweatpants through her thin sleep-shorts.

His eyes shot down to her, fearing that she was having the same horrible cramps she experienced in the night.

“You okay, baby? Tummy hurting again?” He asked, concern evident in his tone.

She was embarrassed, not wanting to admit that the sound was out of pleasure, not pain. So, she nodded, eyebrows creasing together as she looked up at him.

It was insane how well he could read her. From the second they met, a couple of months before they’d started going out, it was like he could see into her mind and knew almost everything she thought and could anticipate what she was going to say next.

That’s why looking up at him was a huge mistake on her part. He knew as soon as he looked at her he knew that she was lying, and he thought he knew why.

“We’re not lying now, are we sweetheart?” He asked earnestly, looking into her eyes as he spoke.

“W-what? Why would I lie?” She said, not expecting to be caught out so soon.

He raised his eyebrow at her, expecting her to have admitted her lie, “Oh, okay… so just now, when you wriggled around for a second, and I felt your cunt on my leg, it was just a coincidence that you made that little sound at the same time? Is that right?”

She flushed red, face turning to dig into his arm to hide, embarrassed at being read so easily, once again. She let out a muffled whine, annoyed both his teasing, and her horniness.

He sat up from the bed, unlatching his arm from her grasp to face her.

“Baby,” He cooed, “want you to use your words when you feel like this, ‘kay? Want you to tell me what you want.”

She nodded, still covering her flushed face, now with the duvet in place of his bicep.

“I just wanna make sure you’re feeling better after last night, honey. Don’t wanna hurt you or anything, y’know?”

He looked torn. Torn between his restraint and not wanting to take advantage of her in such a vulnerable state, and his wanting to give her everything she wants on a whim.

An idea popped into his head, and he stood from the bed, reaching down to peck a quick kiss to her forehead, muttering a ‘be right back’ before exiting the room.

She sat in his bed, awaiting his return as she sipped on the now lukewarm coffee he’d brought her. But it wasn’t very long before he came back, having discarded his shirt and sweats for reasons unbeknownst to her - though she wasn’t complaining, she could spend hours tracing the outlines of his tattoos - especially his ‘We Are Kings tattoo - whether that be with her eyes, fingertips, or tongue.

He walked over to her, boxer shorts hanging low on his hips, and flipped the duvet off her, reaching his hand out for her to take.

“C’mon baby,” He pulled her up, “ran us a bath.” He patted her on the bum softly as he walked past her and out into the hall. She followed dumbly, brain foggy from the tooth-rotting sweetness of their morning in bed together.

Stepping into the bathroom, she saw that not only had he drawn them both a bath, with bubbles in it, which she knew he didn’t like, but had meticulously placed candles around the edge of the bath.

She could’ve cried at the gesture, and she almost did, eyes growing blurry before she blinked the tears away quickly.

Matty stepped into the bathroom behind her, kissing her on the side of her cheek, then neck, as he reached for the bottom of her (his) shirt, pulling it over her head softly, before tugging her pyjama shorts down. He helped her step into the warm bath, holding his hand out for her to balance on. Once she was in, and he’d made sure the water wasn’t too hot, he tugged his boxers down his legs before stepping into the bath himself, setting himself behind her so her back rested against his chest.

She sighed in content as he brought his large hands up to her shoulders, massaging her upper back soothingly. She leant her head back against his shoulder, Matty retracting his hands from her shoulders to wrap them around her, rubbing her arms up and down soothingly.

He lent down to kiss her on the cheek, instead meeting her lips as she quickly tilted her head to meet him. Meaning for it to be a quick peck, he was surprised when she deepened it, running her tongue along his bottom lip teasingly.

He pulled back, hand resting on her jaw as he guided her lips away.

He sighed, “Baby… don’t make me be the bad guy,” he frowned, not wanting to tell her a strict no, but also not wanting to hurt her whilst she was in her particularly vulnerable state.

“Please,” she pleaded, un-slotting her legs from between his beneath the bubbles to squeeze her thighs together desperately.

He shook his head, shooting her a pleading look, “Honey, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself or to be sick again… I promise, once your period’s done I’ll do whatever you want me to, baby.”

She furrowed her brows in frustration, annoyed at his refusal. Of course, she couldn’t be that annoyed, he was only trying to ensure her comfort and safety, but this didn’t matter in her mind, not when she was this horny. What was she gonna do if he didn’t give in to her? Finger herself to no avail? They both knew that wouldn’t work, and she knew that Matty was the only one who could satiate the need in the pit of her belly.

She spun around in the bath, being careful not to spill any water out of the bath, before pushing away from him slightly to see him better. She huffed, whining “It’s not gonna hurt, promise.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, only now beginning to grasp just how desperate she was, watching as she crossed her legs, heeling digging against her clit harshly, causing her to hiss, wincing slightly at the sensitivity.

She sighed in frustration, pouting slightly as she looked at him with puppy dog eyes.

“What if– what if I said it would make me feel better? I swear, baby, if it doesn’t feel good I’ll tell you to stop.” She pleaded, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

He eyed her carefully, thinking about it carefully. It couldn’t hurt to try, right?

He sighed, lips tugging into a smirk as he finally nodded, ushering for her to resume her previous position, between his legs, back pressed against him.

He leant down to whisper in her ear, brushing some hair away from her face as he spoke, “Make sure you tell me the second it hurts even a little, okay darlin’?”

She nodded, leaning her head back against his chest, lingering a soft kiss onto his chin.

He traced his hands up and down her thighs beneath the water, her legs automatically widening like muscle memory. He laughed breathily in her ear at her eagerness, before sliding his right hand to her core, pressing light circles to her clit as he planted soft kisses along her neck, her having tilted it to the side to grant him further access.

She moaned softly, bringing a hand up to play with the chocolate curls at the nape of his neck, tugging softly as he began to tease a finger around her entrance, keeping his slow rhythm on her clit.

“Feel good, honey?” He spoke softly into her ear, not slowing his teasing motions, but not speeding up either.

She nodded, brows furrowed as he slipped the tip of his index finger inside her.

“Use your words, baby. Need to hear you say it, ‘kay?”

“F-feels good, Matty, promise.” She stuttered out, his fingers speeding up slightly on her clit for a millisecond, before it returned to its original speed.

“Good girl,” he murmured in her ear, pushing his index finger into her cunt completely, her head slamming back to meet his chest as he curled it expertly.

Her hand that wasn’t occupied with Matty’s hair emerged from the water, where it had been gripping her thigh, and she placed it on her left boob, swiping her thumb over her nipple delicately and squeezing the soft, meaty flesh around it.

She arched her back as Matty prodded a second finger into her, curling it as he had the first. As she arched further into his chest, she felt Matty’s hard cock against her back, and teasingly wriggled against it.

He groaned, fingers speeding up as they fucked in and out of her, his hand that was rubbing her clit now came up to brush her hair out of her face, before he flicked her right nipple playfully, ripping a guttural sound from the back of her throat as he returned his hand to her clit, rubbing fast circles over it with his middle and ring finger.

He felt her cunt tighten around his fingers, thighs slamming together to stop his hands from retracting.

He pressed his plush, pink, lips to her ear, pressing airy kisses along it as he breathed, “Gonna cum for me, baby? Yeah?” He felt her become impossibly right around his fingers, and she moaned loudly as he said, “Gonna feel so much better afterwards, baby. C’mon, give it to me.”

Matty fingers stilled inside her as she came, eyes squeezing closed and toes curling as the water in the bath sloshed around them, her loud moan echoing around the bathroom. He waited for her breathing to settle slightly before slowly pulling his fingers out, the water in the bath cleaning them off.

She flipped herself over carefully, legs wobbling slightly as she straddled his right leg, her boobs planted flat against his chest. She reached up, planting a soft kiss to his lips, whining softly against them as her clit grazed his leg when she pushed herself up.

Pulling away from her lips, Matty tutted in faux annoyance, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Still not done, baby?” He asked, smoothing his hand over her hair and then resting it on her cheek as she looked up at him,

“No,” she confirmed, half-mooned, lidded eyes peering up at him.

He sighed, “What am I gonna do with you, huh?” He asked playfully, “Too horny for your own good.”

She whined as she shifted herself further up his body, his rock hard cock laying flat against her slit as it rested on his stomach. He lay back against the steeper end of the bath, hands on both hips, thumbs drawing shapes on her delicate skin.

She wriggled her hips slightly, his cock bumping over her clit multiple times before she rose to her knees, almost slipping on the slippery bottom of the bath, luckily being caught by Matty’s large hands on her hips again.

She laughed softly, looking up at him as she did so, seeing him biting his lip softly to keep in his laugh, the rumbling of his chest betraying him. She slapped his stomach playfully.

“Hey!” She scolded, “Don’t laugh at me,” She said with a fake pout on her face.

Matty cooed, laughter still rumbling in his chest as he spoke, “Aw, sorry honey, it's just, when I said I didn’t want you to get hurt, I didn’t mean slipping over in the bath and dying.” He giggled as he spoke, and she couldn’t help but grin at him, pouncing onto him to plant a sweet kiss to his lips, before pulling away.

Her brows furrowed and index finger pointed at him as she reprimanded him, trying her best to keep her face straight as she spoke, “Okay! No more laughing,” Her eyes narrowed at him accusingly, “back to sex.”

He nodded stiffly, hand coming up to his head as he saluted her militarily, firmly repeating her previous statement.

She giggled softly, lifting her leg up with help from Matty, before shifting herself on top of him completely, his hard cock trapped between her sticky cunt and his firm belly. She groaned as she rocked back and forth slowly, before pushing herself up slightly, grabbing the base of his cock, tapping it on her clit a few times before she pushed it into herself, sighing in content as she sunk down, the full feeling in her tummy satiating the desire she’d been holding there all day.

He groaned softly, brows knitting together as she sunk all the way down onto his cock, her clit brushing against the groomed pubic hair at the base. His hands rested on her hips, rubbing shapes softly as he helped guide her up and down on his length. She was so tight around him, clamping down hard when he moved a hand from her hip down to rub her tender, puffy clit.

She moaned breathily, back arched and head thrown back as she bounced on his cock rapidly, water splashing around the bath and onto the floor. Her right hand rested on Matty’s ‘We are Kings’ tattoo, providing her with leverage to move quicker, and her left hand wrapped tightly around his wrist, nails digging into his Mortal Kombat tattoo as her orgasm approached her.

Matty felt her hips faltering slightly, and her thighs began to shake, causing him to tighten his grip on her hips, holding her still as he slammed his hips up to meet hers. She whined loudly, his thick cock filling her completely, slamming against her cervix with every unyielding thrust.

“Feelin’ good, baby? He asked breathily, panting slightly, his curls falling in his face, sticking to his slightly damp forehead.

She responded the only way she could through her foggy, fucked-out brain, squeezing his forearm impossibly tight and keening loudly, before her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

He continued his relentless pace, bringing them both closer and closer to cumming. His brows knitted together in concentration as he tried to keep his pace consistent, but he was struggling. She was so fucking tight, squeezing him like she was afraid that if she didn’t, he’d somehow disappear.

Thankfully, he could tell she was close, her lower lip pulled between her teeth and cheeks rosy, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had to hold his orgasm since the second he’d slipped into her. Something about his cock and her cunt fit so right, he could probably cum just at the thought of it.

Matty looked up at her through the mess of wet curls in front of his eyes, “Need you to rub your clit for me now, ‘kay honey?”.

She immediately obeyed, bringing the hand that was wrapped around his wrist to rub her clit at a harsh pace. She cried out, hand faltering slightly at the intense pressure building in her lower belly.

She was so close, she just needed something, anything, to push her over the edge, and almost as though Matty read her mind, he leaned forward, attaching his mouth to her left breast, swirling his tongue around and biting lightly at her perked up nipple.

The hand rubbing her clit and rapid hip movements halted as she felt Matty, whose head now rested on her shoulder, still inside her, groaning loudly as he came inside her, rope after rope of his sticky cum coating her walls. She wailed, eyes rolling back into her head as the tightness in her stomach finally released. She leaned forward to bite Matty’s shoulder softly, tears streaming down her cheeks at the intensity of both her orgasms.

She slipped her arms out from between their chests, wrapping them tightly around Matty’s neck before pressing her head into his neck, sighing contently.

Matty smiled softly against her, lifting the hand that still rested on her left hip to rub her back gently.

“Water’s gone all cold, sweetheart,” He said, slightly muffled by the delicate skin of her shoulder.

She shrugged lazily in his arms, murmuring back a sweet, “M’cozy.”

“Y’cosy?” He bit back a soft laugh at her lovely voice, “Not gonna be so ‘cosy’ when you get a cold, honey.” He continued rubbing her back, cooing inwardly when he heart a soft sniffle beneath him.

“How ‘bout this, baby, let me get out, and I’ll go get your clothes, get you nice and dry, and then we can go back to this exact position in my bed… That sound good?”

She nodded weakly against his chest, and that's exactly what they did. Quickly pulling on a new pair of sweats, he remembered he’d laid out some boxers and an old sweatshirt of his on the bed before he’d gotten in the bath, and he was particularly grateful for it now, grabbing the pile off the bed, and a towel warmed from the dryer, before speed-walking back to the bathroom. He knocked softly before walking in, wanting to be safer than sorry, and heard a soft hum from behind the door. A sign to enter, he assumed.

Walking in, he saw that she was still in the exact position he’d left her in, knees tucked to her chest, with her chin rested against her knees. He cooed, putting her new clothes on the basin before helping her stand in the bath, opening the warm towel and wrapping it around her body, her hands poking out to keep it wrapped around herself as he scooped her up, setting her down to sit on the lid of the toilet.

Grabbing the clothes off the basin, he slipped the soft grey sweater over her head, and pulled his boxers up her legs, pressing a kiss to her forehead once she was dressed.

She murmured a ‘thank you’, to which he responded by kissing her again, this time on her lips, before picking her up again, placing a hand on her left knee, pushing it to wrap around his waist, before doing the same to her right.

Keeping her steady with a hand on her bum, he walked the few steps to his bed as quickly as possible. He held her up with one hand as he used the other to pull back the covers, before carefully crawling into the bed, being sure not to disturbed her comfort in his arms as he did so.

Wrapping the soft duvet around the both of them, he looked down at her to see her smiling up at him. He beamed back at her, dimples visible in his cheeks, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to her puffy lips.

She sighed in content, pulling away from the kiss and resting her head on his shoulder again, nose nuzzling against the soft skin of his neck. He smiled to himself, before picking up his phone from the bedside table, checking his notifications quickly before he opened Instagram, scrolling aimlessly through his reels. He swiped upon a particularly funny minions meme, pushing air out of his nostrils in a half-laugh, before angling his phone down to show her. He looked down to watch her reaction, his favourite thing in the world being to see her laugh - it was automatically a great day for him whenever he was the one to coax a giggle from her - but instead saw she was asleep, lips parted slightly, and eyebrows relaxed.

He smiled fondly down at her, using the arm she was laying on to rub soothingly up and down her arm. He clicked ‘Save’ on the meme, telling himself to remember to show her later, before he opened Safari, logging into Twitter, or ‘X’ now, - ‘so fucking stupid’ he thought - looking to see what fans had to say about their new show, ‘Still… at their very best.’

©trumanbluee - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! but i do not wish for my work to be republished, translated, or copied. thanks!

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thebardostate · 1 year ago

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If the objective is entirely sufficient to describe reality, then why does the subject exist at all? Why aren't we all automatons carrying out our evolutionary programming?

“In a society that accords priority to that which is predictable and places a premium on certainty, our spontaneous, preconceptual experience, when acknowledged at all, is referred to as “merely subjective.” The fluid realm of direct experience has come to be seen as a secondary, derivative dimension, a mere consequence of events unfolding in the “realer” world of quantifiable and measurable scientific “facts.” It is a curious inversion of the actual, demonstrable state of affairs. Subatomic quanta are now taken to be more primordial and “real” than the world we experience with our unaided senses. The living, feeling, and thinking organism is assumed to derive, somehow, from the mechanical body whose reflexes and “systems” have been measured and mapped, the living person now an epiphenomenon of the anatomized corpse. That it takes living, sensing subjects, complete with their enigmatic emotions and unpredictable passions, to conceive of those subatomic fields, or to dissect and anatomize the body, is readily overlooked, or brushed aside as inconsequential.”

— David Abram

#scientism #materialism and its discontents #philosophy of mind #consciousness

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tigerpearlsworld · 1 year ago

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Pick a card

(deep in your soul who are you in core and what is your path)

Before you chose the cards know that this is a general pick a card and in this universe all the energies are different. you can only choose one card. this pick a card is meant for your soul not for you to resonate but for you to realize when you get the message and the truth. to pick the card you have to look for more then the image but you have to look for depth in each image. breathe in and breathe out, lit a candle, meditate and really feel the image and sense if you were not in your body but in the universe where would your soul be realistically. again its not about how you want to see, its about what your soul wants and when you feel the tug in your heart not your head know that its your card.

Sorry if my English is bad.

𝓣𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓼 𝓫𝓮 𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓾𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓱.

Left to right :

pile 1 . pile 2 . pile 3

The reading starts...

Pile 1 :

(Healing,poems,sadness,withering,calling,acceptance,leaving)

Animal which came for you... Phoenix

Element which came for you... Fire and Water

Cards: (3 of cups, 7 of pentacles R x, ace of wands, 4 of cups, strength, the high priestess)

There is sadness a sense of loss. Deep in your soul I see you trying to dive deep but every time you do you're pushed back by life and its waves. I see restlessness you feel every time dread consuming you. At night it feels that you know something is missing but you don't like to feel and so you leave this feelings alone. I see the word which comes for you is " Deeper then you realize" yes that's you. you fail to understand yourself so people fail to understand you. you have good intuition and strength of mind but you have fears. I sense that your mind is blocked somewhere deep in your unconscious mind if it makes sense. I feel that your soul is very old and tired and that you were a victim in your past and even now. such tiredness such sadness yet you don't let it push you down you're relentless and even when you feel lonely you move again and again and again. you don't like to be too available but you crave freedom. I sense your heart is blocked too as you don't allow or maybe you try too but deep in your mind you chain yourself to suffering. it feels like you are trying to give justice to yourself from something you don't understand.

I see in the stars that you have been promised a house and a career. I sense that materially you will be always fulfilled now or later but in matters of heart, soul and tears you'll always be wounded and lost.

I see you in a boat alone trying to navigate your way but there is no light and sound and wind. that is where your soul feels you are. I see people show you illusions and try to take what is yours from you but you don't back down as you're strong. But I feel like you may have nightmares or bad dreams or even no dreams at all. But you feel in your heart that there is something empty. I see unlike your peers and people who always have it lucky ..from early on life your parent saw you as someone mature and you had responsibilities more then someone should have in your age. You feel as if people always ask you for guidance look at you as someone who has experience and know everything. sometimes you feel its unfair. you are also someone who has high standards and always in competition with others i see you're a jealous person and you like to have and be better then anyone. Emotionally in your present you are shallow and discontent, there is always a sense of rush in your mind towards everything weather it be goal, work or something....its always now or never. you cant rest because you are still tangled up in the veins of your punishment your mind punishes you for your past and it doesn't even lets you know or see your fault. it cages you.

the solution I see for you is to get in touch with your past and do fire rituals. Meditate on the fire to purify your mind. In this life your karma is to be mature and aware. Don't cage yourself in this loop of negativity but try to think and say good things. Do fire meditation or ritual before you sleep to get answers. feel that you're surrounded by love and light because I see many of your past people mainly ancestors are behind you in each step. Untangle yourself from the victimhood and destruction of your mind. Realize your full potential and you'll be unstoppable.

As i was channeling your energy this song came asking permission for your soul maybe you can resonate.

Pile 2 :

(Complain, voices, Lack, guardian, protected, Independent, Repent)

Animal which came for you.... Hawk

Element which came for you... Air and wood

Cards: (10 of swords, 10 of cups, page of cups, the world, the emperor)

Alice in the wonderlands is coming for you but also the story of red riding hood is coming.

I sense something is unforgivable and you live that unforgivable life. Maybe its something you had done or something done to you but you cant forgive. You're a stubborn soul who wont forgive and so even if you like to show yourself or others and tell that you don't focus on past but your path always leads you back to the past. your mind and heart always leaves you in lost . As because you don't understand what you want. you have so much potential to grow in ways you don't understand but your short coming is you're always lost as because you and your soul have different opinions and don't come in agreement as something is being rejected or hidden. You are realistic and you're skeptic I sense and that is your reality to always question and see things for what they are. you judge, yes. but you don't like to be judged. you have a ego problem too I see. And sometimes you chew more then you can swallow in that rage or moment of ego.

But I see you have talents and you garner jealousy from people if you realize or not. I can see in life you'll get many betrayals and experience many loss in terms of career, money, family, love, friendship. but something which you wont ever lose even if you try is you. and that is because even when you try to give up your stubborn soul doesn't lets you. you have a keen sense of knowing everything when you look at something or someone. your capability to sense danger or vibes which are off about people or situation is on point. you are a survivalist and you like to be prepared even if people say or see you as someone who is lazy but you work smart.

I see that you maybe popular or become popular in time. you may even have pets or be someone who advocates more for animals then fellow humans. "Antisocial and Watchful" is coming as words in my mind for you.

In your stars I see that you'll be given despair at one point of your life. unemployment and even homelessness is seen with poverty coming so strong. you will have to work hard and labor for each moment of life and suddenly I see that when your karma of repentance is complete YOUR STARS WILL GIVE YOU JUSTICE you'll be given a soul community of like minded people who feels like home and sudden wealth. I also see that your love life will blossom later in life but it will stick with you when it does happen. I also get a message for you "When you close your own seeing eyes and you trust your heart and the stars and let your hand be guided by the gods and the angel and you don't let past or doubt fill you in question but you're filled with peace, acceptance and forgiveness you'll meet your love" and your lover I can see will be a total angel who will always be with you and will always guide you towards light. just don't bring ego, independence and stubbornness. that is what I heard for you.

like i said early your word for you is repent and your soul wants to repent for something and its stubborn so till it repents it wont let you rest and will direct you back again and again to the past. and if you fight too much you'll lose.

I see you'll go through betrayals and even accidents where someone intentionally does bad to you but you'll survive and pick yourself up again. your key to success is to honor your past but not let it control you. you have to mine your way out towards a direction which is not in the same place or same thing you had previously done. you have to do something different and differently to get answers from your soul and the stars.

no one can control you, only you control yourself and in a way i feel that you already know that. you're a natural rebel and even may had bad relationship with authority figure and even your own father. you don't like to be controlled and told what to do as because you don't search for answers from others but from your self. you are an independent soul so you don't like when people are indecisive or change opinion or mind a lot. you are ride or die and loyalty is something huge for you. I also see that as you are so sure of yourself and independent in your thought and way of doing you may come in conflict with a lot of people. I'll tell you one thing your eyes are good and intuition is very on point. I see that you have the kind of eyes which See's through the facade of people and sometimes without even knowing the person and just by looking at them you can know what and how things will unfold with this person for you or others. Your eyes See's everything,every detail and you remember each and every word. but sometimes your all seeing eye and intuition can make you paranoid when you don't know how to use and so you may lose a lot of opportunities in life .Being independent is good but sometimes you should also lean on help that comes for you.

In this life to lessen your sorrow I see you must be more forgivable and also not come to conclusion about someone. I see that there is a lesson meant for you which is to be more social and accepting of people and their ways of doing things not everyone is perfect so let it rest and try to go on hike or walk in the nature when you feel restless or more chaotic. Doing more charity work or non profit work will also help you a lot in this life. To get less sorrows in life try to get blessings of people older and servants in your life.

This song was coming in my head for you as i was channeling your energy listen to the song maybe you can resonate.

Pile 3 :

(Distance, Travelling, Time, Healing, changes, Diet, path)

Animal which came for you... Lion

Element which came for you... Ether and fire

Cards: (Queen of wands, 5 of wands, 3 of wands, the hanged man, queen of pentacles)

The story which is coming for you in my head is Cinderella and the little mermaid.

you have the blessings of your ancestors, i see them blessing you and protecting you. there is this sense of stealth you have which always keeps you balanced and floating no matter what life throws at you. some call it luck but you know that its more then that.

what i sense for you is that your soul is someone who is strong and brave and someone who has mastered everything in the past life and so it feels confident and content within itself. for your soul freedom is the most important thing. i sense that you as an individual is someone with surreal themes of ultimate romance and tragic love where you want to be in love with the most pure form of love.

your soul doesn't allows you to get pin down by tradition and pushes you to be more then what is expected of you. sometimes you may come as aloof or hard to access to people and sometimes people may think you are submissive and a push over but those who know you close know how strong and spirited you are.

Even though your soul craves freedom sometimes you may panic not knowing your own path and may want others to decide, but whenever others decide for you.... it either bring bad fortune or you are discontent and do the opposite of what the person told you anyway.

i see you have a lot of competition in life and its not the kind of competition where you want to participate but the kind where you are forced to compete. you like to push your own limit and like to compete with yourself more then other. the idea of competition is something you may not like. i also see you waiting in life for something .... sometimes you may even dream about that certain something but what is coming for you is that rather then waiting for something to happen in life you should do more initiation in life. yes. initiation.

"a thought out action is better than a action with no thoughts", is the message coming from the ancestors towards you.

"know who you are and only accept things which are worthy to you"

i feel that there is two sides of you which comes like a tree which was planted and then it branched two different ways. i sense that as a kid you may have been very trustworthy and naive to the point of people abusing and using you and then suddenly something so major happened in life that you did not remain the same naive innocent person you once were. i sense there is a lot of traumatic experience you had to deal as a child and you had lots of hopes. i also sense for some not all that you family members abused you or controlled you , but you break free from them and moved away.

i see that you are someone who is very unorthodox and someone with a lot of alien fashion and thoughts in your head. you like to dream. you like art too. but you also are someone who is very scientific, like i said you have two face but its not a bad thing you learned that in life everyone wear mask. and although your small version would have disapproved as you were such a bundle of innocence and dreams but now its different.

you are someone who is full of beauty and also can be both a career woman and a house maker.

in your stars i see escapism and pleasure is coming for you, i sense that you have a lot going in your heart and head always and that you're someone who is very sensitive in your heart...empath to be precise so i would say don't try the shortcut and don't do drugs or alcohol it would severe your connection from your ancestor and your luck would lessen if you do. also i can see a major transformation happening in your life where once you may had been imprison for real in jail or in house through relationship i sense something traumatic is written in your life which would free you from that bondage of imprisonment and make you powerful. i also sense that you have lot of people trying to get your attention and fight for you in love and some of them can be as toxic as wanting to control you but don't falter and settle down. As the romance you crave you will find, yes true love that you have once dreamt or wished when young that wish will be fulfilled. I sense that your star is always helping you get to the right track in life and always shows you your true path, you are guided even when you think you're not. the stars has written that in your faith even when you feel lost you wont be. you are protected. also look for butterflies especially yellow once they may guide you sometimes.

In this life you must be true to you, your karma in this life is to transform. Its saying you must be careful in your words and action, more like be precise with them. Be mindful with your group of friends. To connect with your ancestors try to bath in the early sun light and do meditation.

No song came for you during my reading, sorry.

#pick a card #tarot #tarotcommunity #soul #Spotify

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mononijikayu · 11 months ago

Text

lonely in gorgeous – ryomen sukuna.

In that small moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in a bit of nostalgia, thinking about the paths you both had taken. You hoped he was happy and successful, thriving in the world he had always been so passionate about. And though you doubted you would ever hear from him again, you couldn't help but wonder if he ever thought about you, if he ever missed the days when you were his muse, and he was your world.

GENRE: alternate universe - fashion au!

WARNING/S: alternate universe - canon convergence, modern au, fashion au!, rated 18 and above, age gap (reader is in 20s and sukuna is in his 30s), explicit content, smut, p to v sex, flirting, romance, humor, strangers to lovers, lovers to strangers, break up, time skip (ten years later);

LISTEN: lonely in gorgeous by tommy february6

NOTE: this is probably my second favorite so far. because i keep thinking of hiromi and sukuna throughout but modern au??? i loved this a lot because its based on paradise kiss, which i think is one of the stories i loved in a long time. it makes me wanna rewatch paradise kiss. i'm very happy with this one. i hope you enjoy it as much as i do <3333

masterlist

kayu's playlist — side 700;

IT STARTED OUT IN A WAY YOU DIDN’T EXPECT. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the grassy expanse of the park. You sat on the bench, surrounded by the cacophony of rustling leaves and distant chatter, the weight of your textbooks heavy on your lap. Each page seemed to blur together, the words melding into an incomprehensible jumble as exhaustion gnawed at the edges of your mind.

As you stared at the pages before you, the thought of continuing down this path weighed heavily on your shoulders. This degree, chosen by your mother, felt more like a burden than a choice. It was her dream, her unfinished journey that you were expected to fulfill. Yet, with each passing day, the realization grew stronger within you that it wasn't your dream at all. It was a legacy you were expected to carry, a path laid out for you by someone else's ambitions.

The thought left you feeling adrift, caught between the expectations of others and the yearning for something more. The park, with its tranquil beauty, offered a brief respite from the chaos of your thoughts. Here, amidst the gentle sway of the trees and the soft rustle of leaves, you found a fleeting sense of peace, a momentary escape from the pressures of academia and familial expectations.

The figure at the nearby table commanded attention, his presence as enigmatic as it was compelling. Ryomen Sukuna, renowned fashion designer, his reputation preceded him like a shadow cast by the setting sun. His tall, imposing frame was a stark contrast to the tranquil surroundings of the park, yet there was an undeniable magnetism to his presence.

As he sat hunched over his sketchbook, his expression was one of intense concentration, his fingers moving deftly across the page in a frenzied dance. The lines he etched upon the paper seemed to materialize effortlessly, each stroke a testament to his skill and creativity. But beneath the surface, there was a simmering frustration, a sense of discontent that lingered like a shadow in the corners of his mind.

For Sukuna, the park had become an unlikely refuge, a sanctuary of sorts where he could retreat from the relentless demands of his craft. Here, amidst the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of city life, he sought solace in the simplicity of nature, hoping to unearth the spark of inspiration that had eluded him for so long.

Intrigued by the sight of you, Ryomen Sukuna couldn't tear his gaze away. The exhaustion etched into your features, mingled with an unmistakable determination, spoke volumes to him, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. With a sense of curiosity piqued by the contrast of your presence against the backdrop of the park, he found himself compelled to approach you.

With confident strides, he closed the distance between you, his sketchpad clutched in one hand as though it were a precious treasure. There was a magnetic pull in his demeanor, an air of authority and intrigue that seemed to precede him like a gentle breeze, stirring the stillness of the evening air.

As he neared, his gaze never wavered from you, his eyes scanning your form with a keen sense of observation. It was as though he were studying a masterpiece, seeking to unravel the secrets hidden within the intricate tapestry of your being. And when he finally reached your side, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a tension that crackled between you like electricity waiting to ignite.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and determination. You looked up, startled by the sudden interruption. “Would you like to model for me?”

Confused, you furrowed your brows. “Model? I’m not a model. I’m just a student.”

Sukuna’s eyes glinted with a hint of amusement. “Doesn’t matter. I want you to be my model.”

You stared at him, still trying to process the odd request. “But… Why me?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know yet. But there’s something about you. I can’t explain it. Just think about it.”

Your mind buzzed with confusion as you watched Ryomen Sukuna retreat, leaving you to grapple with the unexpected encounter. His enigmatic demeanor left you feeling both intrigued and bewildered, as though you had stumbled into a world of mysteries waiting to be unraveled.

His simple yet cryptic words lingered in the air, echoing in your mind like an elusive melody. "There's something about you," he had said, a statement that sparked a flurry of questions within you. What did he see in you that prompted such a request? What hidden depths did he perceive beneath the surface of your tired facade?

As you held his business card in your hand, its sleek surface cool against your skin, you couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity stirring within you. What harm could come from entertaining the idea, if only for a moment? With a sense of hesitancy tinged with intrigue, you tucked the card into your pocket, a silent promise to explore the mysterious invitation further.

The sun hung low in the sky as you made your way back to the park, the familiar sight of Ryomen Sukuna sketching under the shade of a tree drawing you closer. With each step, your heart quickened, a mixture of apprehension and excitement swirling within you.

As you approached him, Sukuna glanced up from his sketchpad, a small smile gracing his lips. "Back again, I see," he remarked, his voice smooth and confident.

You nodded, unable to suppress the curiosity that burned within you. "I couldn't stay away," you admitted, your tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Sukuna's gaze softened, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I thought as much," he replied, his attention returning to his sketch. "Have you given any more thought to my offer?"

You hesitated, the memory of his cryptic request still fresh in your mind. "I'm not sure I understand what you see in me," you confessed, your voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and self-doubt.

Sukuna looked up, his gaze meeting yours with a piercing intensity. "Sometimes, it's not about understanding," he replied cryptically. "It's about embracing the unknown. You won’t be able to live a life like this without embracing what makes life so hard, you know.”

“Why do you keep asking me?” you demanded of him. “I’m just a burnt out college student. What do I have to offer?”

Sukuna looked up from his sketchpad, his expression serious. “Because you’re my muse.”

The words hung in the air, and you felt a strange thrill at the idea. Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself agreeing to his request.

"I suppose……I could give it a try." you finally conceded, a hint of uncertainty still lingering in your voice. “What do I have to lose at this point?”

Sukuna's smile widened, a spark of satisfaction flickering in his eyes. "Excellent." he replied, a note of excitement creeping into his tone. "Trust me, you won't regret it."

“I hope not.”

“Little muse, you should pose on the other side.” He says to you. “I need to get your hair right for this one.”

You nodded at him. You couldn’t help but ponder at his words for a moment, the weight of their meaning sinking in. He called you his muse. He needed you as his muse. You didn’t know why you agreed, but you knew you really had nothing to lose. And this gives you something to do, other than being miserable about your college life.

There was something about Sukuna, you couldn’t point it out even if you tried. But you knew that there was an air of mystery surrounding Sukuna that both intrigued and unnerved you. But despite your reservations, you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Because it was quite easy to see for you.

You think he was about to change your life.

And little did you know, you were right.

The following weeks were quite a hurricane storm. You were quite the spectator to Sukuna’s creativity. Everything about how he worked was something you had never seen before. He was always so full of passion, everything about it was electric. His energy was infectious, and you found yourself caught up in his world.

You posed for him in various outfits he made each and every week, each one more daring and unconventional than the last. Despite his notorious reputation, Sukuna was surprisingly patient with you. He encouraged you, challenged you, and celebrated your progress.

At first, it was hard adjusting to it all. You didn’t know if you actually had it in you to pull these clothes off. But he kept talking to you about each and every story the dress made and more and more, each piece of clothing he made for you to try and model in was clothes that slowly became your friend.

He pushed you out of your comfort zone, and you discovered slowly but surely, you came to realize that there was passion in you too, as much as there was the bounty of potential and confidence that was just waiting to be nurtured and waiting to blossom.

The connection between you two grew stronger, and you began to understand why he had chosen you. Your exhaustion and determination, your raw, unpolished presence, was exactly what he needed to reignite his creativity. One evening, after a particularly intense session, you found yourself sitting beside him over glasses of wine, watching the city lights flicker in the distance.

As you sat beside Sukuna, watching him sketch with newfound clarity, you couldn't help but feel a sense of validation wash over you. You watch him pour another glass on your glass and then his.

"I think I'm starting to get it," you admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

Sukuna glanced up from his sketchpad, a pleased smile gracing his lips. "Told you, little muse." he replied, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "There's something about you that's just... captivating."

“Oh don’t flatter me that way.”

His words echoed in the dimly lit room, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the soft hum of conversation. Sukuna's eyes held a glimmer of sincerity as he spoke, his grin genuine as he savored the moment.

"You've brought something back to life in me," he repeated, his voice carrying a weight of truth. It was a confession, raw and unguarded, revealing a vulnerability that belied his usual stoic demeanor. “I’m thankful.”

As you watched him, a warmth spread through your chest, your heart swelling with a mixture of pride and affection. To know that you had played a part in rekindling Sukuna's passion, in breathing life into his creativity, filled you with a sense of purpose unlike anything you had ever felt before.

You chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "Well, I'm glad I could help," you said, sincerity lacing your tone. "And who knows, maybe this could be the start of something great."

Sukuna's gaze softened, a glimmer of gratitude shining in his eyes. "I have a feeling it will be," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Well, it already is, if I’m being honest.”

“Why me, really?” you asked softly as you take in the image of him. “Why did you choose me?”

Sukuna turned to you, his eyes reflecting the lights of the city. “Because you’re real. You’re not polished or perfect, and that’s what makes you beautiful. You remind me that inspiration can come from the most unexpected places.”

His words touched you deeply, and you realized that this experience had changed you. You were no longer just a burnt-out college student. You had become a muse, a source of inspiration, and in turn, you had found your own spark of creativity and passion. You were his muse, you were the essence of his wonder. As you looked at Sukuna, you could see he was looking at you.

In that moment, as Sukuna's gaze met yours, you felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you. It was as if the air between you crackled with an unspoken understanding, a shared connection that transcended words.

Without a word, Sukuna reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in closer. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with each passing second.

And then, his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with unspoken promises, a silent vow to cherish each other and the bond you shared. In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, the world around you fading into the background.

As you pulled away, breathless and flushed, you locked eyes with Sukuna once more, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. In that simple gesture, you both knew that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary, a journey filled with endless possibilities and boundless love.

"Wow," you whispered, your heart racing as you gazed into Sukuna's eyes. "I never knew..."

Sukuna's smirk was tinged with affection as he brushed his thumb lightly over your cheek. "You never knew what, my dear muse?"

"That you could make me feel this way," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "That you could make me feel... alive."

Sukuna's expression softened, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings for you. "You've brought out something in me that I thought was lost forever," he confessed. "And for that, I'll always be grateful, little muse.”

You could feel yourself echo in the shade of scarlet as you leaned in to press another gentle kiss to his lips, savoring the warmth and intimacy of the moment. He kissed you back, his hands encroaching against your jaw as he pulled you closer to him. In Sukuna's embrace, you felt a sense of belonging, a sense of completeness that you had never experienced before.

As you pulled away, a smile graced Sukuna's lips, his gaze filled with warmth and adoration. "Shall we continue to inspire each other, my dear muse?" he murmured, his voice low and husky.

With a nod and a smile, you intertwined your fingers with his, knowing that together, you were destined to create something truly extraordinary.

When you look at him, the city lights seem dull.

Ryomen Sukuna was brighter than everything else.

And you fell in love with everything in him more.

IT WAS ALL AN INTENSE WHIRLWIND. At every turn, Sukuna flaunted your presence, introducing you to his acquaintances and peers as his muse, the source of his inspiration. Your relationship with him flourished amidst the glamorous backdrop of high-profile parties and events, where you were the center of attention, admired for your natural allure and captivating presence.

In the eyes of Sukuna, you were not just a model or a companion; you were the embodiment of his artistic vision, the muse who breathed life into his designs and fueled his creativity. Together, you navigated the intricacies of the fashion world, of his world as you basked in the spotlight and forging a bond that transcended mere admiration.

As your connection with Sukuna deepened, the lines between your worlds began to blur. He used his extensive network to secure opportunities for you, arranging magazine features where you modeled the clothes he had painstakingly crafted. With each photoshoot and editorial spread, you became the living embodiment of his artistic vision, seamlessly blending into the world he had created.

As your career flourished under his guidance, you found yourself spending more and more time in Sukuna's presence. He became not just your mentor, but your confidant and companion, guiding you through the intricacies of the fashion industry with unwavering support and encouragement.

With Sukuna's help, you acquired your own manager and began to take on more jobs, each one bringing you further into the spotlight. You reveled in the attention, basking in the glow of success that seemed to follow wherever you went.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the lines between both of your lives blurred almost imperceptibly. What began as occasional visits to his apartment soon transformed into a routine, with more nights spent in his space than in your own college dorm.

His apartment became a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you could escape the pressures and expectations of the outside world and simply be yourself. The familiar surroundings, infused with Sukuna's presence, offered a sense of comfort and security that you found nowhere else.

In Sukuna's world, time seemed to slow down, allowing you to savor each moment spent together. Whether it was cooking dinner together in the cozy kitchen, lounging on the couch as you watched movies late into the night, or simply sharing quiet conversations in the dim glow of lamplight, every experience felt like a precious gift.

And as you became more deeply entwined in Sukuna's life, you found yourself embracing aspects of his world that were once foreign to you. You attended glamorous parties and events by his side, proudly adorned with everything he made to fit only you. You enjoyed standing beside him as he spoke to other fashion connoisseurs, while you ended up mingling with fashion elites and modeling industry insiders who passed around their business cards to you one after the other.

But amidst the glitz and glamor, there were moments of vulnerability and intimacy that bound you together even more tightly. You realized that not everyone saw this part of the world Ryomen Sukuna orbited. You enjoyed his company, you enjoyed watching him pick apart fabrics all day.

You’ve seen him be frustrated with his work each and every day. You’ve seen him rush to you with delight when he thinks that it’s perfect enough for you to wear. In that whole two years, you found yourself sharing your hopes and dreams, your fears and insecurities, laying bare your soul in a way you never thought possible.

In the midst of the glamor and passion, there were also moments of turmoil and discord that tested the strength of your relationship. Arguments erupted over trivial matters, escalating into heated exchanges that left you both feeling wounded and raw. Tears were shed, words were spoken in anger, and the once serene sanctuary of Sukuna's apartment became a battleground for your conflicting emotions.

At times, it felt as though your lover was a tempestuous storm, his moods shifting unpredictably from blazing intensity to icy detachment. His affectionate gestures were often overshadowed by moments of aloofness, leaving you feeling bewildered and uncertain of where you stood in his heart.

But Sukuna was a complicated man, and his feelings for you were just as complex. He could be warm and affectionate one moment, then distant and cold the next. His hot-and-cold behavior left you confused and exasperated. There were times he seemed to take pleasure in toying with your emotions, pushing your boundaries, and testing your naivete.

In the midst of these turbulent emotions, Sukuna's behavior sometimes bordered on manipulative. He had a knack for using subtle tactics to exert control over you, whether it was through guilt-tripping, emotional manipulation, or even resorting to underhanded methods like calling your friends to inquire about your whereabouts without your knowledge.

These manipulative tendencies only added to the strain on your relationship, fostering a sense of distrust and resentment that simmered beneath the surface. Despite your love for Sukuna, there were moments when you questioned whether the tumultuous nature of your connection was worth the emotional toll it took on you.

Yet, even in the midst of the storm, there were moments of tenderness and vulnerability that reminded you why you fell in love with Sukuna in the first place. In the quiet moments of reconciliation, when apologies were whispered and forgiveness granted, you found solace in the depths of your shared connection, clinging to the hope that love would ultimately prevail over the trials and tribulations that threatened to tear you apart.

Leaving behind the familiarity of your college dorms for the sanctuary of Sukuna's apartment marked a significant turning point in your life. Graduation loomed on the horizon, a milestone that signified the culmination of years of hard work and dedication. Yet, amidst the celebrations and anticipation of what lay ahead, it was the quiet moments spent in Sukuna's arms that held the greatest allure.

With each passing day, your bond with Sukuna deepened, weaving itself into the very fabric of your existence. His apartment, once a temporary escape from the demands of college life, had now become your sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of the outside world. Within its walls, you found solace and strength, a sense of belonging that transcended words.

The allure of Sukuna's presence was undeniable, you needed him. You knew there was no one else. You wanted him, all his ugly and dirty. In all his magnetic charm drawing you ever closer with each passing moment. In his arms, you found respite from the uncertainties and anxieties that plagued your mind, basking in the warmth of his affection and the reassurance of his love. You burned for him, as you always do.

Ryomen Sukuna could only smirk as you clenched around him. He was trying to be careful with you, it was your first time after all. He could see the way your face scrunched as he kissed you all over, trying to distract you from the pain. He lets himself coo at you as he gives your forehead a small kiss.

"There, there," he cooed softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Just relax, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."

His words were like a balm to your nerves, calming you as you adjusted to the sensation. You nodded, allowing yourself to relax into his touch as the initial discomfort began to fade.

"I trust you.” you whispered, meeting his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and affection.

“I know you do, baby.”

His harsh thrusts could only really make your head spin. You held tight to him, moaning against his shoulder, tears falling from your face. His throat let out low growls one after another as he pushes through the depths of you with each and every bottoming down into you. He feels like he is molding into you, as much as he’s molding you into him.

“Yer so good f’r me, aren’t you?” He groans against you, his body enveloping all around you, the sweat of you melting against his skin. “Go ‘n baby, keep making those sounds f’r me.”

You could feel overwhelmed as he changed your position, your belly resting on the bed, his cock still inside you. You felt your body rattle as much as the bed did as l his huge cock effortlessly bullies deep into your hole with vigorous excitement. You could not stop feeling your insides be like they’re on fire. You could feel yourself squeeze around him tightly.

His strong calloused hands wander below your chest, holding onto you the way he does with his fabrics — a sense of desire for the things that are beautiful. Soon enough, you could feel them strongly encroach against the will of your hips, fingers leaving imprints as they pressed hard against your skin. You could only squirm under his intense gaze.

You couldn’t even focus anymore as drool fell from your lips. You cry as you shake and shake against his touch. His rough kisses hurt, but you didn’t care. You let him paint his lips all over your body, those brutally vain beauty of lips touching every sensitive part of you. He grins as he watches you lose all sense. He watches you apart from him.

“My little muse, uh, y’r so good f’r me, aren’t you?” He says against your ear, letting out a moan. “I’ll make a good dress f’r you, a sequenced one? No, no, it’s going to be the same color of your skin. I’ll feast on it. I’m pretty sure. But I’m the only one who gets to see it. I’m the only one that gets to see you that way.”

“Y–yeah,” You mewl against him, lost in everything but pleasure. ‘’kuna, I’m feeling something, it’s tooooooo good.”

“I know, baby. I can feel you, hm? I can feel you tightening up f’r me.” He leans forward, his body pressed against the small of your back. He thrusts, causing you to moan harshly. “Y’r about to come, hm? Give it to me, hm? Be my good little muse.”

Sukuna grabbed you by the hair, pulling you towards him with a fierce intensity. His lips crashed into yours, a passionate kiss that left you breathless as he pressed your bodies tightly together. You moaned into the kiss, your voice vibrating against his mouth as Sukuna trailed his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of bites and marks in his wake.

He pushed more into you as his head rested on the side of your neck with a predatory grace. His hips ground against yours, eliciting a gasp from your lips. The room filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing,tears pouring more and more as both of you closed the gates to pleasure

Sukuna's movements quickened, driven by a surge of pleasure and desire.. His mouth descended upon your collarbone, and neck — his free hand reaches breast, pinching it tightly as you cried. His tongue tracing patterns that sent shivers down your spine. You cried out, the mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming your senses as he marked you with his teeth.

The feeling of his warmth enveloping you was intoxicating, your eyes fluttering shut as you both lost yourselves in the sensation of being together. His thrusts grew harder and faster, each movement driving you both closer to the edge. You felt like your body was shutting down, with how cruelly deep he was getting into you.

Ryomen Sukuna felt like he belonged inside of you. Here, in your arms, he was exactly where he wanted to be—lost in the embrace of someone he loved, sharing a connection that was raw, passionate, and undeniably real.

Your bodies moved together in a rhythm as old as time, each thrust bringing them closer to the peak of ecstasy. Sukuna's movements were swift as he moved you back on your back, arms pulling your legs upwards to him as he drilled his hips.

You screamed in pleasure as you finally came, head pushing against the nook of the pillows. But Sukuna was still waiting to get there. He kept pushing and pushing, as though he were driven by a primal need, a hunger that could only be sated by the touch of your skin, the sound of your voice, the taste of your lips.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as pleasure washed over you in waves. Every sensation was heightened, every touch electrifying as you surrendered yourself to the moment. The intensity of your connection was overwhelming, consuming you both in a fiery blaze of passion.

"I love you." you gasped, your voice strained with pleasure as Sukuna's movements quickened.

"I love you too," Sukuna whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against your ear. "More than anything in this world."

With each word, his thrusts grew more urgent, driving you both towards the edge of ecstasy. The air was thick with passion as you clung to each other, lost in a whirlwind of desire.

As the intensity reached its peak, you locked eyes, sharing a moment of perfect understanding. And in that moment, as you surrender yourself completely to each other, you knew that your love would endure, forever and always.

Nothing was coherent anymore, all you could see was the stars as everything between you blurred until there was nothing left but the two of you. Nothing existed between the two of you but being lost in a world of pleasure and desire. Time seemed to stand still as you soared to new heights, your bodies intertwined in a dance of ecstasy.

And as you finally reached the pinnacle of your passion, Sukuna's name tumbled from your lips in a breathless cry, a testament to the depth of your desire for him. In that moment, you knew that nothing else mattered—only the two of you, bound together by an unbreakable bond that transcended time and space.

The realization that your love story with Sukuna had reached its final chapter weighed heavily on your heart as you sat across from him in the dimly lit restaurant. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows over the table, a poignant reminder of the fleeting nature of love and life itself.

You couldn't bear to see Sukuna sacrifice his dreams for the sake of your relationship. As much as you longed to hold onto him, to keep him by your side, you knew deep down that it wasn't fair to ask him to give up his ambitions for you. His talent deserved to be showcased on a global stage, and you couldn't stand in the way of his success, no matter how much it pained you to let him go.

With a heavy heart, you realized that sometimes, even the most beautiful love stories must come to an end. It was a bittersweet truth that echoed in the depths of your soul, a reminder that life was filled with moments of joy and sorrow, of love and loss.

As you gazed into Sukuna's eyes, you knew that it was time to say goodbye. It was a decision born out of love, a selfless act of letting go for the sake of both your happiness. And though it tore you apart inside, you found solace in the knowledge that you were setting him free to chase his dreams, even if it meant facing the pain of being apart.

“When were you going to tell me that you got an offer from Paris?”

As Sukuna's gaze lingered on you, his eyes held a depth of emotion that was difficult to decipher. It was a stark contrast to the man you had come to know so intimately, whose every thought and feeling had once been an open book to you. But now, as you sat across from him, you found yourself unable to read the nuances of his expression.

Your boyfriend had always been someone whose walls had gradually come down over time, allowing you to glimpse the vulnerability and truth behind his stoic facade. Yet, on this matter, his demeanor remained inscrutable, his thoughts veiled behind a mask of contemplation.

It was a disconcerting realization, to be faced with the uncertainty of Sukuna's intentions and emotions, especially in a moment as pivotal as this. You longed to understand his inner turmoil, to find some semblance of clarity amidst the swirling emotions that threatened to engulf you both.

But as you watched him take a sip of his wine, the silence between you stretching taut with unspoken words, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you. Sukuna's unreadable expression left you feeling adrift, uncertain of where you stood in his heart and what the future held for your relationship.

"Why bring it up now?" he countered, his voice low and measured. "Would it have changed anything?"

You hesitated, grappling with the conflicting emotions swirling within you. On one hand, you understood Sukuna's desire to protect you from unnecessary worries and uncertainties. On the other hand, you couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

"I guess I just wish you had been more open with me," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "We've been through so much together, Sukuna. I thought we could share everything."

Sukuna's expression softened, a trace of regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching across the table to gently grasp your hand. "I didn't mean to keep it from you. I just... I wanted to figure things out first, before I said anything."

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly at his words. Despite the hurt and confusion that lingered between you, there was an underlying sense of understanding and acceptance that anchored you to each other.

"I know," you replied, offering him a small, sad tentative smile. "I just wish we could have talked about it sooner."

“I don’t plan on taking it.”

“Why not?”

“I’m planning to stay here and be with you.” He admits to you. “I already have a name for myself here.”

“But you would make a bigger name for yourself, if you go out into the world.”

Sukuna's gaze softened as he reached across the table to cup your face gently in his hand. "I don't need a bigger name," he said earnestly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Not if it means being apart from you."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, touched by his unwavering devotion. "But Sukuna, I don't want to hold you back from your dreams," you replied, your voice tinged with concern.

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "You could never hold me back, baby.” he said softly. "Being with you is the greatest dream I could ever imagine."

"Are you sure?” You mumble at him.

“I am. I wouldn’t say this to you if I wasn’t.”

“But what if you resent me?” You whisper to him. “What ended up deciding I ruined your life? I won’t do that to you.”

Sukuna's heart clenched at the sight of your distress, his own emotions swirling in turmoil. He watched as you bit your lower lip, a telltale sign of your efforts to hold back tears. In that moment, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him, knowing that his decision was causing you such pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted to hurt you."

You shook your head slightly, a silent acknowledgment of his apology. But the hurt in your eyes remained, a silent testament to the depth of your pain.

"It's okay," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be okay."

But Sukuna knew that the road ahead would be anything but easy for you. And as he reached out to gently wipe away a tear from your cheek, he silently vowed to do everything in his power to ease your pain, even if it meant walking away from the one person he loved more than anything in the world.

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "You’re letting me go, aren’t you?”

“I can’t join you in Paris.” You mumble to him as you purse your lips at him. “You know that.”

“That’s why I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you.”

“But at the cost of your dreams? Sukuna, this is not good for you.”

“I know what’s good for me, and it's you.” His intense gaze burned you. “I’m not leaving you. Baby, I’m nothing without you. I can’t just leave you—”

Your eyes shone with bitter tears pouring down. “I can’t let you leave your dreams because of me. Not when you told me to follow my dreams no matter what.”

“But its not going to hinder me.”

“Those are easy words to say.” You whisper to him. “But one day, I know you’ll look at me and you’ll wake up and not feel happy anymore.”

“I love you.”

As Sukuna's words sank in, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness in your chest. You knew deep down that he was right—that staying together might ultimately lead to resentment and regret. But the thought of being apart from him was almost unbearable.

"I love you too, more than anything." you murmured, squeezing his hand gently. "But maybe...maybe it's time for us to part ways."

Sukuna's expression mirrored your own conflicted emotions, his gaze soft yet troubled. “We don’t have to do this.”

“It’s not going to make us happy.”

“But we’d be together.”

“But that’s not fair.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, weighted with the sorrow of an impending farewell. Sukuna's heart ached at the thought of letting you go, the idea of a life without you seeming almost unbearable. He longed to hold onto you, to defy the inevitable and cling to the love you shared.

"We don't have to do this," he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around yours, as if seeking reassurance in the warmth of your touch. "We can find a way to make it work. We can fight for us."

Your heart clenched at his words, torn between the love you felt for Sukuna and the harsh reality of your situation. You knew that as much as you wanted to stay, to fight for your relationship, there were forces at play beyond your control.

With a trembling breath, you leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to Sukuna's lips, savoring the bittersweet taste of goodbye. It was a kiss filled with all the love and longing that had defined your relationship, a silent farewell to the life you had built together.

As you pulled away, tears glistened in your eyes, reflecting the pain of your decision. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I love you, but I have to go."

With one last lingering look, you turned and walked away, each step a painful reminder of the love you were leaving behind. Sukuna watched you go, his heart heavy with sorrow, knowing that this was the right choice even as it tore him apart inside.

Leaving Sukuna's apartment that night was one of the hardest things you had ever done. As you gathered your belongings and made your way to the door, each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the gravity of your decision. It was a choice born out of love and sacrifice, a painful acknowledgment that staying by his side would only serve to hinder both of your paths forward.

In the days that followed, you found yourself grappling with a profound sense of loss and longing. The absence of Sukuna's presence in your life left a void that seemed impossible to fill, a gaping emptiness that echoed with the memories of your time together. Yet, despite the ache in your heart, you knew that staying away was the only way to truly move forward.

You avoided places where you knew Sukuna frequented, unwilling to risk the temptation of running into him and reopening old wounds. The thought of seeing him again filled you with a mixture of longing and fear, knowing that even the briefest encounter could reignite the flame of your feelings for him.

Deep down, you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, you would be drawn back into his orbit, unable to resist the pull of his magnetic presence. But you also knew that returning to him would only perpetuate the cycle of heartache and uncertainty that had plagued your relationship from the start.

And so, you made a conscious decision to stay away, to give yourself the space and time to heal. It was a choice driven by a desire for self-preservation, a recognition that true love sometimes means letting go, even when every fiber of your being longs to hold on.

Your manager told you when he was leaving.

You booked a shoot that same day, to keep busy.

Because you knew you would cry your eyes out.

You knew you’d go to the airport and see him off.

You didn’t want to break your hearts even more.

YOU THINK YOU’LL NEVER GET OVER HIM. Years later, you stood at the pinnacle of your career, having fulfilled your dream of becoming a successful model. Your name was well-known in the fashion world, and as you neared the age of retirement from modeling, you smoothly transitioned into acting, where you were already making a significant impact.

Sukuna lingered in your thoughts like a haunting melody, an ever-present refrain that played in the background of your daily life. Despite the passage of time and the distance that now separated you, his presence continued to echo through the corridors of your mind, a constant reminder of the love you had shared and the dreams you had once dared to chase together.

In the quiet moments of solitude, his memory would surface like a ghost from the past, flooding your thoughts with bittersweet nostalgia. You would find yourself reminiscing about the moments you had shared, the laughter and tears, the whispered confessions and stolen kisses. Each memory was etched into the fabric of your being, an indelible mark that refused to fade with time.

Even amidst the hustle and bustle of your busy life, Sukuna's presence lingered like a shadow, casting a subtle but palpable weight upon your heart. His absence was a constant ache, a void that no amount of success or distraction could ever hope to fill. You would catch yourself reaching for your phone to text him, only to remember that he was no longer there to answer.

Each morning, you carefully selected an outfit from the collection of clothes Sukuna had designed for you. He left them to you to find in his apartment, one he also left you. He left the letter saying that he wants you to continue using it until the lease is up. That everything he had was always going to be for you — it was always going to be with the thought of you.

Each and everyday, you knew that there was always a happy feeling in you when you wore them. You still feel like you had a connection with him through the fabric and cuts that had once been a part of his creative vision. His presence was woven into the very threads you wore, a constant reminder of the man who had once called you his muse. Somehow, you think, this was the only way that you could still love him — even when you both aren’t together anymore.

You often wondered where Sukuna was now, how he was thriving in the ever-evolving fashion world. Sometimes, when nostalgia struck, you would visit the store of his fashion house in Tokyo, browsing through the latest collections. Each piece you bought reminded you of him, a tangible connection to the past that you cherished dearly.

Despite your lingering feelings, you hadn't heard from Sukuna since he left for Paris. From what you heard from your mutual friends, he still keeps up to date with you. He buys your magazines, he watches your interviews, your shows. When you heard it, you could feel your heart break over and over. He still looks after you, from afar.

You didn't expect him to call you now. That’s just not his style. Even back then when you were dating. But you think that he understands. You look at your ring, that butterfly ring that he made you. You purse your lips as you feel how it still fits after all this time. How it fits so much better than your engagement ring.

You didn’t know how it happened, but it just did. You don’t think that he’ll ever measure how Ryomen Sukuna shaped your life. How Sukuna had loved you. But you couldn’t expect anything less. But life had moved on, and so had you, or so you told yourself. You were getting married in a couple of months. To a man that has become a stability in your life for the longest of times.

Yet, there were moments when the memories would flood back—the nights spent at glamorous parties, the intimate conversations, and the way he had looked at you as if you were his entire world. The warmth in the way he said your name, the tenderness of his fingertips against your own. Those memories were bittersweet, a blend of happiness and longing that you carried with you.

You were going to see a show in the Paris Opera while you both were on your honeymoon in France. Your fiance procured them for you. He’d always known that you liked opera. But you’ve never said out loud how and why. Because you knew that if you told him that you cling to him because of your first great love, you knew it wouldn’t be fair to him.

Still, you were going to go enjoy the show. He told you it was a romantic drama with comedy in the middle. But you knew that you probably wouldn’t be able to focus on enjoying the show as well as you want to. After all, it would be hard. You would be looking at those familiar passionate stitches and threads, knowing they were specifically made by request of the Paris Opera by the one you had loved the most — Ryomen Sukuna.

You think that this was the only ending.

But perhaps if there would be another one,

In all the alternate universes, all the next lives;

You’d wish that you and Sukuna were happy.

You’d wish you both would end up together.

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