#so like yeah. i just love when characters write to each other. i leave my bf little notes as a treat everywhere

[hecksupremechips]

Time for me to be completely changed as a person! *just watched falsettos*

[dbphantom]

maybe i should have gone into practical effects instead of computer science...

[watchyourdigits]

disclaimer about my fics: all of them have some point in time where two characters (USUALLY the main two) write each other either letters or notes (or both). It's a running theme with both of my current fics. I can't help myself!!! There's something so sentimental to me about handwriting. And the idea of being able to save a piece of a person you care about that is uniquely them??? To have and to hold throughout time?? To communicate?? To LOVE??

ohhhhh myyy godddddd gtfoh with that (at me) I'm gonna start crying I just love the idea of writing letters (especially as someone who struggles to communicate with words and does so better with writing ahghfhfhfhfhfj)

[deathbxnny]

Helloo!! Arcane is ending soon, so I was wondering if I could request the Arcane cast reacting to a reader who suspiciously seems to know everything that’s gonna happen in the plot? They always appear where the action is, and they warn about dangers before they happen, trying to ”subtly” change the outcomes of horrible events. Tragedies are a core element of the story, so I feel that the narrative would create another disaster if one event got prevented, but the thought of these characters being safe and happy after all they’ve been through would be so healing :3 It’s up to you which way you want to take it 🐁💖 I’m fine with both platonic and romantic, but I’d love to see Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn if that’s ok :)

I love love love your writing, reading your HC’s before bed has become an important part of my day and it’s always a joy to see your work pop up in the tags <3 Thank you for letting us read your creations 💖 I can’t wait to read the second part of your Caitlyn fic!!

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

I absolutely LOVE this idea, Anon, and I appreciate your request so much!! Also, thank you for your kind words. It really means the world to me reading something so sweet!<33

Content: Angst, can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh, time traveling, fluff, bitter sweet, cursing, spoilers for season 2?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You were always a mysterious figure to them. One that appeared at the right time in the right place whenever they needed you the most.

You never revealed a thing about yourself. You never even told them your name. But one thing they did know was that you had always looked out for them, like a guardian angel in a way.

And on one fateful day, after another evaded tragedy, they finally caught up to you just before you could leave again.

》VI

"Who the hell are you?" She asked completely out of breath after having practically chased you down through the dense crowd of the undercity. She had seen you so many times before. So, so many times. And every time she did, you were somehow able to save her from certain death by subtly showing her the right way to survive.

It took her a while to piece together that you must've known the outcome of every situation she had ever been in beforehand. That was the only logical answer to the many questions around your existence she could come up with, but it wasn't enough to satiate her desperate curiosity. There were times she had chosen against your signs, and the consequences ended up being almost grave. So whoever you were, you must've had otherworldly knowledge about everything and everyone.

Because whilst she didn't know a thing about you, you certainly knew everything about her.

Raising your hooded head, you idly played with the pocket watch in your hand, piercing eyes meeting her own. "Does that matter?" You ask, and truthfully, it shouldn't. Who cared about your identity when she knew she could trust you? But that wasn't enough. "Yeah, it does to me. Now tell me who you are already. I... I've been seeing you everywhere for years now. You have always been there and I..." She trailed off, suddenly losing her confidence.

She had thought of this moment for years now, imagined exactly what she would say to you. And yet, ultimately, she found herself speechless in your presence that seemed to drown out everyone else around you two. "I see... but my apologies, we were not supposed to meet yet." You said calmly, seemingly undisturbed by her appearance. "Time and fate... they both are so tightly intertwined and yet also so far apart from each other... how odd that the timeline changed so suddenly again, no?" Your words made zero sense in her mind, but that just added to your mystery.

"What-" "-Are you happy with the way your life is going?" You ask, and that made the woman pause in thought. The answer was positive, of course, but only because you had a strong hand in it once she accepted your help. She thought of Powder back home, who was probably happily tinkering away with the young girl Isha they recently took in, and that made her finally nod. "Yes. All thanks to you." "Not at all. It was you who chose your fate. I only showed you the alternative paths."

You two stood there in silence for a moment before she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over to a nearby bar she liked to frequent in-between missions. "Let's go grab a drink and talk. It's on me." Deciding to accept this new path the timelines had given you, you accept her invitation with a smile.

》JINX

"You're terrible at your job." "Am I? I like to pride myself in my good work ethic, actually." Jinx was idly swinging her gun back and forth on her index finger whilst she rested up in the ceiling above you, clearly having followed you around secretly. But she knew that you already knew that from the start.

Scoffing at your words, she jumped down and landed in front of your indifferent figure as she pointed the gun right at you. "Pah! You're a funny one... so what are you? A time traveler?" "Ah, I like the title Timekeeper more." You were aggravating but at the same time a familiar face she had grown to appreciate deeply. You were the reason she was doing well in life now, even if she ignored you for a very, very long time. She thought she knew better despite all the odds pointing against her, especially you. Ultimately, she learned her lesson when she finally just listened to you.

"Ugh... whatever. Can't ya at least tell me your name?" "No." "Man, you're such a pain in the butt!" "Likewise." Rolling her eyes, she lowered her gun and lazily leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly as she observed the crowds passing by from outside the abandoned building you were in. An admittedly comfortable silence fell between you two, one that relaxed her shoulders and made her sigh in defeat after a while. Your presence was always so comforting.

"So, you let me catch up to you this time. Finally tired of the cat and mouse game we've been playing?" You lowered your head at her question, a sly smile on your face that made her narrow her eyes in interest. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to ask you how you're doing?" What an odd question, considering the context of your meet-up. And yet, it was somehow fitting coming from you specifically. Wasn't your whole mysterious mission revolving around her well-being anyway?

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that, oh so esteemed 'Timekeeper'?" You found no offense in the mockery of your title. Just pure amusement. "I'm afraid that mind reading was not in the initial job listing." Jinx took a moment to think about your question carefully then, deciding to indulge you despite her better judgment. Things were good now, after all. She, Isha, and Vi were together again as a family, including Vander, even if they had yet to find a way to turn him back properly. But everything was happy otherwise... because you made sure that the end to her story wouldn't be a painfully tragic one.

"... I'm fine. Everything's fine." She muttered, and your smile widened at that answer. "So... I'm not terrible at my job, after all?" Pressing a playful hand to her chin, Jinx acted as though she was in deep thought. "Hmmm... I guess I'll need more convincing than all of this to decide." "Of course... then how about we start with running away before the Enforcers show up to raid this place in approximately... 2 minutes?"

Jinx rolled her eyes again with a grin but agreed to follow you, very much glad to have learned her lesson at your side throughout the years.

》CAITLYN

She was ignorant towards your judgment from the start, especially as she was able to analyze very quickly that you weren't all you claimed you were. You were too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. It was clear that you already knew how her life story especially would come to an end. But that didn't mean that she'd always listen to you.

Caitlyn believed to know better, even going as far as to protest against your word, which she had learned to be fate itself. And sometimes she'd nearly get away with her life, and on others, you'd be the one to show up just in time to save her. It was embarrassing and at times even near humiliating, but you never judged her, just silently left every time she attempted to confront you.

And this time she had finally succeeded.

Now dressed in a formal uniform, she watched your still form stare out of a window in her estate, as though you weren't practically trespassing. But Caitlyn was used to that. "It's going to rain soon. I wonder if the construction workers will get done with the restoration on time today before the first drops fall." The navy haired woman came to stand next to you, ears finely tuned to your calming voice she had heard in her dreams and mind for so many years. It felt surreal to stand next to you at last.

"You already know the answer... but I think Mother will send out guards soon to retrieve them." Her mother, who had only narrowly escaped her death, if it wasn't for you. She had only gotten a little injured from falling debris, but that was all that happened. All of the councilors and people in the building had survived the Jinx attack. No grave injuries. All because you prevented it by throwing Jinx slightly off balance enough to make her shot not as precise.

"... Thank you." "For what?" The right answer would be absolutely everything, but she refrained, noting that you didn't seem keen on praise. You saw it as your job. As your duty to her for a reason unknown. "For saving my mother." That should do.

You nodded at her words in acknowledgment as your eyes spied Ambessa retreating with her troops in defeat. They were practicing chased away by the council since their help was unwelcome. Served them right for meddling with the business of other nations. You had exposed their ulterior motives in secret, and that's all it took for the tide to turn against them. "Just my duty." "I knew you'd say that... but I want to reward you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you... then I... I don't want to know what I would have become."

You glanced at her with an unreadable look in your eye, and that reconfirmed her suspicions regarding how deep she would have fallen otherwise. It's best not to think of it.

Humming to yourself in thought, you gave her a small smile. "Very well, if you insist... you can treat me to some fine tea and cookies." Caitlyn weakly mirrored your grin, relief filling her senses at you accepting her offer. She was worried you wouldn't. "Of course. Follow me." Linking your arms together carefully, you made your way through the dim halls.

A chuckle left your lips when it indeed began to rain.

[mononijikayu]

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

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

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation;

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

WORDS: 15k words.

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

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

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

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

main masterlist

the other woman masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

══════════════════

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

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

And yet, at that moment, he wasn’t.

Ryomen Sukuna had a problem.

He was stumped from hell and back.

And he doesn’t understand why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My lord…..my lord Sukuna.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, its Uraume.

Shit, shit. Is it already that time?

He hasn’t messaged them for two days.

How the fuck is he going to survive—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even then—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d be honored.”

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

Perhaps, that is until now.

Ryomen Sukuna was the first to notice.

There was a wide shoji that appeared before them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was just a sinner, a cruel cursed sinner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[yesimwriting]

Normalcy

A/n deadpool and wolverine drabble bc the movie was a little too good

Summary: Still reeling from the loss of your powers, you struggle to hold it together inside the TVA's void. Thankfully, you find an uncharacteristically peaceful distraction in your old friend Deadpool and in the wolverine variant who wants nothing to do with you.

Warnings/info: reader is a (former) avenger (bc i love the avengers <3), reader is described as having similar powers to wanda and having trained with her (bc i love wanda), implied beginning of an accidental love triangle if you squint ig, maybe too much lore for a drabble (?), me writing for characters for the first time so be nice 😭

----

The lines etched into your palms do not bend and twist to spell out secrets, there are no messages worth decoding pressed into your skin. Knowing this is not enough to stop you from staring at your hands like if you could just think about it hard enough...

"There you are, Peanut." The words are so warm you're briefly pulled out of your internal angst. You straighten, head lifting slightly and arms crossing in front of your chest. "Thought I lost you."

Wade continues forward until he's directly in front of you. He pauses, watching you with an unabashed openness that you'd only ever allow him to get away with. "Kidding," he tries, "I'd never lose you."

The familiarity of the casual affection eases you further, the corner of your mouth tugging itself upwards. "I was like 15 feet away from you."

"Sorry for caring." It's his go to comeback when it comes to defending the displays of affection you have the audacity to find overdramatic.

You blink, lips parting despite your lack of response. The world has felt a little slower these last few days, moving at a pace that leaves you with no choice but to reflect. Maybe it's the void.

"Hey," his voice feels a little flatter without his usual humor, "Are you okay?"

You let out a breath, shocked by this new low. Sure, you've known Wade for awhile and you've both seen each other through plenty of stages, but he's never felt the need to attempt a genuine pep talk for you. He's never struck you as the pep talk sort...for anyone. Do you really seem that off?

It's bad enough that your identity crisis has stolen the abilities that would have helped your trio pop out of the void with no real fanfare, you can't also make your insecurities everyone else's problem. "Yeah." The response doesn't feel convincing, but with Wade wearing the Deadpool mask, it's hard to be sure. "Just y'know...we're in a void and our reality might be ripped apart, so I've been better."

He's still watching you with a level of focus that's unnerving. You've gotten used to his familiarity, his lack of care for personal space or the social rules around watching people. "You're doing it again."

"Seducing you with my ability to have a heart to heart while looking this good in my suit?"

You sigh in an attempt to dismiss your slight smile. Happy or sad, superhero that once fought Thanos or regular person that can't regulate their emotions, Wade always treats you the same. "The staring thing. You said you'd stop."

"No, you said I'd stop." The correction is a return to what you're used to. He takes a step towards you, his proximity now forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to look him in the eye. "I'd never promise to look at you less."

"Comforting."

He angles his chin downwards, making the limited distance feel more significant. "I thought so." For a moment, he's quiet in a way that doesn't feel very him. "Are you sure you're...good?" His hesitance is another reminder that this is far out of his element. "I know this is your first..." Wade's rarely careful, only ever treading lightly on the one subject you never want to bring. "Outing, since..."

"I lost my powers."

Wade goes quiet again. If this conversation is as inevitable as it seems, a part of you wishes it could have come up elsewhere. Maybe in your shared apartment, definitely without the mask so you could better interpret his reactions. It's not often you keep secrets from him, but the hollowness you feel knowing the part of yourself you've lost isn't something you can just share.

It's more than just about missing your party tricks, it's about losing a part of yourself. They were all that was left of your time with the Avengers, of what Wanda taught you before Westview.

He lets out a breath. "They're not lost." You raise your eyebrows slightly, giving him a look meant to caution him against sympathetic optimism. "We don't know that."

He seems so happy to be able to tell you that there's no proof that any and all magical abilities have been flushed out of your system, you don't have it in you to remind him that that's mainly because you have no one to ask. What's left of the Avengers and your government connections either barely understand what you were or are untrustworthy.

"Educated wish?"

His mask muffles a slight gasp. You press your lips together in an attempt to resist smiling. "The last one worked out great."

Your eyebrows pull together skeptically, a reminder that the two of you are still technically in the middle of the last educated wish he attempted to speak into existence. "Didn't Wolverine stab you multiple times--"

He cuts you off with a heavy sigh. "If I took getting stabbed personally, do you know where we'd be?"

In a reality where Wade holds grudges over those kinds of things, you wouldn't be anything to each other, except maybe enemies. You've never pulled a knife or sword or anything sharp on him, but when you first met he did startle you before you had a total grip on your abilities, which resulted in him getting thrown through a wall.

"I never stabbed you."

His hand finds your shoulder. You let him drag his thumb against against the fabric of your suit. "And that's how I know you really love me, Peanut."

You roll your eyes in an attempt to dislodge the warmth that settles in the pit of your stomach. The last thing Wade needs is encouragement. "I mean, I do go around stabbing everyone I like less than you."

He lets out a sound that feels like a scoff attempting to mask itself as a dry laugh. "There's the sense of humor that'd hurt me if I knew you less."

"Well--"

He squeezes your shoulder, "I know you." Okay. You'll let him have this one because maybe there's some truth to what he's saying. "I'm going to go check on the car, because a fucking Honda Odyssey would break down on us for no reason before we got to the fight."

"For no reason or because of the bitch fight you and Wolverine had in it?"

There's a beat of silence in which all you can do is try to imagine Wade's expression behind the mask. You'd like to think that he's smiling. "Oh, Pumpkin." He sighs as if you've stumbled onto saying something terribly naive. "It wasn't a bitch fight, it was awesome, and probably turned you on."

You deadpan a flat, "You caught me." He hasn't let go of your shoulder, and a part of you is oddly glad for it. "I'd offer you help with the car, but..."

You're self aware enough to acknowledge your strengths and weaknesses, car maintenance being the latter. Wade doesn't even let you get your oil changed by yourself anymore.

"I've met you." He squeezes your shoulder again, the gesture weirdly stabilizing. "Give me 15 minutes to actually look at the car and then I'm all yours."

Wade lets go of you, his arm falling to his side. "Aren't you always?"

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. "You're making me feel cheaper than my usual rate, Peanut."

You smile as he turns away. Things are always a little easier with Wade. It's more than just distraction, it's his way of making things feel a little lighter. You're not sure what to do with your 15 minutes of solitude to avoid falling back into self pity.

You originally broke away from the group of void trapped heroes under the premise of needing fresh air, but even here, with the expansive, sparsely wooded area at your disposal, the oxygen in your lungs still feels flat. If Wanda were around, you'd be able to ask if she felt the strangeness of this other plane of existence as well. At least then you'd know if your dislike of the void is only mental or an actual sign of life from your abilities.

You begin to walk forward, hoping to shed all thoughts of both your former self and the eeriness of this other world. There are other people you could talk to you. The others have been polite enough, or at the very least, passionate enough to be talked into facing Cassandra.

The trees you've been wandering through grow in their sparsity, the edge of the woods revealing a patch of grassland highlighted by a fire's warm glow. You squint past the tree line, attempting to make out the figure sitting in front of the flames. Wolverine.

Secluded from the group and staring at a campfire. Surprising. Though, you guess it's not fair to judge him too harshly, you left the group to brood as well.

He doesn't like you, doesn't know you well enough to dislike you, but it took him no time to find a way to get around that. Maybe it's your proximity to Wade. You've done your best to take his hostility as un-personally as possible. You've seen enough people you really care about go through the guilt ridden, fallen hero thing to know how deep that kind of hurt runs.

You've never known a Wolverine or Logan Howlett variant, so you have no way of knowing what he was like before. Sure, you've heard stories, but you're also overly aware of how the media can twist and turn those stories to fit their narrative. One day, a superhero is the world's greatest protector, and the next their the greatest menace. Maybe he was always a little dark, or maybe he wasn't.

"Don't just stand there." The gruffness of his voice startles you more than it should.

Heat crawls up your neck, a part of you more embarrassed than you should be. You weren't lurking, or at the very least, you weren't trying to.

You sigh as you abandon the safety of the tree line. "Sorry." He turns his head away from the fire. "I wasn't--I was just walking."

He's quiet for such a long moment you almost expect him to not respond at all. "Without your shadow?"

Wow, only a halfhearted dig at Wade. You must have caught him in a good mood. "Friend, and he's looking at the car. I'd be looking at the car with him, but I figured the odds for tomorrow are bad enough as is."

Another uneasy stretch of silence. "Yeah." There's not much, if anything, to take from the comment. "If you're here to convince me to go with you guys tomorrow--"

"I'm not." It's an honest answer. You had been walking around aimlessly and happened to stumble onto him. "I'm not into the pep talk thing." He scoffs, the sound lacking in genuine aggression. "What?"

He lifts his gaze from the fire, his eyes settling on some point past the horizon. "I thought you were an Avenger."

You're not sure what bugs you more, the fact that he's so sure he has you all figured out or the implication that the Avengers spend their days encouraging each other instead of actually doing things. What the Avengers are--or maybe were--is so much more than that.

You step forward, further separating you from the cluster of trees. "The Avengers are about a lot more than that."

His attention briefly shifts onto you before returning to the flames. If the silence is meant to be dismissive, it doesn't feel that way. There's a patience there that doesn't suit his usual brooding.

"Do you care if I sit?" The question is forced out before you can overthink it. "I promise no inspirational speeches or small talk."

After a beat, he dips his chin downwards in a nod so subtle you would have missed it if you had been watching him any less carefully. You're more relieved by his acceptance than you should be, your feet carrying you towards the campfire.

You sit at a polite distance, knees bent in front of you. His silence seems to push against the void's sluggishness. Maybe the issue has been you fighting this world's momentum.

"Why are you with him?" You're not sure if you're more shocked by the question or the break in silence. When all you can do is blink, he continues, "You seem--" He subtly clears his throat, as if struggling to admit this next part, "Nice, normal."

Oh. If you had been focused, you likely would have got what he meant without the clarification. "I know Wade's a lot--especially to you." You place a hand against your knee, thinking about that very specific safety you only feel with Wade. You don't have to try at being anything, or worry about earning your keep in any capacity. "But once you get to know him, he's a good friend."

You look away from the fire pit in time to see the skeptical look Logan throws in your direction. "I'm serious." His expression doesn't change. "He um--after I stopped being important to everyone else, he still liked me ." This isn't the conversation you wanted to stumble onto, especially not with someone who you barely know and actively dislikes you. "That sounds kind of dumb, but the point is, he's loyal."

He turns his head back towards the fire. "You always call him by his name." The observation is so stiff you'd consider it hesitant if it came from anyone else.

You've never thought much about Wade's name. Part of it is familiarity, and the rest of it is a force of habit. Even when you were with the Avengers, you preferred using actual names when off duty. It's easier to separate the mask from the person beneath it when you make an active effort to.

You shrug. "I'm not into off duty superhero names, Wolverine."

He falls silent again. You concentrate on the flames, the way they illuminate the world around you. "You can--" He cuts himself off, attention never wavering from the fire. "You can call me Logan, if you want."

An unsteady warmth roots itself in your chest. You didn't expect any sort of kinship between you and the wolverine Wade stole from some other timeline beyond him occasionally accepting your attempts at creating peace between him and Wade.

"Okay," you focus on keeping your tone measured, avoiding any emotions that might startle him, "Logan."

There's no tension in the quiet that follows. You let the minutes pass until you're certain that Wade's waiting for an interruption disguised as an attempt to help. "I should go, Wade's probably waiting for me."

You push yourself to stand. You let yourself glance at him one last time before turning towards the trees you emerged from.

[rootedinrevisions]

Kinktober 2024: Day 20

THIS IS PART OF THE FRIENDS (WITH BENEFITS) DON'T SERIES! T

PROMPT: “I love it when you say my name like that, baby.”

KINK: Morning Sex

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT (P in V. Lots of kissing and touching.)

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

TAG LIST: See Comments

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm going to be honest I was really struggling with my original idea for Kinktober Day 20. It was a different Kink with a different character but it wasn't coming together like I wanted. I had started and scrapped it five or six times. But I also had this that I wrote a few weeks ago. I wasn't going to post it because I didn't think it fit with the story I originally was writing it for (a Jake series that I've since abandoned cause I wasn't loving how it was coming together) but I feel like it could fit the Kinktober theme so here it is! Hope you like it! xx

The morning sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a soft glow over the room. You slowly stir awake, feeling the warmth of Jake’s body pressed against yours, his arm draped comfortably over your waist. His chest rises and falls with the rhythm of his deep, even breaths, and for a moment, you let yourself relax into him, enjoying the unexpected comfort of waking up in his arms. This isn’t how things usually go.

Your relationship with Jake has been easy, with no strings attached. At least, it was supposed to be. But now, with the way he’s holding you so protectively, it feels different. You remember last night—how you’d planned for another casual hook-up, but instead, after, you’d ended up tangled together under the covers, watching a romcom of all things. And then, instead of leaving like he always does, Jake stayed.

Your heart pounds softly in your chest, the weight of the situation settling in. Is this still just a fling? Or is something else happening between you two? The lines are starting to blur.

You shift slightly, careful not to wake him just yet, and glance over your shoulder. His usually cocky, confident expression is softened in sleep, his features relaxed, and suddenly, you’re hit with a wave of vulnerability you weren’t expecting.

You know you should probably move, maybe get up, but something about this moment feels too good to let go. You bite your lip, torn between the easygoing fun of what you had before and the undeniable change that seems to be happening.

Just as you're lost in thought, Jake stirs, his arm tightening slightly around your waist before his voice rumbles low in your ear. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

His voice, deep and gravelly from sleep, sends a shiver down your spine, and you fight the urge to smile. You manage to reply softly, “Morning.”

Jake shifts behind you, pulling you closer for a second before he stretches and rolls onto his back, his hand trailing down your arm as he moves. The bed feels colder without him wrapped around you, and you can't help but miss the warmth. He runs a hand through his messy hair and glances over at you, his usual cocky grin making an appearance. “Sleep well?”

You nod, still feeling a bit off-balance by the situation, and try to keep things casual. “Yeah, I did…you?”

“Better than usual,” he says, surprising you with the sincerity in his tone.

You sit up slowly, pulling the covers around you, suddenly feeling a bit exposed—not physically, but emotionally. This isn’t what you signed up for. Friends with benefits doesn’t include waking up in each other’s arms, watching movies together, and it certainly doesn’t include the softness in Jake’s eyes when he looks at you right now.

You’re about to say something, maybe ask him about breakfast or make some quip to lighten the mood, but before you can get the words out, you feel Jake’s lips press against your bare shoulder. It’s not just a kiss—it’s gentle, lingering, almost like he’s savoring the moment. And it catches you completely off guard. Jake’s mouth has been everywhere on you before, but this? This feels different. It’s tender. Intimate. Too intimate.

Your breath hitches slightly as you glance back at him, and you’re met with a gaze that’s softer than his usual playful smirk. His green eyes seem to be studying you, watching your reaction carefully. For a second, your heart pounds a little harder, and all you can think is what are we doing?

“Jake…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of what you want to say. You feel like you should address this shift, but before you can even form a coherent thought, he’s already leaning in again, his lips brushing against your collarbone this time, trailing upward to your neck.

The air between you thickens, and any words you might’ve had dissolve in the heat of the moment. Jake’s hand slides along your waist, pulling you back down onto the bed, your body instinctively responding to him. You should stop and talk about this, about what this all means, but when he moves closer, you can’t seem to find it in you to pull away.

Jake’s lips linger for a moment, his breath brushing against your skin. It sends a shiver down your spine, not from cold, but from something much deeper. Something you hadn’t expected to feel this morning, or maybe ever in this situation. Sure, Jake has touched you plenty of times before, in ways that have sent your pulse racing and your skin burning. But this—this feels different.

Your heart begins to beat faster as his hand, which had been resting on your waist, tightens ever so slightly, pulling you closer. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, the way his muscles flex just beneath the surface as he shifts beside you. He presses another kiss, this time closer to the nape of your neck, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the contact. It sends your thoughts into a spiral, the question lingering in your mind—What is happening?

Before you can fully process it, Jake’s hand begins to move, sliding from your waist up along your ribs, his touch light and teasing. His fingers graze the band of your bra, tracing the edge in a way that makes your breath hitch. You shift slightly under the covers, your body responding to him even as your mind races to catch up. Every touch feels deliberate like he’s taking his time, savoring every second. It’s not the hurried, frenzied touches you’re used to—it’s slow, almost reverent, and it makes your heart pound in your chest.

His hand moves back down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, and in one smooth motion, he pulls it up over your head, tossing it aside. You don’t even think to stop him—you don’t want to. The cool air hits your skin, but it’s quickly replaced by the warmth of Jake’s hands as he cups your sides, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of your bra. His lips find your neck again, this time pressing a series of kisses, each one sending sparks through your body.

You open your mouth to say something—to ask him what this is, what it means—but before you can, his hand slides around your back, expertly unhooking your bra with practiced ease. He pulls it off, tossing it somewhere in the room, and you suddenly feel exposed in a way that’s both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

Jake doesn’t give you time to think about it. His hands are on you again, skimming over your bare skin as his mouth moves lower, pressing a kiss just below your collarbone. His touch is slow and patient as if he’s in no rush to get anywhere, and it drives you wild. You can’t help the way your back arches slightly, your body reacting to him before your mind can catch up.

As his lips trail down your chest, you feel his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down with the same deliberate slowness. The way he’s taking his time—like he wants to memorize every inch of you—sends a flush of warmth through your body.

You reach up, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him back to you. His lips crash against yours, the kiss deep and consuming, filled with a hunger that makes your head spin. There’s an urgency now, but it’s not the same frantic rush as before. It’s something deeper—something that makes your heart race as much as your body responds.

Jake’s hands roam your body with a familiar ease, but this time, there’s a softness to his touch, a kind of reverence that makes your skin tingle. His mouth moves back to your neck, trailing down to your chest, and you can feel the heat between the two of you intensifying. Every kiss, every touch, feels deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment in a way that leaves you breathless.

Before you know it, you’re completely lost in him. His mouth is everywhere—on your skin, your lips, your neck—and all you can do is let yourself fall deeper into the moment, feeling the weight of him, the warmth of him, as he moves against you. You’re no longer just two friends sharing a casual hookup. This is something more. And it terrifies you as much as it thrills you.

Jake pushes your legs a little further apart as he reaches down and wraps his hand around himself. He spreads the precum that formed at his tip around the head with his thumb before pumping himself a couple of times.

He then presses the tip through your folds as he gently pushes into you. His eyes find yours as his hips slowly move until they are pressed flatly against yours. Jake leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips before he started slowly moving in and out of you.

Your breath started to hitch as he moved in and out of you, each thrust feeling like it was a little deeper than the last. Slowly his pace started to quicken.

“J-Jake,” you moaned as you started to move your hips up to meet his.

You feel his lips curve into a smirk against your neck before he whispers, “God, I love it when you say my name like that, baby.”

Baby. That was new. He’d never used pet names before.

But you didn’t have time to overthink it because his hand slid down your stomach until one of his fingers started rubbing circles on your clit. You felt your back arch up off the sheets as the knot in your stomach tightened even further.

“F-fuck,” you cried out, feeling your orgasm right there.

“Not yet. Wait for me, baby. I’m…I’m almost there,” Jake breathily said as he picked up his face even further. Your hands grabbed at the sheets as you tried to hold it off, but it was getting nearly impossibly.

“Okay, come with me baby.” He breathed after a few more thrusts. Your toes curled and you cried out as you felt your orgasm wash over you. It was the most intense one he had ever given you. It left you feeling slightly dizzy as you laid there trying to get the air back into your lungs.

Once the intensity subsides, your breaths gradually even out, but the room still feels heavy with the lingering heat of what just happened. Jake shifts beside you, his body slightly resting on yours as if he’s reluctant to let go. His skin is warm, slick with a light sheen of sweat, and his chest rises and falls against your back. Slowly, his arm drapes lazily over your waist again, pulling you even closer until there’s barely an inch of space between you.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, a gesture that feels impossibly tender compared to what had just transpired. It sends a strange flutter through your chest, and you can’t help but close your eyes, sinking into the feeling. His lips linger there for a moment, as though he’s savoring the closeness, his breathing still a little uneven as it fans across your skin.

You lay there in silence, the warmth of his body cocooning you, and for a fleeting second, it almost feels like more than just a fling. Jake holds you like you’re something precious, his grip on you gentle but firm, like he’s afraid you might slip away if he loosens it. His fingertips lazily trace small circles on your hip, an absent-minded gesture that sends ripples of electricity through your skin.

But even as your heart skips in response, your mind is racing. The intimacy of it all—of him kissing your shoulder earlier, of the way he’s holding you now—feels too close. Too much. Like it’s crossing a line you weren’t prepared to cross. You stare up at the ceiling, the fan spinning lazily above you, trying to quiet the thoughts spinning in your head.

What are we doing? It’s the question that’s been eating at you for weeks now, but after moments like this, it feels impossible to ignore. You’ve been telling yourself for months that it’s just physical—that this friends-with-benefits thing is working. But lying here, wrapped in Jake’s arms, the weight of his body still pressed against yours, you can’t help but wonder if it’s something more. And if it is—what does that mean for the two of you?

Beside you, Jake’s breathing has slowed, becoming more even, and you can feel his muscles relax against you. He looks so at ease, so content, like this is the most natural thing in the world. It’s disarming, seeing him like this, without the cocky smirk or swagger. Just Jake, quietly holding you in the early morning light.

He doesn’t say anything—maybe he’s thinking the same things, maybe he’s not thinking at all—but the silence between you feels charged, like there’s a conversation you should be having but neither of you is ready to start. You know you’ll have to face the reality of what’s happening between you eventually, of what it’s becoming. But not right now. Not yet.

For now, you’re content to stay here, tangled up with him in this moment. His arm still draped over you like he’s anchoring you to him, his breath warm against your neck, and the lingering heat from the sheets creating a bubble you don’t want to burst just yet. It’s safe here, in the quiet aftermath, even if it’s complicated. Especially because it’s complicated.

Eventually, Jake shifts beside you, the movement pulling you out of your thoughts. His arm loosens around your waist, and you can feel him adjust himself behind you. There’s a slight pause before he moves, as if he’s hesitant to break the moment, but then he finally leans back. You hear him run a hand through his tousled hair, the sound of it brushing against the pillow beside you.

With a small sigh, you push yourself up slightly on your elbows, feeling the cool air hit your skin as the blanket falls away. You turn your head just in time to see Jake glancing at himself in the small mirror on the wall, running his fingers through his hair again, making sure it still looks good. It’s such a Jake thing to do—caring about how his hair looks even after everything that just happened—and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

He catches your eye in the reflection, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a lazy grin. “Pull yourself together,” he teases lightly, the heat from earlier still lingering in his tone. “You look a little... well, you know.” His eyes flicker over you in a way that makes you feel warm all over again.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite behind it. Instead, you push the covers off and slide out of bed, your legs still a little shaky as you stand. You make your way over to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and doing your best to hide any signs of what had just happened in the bedroom. The cool water is refreshing, helping you regain some sense of normalcy after the heated intensity of the morning.

When you finally feel composed enough, you step out of the bathroom and make your way through your apartment, finding Jake by the door. He’s already pulling on his shirt, his movements casual and unhurried, as if the last hour hadn’t completely turned your world upside down. He glances at you as you approach, a knowing smile tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t say anything.

The two of you walk out together, the easy silence between you feeling both comfortable and charged, the weight of what just happened lingering in the air between you. The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden light over the parking lot, and for a moment, everything feels almost normal—like this could be any other day.

You head toward your car, the cool morning breeze brushing against your skin, but before you can reach the handle, you feel Jake’s arm snake around your waist. He pulls you close, his body warm against yours as he leans down to press a quick kiss to your temple. The gesture is light and easy, like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before. And maybe he has—but it still feels different now.

Your heart stutters in your chest as the warmth of his lips lingers on your skin. You wait for something more—for him to say something, to acknowledge the shift between you—but instead, Jake gives you a small smile, his signature smirk just barely there, and turns to walk toward his truck.

You blink, watching as he pulls open the door and climbs inside, the engine roaring to life. His truck pulls out of the lot, disappearing around the corner like it’s just another day. Like nothing extraordinary just happened. Like he hasn’t turned your world upside down in the span of a single morning.

And you’re left standing there by your car, fingers still hovering near the door handle, your mind spinning with a thousand thoughts. What just happened? He kissed you goodbye—and went on about his day like it was nothing. Like it was routine.

But it didn’t feel routine, not to you.

Your stomach twists, a confusing swirl of emotions rising inside you. You’re no stranger to Jake’s touch, to the way he holds you close in private, the way he knows exactly how to make you feel good. That was the arrangement—the simple, no-strings-attached setup that the two of you had fallen into. It had worked perfectly at first. Fun, light, uncomplicated. But this morning, something shifted. And it scares you.

You press your lips together, your fingers tightening around your car keys as you replay the morning’s events in your head. The softness in Jake’s kiss. The way he held you like it was more than just a fleeting moment. The way he kissed your shoulder earlier, something so intimate it almost felt like a confession in itself. But none of it made sense. You weren’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Right?

You lean against your car for a moment, trying to sort through the haze of emotions clouding your mind. There’s an ache deep in your chest—something that wasn’t there before. It’s that feeling you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks now, the feeling that this wasn’t just about hooking up anymore. Not for you. And maybe not for him either.

But then why did he just leave? Why did he act like this was nothing more than your usual routine?

You bite your lip, trying to shake off the growing uncertainty. Maybe you’re reading too much into it. Maybe this is just what happens when you start spending too much time together outside of the original arrangement. Lines blur, things get messy, and suddenly it’s not just about sex anymore.

But the worst part is, you don’t even know what you want. You don’t know if you’re ready to confront whatever this is becoming. If you’re ready to have that conversation with Jake, to open up the possibility of things going wrong. Because things were good—before they got complicated. Before last night. Before this morning.

You sigh, the cool breeze brushing your hair as you glance toward the empty spot where Jake’s truck had been parked moments ago. Your mind is a jumble of emotions—confusion, longing, fear, and something else you’re not quite ready to name.

What if Jake feels it too? What if he’s just as confused as you are?

But then again... what if he doesn’t?

You unlock your car door and slide into the driver’s seat, the weight of uncertainty heavy on your chest. You don’t know where this is going, or what happens next, but one thing is clear: things have changed between you and Jake. And you can’t go back to the way things were, no matter how much you might want to.

As you sit there, staring out at the quiet street ahead, you wonder if Jake is thinking about you now, if he’s replaying the morning in his mind like you are. Or if, for him, this is still just part of the arrangement—a fun, easy fling that hasn’t crossed any lines.

Your fingers tap against the steering wheel, the echo of Jake’s kiss still lingering on your skin.

You thought you had it all figured out. But now, standing on the edge of something new and uncertain, you realize that maybe—just maybe—you’ve fallen in deeper than you ever intended to.

And the scariest part? You’re not sure if Jake’s ready to follow you there.

[pomefioredove]

Hello! I saw your requests were open and wanted to put one in. Can I request Silver, Azul, and Vil with a reader who likes them but feels like they can't confess bc they're scared to form any more attachments to the people in twisted wonderland bc they think they have to return to their world and can't stay? Idk if that makes sense but yeah 😅

Ty in advance and have a nice day :)

of course!!! hehe. ended up writing this a little sappier than my usual headcanons

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ wordless confession

type of post: headcanons characters: azul, vil, silver additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, long

Azul is pretty perceptive. it doesn't take a lot for him to guess that you have feelings for him, unbelievable as it is (to him, at least)... and he also had Jade ask you a few questions in a totally normal and non-threatening manner. he's also guessed that you're holding back because of your... well, unfortunate situation. you're smart, like him, enough to know that it's more trouble than it's worth. unfortunate as it is, staying away from each other proves to be harder than you thought (with no help from the tweels, who love the drama and think that Azul desperately "needs some bitches"- in Floyd's words, not mine). bumping into each other turns to awkward conversation, which turns to time spent together, which ends with your pinky fingers linked together on dates that you both insist are only meetings

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

it was Vil who fell first, but he didn't really know it. to him, you were simply good friends, better than he'd ever had, and he wanted to hold onto that for as long as he could. you were always fated to leave him; he knew this. and so he wouldn't let himself believe he was in love until you started shying away, avoiding him to avoid your own feelings. those few weeks were some of the hardest, but they made him realize that he was losing you whether he confessed or not. he didn't want to live thinking about what could have been, rather than what was. he'll always have his career, his fans, his friends and family, but there's only one you, and only one chance he has to make your time together special

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Silver thought that keeping himself busy would keep his thoughts off of you. he'd thought he was dreaming it at first. that, perhaps, he'd dozed off mid-conversation and only dreamt of you, shying away, fidgeting with your hands, avoiding eye contact. but when Lilia starts asking about you, and Sebek starts making noises of disgust when you're together, he realizes he'd been more awake than usual. it's not difficult to guess that you're withholding yourself because of your... background, and, at first, Silver wants to respect your wish and remain friends. it's not as simple as that, though, and after Lilia encourages him to pursue you anyway (human lives are so very short, after all), he does just that

[aventurineswife]

hear me out!

Reader was in a relationship with aventurine and Dr. Ratio, BUT! It was like Aventurine and Rayio liked eachother more than they liked the reader!

You following along?

Good! Cause I'm not done!

THEN! Reader goes to bar gets a little tipsy (read as drunk) and ends up venting their sadness and frustration to kind strangers willing to listen! (Aka Argenti and Boothill!) Things end up almost getting, suggestive to say the least before reader ends up stopping any more advances and leaves, little does reader know that her encounter with Argenti and Boothill would leave them desperate for more...

(Basicaly Yandere poly Argenti and Boothill x Reader)

And, this is just something else I wanted to say but what if Aventurine and Ratio notice reader kinda drifting away, ad they notice that reader is starting to make more friends and reader starts trying to spend less time with them? Maybe somehow they findout Argenti and Boothill are obsessed with reader? I see Aventurine and Dr. Ratio being possessive of things or people they consider "theirs" and slowly they start becoming as obsessive as Boothill and Argenti and now reader has 2 couples vying for her attention!

( I totally understand if this is to much or confusing!)

“I Wanna Make You Mine”

Summary: You are in a relationship with Aventurine and Ratio, but you began to feel like an afterthought as your partners’ interest in each other overshadows your bond. One night, seeking solace and a brief escape from your lonely frustrations, you meet two enigmatic strangers at a bar—Argenti and Boothill. Both quickly become captivated by you, their admiration bordering on obsession. You find yourself ensnared in a dangerous game of affection and desire, with each group willing to do whatever it takes to win your undivided attention. The question is; Who are you going to be choosing?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader x Ratio, Argenti x Reader x Boothill, Polyamory, Not really a love triangle since you pulled 4 men/Love pentagon, Jealousy & Possessiveness, Yandere Themes, Slow Burn Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Longing, Light Drunkenness, Obsessive Behaviour, Emotional Tension, Emotional Angst, Slight Cheating Behaviour.

Warnings: Possessive and Obsessive Behaviour, Light Alcohol Use, Yandere Themes, Emotional Distress, Do not try this at home or think this is cute and all. This is fictional.

A/N: I'M DEFINITELY HEARING YOU & DON'T WORRY ANON I UNDERSTOOD YOUR REQ!! 🤭 THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR STUFFS LIKE POLYAMORY RELATIONSHIPS (SO DON'T COME AFTER ME IF I DID SOMETHING WRONG!!) AND YANDERE! 😪 I personally don't ship any characters in HSR but for the sake of this fic, they're being shipped.

In the dim glow of a hazy bar, the soft clinking of glasses and murmurs filled the air as you downed your third drink. The evening had started with only a desire to escape the gnawing ache that Aventurine and Ratio had unwittingly left in your heart. For so long, you had been the third in your relationship, watching the connection between them bloom far more intensely than their affection for you. It was hard to pinpoint when exactly you began to feel this way, but tonight, the loneliness finally hit.

You sighed, stirring your drink absentmindedly, lost in thought until a warm voice cut through the fog of your mind.

“Are you alright?” Looking up, you were met with the striking gaze of a man with fiery red hair and green eyes that sparkled with curiosity and concern.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine...” you muttered, masking your sadness with a weak smile. But even before the words left your mouth, you knew they were unconvincing.

“Ah, doesn’t look like it to me.” drawled another voice from beside you. Turning, you found yourself facing a man who looked like he walked straight out of a rugged holo-western. He had a silver gleam in his eye and a smirk that promised trouble, yet there was something comforting in his casual demeanor.

They introduced themselves—Argenti, the knightly-looking redhead, and Boothill, the roguish gunslinger. They struck an odd pair, yet somehow, they both seemed genuinely concerned. That genuine concern, however small, was enough to tug open the lock on the emotions you’d been bottling up.

“I just feel like… no matter how much I try, I’m always a shadow between them,” you confessed, the alcohol loosening your words. “It’s like I’m just… there. I know they love me, but sometimes, it feels like they’re happier with each other.”

Argenti’s gaze softened as he leaned closer, his voice rich and sincere. “A soul like yours deserves to be cherished, never neglected,” he said, his tone filled with a quiet reverence. “I see a light in you, something so rare and beautiful. Anyone who fails to treasure it is unworthy of your heart.”

Boothill leaned in with a sly grin, his eyes flickering with something darker. “If they can’t see what they have, then maybe you’re wastin’ your time on ‘em.”

The warmth of their words and the way they leaned closer, as if drawn to you, sent a flutter through your heart. It had been so long since anyone looked at you like that—with full, unbridled interest.

His hand moved gently to the small of your back, his touch radiating warmth. “Allow us to show you what it means to be honored—to be loved without restraint.”

His words lingered in the air, weighted with a knightly promise. You felt your pulse quicken at his sincerity, yet even through the comfort of his presence, something held you back.

The heat in his touch and Boothill’s gaze made your heart pound faster, and for a dizzying moment, you felt tempted. But, catching yourself, you pulled back, gathering the scraps of your resolve. “I… I can’t. Not like this,” you stammered, stumbling up from the table. “Thanks, but… I need some air.”

You barely noticed their longing stares as you left, desperate to clear your mind, unaware of the yearning spark you had ignited in both men.

Days passed, and you tried to shake off that night. But a strange unease began settling over you. Everywhere you went, you could feel eyes on you. Argenti’s soft, almost reverent gaze in places he couldn’t possibly be; Boothill’s devilish grin, catching you in your peripheral vision even when he wasn’t there. As if they were everywhere, waiting.

The more you found yourself in their orbit, the more their obsession seemed to grow. Argenti, once chivalrous, was now desperate for every glance, every smile you gave. Boothill, once a lighthearted scoundrel, grew possessive, his words laced with dark promises of keeping you safe… from anyone who dared come between you.

Your time with Aventurine and Ratio was no longer as comforting as it once was, either. They sensed the shift in you. Aventurine’s charming smile had faded into something sharp, his eyes assessing as he caught sight of Argenti and Boothill’s names in your messages. Ratio’s typical aloofness twisted into jealousy, his usual intellectual grace tempered by a fiercer intensity.

One evening, as you arrived home, you found Aventurine and Ratio waiting. Ratio was seated calmly, but his piercing gaze was anything but passive. Aventurine leaned casually against the wall, his fingers twitching as if he longed to reach out to you—or hold onto you, tightly.

“We’ve been worried.” Aventurine said with a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Ratio inclined his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Tell me, have you… made some new friends?”

The question caught you off guard, and you stammered out a response. But their knowing expressions only confirmed the suspicion that had been growing in both of them.

That night, they wouldn’t let you go. Aventurine’s once-teasing nature had turned possessive, his charming smile a mask for the tension simmering beneath. Ratio was no different, wrapping his arm around you, his touch firmer than usual, as if reminding you that you belonged to them. They held you close, more than ever before, but their embrace now felt like a cage, one you couldn’t escape.

And just as you thought you had nowhere to turn, there came a knock on the door. The sound was calm, persistent, carrying a strange sense of finality.

You didn’t need to open it to know who it was. The question that burned in your mind wasn’t if it was Argenti and Boothill waiting outside. It was what they would do now that they had come for you. And with Aventurine and Ratio on the other side, waiting to stake their claim, you realized you were caught in a game where escape might be impossible.

The question was: who would be the first to make their move?

Don't ask for part 2 lmaoo💀

[loolooloo-i-got-some-apples]

SOUTH PARK BOYS KISSING HEADCANONS

{ ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP!! }

featuring - the main four stan, kyle, eric, kenny, butters, (craig’s gang is next

warnings: both sfw and nsfw headcanons, fem!reader (if you’d like a male/gn ver, feel free to request!), no nsfw for cartman

a/n: sorry guys this isn’t my best work, but hey first actual post out of the way :)) my apologies to my cartman girlies, i really struggled to write for him

[NSFW CONTENT BELOW CUT]

[STAN MARSH]

SFW

thanks to wendy he’s semi-experienced when it comes to kissing

definitely a big forehead kisser (giving and receiving)

he’d probably throw up after your first kiss

he 100% throws up before you come over because he knows you’ll end up making out

he’ll get a goofy grin when you kiss his cheek

blushing like crazy

will have chapped lips the first few times he kisses you

will start wearing chapstick and chewing mints to make it as enjoyable as possible for you

he tried to remember to bring chapstick after the first time

but he was just so excited

eventually stan told him to put some in his bag and he just left it in there for when he sees you

was so prepared for your first kiss

like

he’s been planning this for weeks

won’t tell anybody you kissed him

but everybody will definitely know

i mean

just look at his goofy grin everytime you’re mentioned or in eyeshot

when he gets used to kissing he’ll start to lick his lips after a make out session

just to get one more taste of you

constant little pecks

“hello” peck

“i love you” peck

“what’s the answer to question B?” peck

“i have to go to the bathroom” peck

you get the gist

he’s the type to smile the whole time you’re kissing

before, during, after he’s got a huge charlie brown grin

NSFW

he’d love to kiss your thighs

seeing as he’s a thigh lover

the type to kiss your forehead mid-fuck

doesn’t matter if he’s going slow or straight up pounding you

you will be receiving many gentle kisses all over your face

he seems like the type of guy to hold your hand while you guys lose your virginities to each other

would probably kiss all of your knuckles

would def kiss you before and after he eats you out

he just wants you to see how good you taste

definitely claims to be freaky and kinky in front of other people but is actually super vanilla

he just wants your body against his and your lips glued together honestly

[KYLE BROFLOVSKI]

SFW

no experience kissing whatsoever

but he read about it

and he figures he’s seen enough kissing in movies and around him to understand the basics

will forget to ask for consent then remember last minute

like

his lips will be just hovering over yours and he’ll get so distracted

then he’ll suddenly just blurt out

“by the way, can i kiss you?”

— he said after starting to lean in already

so into it

will try and slip his tongue in on the first kiss to see what you do

if you roll with it, he’ll just keep going unless you want to stop

if you don’t like it, he probably won’t use tongue until you have to explain that he can

“kyle, if i use tongue you can use tongue, it was just weird for the first kiss”

“what- wait seriously? so we’ve been kissing without tongue for no reason?”

“yeah, dude.”

he wont just blush, his whole face will turn neon red

will start wearing chapstick and chewing mints to make it as enjoyable as possible for you

the type to play with your hair while he slips his tongue down your throat

more of a neck + shoulder kisser, but he’ll melt if you kiss his cheek

you kiss his freckles once and suddenly he’s begging you to do it everytime you cuddle

kisses make him feel so loved

will probably accidentally bump heads when he tries to properly make out with you for the first time

needs a little reassurance here and there, maybe some praise

NSFW

biiiiig titty man

will kiss them all over

big or small, doesn’t matter

he just adores them

his head will be in your neck the whole time you guys lose your virginities to each other (if you’re a virgin, that is)

you’ll leave with hickey’s all over

he’d be so proud of them too

he’ll probably cry after your first time, but he wouldn’t let you see it

[ERIC CARTMAN]

SFW

you’re definitely his first girlfriend but not his first kiss

i’m pretty sure he would have bought a kiss from Butters’ Kissing Company

probably begged his mom to give him the money

he’d be a sloppy kisser

will cry if you nibble his lip too hard

realistically, even though you’re not his first kiss, he’ll still have no idea

and he probably won’t be happy about any criticism

he’s a rough kisser at first

seems like the kind to hold your shoulders

more of a peck guy than a make out session type

but when you do make out he’s definitely confident—although he definitely shouldn’t be

instead of asking if you liked it, will probably assume he carried

“don’t worry, bae, don’t gotta say it, we both know you loved it.”

you chuckle “yeah, i really did.”

“wait seriously? i mean- kewl, duh, obviously. I’m the king of making out.”

— he says as if it’s not his first time making out with a girl before

he’s the type to try and tease you by not using tongue to see your reaction

if he doesn’t get a reaction he will 100% pout

just a big baby in general

he’d never admit that you’re the only one he cares about so much

[KENNY MCCORMICK]

SFW

super experienced in both normal kissing and in full blown making out

he’s experienced in pretty much everything, honestly

his rice purity score is like a -5 considering both his sexual experience and his criminal record

he’d be gentle the first time you guys kiss

he cared about you too much

sloppy kisses when he’s high or drunk

he’s got using tongue down to an art

he’ll gently tease your bottom lip a few minutes into the kiss

and then he’ll slowly get a little more needy and end up whispering against your lips

“wanna open up f’me, princess?”

yes, he calls you princess

or pookie

honestly he’ll just go for whatever gets you blushing, whether that’s out of embarrassment or being flustered

he legit doesn’t care as long as you laugh or smile

anyway when you do part your lips he’s immediately diving in headfirst

will kiss you all over

he’s honestly very loving with his kisses as your relationship progresses

super considerate when it comes to consent

like this man refuses to even make eye contact with you without at least a nod or a yes

okay, maybe an exaggeration

but you get the gist

he’ll kiss you anywhere, anytime

middle of english? his tongue will still be down your throat

lunch? let’s sit behind the school so the teachers can’t catch us

you’re not in the same class but he’s just craving it? you’ll get a notification to go to the janitors closet

sitting with his friends? will kiss you with his all just so they know

he’s

the lucky one there

i’m assuming you’ve caught on

this man will not hesitate to kiss you

he’d probably kiss you just to get you to relax (for my moody girlies—we rise!)

angry? smooch.

sad? smooch.

period cramps getting to you? smooch

super excited? big fat loving smooch

he’ll take any excuse to kiss you, in public or in private, doesn’t matter

NSFW

we all know kenny’s a boob man

he’ll kiss ‘em

he’ll touch ‘em

he’ll make out with you with ‘em in his hands

just wants to kiss you all over

and when i say that i mean all over

he’ll gladly eat you out

he’d call it kitty licks 😭

i mean it when i say this man literally WORSHIPS you

honestly, all in all, he’s so horny

like it’s impossible to put just how horny he is into words

be warned,

he will 2000% get a boner from a peck if you hold eye contact after,

or bite your lip,

or lick your lips,

or you literally exist seeing as he thinks you’re the most gorgeous sexy goddess of a woman to ever walk the earth

[BUTTERS STOTCH]

SFW

he’s experienced with kissing considering his kissing company

just as, if not more, experienced than kenny

he’s so respectful with you

very gentle and loving

he’d act like every kiss is the first

he’ll get so flustered no matter what you do

after your first make out session he’ll probably thank you

“gee, thank you for that sweetie, that was neat-o! you’re real good at kissin’ baby.”

will def have a content smile before after and during

he’d hold you while he kissed your whole face

loves kissing you on your nose

and being kissed right between his eyebrows

he’s the type to kiss your eyelids so every part of you feels loved (🤞 please somebody get that reference)

overall he’s just so loving and gentle with you

NSFW

so can we all agree that butters is a total freak in the sheets?

like he’s the exact opposite of stan

you assume he’s a basic vanilla guy

but really he’s the type to tie you up

he’d never spank you or anything like that

not unless you really wanted him to

the type to refer to sex as love-making

he’ll kiss you a lot during it because he needs you to know that the whole dominant thing is an act

he needs you to know that he adores you and kisses the ground you walk on

back to kissing—

he WILL kiss your ass

literally

like no joke he’s the type to spank you and call you a bitch

then do his little giggle and apologise while kissing it better when it’s all said and done

he’s a huge fan of bathing together—both in a wholesome and not so wholesome way

he just loves how warm it is and how vulnerable you both are

it feels safe for him

that’s when you both give and receive the most kisses, honestly

he mostly gets kissed so often in the bath because he literally BEGS to have your lips on him

kissing is his foreplay and his aftercare, just to put that out there.

[sleepiexx]

Something He’d Overheard

James Potter x fem!Reader

Note: I’ve been in the marauders fandom for over 7 years now, I think it’s high time I write a fic for it. Part of my efforts to branch out into writing for more fandoms than COD.

Summary: James finds himself head over heels when he sees you defending a first year student.

Warnings: some curse words here and there, bullying mention, overall rlly soft

Word Count: 1151

After countless fictional characters and random strangers on the street with pretty faces catching his burning ire, anyone who knew James Potter knew good and well that he was a lover. He had long believed in love at first sight, merely seeing someone eye-catching often sparked thoughts of budding romance, fantasies of how they would love and what their relationship would look like amongst other things. Soulmates and fate were a big concept to him too, for example his favorite book character, a headstrong witch who was kind and brilliant, well James had a hunch that in another life they were lovers.

He’d fallen in love just about a million times, and yet something about you was different.

You had caught James’ eye one day as he made the trek to the library to collect his good friend Remus for their group’s usual night’s worth of mischief. Your beautiful eyebrows were pinched together in anger, a sneer on your pretty lips, your voice was loud and firm as you scolded one of the usual culprits (a death eater in the making) for bullying a defenseless first year student.

Your hand clutched your wand intently as you damn near hissed the words, “you wanna try picking on someone who can actually fight back?”

They let out a scoff and left the scene, leaving you, the first year, and unbeknownst to you, James.

The switch between standoffishness and caring came like whiplash. Your tensed frame relaxed as you knelt down in front of the first year (those eleven year olds seemed to be growing shorter and shorter every year). Your dominant hand reached out and gently wiped away the younger child’s tears.

“Everything he said is bullshit,” you began, “he’s angry at the world, looking for someplace to fit in, and unfortunately it’s really easy to fall into the wrong crowd. You haven’t, and he’s jealous of that.”

The kid sniffled, pout still indented firmly on their little lips, “who would be jealous of me?”

You shook your head in disbelief, “plenty of people! You have a gift that a large part of the world’s population doesn’t possess, that’s something to be proud of no matter what other witches and wizards try to tell you. Heck, I’m even jealous of you.”

As you spoke a smile crept its way on the first year’s face, “you are?” They asked.

“Yeah, I am!” You nodded, “you’ve got six and a half more years left at Hogwarts to have fun and run about the castle, I only have another year and a half.”

“This place is pretty cool,” they muttered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Your face lit up and you stood to your feet, offering the small child your hand so you could walk them back to their common room. You’d never seen the awe-stricken onlooker, but the scene was now burned into James’ mind.

It followed him to the library, where he convinced Remus to follow him to their other friends, a long walk that Remus spent listening to James drone on and on about you. It followed him to his dorm that night, and every other night for weeks leaving the marauders to know every single detail about you. And it most especially followed him to each of the classes you had together where James would stare at you and admire your appearance while daydreaming about you.

It was the third time that week that the scene had followed him to the lunch table when Sirius slammed his palms on the table, “I’m putting an end to this nonsense right now. You either talk to her, Prongs, or I will. And trust me, you won’t like how in depth I will go about those daydreams you’ve been having where-“

Sirius couldn’t even finish his sentence with how fast James jumped in, “alright, alright! I have potions with her next, I’ll talk to her, I swear.”

The statement leaves the marauders satiated in conversation as they finish up their lunch and head to their classes.

In potions, James nearly decides to abandon ship, facing a new anxiety he’d never experienced before when dealing with a girl. He decides that maybe it would be best to keep to himself, too afraid to stumble on his words and make a fool of himself in front of such a pretty girl. All this is until Professor Slughorn proclaims that today’s assignment requires a partner. If there ever was a time to shoot his shot, it’s now.

He takes deep breaths, adjusting his posture and forcing his every step to radiate confidence before he reaches you, “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to be my partner?”

You smile, “I’d love to! Fair warning, though, I’m not the best at potions.”

James bursts out into a giddy grin, “I’m willing to pick up the slack.”

“Unfortunately, I bet I’ll make you eat your words,” nonetheless you collect the ingredients as James collects the supplies.

When everything is together, James reads off the instructions. You follow them with great care, not wanting to make a fool of yourself in front of your new, devilishly handsome potions partner.

You make to slice open one of the ingredients, as the instructions called for, but your knife slips, sending the damned thing hurdling straight towards your face. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for an impact that never comes, reopening them only to be met with the sight of the back of James’ hand.

“Holy shit,” you curse, “did you just catch that?”

James nods, almost surprised at himself.

You shake your head in disbelief, “if you weren’t such a good chaser, I’d suggest you take up seeking.”

Your statement renews James’ confidence, so you’d noticed him too?

“Can I show you how to cut it?” He asks, a smile on his face.

You nod, watching his hands intently, confused when he disappears behind you. You quickly piece together what’s happening when he grabs your hands with his own, handing you the knife and positioning you so that you slice through the ingredient like it’s nothing.

“Great job!” James praises, even though it was him that had done all the work.

You still take the compliment, grinning from ear to ear as he tosses the final ingredient into the potion, creating the rich purple color you were striving for, “we make a really good team, Potter.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, “well what do you say we see if we make as good of a couple?” You feel blood rush to your cheeks, James further clarifies “Hogsmeade this weekend? Just you and me?”

And you nod eagerly, “I would love that.”

If Sirius thought James asking you out would be the solution to him raving on and on about you all hours of the day, he was sorely mistaken and he was about to figure that out as soon as James stepped into the common room.

[eustasskidagenda]

Okay, this post is not based on a request. I kept thinking about it for hours and finally decided to write it down: how the OP characters would text their s/o. So here are some texting headcanons for some of my favorite characters: Eustass Kid, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Sabo. I'll probably write a part 2 with my other beloved characters: Luffy, Marco, Killer, and Robin. :D

☆Texting HCs for Kid, Law, Sanji, Zoro & Sabo

CW : g/n reader, MDNI, Kid is cursing, fluff, funny, partly nsfw, mention of alcohol for Zoro 

WC : 2k

Kid

Your name/photo in his contacts: mine. With a photo of your ass, obviously. And when he's mad at you, he renames you mid(ge).

Such a brat.

His wallpaper: a cool photo of his motorbike (I'm sorry but Kid is that kind of man in love with his own bike/car. But it's okay, he's still my favorite.) Or, a pic of your ass.

What kind of pictures are in his gallery: your ass, random photos of your face when he’s teasing you, his bike, and some punk stuff (music, makeup, outfit etc.)

His fav emoji : none.

He likes to send really, really shorts messages. Like : 

"Hi" "u know" "i have an idea" "So listen:"

Goddam Kid, just write the WHOLE sentence in one message.

He's sending you random pictures of his torso, just to flex with his big tiddies.

And you have to respond with a heart emoji and praise him each time.

If you want, he's more than willing to send dick pick too. 

Again, you have to praise him. Even if the pictures are absolutely non-aesthetic. He's blessing you with his cock after all. 

"Babe, you don't know how to take beautiful pics of your dick." "WTF SHUT UP???????? It's MY dick???!!! OF COURSE IT'S BEAUTIFUL??!!!" 

Yeah, Kid is clearly using extra punctuation. 

Oh, sure, each morning, you receive a mirror selfie of his outfit of the day. Such a punk fashion icon. "Rate my outfit on a scale of amazing to amazing" 

He doesn't use emojis because they sound too soft and stupid. "em0teS aRe f0r s0fT b0ys Y/N"

If you complain about his messages looking cold, he might use random emotes to annoy you like "UgH iF U wAnt 🦬" (with that stupid dumb sponge bob meme)

Whenever he calls you, it seems like he's yelling through the phone. 

He likes using caps lock like "HEY Y/N, WANNA FUCK TONIGHT??????" 

He's sending you random punk/rock music. And you have to listen and react to every single music, otherwise he's so pissed off. He is sharing his world with you, the less you can do is interact with him. 

He also loves sending some pics of what he's working on, because Kid likes to repare/custom some cars or motorbike. 

And last thing, I like the idea of Kid Pirates being a punk music band, so sure, Kid loves to send you some videos of him playing guitar. "My fingers are skilled in three things : music, crafting and fingering you all the fucking day long"

His phone is so damaged because he throws it every time he gets angry (like every two minutes).

Law

Your name/photo in his contacts: y/n-ya. With a cursed picture of you. Just to tease you with it. 

His wallpaper: nothing, just the random by default home screen. In his view, wallpapers are useless and pointless.

What kind of pictures are in his gallery: random pictures you took of him, emo memes, and boring stuff about medicine or basic hygiene rules for Luffy. And a guide to "how to stop screaming and how to control your anger: a guide for children" for Kid. 

His favorite emoji: 🖕🏻

Whenever you annoy him with a stupid joke or a prank you saw on TikTok, his immediate reaction is to block you. He's so annoyed, please, leave him alone. He is immediately aware that it is a prank. Luffy always does the same to him before you do.

He's never using capital, it's for the emo aesthetic, like 'I hate bread'. Nope. But ✨"i hate bread."✨, yeah, much better

And yes, he uses "." everytime, it's for the dark and tired emo aesthetic. 

He always leaves a group conversation as soon as you include him. Please, he's so pissed off by those kinds of things. 

He's able to leave your message seen for days. Just because he was busy and forgot about what you said. If you need an answer, sure, try to call him. He always keeps his phone in silent mode. 

He likes to send you cool articles that he reads. Especially about medicine, tattoos or nerd stuff like movies, books, games etc.

"wanna go to a date tattoo with me tomorrow?" 

That kind of question is clearly his love language

He enjoys teasing you with random photos of his tattooed fingers or chest. "I bet you miss these fingers." And yeah, he's clearing curling his fingers on the pic like he would do when they are inside you. He's really good at teasing you with photos. 

Kid and Luffy steal his phone whenever he's with them. So be ready to receive a lot of ugly pictures of Law (taken by the chaotic duo), middle fingers from Kid, and blurry meat pictures from Luffy. 

Poor Law deserves a break.

Sanji 

Your name/photos in his contacts : 💗💘🛐Mon Amour (my love)🛐💘💗 With the most beautiful picture of you. 

His wallpaper : a cute couple photo.

What kind of pictures are in his gallery : a lot of cooking videos or photos, you, aesthetic pic of the sky and a private album with some hot nudes that you sent to him.

His favorites emojis : 💘💗💖🛐💍🧎🌺🌸🌹🫦🥰😘🧑🏻‍🍳🍽🍷🥘 (yeah, Sanji LOVES emojis)

He's always texting you back. If he can't reply within a second, he won't open the text. Sanji, leaving his beautiful s/o with that awful "seen"? Never. 

All the mornings "good morning sweetheart 💘" and all the evenings "sleep well sweetheart, dream about me 💖"

He wants to take a cute and aesthetic pic of the both of you all the days. 

He bombards you with pictures of his cooking. It's cute, but also annoying because he can't help but send extra long texts. He describes every single action he did, along with recipes and tips. 

He enjoys seeing your outfit of the day. He can attempt to match his clothes to yours. 

Random "I love you 💖" and "if no one told you you were pretty today : you're the prettiest 🥰" 

He enjoys sending you cooking videos. "We should eat this tonight. What do you think? 🧑🏻‍🍳"

He's pretty good at sexting. He knows how to take aesthetic photo of his hands, back, or mouth. Not just an ugly dick pick (Kid, Zoro, I'm looking at you). And he also likes to leave you some message like.

I would sit you down on this table if you were with me right now. You know, the one in your kitchen where he had dinner with your parents yesterday? I would gently kiss your neck, fondle your chest, and slowly kneel between your legs until you shout my name. You would pull on my hair, begging me to keep going until you cum repeatedly on my face.  👅 "

And if you send him a nude, well, he's going to die from a nosebleed.

Rest in peace, Sanji. 

Zoro

Your name/photos in his contacts : "y/n". You pick a picture for him because Zoro and phones are not compatible.

His wallpaper : a cool katana

What kind of pictures in his gallery : gym selfies, katanas and alcohol (all with ugly quality)

His fav emojis : 👍🏻 and 😴 Like:

"hey Zoro, you're alright" 👍🏻

"Zoro, wanna hang out?" 😴

"Babe, what are you doing?" 😴

"… am i annoying you?" 👍🏻

He can responds to absolutely anything with those two emojis. 

Zero is so oblivious, so let's be honest: he is not good at using phones. Almost every day, he forgets his phone at home. And even if he didn't forget about it, it's probably on silent mode or just off.

He doesn’t know how to use the keyboard, so prepare yourself for coded-message like "o!. @= sp⛑t t🧹day???/!df🆎e !!"He can't even use the excuse "my cat walked on my keyboard", he just sucks with technology.

Your messages are often "seen ✔️" and that's all. Not because he wants to be mean, just... he didn't understand the concept of answering every text. He takes all of your messages as random information. Like "Hey, I'd love to see you tonight!". Well. OK. Message understood. That's all.

The only application he has on his phone is Google Maps. Even with it, he still gets lost. "Turn left." Without a doubt, he turns right. 

Once, he tried to please you with a dick pic. But the photo was just terrible: bad luminosity, an ugly close-up of his cock, blurred as fuck, and you can see the dirty tissue behind him.

He doesn't answer when you call him because he's either asleep or at the gym (or drunk).

Once, he also tried to send you a voice message, but it was just the sound of the wind. He forgot to talk closer to the microphone.

Sabo 

Your name/photos in his contacts : "my revolutionary 🎩💛". With a beautiful pic of your smiling face. 

His wallpaper : a symbol of revolution. 

What kind of pictures in his gallery : petition screenshots, his brothers, you, anti-capitalist memes and a private album with some hot pic of you (naughty Sabo)

His fav emojis : 🔥✨🖕🏻💛✊🏻😡😏😎🤩👉🏻👌🏻🫵🏻

Sabo is... complicate. Sometimes, he doesn't answer for WEEKS. And sometimes he's extra chatty. And when he's chatty well...

Sabo is always spamming you with petition links. "Save the dolphins", "save the monkeys", "fuck capitalism", "for the resignation of *insert random politician name*" 

"Hey sweetheart, manifestation tomorrow. See you there!! 🫵🏻" 

When it's not petitions, it's probably videos or articles. Sabo is a pure revolutionary. Be prepared to receive lengthy texts when he wants to fight for a cause. It's cute, honestly. He's really involved and passionate. 

"You, me, on a trip tomorrow?! 😏"

Sabo has a knack for surprising you with trips, so prepare yourself. This man craves adventure and surprises. He wants you to join his crazy journey. 

Sometimes, he's using proper grammar and punctuation, sometimes he's using a lot of !!!!!!!!??????? And caps lock. Especially when he's furious about something.  He makes a lot of typo errors because he's always in a rush while typing.

Let's fught  *figrt *fijkt *FUCK *LET'S FIGHT (and fuck)

He enjoys taking pictures of you unexpectedly because it makes you seem more natural. 

"So… sweetheart… we have a new roommate" with a cute pic of a dog/frog/duck/snail/whatever. Sabo has a kind heart. If he sees a wounded or abandoned animal, he feels obliged to adopt it.

And regarding spicy texts… 

Sabo is a kinky boy. So sure, he's thirsty when it comes to sexting/nudes. As a revolutionary, he is also very careful. He always asks you first before sending you nude or spicy texts. If you're willing, then prepare yourself.

A bunch of nudes. Since he's good with them, he won't display his dick in a weird and unattractive angle to you. He enjoys showing you his hands when he's wearing his gloves. Or a mirror photo of his back.

"I know you will scratch it when I'll fuck you tonight 😏"

You're not forced to send him nude or spicy texts back. He respects your boundaries without exception. And if you send him a photo anyway, he's also really nice. Always a comment like "your ass is soooooo good with this angle. I can't believe I'm that lucky 🥵" and if he wants to save a photo for his collection, he's always asking if it's okay with you.

"Sweetie, i have a new toy for you… 💛"

We all know what he's talking about. Naughty Sabo.

[shooting-love-arrows]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄 — 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

SYNOPSIS: 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 characters and their yandere tendencies. PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 (!aged up to be a legal adult!) x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐬 x reader [platonic]; readers gender isn't impiled/mentioned/specified Tw. delusion, delulu is the solulu, obsessive thoughts/behavior, possessive thoughts/behavior, witchcraft/dark magic, mention of love making, manipulations, controlling behavior, tyranny (?), concent? what is it?, stalking, worshiping, creepy behavior, creepy people, hunting, mention of m*rder, punishments, yeah… A/N: I hold Snow White close to my heart. However, as much as I adore the animated version, I find the book more interesting. So this is based on German fairy tale or folk tale, [Snow White] written by the Brothers Grimm (Jacob Ludwig Karl Grimm and Wilhelm Karl Grimm). Snow White is AGED UP!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 who thinks of you as her first, last and only love. She, just like most women her age, believes in soulmates. It's just so...romantic.

It happens that in her opinion, you're the one. Since the moment she lays her doe like eyes on you, she just knows that your souls are tied and destined to be one.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 fantasies about you. A lot. At first, those are innocent fantasies. Scenarios about you running around each other, playfully starting your courtship. Then your feelings shall grow deeper, the roots growing deep into your heart and so your courtship becomes more prominent and serious. Those playful touches become more affectionate. Holding a deeper meaning and reaching down into your essence of being. Then, you'll propose to her, in the most dreamy way one can imagine. Fret not, she'll (shout) say yes. Wedding preparations will follow soon after, then a grand, royal wedding itself and finally, you'll spend your first night together. Ah yes, the moment your bond will materialize in the form of a night full of passionate love making. The spiral goes on deep and each time 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 starts the imaginary movie roll over, her daydreams take a darker turn. 

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 becomes very needy for your attention. She's just so touch starved to be noticed by her object of affection that she's just about to do something to make you see her as your potential wife. She'll dress up for you, looking like a princess that she is, otherwordly beautiful and charming; make sure to sing when she knows you're near acting like a siren who is ready to catch you in her net of love; showing off her many talents especially those she knows will catch your attention and let her start a conversation with you. And every time you do talk, it's like the whole world disappears, leaving only you. You find it a little concerning with how much 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 sighs and flutters her long eyelashes. Sometimes you wonder if she even pays attention to what your saying (or worse, that you bore her), since she seems to be stuck in her head. And her eyes seemed to have that strange glint that appears only when she looks at you…

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 starts being interested in witchcraft. It is an unexpected turn but I feel like she searched for something deeper. Knowing that your soulmates (it's her opinion) just isn't enough. She must be sure. A way to truly bind you together. So…uh…like mother, like (step) daughter?

Don't get me started on what she writes in her diaries…

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 who commands you to be her lover. Simple as that. She doesn't wait, nor ask for your opinion in that matter. After the (not so) mysterious disappearance of her husband – the King and Snow's White father – she'll have absolute power in the Queendom. And since she's the Queen and the most entitled person around, you'll have to comply with her wishes. Otherwise, she won't hesitate to force you to via poisons and dark magic.

She'll force feed you all sorts of aphrodisiacs, make voodoo dolls either of you or someone from your surroundings and in the end reduce you to being her puppet. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 doesn't need you to think. Just look pretty (but not as her) and submit to her entirely. Be her best and most treasured accessory, hm?

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 often uses a spying mirror to stalk you. Whenever she's not busy leading the Queendom or simply desires to see you, she'll sit in her lavish chambers and command her mirror to show you. She knows it can only tell her the truth and only the truth, so additionally she'll ask all sorts of questions about you. Are you loyal to her? Do you have a family she shuld take care of? Do you have feelings for someone? If she finds out that you do have and it's not for her, the very next day a public execution is made for your crush. 

You're not safe from her wrath and mood swings either. Like mentioned before, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 isn't afraid to punish those who are against her in any way. She won't kill you but your punishments will be severe. Whipping and isolation are her way to go. Scars shall be your reminder to not cross her and loneliness borderlining to madness will thrust you right in her arms. Just like she didn't hesitate to assassinate Snow White, she'll make sure you understand your place and take your role as her lover seriously. 

She's all you need now and in the future. Your family, close friends and anyone you had connection with were taken care of. You're her loyal subject, made to worship her and serve her by giving her your never ending supply of love and affection.

She'll make you see that.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 who is your devoted worshiper. He sees you as some sort of higher being, who graced this dirty Earth with your pure presence. Who has graced him and his hard life with a drop of your soothing presence. The moment you showed him some kindness, even unintentionally, he's ready to carve his heart out of his chest and be at your every beck and call.

Although he is no knight by no means, definitely lacking those virtues, he's skilled within his field of work. It means that whoever dares to bother you (even if they don't) or worse, taint you (start courting you) is automatically a threat he needs to eliminate. Just like 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 does to his prey, he'll haunt them deep in the great forest by shooting arrows at their running form. But unlike his usual ethics to make it as painless as possible to the animals, he’ll deliberately make sure to make this person suffer as much as possible. He's ruthless. 

Don't be surprised when you'll find some ‘gifts’ from him. He's a man of a few words, not a drop of romance and hardened by life. Plus his yandere tendencies. So 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 gifts tend to be…disturbing. More often than not, you'll find already prepared quarries of his. You get furs, meat and even polished antlers/horns to hand in your chambers. 

Of course, he'll remain anonymous through this whole time, because he doesn't feel worthy enough to officially make contact with you. 

In the dark of the night, when he lays in his cot, he'll pray to you. That you'll allow him, a sinner, to be by your side. He doesn't dare (but secretly wishes) to be your lover, perhaps even your...husband? Whatever you'll pick, he'll agree on anything. He's that desperate for you.

One day…one day he'll overcome his insecurities and will speak to you…

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 who is a lovesick puppy, ready to marry you right then and there when his eyes fell on you for the first time. He's hopeless, really. 

He's always there when you're out of the castle. Lurking just around the corner, ready to start luring you into coming with him. At first, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 offers are subtle but slowly and surely, they become bold. From promises to give you safety, stable life to making you his Queen and offering to conquer the Queendom as a wedding gift from him to you. He doesn't understand why you wouldn't want to come with him. He's the crown prince, only heir to a prosperous kingdom and a future king, ready to shower you in gold, gifts and power before you could even think of it.

He's a gifted singer and poet. He'll use that to his advantage to catch your attention, especially when you're in the castle where 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 obviously can't go. If it's possible, he'll stop his horse just under your window, hop down and that's when the performance starts. He'll sing ballads about your beauty, recites all sorts of poetry also related to love, sometimes even pray for you to come and grace him with your presence. His words are easily pouring out of his mouth in abundance. They're all about how he deeply feels towards you or about you. And he sincerely hopes they'll trap your heart.

In the dark of the night, he'll look at the portrait of you he had commissioned shortly after meeting you. Of course it didn't do your justice at all but it was just to pass the time until he'll have the real you by his side. He'll sigh dreamily at the canvas, whispering words of pure adoration for you.

His patience is running thin and the wedding day is nearing so fast...!

✿ BONUS ✿

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐬 [platonic] who are fiercely overprotective of you. They are greedy and dangerous beings by nature. They’ve killed before and they have no problem doing that again. Especially when some pathetic excuse of a pests seemed to be lurking around their hut, where they were keeping you locked in. There are seven of them, ripped with muscles because of a daily work in the mines and without any remorse in them. The opponent stands no chance. 

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[ryescapades]

Hi rye congrats on 1k! Can i have slice one with togame jo (windbreaker), nsfw prompt no 18? Tq in advance 💘

→ EVENT OVERVIEW

prompt: 18 - “you’re such a mess.” characters: togame jo (wbk) x afab!reader contents: nsfw mdni !! unprotected p in v, implied multiple orgasms, slight manhandling, tummy bulge, creampie, a bit of size kink, some pussy inspecting? mention of cum eating, petnames (baby & sweetheart), reader is physically smaller wc ~ 700

a/n: thank you sm for participating anon! <3 finally got around to start writing my event requests TwT as i’ve said before, updates are gonna be super slow bcs uni is still kicking my ass so take note of that !! first time writing for togame btw erm

“c’mon, y/n. you’re still with me?”

glassy-eyed and lightheaded, you feel the room spins as if in slow motion. literally and figuratively.

one second you were on your knees and cheek pressed onto the sheets, and the next your view suddenly changed to that of the ceiling. a pair of hands slides up from your waist to cradle your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles on the apple of your cheeks.

togame leans in, connecting your foreheads together before he gives you a small kiss. your lips easily meld together as you hum against him, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

his emerald gaze, his lips, his hands. everything about them feels delicate whenever they fall on you, as gentle as the leaves rustling in the wind, and soft in the way his warmth envelopes you like a pile of heated blankets on a cold winter night.

you’d almost cried at how wholesome his attention is, and how fulfilling his love is becoming. almost, if not for the way his hips rolls so hard into you that you’re starting to sob for an entirely different reason.

togame is by no means average-sized. barely halfway in and he’s already stretching you to the max, pressing in so deeply and ever so slightly in a tilted way that his cock curves perfectly upwards inside your sopping cunt. every single inch of him hits all the sweet spots inside you just right, sparks of pleasure bursting behind your eyelids as wanton moans escape from your mouth.

he eventually sets a rapid pace, his movement fluid and steady as the blunt tip of his cock starts to repeatedly hit the deepest part of your core. “that’s it, baby. you’re taking me so well,” he purrs in your ear, causing you to whine in response.

“f-fuck, ‘s so big,” you clench around his generous length as wet squelching sounds of your pussy echo in the room, skin slapping against skin as your cries and his grunts stringing together like a dirty symphony.

togame slips a hand behind your neck then, pulling you up for another kiss before he holds you there, heads leaning against each other to make you notice, to make you see what he’s doing to you.

you don’t realize it at first, too lost in the feeling of his cock dragging oh so deliciously in between your velvety walls. but when you finally get a good look at it, you’d nearly come right on the spot.

there’s a thick creamy ring around the base of his cock, courtesy of the previous rounds you’d had and how much he’d been cumming inside you, and when he drives himself home again inside your wet heat with that same crazy depth, same crazy angle, your stomach bulges with every thrust.

“shh, just feel me here, sweetheart,” he coos before his hand grabs one of yours, dwarfing it entirely before settling them both together on your lower belly, right where his thick cock continues to make that little bump on the skin.

it makes you dizzy, so freaking turned on and almost delirious at the sight as togame slams deeper into you. “jo… g-gonna cum - fuck,” tears blur your vision, your whimpers growing louder by the second when his other hand grips tighter on the back of your thigh.

“yeah? you like feeling yourself when you’re getting fucked like this, hm?” he presses down harder on your stomach with just the right amount of pressure and before you know it you’re already cumming so hard, your cunt squeezing and gushing around his dick as your breath gets knocked out of your lungs in a broken cry of his name.

he follows behind soon after, reaching his peak with a low groan of his own as you heavily pant from the exertion. running a hand through his sweaty onyx strands, togame briefly glances down at where the two of you are still connected and gradually pulls out, ignoring your slurred complaints about the sudden loss of warmth.

he curses under his breath, “fuck, baby. you’re such a mess.”

you’re sweating all over, hair disheveled on the pillow beneath your head as pearls of tears line the lashes of your eyes. his cum and yours fill your tight hole to the brim, the mixed liquids leaking past your pussy lips and trickling down your inner thigh when togame hooks a thumb on the side of your wet folds.

he inhales sharply, eyes focusing on the obscene view before he looks back at your fucked out expression with that heavily lidded gaze again.

“mind if i have a taste?”

am i starting off too strong with this one 🧍 anw ‘big dick togame🗣️’ the crowd (me) cheers

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[rubiehart]

congratulations on 1k babes!! you deserve all of that and so much more 🫶🫶 ur writing is always so good and you always eat it up! 💗

🏵️; 𝐬𝐨𝐥 𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫 - send in any prompt from this list and a character and i’ll write a short blurb based around the prompt!

morning sex with jj maybank 🤭

thankyou soooo much!! it means the world to me you’re really the sweetest🫶 also this was kinda long i got carried away 🙈

you’re cuddled up to his warm chest, cheek smushed against his pec as you squint as the sun peeking through a crack in the blinds. stretching your fingers that had been laying against his toned stomach, mindlessly drawing swirls against the muscle as you get used to the light.

you’ve got one leg thrown over his, his warm thigh sandwiched between yours and pressing deliciously against your aching heat, no doubt still wet from last night. you sigh quietly, rocking your hips gently so the crotch of your panties catch against your clit, your toes curling at the sensation.

jj starts to stir next to you, nose twitching a little as he stretches the arm you’re not laying on above his head, a groan leaving his mouth as he looks over to you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips as you slow your movements, not completely stopping as you look him in the eye.

“‘y havin’ fun there girly?” he says lowly, in that grumbly morning voice you love, you resist the urge to squeeze your thighs together over his, deciding to smush your face into his armpit instead of facing his knowing face. “a little.” you mumble into the flesh, a little smirk playing on your lips.

he nods his head slowly, smirk still adorning his lips “yeah?” he breathes out, you feel his breath tickle your neck and you laugh quietly, lifting your head. “mhm. would be more fun if you’d help me out though.” you smirk and he lets the grin settle on his face, canines showing as he flips you over, strong arms caging you in.

“whats’a magic word?” he smirks and you furrow your eyebrows in mock concentration. “abracadabra?” you giggle and he shakes his head with a smile, blonde mop shaking with the movement.

“hmmm.. please…?” you whisper, leaning up to whisper in his ear and you swear you hear him growl, low and deep in his throat before reaching one hand down to the waistband of your panties, eyeing you suspiciously when you whimper, even from the small touch.

he peels off your panties, throwing them to the side and immediately leaning down for a heated kiss, your tongues wrapping around each other, swallowing eachother’s moans, pulling away momentarily to drag his boxers down his thighs, his pretty length popping out and hitting stomach, little drops of pre-cum already dripping down his shaft.

“open sesame.” he whispers, as you widen your legs for him, barely even registering his words as he admires your cunt, soaking for him. your arousal dripping down your thighs by now, he was so done for. “yeah, that’s definitely my magic word.” you giggle as he stares, wide eyed and you cock an eyebrow at him, finding his antics cute.

“you’re actin’ like you haven’t seen my pussy before.” you state and he snaps back to reality, “oh- huh? oh yeah ‘s just…” he trails off, smirk returning as more arousal dribbles out of your pulsing hole. “please just fuck me jayj.” you plead, reaching up to grip his muscly shoulders, sliding your hands around to cup the back of his neck and bring him down into another passionate kiss.

“right.” he smirks, holding himself up with one arm, one hand gripping his cock as he lines himself up, you lean up on your elbows to watch where you connect as he slowly pushes himself inside, groaning loudly as he watches, completely enamoured by the way you swallow him whole, head dropped back against the pillows as you mewl at the all too familiar stretch, you’d never quite get used to it.

he drops his forehead against yours with a groan when he’s in to the hilt, sweaty blonde hair shadowing his forehead as you look into eachother’s eyes. “you doin’ okay baby?” he whispers, and you nod, genuine smile on your lips as you grip his tanned biceps.

“yeah.” he takes that as his sign to start, rocking his hips slowly in and out of you as you let out breathy little moans, right next to his ear, he swears he could live like this for the rest of his life. peering down to watch how your little cunt takes him so well, deciding against the idea quickly because he might just bust right now, he wants this to last, so he focuses on your eyes, the way they struggle to focus on him when he nudges that squidgy spot that makes you let out the prettiest moans he’d ever heard.

when you both finish, he cleans you up with his tongue, licking up everything he’d spilt inside of you, focusing on your clit and making you cum another three times until you were thrashing against the bedsheets, screaming “oh jayj!” grabbing on his hair and begging him to stop as he traces ‘jj’ over and over against your abused clit until he has you squirting all over his face. he could live in your pussy and be the happiest man alive.

[yolkochan]

Because of this fic by @tigreblvnc (this writing is inspired by it and I loved his interpretation of Kaiser, pls give some love to the og 🙏)

I’m now thinking about married rural life with Micheal Kaiser omfg 🙉 (it’s oddly so in character, I think he would go off the grid when he retires ngl)

When all of it is finally over. When that day comes where Michael is the world’s number one.

You will live inside a quaint cottage with him in a rural setting, where you’re both isolated by vast fields of greenery and flora - somewhere no one will come to bother you.

Away from the buzz and noise of the city, being surrounded by only the soft rustling of the meadows as you huddle up next to him on a bed of grass. The tender warmth of his skin shields you from the evening’s cold air as you both gaze up at the starry night sky in comforting silence.

Being able to enjoy the small joys in life with him — like how his hands sneakily intertwine with yours while you’re kneading dough for fresh bread. Being woken up by birdsong during sunrise, knowing that you’re both perfectly content in each other’s presence every morning. Watching how the leaves unfurl in spring in the solace of his arms.

On cold winter nights, you sip tea while cradled by him in bed, the pages of an old book turning softly in his hands. The warm glow of the fireplace flickers nearby, casting a gentle light over the words he reads quietly, you eventually fall asleep, nestled in the familiar crook of his neck, being lulled by his gentle breathing.

yeah im just kinda yappin (idk how to write argehdhdtsg, this is my first short fic) and being delulu fr (Kaiser’s red flag ass would never 💀, not until some major character development and therapy atleast) but the thought of it is so sweet :( also why do I imagine Kaiser being an author after he retires o.o