#so you're the monarch by now

[ysaefinn]

Aauuuuugghhh growing old with knight!Suguru and begging him to retire each night before you fall asleep together cuz you've grown paranoid at the thought of losing him in the line of duty someday and he just shushes you and promises to always return home to you <//333

[pinemartenstudios]

Double post today xD. Have a new shot of the creaturification beam and my redesign of Abyss Monarch's eldritch form xD

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚🥀₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 ♡₊˚🥀₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king x concubine 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 normal form sukuna (sorry yall but next time ill do his big boy one) 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his darling 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 breeding (!!!!) 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 8.8k

: ̗̀➛ notes: this took a whole WEEK to edit. im so obsessed with this story. it's my favourite thing ive written because i love period movies and dramas and really got to challenge my writing skills to give it more a fantasy-esque element. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

The diligent hands of Lord Sukuna Ryomen’s palace attendants scrubbed away the grime that clung to every inch of your weary form. There were no traces of tears in your eyes, despite the discomfort of the cleansing process.

Perhaps it was the residue of gratitude for an escape from a foster family who saw fit to barter you away for a pittance to fuel their vices.

The water surrounding you had transformed into a murky haze, carrying away the evidence of your former life's hardships.

Yet, amidst this cleansing ritual, you couldn’t shake the puzzling thought of why the guards had singled you out from the other young women within the household. Uraume, the overseer of palace affairs, had arrived alongside them, their presence looming over the proceedings with an air of mystery.

That morning, you were subjected to abuse in front of everyone at the central market, longing for someone to stand up for you. And someone did. They offered you an escape from that hellhole and into a world of luxury.

You weren’t going to complain now that you had accepted this new fate of yours.

“Ya’ got too many scars, girl,” remarked one of the elderly attendants, gently assisting you out of the steaming bath, her hands wrapping a towel around your shivering form. “Our powders will struggle to conceal ’em all. How did ya’ come by such marks?”

“From my foster family,” you murmured, gaze fixed upon your toes as if they held the weight of your past. The plush carpet beneath your feet offered a small comfort, a luxury unfamiliar to your upbringing.

Memories of their harsh discipline flooded back—the blistering gravel underfoot as punishment for daring to voice dissent. It was a brutal introduction to a world where obedience was paramount.

“A wretched lot,” the attendant muttered sympathetically.

Enveloped in a silk robe, she led you into a chamber shared by a cohort of women, a realm far removed from the confines of your previous abode. Here, space was ample—the expanse excessive, with beds lining the walls and a high ceiling adorned with a single chandelier.

As you entered, a symphony of pretty faces and inquisitive gazes greeted you. Women of all colours and shapes reclined luxuriously in plain robes, their hair intricately braided or cascading freely down their backs. Conversations paused, curiosity piqued by your arrival, as all eyes turned to welcome you into their midst.

Beneath the weight of their scrutinising stares, you found yourself shrinking. These women, draped in silk and adorned with jewels, were the king's favoured concubines, a fact repeatedly emphasised during your journey to the palace and even in the fragrant confines of the bathhouse.

Every instinct urged you to rebel, to refuse to be just another ornament in the king’s harem, but you understood the value placed on purity by the monarch.

Unfortunately, your innocence had been cruelly stolen from you by your foster father, leaving you tarnished in body and spirit. Lord Sukuna would have no use for a damaged flower in his garden of perfection.

In truth, you couldn’t even imagine an image of his face in your mind. His Lordship remained a mystery to those beyond the palace walls.

“Here ya’ are.” The attendant guided you to your bed. “That vanity there’s yours to use.” She gestured toward the communal area by the window, where two other young women were preparing themselves. “Once your hair dries, one of my girls will assist ya’ in preparin’ for your audience with His Lordship.” Her touch was gentle as she caressed your cheek. “Rest assured, dear, ya’ safe now.”

You attempted a smile, though the effort seemed Herculean amidst your weariness.

As the attendant departed, her scolding to the rowdy girls fading into the background, you nestled into the comforting embrace of your soft bedding, ignoring the hushed criticisms trailing in your wake.

She’s feeble.

Her hair lacks refinement.

The king would never entertain a lowly pauper.

She’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Their words, like venomous serpents, slithered through the air.

Amidst their degradation, you succumbed to exhaustion.

But your slumber was interrupted by the bustling commotion of handmaidens assembling around you.

Disoriented and scarcely given a moment to collect your thoughts, you found yourself swiftly escorted to the vanity, where the clamour of girls jostling for space filled the air.

They manipulated your locks, weaving intricate patterns into your hair, fashioning a crown braid atop your head while allowing the remaining tresses to cascade freely down your back.

Meanwhile, other attendants removed your robe, their hands moving with practised efficiency as they anointed your skin with fragrant oils, infusing it with the delicate essence of lavender.

Between the flurry of activity, the whispers of your fellow concubines hung in the air like a veil of awe and trepidation. Their eyes were drawn to the scars marring your skin, as they speculated about how the king would perceive your imperfections as repulsive.

Good.

You craved precisely that outcome.

If the king recoiled at your sight, it meant he wouldn’t desire you to bear his heir. If the tales circulating in the town about his monstrous nature held any truth, then he’d likely offer you death as a reprieve—and you’d welcome it with open arms.

Before facing the king, you stole a glance at your reflection, the final moments of solitude before your fate was decided. The powder concealed the imperfections of your skin, rendering it smooth and flawless. Your cheeks and lips bore a muted hue reminiscent of crushed cherries. Delicate white blossoms adorned your hair, woven into your braids by nimble fingers.

As you stood, the other women adorned you in a robe of silky fabric, its floral pattern draping over your form, cinched at the waist to accentuate your curves. Barefoot, you followed them out, the chill of the floor beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth of anticipation and trepidation swirling within you.

“Good luck, pauper,” taunted one of the concubines, her voice dripping with disdain, echoed by a cacophony of mocking laughter.

Palms clammy with nerves, you shifted your gaze to the opulence of the palace corridors. Adorned with countless chandeliers and swathes of velvet drapery, they offered a stark contrast to the blooming back garden. Memories of tending to the earth and nurturing life back at your foster family’s home flooded your mind.

“Quickly now,” one of the maids urged, her voice tinged with urgency. “His Lordship detests tardiness.”

“I apologise.” You hastened your steps to keep pace with the group of attendants.

She halted before a grand set of double doors, guarded by imposing sentinels clad in formidable armour. With a flick of her wrist, the guards swung the doors open. She gently nudged you forward, and only as you crossed the threshold did the doors seal shut behind you.

You blinked, adjusting to the dimness within, scanning the chamber until your gaze alighted upon a pair of crimson glimmers opposite you. “My Lord?” You inclined your head and took hesitant steps toward the source of those fiery eyes.

“Come closer,” his command echoed through the chamber, sending a shiver down your spine. The low resonance of His Highness Sukuna Ryomen’s voice was unexpectedly rich and velvety. You had envisioned a voice tinged with age, but instead, it possessed a rough texture that awoken something within you.

With hesitant steps, you approached until you stood at the edge of his bed, your fingertips grazing the diaphanous curtains that enveloped him in a cocoon of privacy.

“Closer,” he urged, coaxing you to unveil the enigma lying beyond the veil.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you obeyed, parting the curtains and gracefully crawled onto the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets were a blatant contrast to the roughness of your foster house’s. A pang of guilt tugged at your conscience as you realized the irony of finding solace in this luxurious confinement of being his concubine.

“Enough.” His abrupt order halted your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present moment.

As commanded, you obediently settled into your posture, folding your legs beneath you in the dimness. Within his shadowed realm, only the luminous crimson irises pierced through the gloom, studying you with an intensity that made your belly churn. Despite the curiosity burning within you, you restrained the impulse to voice your questions. Instead, you settled in the tranquillity that crowded the space between you.

“What is your name?” His inquiry cut through the hushed air.

“Y/N, my Lord.”

As your name slipped from your lips, he captured it delicately, repeating it like a sacred prayer. Each syllable danced on his tongue, imprinting itself upon the very essence of his being. In that moment, you observed a subtle shift—the shadows that had cloaked the chamber seemed to dissipate.

A soft, golden luminescence filtered through the parted curtains, cascading across half of Sukuna’s face.

You blinked in astonishment.

He appeared . . . young?

The age difference between you and him was not a chasm of decades, but rather a modest gap of no less than five years.

Physically, at least.

His appearance was striking, with locks of hair dyed a subdued pink hue, contrasting with a streak of darker shade beneath. His hair was styled into rugged spikes, lending an air of defiance. Intricate black markings adorned his features, tracing a path from his cheekbones down to his chin, while similar patterns wove across his strong shoulder, cascading over his defined pectoral muscles and sculpted abdomen.

As your eyes fell upon him, your heart quickened its pace, each beat a vicious drumming against your ribs. Gone was the expectation of a lord showing the signs of wisdom, with wrinkles upon his brow and a body marked by the passage of time. Instead, before you sat a vision of breathtaking beauty, defying your preconceived notions and leaving you breathless in awe.

With a graceful gesture, he swept aside the curtains, allowing them to unveil his entirety.

The same markings mirrored the other side of his face and cascaded down the length of his body, a mesmerising display of symmetry. Dark bands encircled his wrists, and his nails bore the same deep hue.

Poised against the headboard, he reclined with an air of effortless elegance, one knee raised as his elbow found a comfortable perch, while the other leg extended out. Though he was unclothed, a veil of silk sheets cloaked the lower half of his form.

“Remarkable,” you unknowingly whispered. Your hand clapped over your mouth. “I apologise, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s lips curved into a sinister grin, his flawless teeth gleaming in the golden light. While many would flee at the sight, you remained rooted in place, unable to tear your gaze away. A delicate flush spread across your cheeks, betraying the undeniable attraction simmering between your legs. He was absolutely divine, and the path of being his concubine suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.

Yet, the reality of sharing Sukuna with ten other women loomed over your thoughts like a shadow. The thought of him spreading his affections among so many others kindled a small flame of jealousy within you, mingled with confusion. Why hadn’t he impregnated at least one of them with the promise of an heir?

“Have you not been schooled in the art of lowering your gaze in the presence of nobility, Y/N?”

Your lashes fluttered as you registered your lapse in decorum, hastily averting your gaze. “Forgive me, my Lord, if my oversight has caused offence.” Surely, he wouldn’t punish you for a momentary lapse of admiration.

Would he?

A gentle touch beneath your chin guided your face upward. His fingers spread across your cheek, the warmth nearly forcing you to curve into his touch. Despite the temptation, your eyes remained obediently downward.

“Look at me.”

Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the delicate patterns etched over his cheek, the fiery hue of his irises, the elegant contour of his nose, and the soft curvature of his lips. Never before had you felt such a rousing desire towards any man. Yet fate had chosen to ensnare your heart with the one most forbidden to you.

“You bear a sadness that weighs heavily in your eyes,” he noted softly, his hand descending to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing the frantic rhythm of your pulse. A low, melodic sound produced from his throat. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

“It does not, my Lord. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me,” you declared with quiet resolve. “You’re quite . . . beautiful.”

Sukuna’s gaze sparked with a mixture of surprise and intrigue at your response.

Suppressing a nervous gulp, you silently reprimanded yourself for speaking so boldly to one of noble rank. Back in the confines of your former life, such defiance would have earned you swift punishment, yet here, in the presence of royalty, it could lead to your demise.

As you prepared to avert your gaze, ready to accept whatever consequences may come, Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense air before you could retreat.

“Don’t.”

In that moment, you found yourself questioning your instincts.

Why did you not cower in fear? Why did your body not tremble in the presence of a man who had slaughtered the lives of his enemies without hesitation? And most perplexing of all, how could you maintain unwavering eye contact with a figure of such formidable power?

“Remove your robe.” His grip remained firm around your throat, his thumb delicately tracing your pulse. “And do not stray your gaze elsewhere.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Your fingers loosened the fabric’s bindings, allowing it to cascade down your frame, and revealing the soft curvature of your form beneath. As it pooled around your lap, your breasts stood exposed to his scrutiny.

A shiver danced across your skin as his eyes traced the contours of your body, a faint smirk teasing his lips.

He brushed back strands of your hair, his touch trailing down your vertebrate. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, brows knitted together in contemplation, fingers repeatedly tracing the ridges of your scars.

“Turn around.”

The dreaded discovery that sent ripples of revulsion through the concubines had finally come to pass. Your scars lay exposed before the gaze of a powerful lord. Not only would he slit your throat, but also those of the maids who had tended to your needs, and perhaps even Uruame, who had brokered your purchase from the bastards responsible for your imperfections.

“Never before have I been compelled to repeat myself for a concubine.” His voice carried a lethal edge as he increased his grip around your throat. “Turn the fuck around.”

Your compliance came in slow, measured movements as you turned away, presenting your back to him in a gesture of submission. His hands gathered the strands of your hair, lifting them aside to reveal the raw truth etched into your skin. His fingers traced the jagged remnants of whip lashes, the seared imprints of cigars, and the cruel reminders of knife wounds inflicted by a foster father turned tormentor.

Silent tears traced a path down your cheeks, as you sat in a state of numbness, your gaze fixed upon the closed door of Sukuna’s chamber.

A tender sensation, soft and moist, grazed your back, prompting a reflexive twitch in your left shoulder.

Turning slightly, you beheld Sukuna pressing his lips against the scar that marred your shoulder blades.

“My Lord—”

“I did not ask you to speak,” he murmured over your skin, sending a tremor through your frame. “Rise onto your knees.”

Obeying his command, you ascended onto your knees, feeling the weight of his hands settle upon your waist. His lips trailed a path of reverence, bestowing kisses upon each mark that scarred your skin, from your marrow to your nape.

Your breath caught in a delicate dance of exhales, a whispered symphony escaping your parted lips. The wet caress of his tongue sent ripples of sensation coursing through your being.

His arm circled your waist, drawing you into the sanctuary of his embrace. A fleeting kiss graced the nape of your neck, followed by the suction of his lips upon the tender side of your neck. His soft hands possessively held the curve of your breasts, cradling their weight.

Your head reclined against his strong shoulder.

With his gaze fixed upon you, his lips glistened with a hint of moisture, while his crimson eyes locked onto your own human-like ones. You dared not divert your gaze as he previously ordered. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, sending lightning strikes through your frame.

Unlike the non-consensual encounter of the past, there was no hint of agony; only a tantalising blend of pleasure that left you breathless, without a protest or helpless whimper. Instead, a sigh of pure rapture escaped your lips, encompassing your body in an embrace.

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he had stumbled upon a long-sought treasure.

His fingertips skated down your torso, gliding toward your centre. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth. Holding his gaze became a daunting challenge as he skillfully teased your sensitive nub, causing your breath to quicken and your chest to rise and fall with each exhilarating sensation.

Sukuna slid his middle finger into you. “You’re incredibly drawn, Sad Eyes,” he murmured, the endearment he had bestowed upon you almost provoking a smile. His lips grazed your ear as he continued. “Perhaps I should stretch you out”—he pushed in his ring finger, forcing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat and an involuntary arch of your body against his chest—“so that your cunt is able to welcome my cock.”

You stifled the knot rising in your throat as Sukuna plunged his fingers into you. Such profound bliss seemed inconceivable with mere digits alone.

“My Lord.” Your breath caught as he increased his tempo. “My—” Each thrust intensified the knot in your stomach, threatening to unravel you entirely. You teetered on the brink, dangerously close to staining his fingers with your release. A sharp gasp choked out of you as he struck a wondrous chord deep within. “Please, my Lord. I beg of you— I will soil your hand if you persist—” But your plea dissolved into a cry of ecstasy before you could utter another word.

Sukuna’s laughter danced teasingly in the hollow of your ear, leaving you utterly spellbound.

You were overheated, overstimulated, overridden by the explosive undoing from his fingers. Breathless and consumed by lust, your world spun as he seized your jaw and crushed his lips to yours.

In that electrifying moment, his tongue invaded your mouth, initially startling you, yet you surrendered to the rhythm.

Sukuna leaned back slightly after planting a tender peck on your lips. Exhaling softly, he threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As his lips met yours once more, gentler this time, your hand ventured to trace the contours of his adorned chest.

“You are quite the vixen.” A playful glint danced in his eyes. “How valiant of you to seduce a lord into bestowing kisses upon his concubine.” A broad smile graced his lips, leaving you uncertain whether his words were playful jest or genuine admiration.

“Do you not bestow your kisses upon all your concubines, my Lord?”

“I do not pleasure their cunts, either.”

His speech carried the brashness of a tempest, a departure from the expected decorum one associated with royalty. Sukuna Ryomen defied conventions. It was a trait uncommon among lords, yet one that intrigued you deeply. His demeanour, both in battle and in the intimate confines of the bedchamber, lacked the softening. But you found yourself drawn to his unfiltered honesty, appreciating the absence of cryptic notions.

As you sat before him, considering your next words carefully, a surge of courage emboldened you to reveal your truth.

“My Lord,” you began, your voice quivering with uncertainty, “I . . . I am not pure.”

“Given the sounds you were drawing out,” he quipped with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t have surmised otherwise.” He assisted you in rising from where you rested against his chest, positioning you before him. Observing your solemn expression, he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Was your satisfaction not fulfilled?”

“Indeed, my Lord, it surpassed any expectation,” you confessed, worrying your lip as he sighed impatiently. “But I must disclose . . . I am not chaste.”

Sukuna’s response was subdued, save for the faint twitch in his jaw. He averted his gaze from yours momentarily, reaching for the decanter on his bedside table and pouring himself a measure of spirits.

“Speak,” he instructed, his tone clipped.

“It occurred before I reached maturity,” you murmured softly, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. “My foster father—” Your words faltered as Sukuna raised a hand, a silent acknowledgment of his comprehension of your unspoken anguish.

“I need not hear more.” He swiftly consumed the crimson liquid in a single gulp. “You are dismissed for the night.”

“But my Lord’s desires remain unmet—”

“Leave,” he commanded, his tone final and unwavering.

With a gulp, you hastily gathered your robe around your form, delicately extricating yourself from his expansive bed.

Just as you thought to retreat, a firm hand seized your wrist, drawing you back into Sukuna’s embrace. His lips melded with yours in an intoxicating kiss, causing both your gazes to flutter open when he pulled away. A faint smirk played upon his lips as he adjusted the robe over your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured, plucking a flower from the adornments in your hair and placing it upon his bedside, “you shall grace my chambers without such distracting embellishments upon yourself.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” you replied with a respectful bow of your head, awaiting his dismissal until he gestured for you to depart with a casual wave of his hand.

In the shared chambers, your fellow concubines swirled around your bed, eager to hear of your inaugural encounter with Lord Sukuna.

Each girl shared their own vivid tales, painting scenes of ecstasy under the cloak of darkness, where the king’s touch invoked sensations akin to celestial bodies colliding, or where unfamiliar pleasures erased the boundaries of their throat—whatever that latter entailed.

Though a twinge of jealousy flickered within you, it was swiftly overshadowed by a swell of pride. The concubines pleasured Sukuna in darkness, the same darkness you had willingly entered, before his touch had set ablaze a world of gold for you.

They were merely beautiful means of physical gratification for their lord, devoid of the intimacy you shared—his fingers delving deep into your core. And never had any of them spoken of kisses exchanged. Sukuna had spoken true when you questioned if others received similar treatment.

But why you?

Why, after a mere span of ten hours within the palace walls, did you find yourself, dare you entertain the notion, as his favoured? What magic did you possess that drew him to you, and how had you managed to seduce his lips, his fingers, to meet yours in such an intimate embrace?

“Did he spend himself inside you?” one of the girls whispered, prodding your knee to rouse you from your silence.

“No.”

“Aye, he never does,” remarked a golden-haired girl with a resigned sigh. “He sees to it that we consume some berries afterward, claiming they prevent conception. Strange, isn’t it? Especially if he’s so eager for an heir.”

Another girl hushed her, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone. “Did he take you from behind? That’s his favoured position, you know. He’s had us all that way.”

You stumbled over your words, unsure how to respond.

“And did you savour his taste?” came the next question. “It’s quite rich in sodium—”

“Girls!” A booming voice echoed from the doorway of the bedroom, startling you and the other concubines into immediate attention. You caught sight of the elderly attendant who oversaw your care, hands planted firmly on her hips as she observed the chaotic scene before her.

With a disapproving huff, she pivoted sharply on her heel and departed, leaving a lingering sense of reprimand in her wake.

As the frenzied chatter about Sukuna’s body attributes gradually dissolved into the quietude of sleep, morning arrived with its routine of communal showerings.

Throughout the shared bath, you silently scrubbed away the remnants of the night, indulging your fellow concubines about your previous life in town.

Upon drying off and exiting the bathing chamber, you were met with an unexpected sight: a gathering of the girls clustered around your bed.

Navigating through the throng, you reached your space to discover a resplendent scarlet silk robe embroidered with intricate black floral patterns.

Gingerly lifting the note placed atop the fabric, you read Sukuna’s precise handwriting. Curious glances from the other concubines peered over your shoulders in anticipation.

No distracting embellishments, Sad Eyes.

“What does that mean?” a curious whisper floated through the air, followed by murmurs of intrigue from the other girls. “Why does he call you ‘sad eyes’?”

You clutched the letter to your chest, suppressing a grin as you ignored the questions, the mockery, and the jostling of bodies around you. Your attention was fixated on the magnificent robe gifted to you by His Lordship.

For the remainder of the evening, you slept without any interruptions, seeking to compensate for the countless nights spent battling insomnia within the confines of your foster home.

You observed with a keen eye that none of the other girls were ushered to Sukuna’s chambers; their time seemed to veer toward strolls in the back garden or spent in the dormitory, indulging in wine-fueled scandals about the palace staff, as was their custom.

As the clock struck eight in the evening, a troupe of maids entered the chamber bearing dinner trays. A wave of anticipation swept through the room as the other girls eagerly accepted their meals and accompanying pitchers of water. Your own stomach rumbled in hunger, awaiting your own turn.

But that moment never arrived.

Instead, the maid bypassed your bed entirely, moving on to the next. A surge of apprehension rippled through you as a handmaiden approached, guiding you away from the mattress and toward the vanity.

“What about my dinner?” you asked as the attendants groomed your hair.

“His Lordship has extended an invitation for you to dine with him tonight,” came the reply.

The room fell into a sudden hush.

Dine with him?

The notion sent a flurry of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before you could process further, you found yourself pulled upright, your garments removed to be replaced by the scarlet robe.

Envy flickered in the eyes of the other concubines as they observed, their resentment palpable as they stabbed at their food with exaggerated aggression. It wasn’t your doing that Sukuna had taken an unexpected interest in you.

With no adornments save for a dab of crushed cherry paste upon your lips, you were escorted to Sukuna’s chambers.

Once more, the imposing doors swung open, and you found yourself gently ushered into the chamber. As they sealed shut behind you, the room was flooded with light. Sukuna’s figure stared out at the moonlit gardens outside, clad in a billowing white silk robe.

“My Lord,” you greeted respectfully, inclining your head in deference.

“Draw near.”

Complying with his directive, you approached and stood at his side. His presence loomed over you, his stature commanding and formidable, capable of engulfing you entirely with a single embrace. Not that such thoughts dared to linger in your mind.

“Why is your face flushed?” he asked, his gaze penetrating.

You blinked, attempting to dismiss the telltale warmth creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, my Lo—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna turned your chin towards him, his palm coming to rest against your forehead. A nervous swallow traced its way down your throat at his touch, his eyes trailing down your form, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as they settled upon you in your robe.

“Thank you for your gracious gift,” you murmured, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks.

His fingers trailed through your hair, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes. “I anticipate nothing less than thoroughly enjoying the privilege of removing it off of you.”

You blushed deeper at his statement.

“Come now. I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He took your hand in his with a tug, guiding you towards a doorway. With a simple flick of his fingers, the door parted, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond.

Your gaze widened in astonishment. “How did you do that, my Lord?”

“Do what?”

“You opened the door without laying a hand on it.”

Sukuna’s striking blood-coloured eyes cut to you. “There is much about me that will be unveiled in due course, my love. What you perceive is but a guise for my true nature.” His smile, oddly childlike, sent a chill down your spine.

Was he some sort of sorcerer? You’d only heard whispers of human anomalies lurking beneath the earth’s surface or sealed within vessels, but historical accounts weren't exactly your cup of tea.

“I ventured into town today,” he said.

“Oh.” You swallowed hard, recovering from his previous statement. “I hope it was a fruitful trip.”

“Indeed, quite fruitful.”

In the soft glow of the distant hallway, Sukuna’s face came into view, casting a spell of trepidation upon your heart. His features were drawn into a mask of stoicism, his eyes devoid of warmth, and his lips pressed into a firm line, jaw rigid with tension.

Parting the curtains, Sukuna drew you near, his arm sweeping out to reveal a horrifying sight: your foster father, bound to a chair with chains, wearing the cruel marks of torture.

His face marred by countless wounds, an eye absent, and teeth scattered at his feet. His dignity stripped away, his vulnerability laid bare in his nakedness, and his manhood amputated.

The sickening lurch in your stomach threatened to betray your composure. “F-Forgive my intrusion, my Lord, but is he . . . is he dead?”

Sukuna’s response was a gilded dagger from within his robe, its handle decorated with a jewel reminiscent of your own captivating eyes. Nestled within the hilt was the very flower he had plucked from your hair. Upon the blade, your name was inscribed.

“Do as you wish, my beloved,” he whispered, his voice stained with dark fascination, offering you the instrument of your foster father’s fate with a chilling sense of detachment.

You couldn’t possibly bring yourself to commit such a heinous act.

Despite the unspeakable cruelties inflicted upon you by the bastard, the idea of taking another’s life filled you with a trembling dread.

Yet, the itch to end the torment, to rid the world of such a vile presence, simmered just beneath the surface as you stood before him, his life slipping away.

A hand trailed down the back of your head, guiding your trembling fingers to grasp the dagger tightly.

Looking up, you met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression hollow, his features obscured by shadows. This was the face of the Devil that cursed his enemies on their knees and had them willingly submit to death.

With a push from behind, you stumbled forward, drawing closer to your step-father’s prone form.

Glancing back at Sukuna, you were met with an incongruously bright smile. Quite a twisted paradox, His Lordship.

Your step-father sat unconscious, the stench of his bodily fluids assaulting your senses. His wounds oozed with a sickening mixture of blood and pus, his laboured breaths the only indication of life remaining within him. The scene was painfully familiar, a mirror image of the torment you had endured countless times before.

But now, someone had intervened, offering you a chance at liberation, a chance to end the cycle of abuse once and for all.

You glanced back again.

Until Sukuna.

Your gaze reluctantly returned to the true embodiment of cruelty before you. With a steady hand, you raised your arm, wielding the dagger with purpose.

It found its mark in your foster-father’s chest, a chilling silence punctuated only by the sound of steel meeting flesh. Ignoring the strangled cry that erupted from him, you withdrew the blade, then drove it back into his heart.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

His lifeblood painted your face and stained your pristine garments, mingling with the fabric in a macabre dance of crimson. To the untrained eye, it could easily be mistaken for a mere splash of vibrant colour upon your robe.

No one would dare suspect the truth.

No one would dare come near if they knew of your sin.

No one, except Sukuna.

Once the monster over your bed was consigned to the depths of hell, his guts spilling onto the floor around your bare feet, you allowed yourself a moment of grim satisfaction.

With a contemptuous snarl, you spat upon him, a visceral response to the years of degradation he had inflicted upon you for every misstep.

A comforting warmth touched your back.

Startled by the sudden contact, you tensed before easing at the sight of Sukuna’s faint smile.

As he reached to caress your cheek, you instinctively recoiled, lowering your gaze in deference.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” you murmured, “but I cannot permit you to spoil your hands with the blood of this man.”

Sukuna’s shoes entered your line of sight as he tilted your chin upward, his moon-white sleeve wiping away the traces of blood from your mouth and its vicinity. “You appear rather exquisite painted in blood, Sad Eyes. Perhaps I ought to designate you as my prized assassin instead of a mere concubine.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I cannot partake in killing . . . again.”

“You need not worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he drew near. “I will defend you from any who cast their gaze upon you, let alone lay a hand upon your delicate form. Those who dare cross that line will face my wrath, their very existence extinguished before your eyes. Not a single tear shall stain your cheeks.” His lips brushed against yours. “From this moment forward, fear shall not reside within you. By my side, you shall command fear itself, my love.”

That night, Sukuna bathed you in the sanctuary of his chambers, washing away the traces of blood from your skin as you gazed at him with a sense of wonder. It wasn’t the superficial admiration the other concubines whispered about—it was a profound affection blossoming within you, nurtured by power and protection.

He draped you in the luxurious folds of one of his silk robes, summoning servants to prepare dinner. Seated upon his lap, he fed you spoonfuls of rice and chicken, even as your stomach protested its fullness. Soft kisses peppered your neck like a sweet dessert, culminating in one upon your lips before he reluctantly released you to retire to your dormitory.

In the ensuing weeks, Sukuna would consistently send a crafted robe ahead of each meeting—in the serene seclusion of his chambers, where the flickering candlelight cast shadows upon the walls as you dined together.

Over the course of these intimate dinners, he eagerly absorbed your musings, whether they revolved around the narratives of books discovered within the palace library or your adeptness with herbs and plants, nurtured by your profound knowledge.

On occasion, as the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Sukuna would summon you for a stroll in the haven of the back garden. Woven between the fragrant blooms, you’d dance about with childlike enthusiasm, identifying various flowers and tracing their lineage.

Ever the attentive listener, Sukuna trailed behind you, his gaze fixed upon your animated figure. He would only speak when you fell silent, demanding you to continue sharing the familial ties between apples, plums, and the roses they stemmed from.

Within the crevice of your soul, the once withered garden of affection had flourished into a lush wilderness, blossoming with untamed wildflowers and clouds that spelled out his name.

Sukuna inhabited your every waking thought, his intoxicating mouth that worshipped your body left you giggling in delight behind your hands.

Yet, each encounter with a fellow concubine, flushed and eager with tales of their rendezvous with him, felt like thorns piercing your tender heart. Jealousy, like ivy creeping upon stone, entwined itself around your every plagued thought. Your gaze often strayed to the bedside drawer where the dagger lay dormant. The mere mention of his physique by the other women tormented your soul relentlessly.

Why hadn’t Sukuna taken you as he had with every other concubine? You had grown accustomed to his presence, even eager to reciprocate the pleasure he gifted you every evening. You had offered yourself willingly, aching for the intimacy that would bind you even closer to him. But he had not claimed you in the same manner, not entered you fully, not seeded his legacy within you.

Did he question your worthiness? Did he see you merely as a transient pleasure? Were you destined to remain just a concubine, forever denied the honour of carrying his child?

“Why do you remain silent?” Sukuna asked, turning the pages of the book you had suggested to him; he was already half-way through.

You were seated snugly between his legs upon the bed, your back rested against his chest, fingers idly toying with the strands of your hair. “I find myself devoid of words this evening.”

“Hmm.” Sukuna took a leisurely sip of his drink before placing it aside. “Surely you can conjure something. You know well enough that I cannot endure your silence.”

With an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes. “Well, I apologise for failing to provide you with amusement, my Lord.”

Sukuna snapped the book shut.

You instinctively pressed your lips together, silently chiding yourself for the unintended sharpness in your voice.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to maintaining your composure, forcing yourself to take slow, steady breaths. Deep down, you believed that he wouldn’t inflict harm upon you or cast you out of his chambers. But the nagging thought chewed at you.

This was Sukuna Ryomen, and you . . . well, you were merely a shadow in comparison.

“If you crave my touch,” he breathed softly into your ear, “all you need to do is utter the request.”

With a determined resolve, you turned to face him, settling yourself upon his lap. Sukuna regarded you with a quirked eyebrow, a quiet acknowledgment of your unconventional audacity.

“I do crave your touch, my Lord,” you confessed, your voice a hushed plea, “but not only with your hands or lips. I long to feel you in a different manner.” Your gaze drifted down to his pelvis, the unspoken appetite evident in your eyes. “I crave that.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, his gaze piercing as he addressed you. “So, you’ve been withholding your words simply because I haven’t fed you my cock?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at his blunt proclamation, though you had grown accustomed to his coarse mannerisms over time.

“Yes, my . . . Lord.” Your voice carried a mixture of embarrassment. “I’ve endured three long months of anticipation, patiently waiting to share in the pleasures enjoyed by your other consorts. Yet, with the arrival of autumn, I find myself still untouched by the experiences they so openly boast about.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking me to bed you merely for the purpose of becoming a notch in your bragging rights?”

“Never, my Lord!” you protested vehemently, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes. “I would never demean you with such vulgar talk in public. I’ve spun tales to the others, concealing the truth of our encounters. They remain oblivious to the pleasures you’ve granted me.” Your fingers traced the intricate markings on his chiselled abdominal muscles. “If my spoiled state displeases you, if I am deemed unworthy of your touch, pray, inform me now. Regardless, my sole wish is to fulfil His Lordship’s needs.”

Sukuna disentangled your hands from his chest, a gesture that caused a fissure to form within your heart, forcing your body to instinctively withdraw from his touch.

Just as you began to pull away, he swiftly encircled his arm around your waist, tugging you back onto his lap with a firm grip. Before you could utter a single word, his lips descended upon yours, silencing any protest with a passionate kiss.

With a purposeful touch, he skillfully divested you of your robe, revealing the curves of your form beneath. His hands, warm and adept, began to massage your supple breasts, kindling soft gasps from your lips. His own trailed a wet path downward, leaving a bridge of feverish kisses along the expanse of your throat, lingering over the rapid pulse beneath your skin.

As his lips found purchase on the tender flesh of your neck, his actions became more urgent, his touch more demanding. A pinch at your pebbled nipples sent a shiver of sensation coursing through you, followed by the heat of an open-mouthed kiss.

Your gaze drifted downwards, enchanted by the sight of his tongue encircling the sensitive spots, suckling on the swollen buds like a babe. Already, heat was building within the depths of your being, igniting a flame that spread between your legs.

Sukuna laid you back, relishing the delicate flavour of your lips as his fingers skillfully sought out your throbbing clit, stimulating it with unhurried circles.

With practised ease, he slipped two fingers inside you, quickening his rhythm without preamble. Your hand instinctively traced down to his chest, undoing the fastenings of his robe.

“Take it,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Satisfy your lord, my love.”

Your fingers curled around his pulsating cock, the very object of desire that the other girls had passionately recounted. The knowledge of their previous intimacies with him only stoked the flames of envy within you, spurring you to intensify your ministrations.

With a surge of determination, you quickened the pace of your caresses, applying pressure with your thumb upon his sensitive tip while fondling his sacs.

Sukuna’s grin widened against your lips as he reciprocated with equal zeal, slipping a third finger into your slick heat until he was fully engulfed by your swollen core.

Together, you sailed upon the waves of raw carnal desire, locked in a lecherous race to reach your climax, each vying to be the first to cross the finish line—

Sukuna’s low, guttural moans resonated throughout the chamber.

You had achieved victory.

His essence spilled forth into your waiting hands, his cock convulsing with the intensity of his release. Moments later, you succumbed to your own climax, a soft cry escaping your lips.

With care, Sukuna withdrew his hand from your centre, and you instinctively examined your palm, noting the striking resemblance of his essence to your own.

You tentatively brought your fingers to your lips, savouring the taste of him.

“I did not instruct you to do that,” he growled, his gaze blazing as you tasted him. “But I suppose I’ll permit it.”

“It is salty,” you murmured, almost absentmindedly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you women incapable of discussing anything besides my cock?” he exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension dissipating as he cleaned his fingers with his tongue before tenderly cradling the back of your head, drawing you to sit upon his lap. Your laughter softened into chuckles, a smile playing upon your lips.

“Did I please you, my Lo—”

“Sukuna,” he interrupted firmly. “Only you may address me by my given name.”

“My L—”

“I command it.” His tone left no room for argument.

You affirmed your agreement with a nod.

He was Sukuna.

Your Sukuna.

“Very well, Sukuna.” You felt a subtle shift in the air between you. His chuckle rumbled softly. “Shall I turn around for you?”

“And why do you deem such an unnecessary act necessary?”

“Because—” You suppressed the urge to divulge the whispers of the other concubines regarding his favoured position. “Never mind. How would you prefer me to present myself to you?”

“As you are,” Sukuna answered, his grip tightening around himself. “How you managed to have me spend by your hand in under five minutes is a marvel beyond my comprehension.”

Internally, you gave yourself a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Now, my love,” he said, inclining his chin towards his erection, “will you do my cock the honour of sitting on it?”

Licking the grin of your lips, you nodded, rising to your knees. With nimble fingers, you positioned his hardened length at your entrance, gradually lowering yourself onto him.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sukuna’s lips, his hands instinctively grasping your hips. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, enduring the initial sting of penetration. Perhaps every touch of his fingers had been a meticulous groundwork for this pinnacle moment.

As you settled into your seat upon him, you granted yourself a minute to acclimate to the sheer magnitude of him stretching and filling your tight, supple walls.

Sukuna tilted his head back, impatience evident in his eyes. “Will you begin moving at a pace befitting this century, Sad Eyes?”

“Just a moment,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.

“Unfortunately, the sight of your leaking cunt is testing my patience,” he remarked, his gaze lingering provocatively on your flushed form.

Collecting yourself, you affirmed your resolve with a nod before subtly adjusting your position, and swaying your hips forward. His strong hands guided you, aiding your movements as you sought a rhythm. “Gods, you’re— You’re quite large. It’s rather discomforting.”

“Ah, where has the enthusiasm to please your lord vanished, my love?” His laughter echoes through the chamber as he leaned back, amused by your scowl. “I must confess, your defiance is perhaps your most alluring trait. It has crossed my mind more than once during moments of handling myself in the bath.”

Your brow furrowed in dismay.

It was evident that the other concubines possessed far greater expertise in pleasuring him than you ever could. All you could manage was to feign enthusiasm, your movements faltering and disjointed, as you struggled to produce even a fraction of the satisfaction they effortlessly blessed him with. His laughter, which wasn’t helping your cause, bore an uncanny resemblance to the mocking tones of the girls who had taunted you in the past.

You no longer wished to endure this charade.

You halted in your tracks, unable to muster the courage to meet his gaze, your eyes fixated instead on his throat. “It appears . . . that I may not be adequately versed in fulfilling your needs. I shall endeavour to educate myself further before making another attempt. For now, I request permission to retire for the evening, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened as he seized your jaw, compelling you to meet his gaze. “You dare to defy my command to address me by my given name?” His smile remained wicked as he drew your face closer to his own. “Remember, my love, there is a boundary to which I tolerate your rebellion. Do not allow my affections to cloud your judgement. I remain your Lord, above all else. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you managed to gasp out.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you replied, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

With a swift motion, he released your sore jaw, and before you could even consider easing the ache, his lips crashed against yours.

In that moment, control slipped from your grasp entirely. His hands gripped the flesh of your buttocks possessively, guiding your movements as he claimed you with a primal savageness that left you shaking in his embrace.

“Does it pain you, my beloved?” Sukuna growled, his fingers curling around your nape possessively. “Do you feel the strain of my cock as I breach your tender walls?”

You whimpered softly, your head nodding against the curve of his neck.

“Fear not, my darling. I will diligently train this cunt of yours to accommodate every inch of me, dusk, dawn, and twilight. Your throat, too, shall be honed to fulfil my every whim, wherever and whenever I demand.” With a swift motion, he tugged your hair, forcing you to meet his glare. “And should you dare to entertain thoughts of defiance with any other man beyond the confines of my chamber, rest assured, there will be consequences.”

“Sukuna,” was all you gasped, eyes rolling back as his tip probed the depths of your womb. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your throat before shoving into your mouth, drawing out your own to suckle on. In the heat of the moment, your hands roamed aimlessly, torn between grasping at his waist, clutching his shoulders, or caressing his cheeks.

“Oh, how I love the sight of your breasts greeting me in my face.” Sukuna tightened his hold on each of them with a deadly grasp, savouring the melodious cry that escaped your lips. He lowered his head and teethed each nipple, drawing it out and relishing in the masochism of your sharp nails clawing down his back. “Deeper, my darling. You alone hold the privilege of marking my flesh. Let my scars mirror yours.”

With caution, you shifted your hands to rest upon his firm pectoral muscles before you could accidentally claw out his spinal cord.

Sukuna’s touch drifted from your bruised breasts to cradle your face, guiding your gaze to meet his crimson one.

Encouraged by his comforting presence, you arched your hips forward with newfound confidence. His fingers swept through your hair, pushing it away as he offered reassuring nods.

Now, the reins rested firmly within your grasp.

“Fuck . . .” Leaning back against the headboard, he released soft sighs. Warm breaths escaped his parted lips as you continued increasing your ministrations. Your gaze momentarily flickered to your favourite book resting on his bedside table before returning to his face.

Suddenly seized by an impulse, you leaned forward to plant a tender kiss upon his lips, trailing upward to gently brush against his cheekbones, tracing the intricate markings lining his skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Someone must play the role of the tender one between us, Sukuna,” you answered, mirroring the attention he had given your scars during your initial encounter. With each kiss, you felt his eyes tracing your movements, following the path of your lips as they journeyed across his face, landing upon his nose or the pulse of his neck.

“My beloved,” Sukuna’s voice caressed your ears, drawing your focus entirely to him, “listen closely to my words.”

You halted your movements, a curious expression dancing in your eyes. “What troubles you?”

With a deliberate motion, he guided your hips forward, his gaze unwavering. “Throughout the night, I will fill your womb ceaselessly, and in mere weeks, you shall carry my legacy within you.” Your heart leaped into your throat, fluttering with an overwhelming rush of emotion. “Peril will shadow your every step. Those who oppose us will stop at nothing to eliminate your life and the life of our child. Do you comprehend the gravity of our situation?”

You blinked back the tears, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

“But I vow upon my honour, such an atrocity shall never come to pass. I will sever entire bloodlines if even a single strand of your precious hair were harmed.” His movements quickened as he thrusted into you.

Your grip tightened on his shoulders again, gasping for breath between erratic pants.

“At dawn’s light, all concubines shall be reassigned to palace duties. You need only point out those who have dared to trouble you, though their transgressions are already known to me.” His motions became more intense as he pressed you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. “And when the sun graces the horizon, you, my beloved, shall be proclaimed as my queen.”

Your voice wailed through the chamber as you cried out his name, drowning in the waves of scorching pleasure never before experienced.

Instead of seeing celestial bodies colliding, your gaze met the deep crimson of his irises, those same eyes that had captivated you on that very first night.

“Sukuna . . . ”

With a smile mirroring his own, you tilted your head upward, silently beckoning him to seal the moment with a kiss. As he obliged, his cock pulsed within you, filling you with his warmth until every fibre of your being was tethered with his.

But he didn’t withdraw. Just as he had promised, he intended to keep you close throughout the night, to claim you as his own.

And in that moment, as you laid with him, you welcomed the dawn of a new chapter standing beside him, prepared to reign as Sukuna Ryomen’s queen.

[loop-lover-central]

At least one(1) person asked for it. SO-

We'll start with some stuff from the isat spoiler Q&A

Let's get started!

-There is only one canonical straight shot timeline that technically erases the prologue from existence. When looping back the previous timeline is completely overwritten, like saving over your save file in a game! It's all gone! Despite this, when you start a new game you're making an entirely new Siffrin to torment. So at least you're not making the same Siffrin go through hell again and again! *sweeps Loop under rug* Don't look at that. Don't worry about them. They're fine.

-While wish craft and other craft types are described to have a smell, time craft does not! I mean, what would time craft even smell like anyway? Clocks???

-Mirabelle's time freeze immunity will wear off eventually!

-Loop could actually be still comfortable with He/They. While the time loops did put them through it, the They/Them was mostly for anonymity. But there WAS some sort of identity shift. So you can and should have fun with Loop pronouns. Do it! Do it!!!

-Despite the island being forgotten, it's still physically there the entire game and before that! So it being lost is purely anti-memetic fuckery. It is just censored out by the universe.

-Loop and Siffrin sitting quietly together was originally a bug where ID5 accidentally softlocked Siffrin and trapped him at the tree. They thought it was a sweet moment of respite and implemented it.

Let's Switch it up! Reddit AMA

-There was originally a love triangle between proto Mira, Isa, and Sif before Mirabelle was made aroace. It probably would have ended in an OT3/polycule situation. So QPR MiraIsaSif truthers out there, enjoy this one.

-The idea of Loop being Siffrin came about during saap's developement. Originally the guide for isat was going to be one of ID5's ocs.

-Change God knows everything about meta because they are a God. Loop only gets a smidgen of meta knowledge, however.

-Loop's ability to see what Siffrin is up to works the same way their calls work! The farther Siffrin is, the harder it is. So Loop calls stop working past snack break 3, and Loop can barely see past the King.

-Isabeau wouldn't play video games. He touches grass.

-Siffrin was subconsciously inspired by Snufkin, from The Moomins. So we wouldn't have Siffrin as he is if everyone wasn't rabid over Moomins a few years back.

-Sadnesses ARE are a constant in the world of isat. They only become more common and poweful during times of great duress, like war or Insane False Monarchs with timey wimey powers

-The doppleganger wish in the selfcest book happened "a long time ago" and is only a child's tale now.

-Odile's name is her given name. Kinda. (No elaboration on what the fuck THAT means.)

-Siffrin only got memory issues after leaving home. They were not a forgetful child.

-At one point before they had names, Isabeau was just called "dude".

-While only called scrawny in game, Adrienne calls Siffrin "deathly thin". Metabolism monarch out here. (Probably all the casual wish craft.)

-The reason the party stops reacting to Sif's poking is just because it's tragic and makes things worse for him. That's it. The universe just hates him.

-Everyone but Odile would like rollercoasters.

-Just... this. This is so funny. Also Loop being the final boss while Siffrin is the secret final boss... Also Loop confirmed deity looking!!!

-"comic!siffrin is a whole different siffrin than game!siffrins sadly. rip to them. still stuck in time" WAY TO FUCK ME UP ON A MONDAY? Comicfrin is still stuck in time.

-The characters have official voice claims but not a single one is serious except for the King's. Mira sounds like Animal crossing isabelle(isa.belle. hm.). Bonnie sound like a inkling from splatoon (ID5 specifically used the female inkling as example). Odile sounds old. Isabeau quantum mechanically sounds flamboyantly gay or like All Might from MHA. Loop sounds like stock glitter sound fx. No Siffrin voice claim. Siffrin has video game protagonist voices which means they sound like whatever you want.

-Loop's glow is comparable to a lamp. Not enough to hurt the eyes.

Siffrin and Friends Q&A time!!(Beware these are SEMI-CANON)

-Siffrin isn't really a trap master. They're just fast enough to activate and dodge the traps.

-Odile doesn't like fennel.

-Fave flowers! Bonnie=Sunflowers, Odile=Orchids, Mira=Lavender, Isa=Roses, Siffrin=None, dubiously answered with dandelions however.

-Sif is a night owl, Bon and Mira are early birds, and Odile and Isa are average.

-Siffrin and Odile have probably eaten crabs and would tempt Bonnie with their sinful ways of consuming crustaceans.

-Odile has been traveling for about 2 years.

-Odile knows how to play a shamisen. It's one of her favorite instruments as well.

-When prompted with competition Loop and Siffrin stare each other down like "kids about to throw hands".

-Loop would like to eat a pastry if they could. GIVE THEM YOUR BAKED GOODS NOW!

-Kill the King day is a Tuesday.

And finally random trivia I found while sniffing through the wiki!

-Salty broths actual cure 6 cooldown, instead of 2 like the dialogue implies.

-Chateau means castle. The cursing of castle castle...

-The Change God face with six eyes and a cat-like mouth is inspired by ID5's oc Eye Gal

-The only time tears can freeze Siffrin with no warning is in saap. By using the second Star Crest to clear one of the rows of Tears, you can just walk into the second row and freeze.

-The dev's older notes mention specific shades being used for hair dyes but they're never mentioned in-game because of the an unadded event.

-In ACT 2, there's a small chance Siffrin says "Heheh… Bonk." when activating the switch for the rock trap

-Saap Bonnie thinks nuts are gross according to some unused dialogue, but enjoys raisins.

-During early development in saap tears were originally intended to be spike traps. A left over sprite of Siffrin being impaled does exist, including minor blood spurt. This was probably changed because it was a little too gruesome, ID5 definitely tried to reel in the darker concepts and has stated they went too dark sometimes.

-Loop turning back into Siffrin was considered long enough for them to get an entire animated walking sprite.

[prokopetz]

"Yes, I completely agree that monarchy is, in general, unsustainable; no matter how robust the system is, it's ultimately dependent on the person on the throne not being a malicious idiot, and given enough generations you're bound to get one eventually. However, I personally am a just monarch, so as long as I live forever that's that problem solved. Now pass the mercury."

[queenendless]

ARISE

A/n: As we are now in a new year, time to write on some new fandoms.

Rewatched S1 dubbed — and yes Aleks Le as Sung Jinwoo is the reason why cause he's so damn fine~! Listen to his voice as you read this, I insist! I just need to get my Sung Jinwoo fix. Therefore—

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x F!Adult!Reader

CW: Explicit 21+ MATURE content inside. SOME SPOILERS but not much. Morning smut, implied mentions of suicide, reader got reincarnated as a humanoid magic beast and serves Jinwoo now.

DON'T PLAGARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY FANFIC WORK. Rather reblog like and follow pls n thx.

"Wakey wakey." That teasing low purr in the crook of your neck had you giggling tiredly as the ticklish sensation pulled you out of slumber. Spooning you from behind, his legs entangled with yours, Jinwoo breathes in your scent, sucking tenderly. Taking his enormous hand that rested on your hip into yours, just to play with his fingers, made him smile.

“Don't go.” You murmur, raising that hand to brush petal soft pecks to his knuckles.

"Come on, now. I gotta get ready." His slurred gruffness were telltale signs he was in no hurry.

"The world is your kingdom now, Jinwoo. It'll still be there tomorrow." Your reassurance meant you curled further into your side of the bed, the tendrils of slumber creeping back in. His deep chuckle trailed butterfly pecks from your cheek, down the pane of your neck, then up to your ear. "Stay here with me, please."

"Even the Shadow Monarch needs to lead his guild." His words were one thing. His wandering hands were another story. "But, if you rather keep me in bed all day, I suppose you could persuade me." His very presence chased away the bitter freezing loneliness you were accustomed to, submerging you in his comfortable burning embrace.

"God, you're something else." You turned in his grasp, finally able to face him and shower him with your smooches, such smitteness brought warmth blooming within him. Not to mention his bulge rubbing against your crotch sent sparks shooting through you both.

Flashes of memories surfaced in your mind. Such a whiplash it is that the most powerful hunter in this world that you personally witness slaughtering every beast and human that dares stand in his way, soaked in their blood, could be the very same man that held such requited smoldering endearment for you.

The butterflies and flips occurring inside from every gaze, touch and word given are always worth it.

"God has been long gone from this world ... just Rulers and Monarchs now ... and yours is beside himself. To think his favorite beast on the streets ... is a lamb in the sheets~" That rumbling deep voice roughly heaved in between kisses. Opening your mouth so willingly had him grinning against you as his velvety tongue entangled yours, lost in the thralls of the passionate dance within. “My favorite~”

His sculpted hands slithered underneath your top, lightly brushing up against your sides, then your tummy. One hand stayed to fondle your cushiony mounds; he never gets tired of feeling you up.

"A human from another world ... reborn as a humanoid magic beast." Pinching, pulling and rubbing your pearls between his long sly fingers had you melting as your muffled mewling grew frequent. “Failed by those closest to you, abandoned to that pain and fear … a kindred soul.”

His other sly hand slips under your undies, cupping your dripping sex. Your moaning had him smirking as he nibbled your bottom lip in tune with his thumb insistently rubbing your clit and the tips of his fingers brushing around your cunt. "Isn't this what you wanted? To be touched by me? Your beloved King?"

"Mmm yes~" His voice always got you going, especially when those four fingers filled you up well, curling and scissoring in their trek straight to your burning core. "Aaah~" Your hips rutting into his hand got him bricked up through his sweatpants. "Nngh~" Wringing your hands through those dark messy locks and stroking along his shaved undercut got him trembling, all to reel him in and keep you as grounded as you could currently be in your haze filled state. "Don't stop~"

"So touch starved." Your sharp gasp was the sign he reached your bundle of nerves, prodding it with such vigor, stuffing you right up to his wrist, lathered up in your cream. “To let me be the first and only one to shower you with such devotion ... I'll forever be grateful for that blessing." Tears of ecstasy leave your e/c eyes and he kisses them away, his ebony bangs tickling your moaning burning face, the flames of passion stoked for you as you come undone. "My Queen~"

His creamy hand then pulled right out of your valley, leaving you desperately wanting him to fill up your emptiness. Your faith got restored, however, as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, revealing the chiseled marble sculpture that is his physique.

He knows the sight alone makes your mouth water. Your hands traversed the panes of his soft firm pecs, that thick neck, those broad shoulders, even these sculpted biceps that flexed as his daily tasked push ups came with the added benefit of pushing down to your laying form, being enthralled by your rewarding kisses. Such reliable stability beneath that lean stature of resilience.

Your own eyes burned with the glow of enchantment, the image of who he used to be versus who he has become reminded you of yourself. How the physical and mental scars that plagued your old life for years on end shaped you into who you have become. A magic beast serving the Shadow Monarch. What a pairing.

His cream coated hand slips under his own waistband, pulling his beast free from its confines, using your cum as his lube to be more prepared.

His other hand cupped under your knee, draping your leg over his shoulder. "Wouldn't you rather I give you tongue~?" That low toned growl already got your other leg willingly draped over his other broad shoulder already as that mouth sunk into your wet folds.

“Yes love~!” Ripping such a concupiscent symphony outta your mouth. His other hand couldn't help but jack off to your venereal cries. The scorching presence his mouth gave as the starvation had him ravaging, suckling as much as making out with your now squirting folds.

His cheeks filled with your essence, dexterously aiming his tongue to drive you further up the tower of sins. Your spasming hips only buried his face deeper in, inhaling your scent as his nose got pushed in your pubes, his light yet sturdy weight. Those lidded silver eyes flashed violet as their predatory gaze marveled in your sweaty flushed expressions due to his ravenous gorging, your voice shrieking as you unloaded, his creamy covered lips curling swallowing gratefully.

“You're truly decadent.”

Your body and soul trembled in anticipation for what's to come; your legs falling off his shoulders to hug his firm hips. So did him, leading his dick slowly into your loosened yet smothering grip. "Let me make love to you." He grunted, you sucking him up as greedily as his cock started into the slow steady rhythm stroking your creamy grip.

“Fuck me! Please~! Don't stop~! Don't ever stop!” Your unhinged shouts of passion hit his ear as you hugged his neck, his own hot breath hitting your shoulder as he picked up the lace into the feverish fueled tapping; skin squelching and smacking noises bouncing off the walls.

“Fuck~! You’re heaven incarnate~!” Your sob filled yell riled up his necessity to bust his nuts in you even more. His feral groans in response had you squeezing him in a vice state, marking the side of his neck into a bruising suck, drawing scratches along his chiseled shoulder blades.

His own fingers dug into your rolling hips, finger shaped bruises painting your skin in kind, while his sharp teeth marked along your shoulder and neck, marking you as his and his alone, raising you further to the apex.

“I’ll fuck you until the world ends. This needy pussy deserves to be ravaged every waking moment. Every inch of you is mine to worship. Your beautiful womb filled up with my seed. That's my dream. To have you as my wife. To raise a family together. To make you Mrs. Sung!”

“Yes, Jin~! Yes~!” Your choked up agreement got lost in the sloppy, tongue filled kisses as you came a third in a row, making a cum circle around his shaft, painting his rippling thighs and the once pure sheets.

Your orgasmic greeting met with his, shooting right into your womb quite thickly, lifting you in his shredded grasp, externally and internally. Thrusting his still oozing libido into your heavenly valley like a madman to chase that euphoric high.

Your head limply rested on his shoulder like a pillow, fatigued mewls spilling out as the burning weight of his essence settled into your abdomen. Carefully setting you down on the bed, Jinwoo collapsed on his side, heaving slowly and deeply, his dazed eyes gazing at yours, glowing radiantly as the sunlight slipping in outlined your form.

Still submerged in you, now limp dicked, his muscular arm draped over you, pulling you both closer, all to have you curling into his slickened torso, breathing in your intermingled scent.

“Now call in sick.” Your weak request got him chuckling deeply.

“I will in a bit.” Curling your cascading hair through his fingertips, he caressed your pretty head, allowing the tranquil silence to linger.

“I love you, Y/n. So damn much. Thank you for being in my life, in this moment, and for the rest of our reign to come.” His whole being enveloped you in his bear hug of an embrace, drawing in your shared taste through an endearing kiss.

“I love you too, Jin. So damn much.” Your voice fluttered from the swelling of emotion taking hold on your heart, as you couldn't help but fall into the routine of peppering smooches all over that beautifully precious face of his.

“I'll love you. In this life and the next. Until the end of it all.” He vowed to you as you succumbed to sleep once again, smiling softly at your face, kissing your sweet lips once more before reaching out behind him for his phone, sending a quick text to Yoo Jinho about his impromptu work absence. His brother in arms was A-okay about, already suspecting fooling around with you being the reason why.

Jinwoo's next text was him dubbing Jinho as his best man at your upcoming wedding, already looking forward to seeing you on that sacred day, followed up by quite the steamy honeymoon.

He was already anticipating your future together, basking in the early morning, setting his phone aside as it filled with the following texts of congrats and excitement from his little bro, before joining you in the confines of dreams, cocooned in your shared comfy warmth, watched on by his shadow army in the corner, silently cheering for their master’s engagement with their future Queen Regnant.

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 054 - Lovesick! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Isekaing to the world of your favourite protagonist, but nothing is ever a coincidence. ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[tw: Manipulation, Murder, Death, Yandere depictions, Implied assault but not executed, a darker Jinwoo overall. Also Kyunnie lowkey rambling ....]‼️

╰┈➤ ❝ [ He Would Find You No Matter How Long It Takes, And Once He Has You In His Arms— You're Never Leaving] ¡! ❞

You died from an accident in the streets, well, not really an accident. Some drunk bastard was stumbling across the desolate street you normally take to go home— But poor you as that faithful meeting lead to your murder.

The paramedics tried everything they could to save you, but alas, you were dead on arrival.

That's what you suspect atleast. After losing so much blood from the multiple stab wounds of course that would be your death.

Dying was such a cold, cold feeling. It felt terrible. But what were your last thoughts?

You only thought of a single person only: Sung Jinwoo, the protagonist that you were madly in love with.

That man died three times or more if you count regression as a form of death. You thought of what he must have felt in his first death was similar to yours. How his feeble body sprawled on the altar with his leg cut off and his arm mostly torn off— It must have been terrible for Jinwoo.

Back then, you can only speculate. But now? Now you knew what he felt as he dies.

The only regret you have was not finishing the manhwa for the fifth time of the week.

But then you suddenly shot up, and when you did, you were met with a kind smile from a nurse, telling you that you passed out while doing a raid in an E-ranked gate from overexhaustion.

E-rank? Gate? What?

You were livid, feeling absolutely dizzy as you tried to ask the nurse. So you feigned temporary memory loss and asked the nurse what happened and why you're here.

As she had said, you passed out from raiding an E-ranked gate because of fatigue. You yourself, are a hunter, an E-ranked one.

The laughable rank your beloved once had.

You tried to wrap your head around it, tried to make sense of it all that you must be in purgatory, that this was all an illusion after death and the gods just had mercy on you and granted you your truest wish.

You tried to sleep it off, tried to bang your head to get you out of this illusion. But everything was real. You did normal human activities, and every pinch of a needle pricked onto your skin hurt like the way it did when you were alive.

You are alive

You didn't know whether to cry or laugh, you were in a world similar to Jinwoo's.

Jinwoo?

"Hello, are you alright?" A kind voice asks you out of nowhere, pulling you out of your daze. "Ah, I thought you passed out while awake!"

A boyish almost childlike face, pretty and cute with unkept fluffy hair that has grown too much and has a weird sort of mushroom-like appearance. Wide, innocent, puppy-like grey eyes full of wonder and life.

You knew that color of grey, that lovely shade that has placed you in a complete rampage of obsession and love.

"I'm Jinwoo, nice to meet you" He stretches his hand out to you, offering a friendly shake.

You accept his hand, trembling as you do so but he doesn't seem to notice as he shakes your hand so kindly while you shakily state your name to him.

Calloused, his hands were calloused.

He then sits down on the empty spot beside you, chatting you up.

Your heart was pounding like crazy as you two talked, you were for sure about to pass out anytime from the overflowing euphoria filling you up.

You don't know how you survived the conversation. But somehow you did.

And Jinwoo himself even offered that you two should team up as E-ranked hunters.

Ecstatic, of course you were, you were so joyous you jumped in bed and rolled around like a madman.

Jinwoo was here. Your Jinwoo.

Your Jinwoo before his ascension as a monarch, your Jinwoo that is still childish and soft.

You loved teaming up with him.

But something was weird.

Already, he had exceptional knife skills, his expertise with using a dagger was too good. Too uncharacteristic of the Jinwoo you know in his earliest days. Is his puberty coming a bit too early?...

That's just it,

,... Right?

Surely it is.

It's not weird that Jinwoo is extremely flexible and fast, that he is sharp and seemingly has such an advanced spatial awareness, that he easily cuts through the hard skins of various monsters.

...Really.

It's not weird at all.

꒰ .... ꒱

It's another hunting day where you accompany Jinwoo yet again in a raid. But this time he seemed a bit more guarded against the raid team you both had signed in for just to experience a higher ranked gate.

"Stay close to me, yeah?" Jinwoo leans down, smiling gently at you that made you forget the chilling expression he had just a second ago.

"S-sure?" You smile awkwardly, growing bashful at his distance.

Why is he a bit antsy anyway? The team you both signed up for isn't the Hwang.... Hwang dong.... Who?

The team of Hwang Dongsoo's brother? That bald headed bastard's family? Ah... You can't really recall his name.

Dead men don't matter anyway.

The only thing you really remember was how hot he was when he ultimately lost his mind momentarily and became absolutely ruthless.

To this you mourn the lack of psychotic Jinwoo in the manhwa.

Do they not see the potential?

This man has the temper and charisma to pull off a serial killer vibe.

So why not?

Why the hell not?!

"!!!"

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted when Jinwoo suddenly placed him in between you and the approaching hunter who had a displeased look on his face after what he did.

"I'm only trying to check on the little miss" The hunter smiles wryly, but Jinwoo was unmoving.

"Really now?" He remarks, his tone sneering even. "Does that involve you luring us into this isolated part of the dungeon with your team surrounding the exits? Sure."

"Ah you're no fun buddy!~" The hunter laughs, patting his shoulder to try and get Jinwoo to relax. "It's just us here, why not have a little fun? She's a pretty one."

Oh right.

Being a hunter is dangerous.

But what had always been dangerous in the first place?

Being a woman.

Ever since society recovered from the shock of the gates arriving— There is a significant uptake in death counts, crime rates, and missing people mia after entering a gate.

And what is the gender of 70% of those missing people?

Women.

If one wanted to do a crime, the best way to do it is in a gate. Rumours spread that disgusting fiends would lure women with a promise of a hefty sum by a small hunting group.

After that? All the women seemingly disappear.

And with the lack of a body and evidence to imply malpractice in the dungeons— What can the law do?

Nothing.

Dead corpses dont talk.

And as the hand reached out over Jinwoo's shoulder towards you—

It suddenly flew off with a swish

The severed limb took it's sweet time floating on the air before plopping on the floor with a wet splotch.

"...."

Everyones gazes were locked on the motionless hand on the floor before a bloody scream rang out from the C-ranked hunter.

"Y-you!" He sobs, gripping his empty wrist as it sheds a copious amount of blood. "I was nice to you by hiring you useless E-rankers and this is how you repay me?!"

He then turns to the rest of the members who were left frozen, "What the fuck are you bastards doing standing there? GET HIS FUCKING HEAD."

"It's always bastards like you who pull this kind of bullshit off" Jinwoo sighs, as if the whole situation right now is troublesome for him as a dagger materializes into his hand.

It was gleaming a mad crimson, as if the blade itself was made of a bloody moon's fragments.

Kamish's Wrath.

Daggers gifted to him by Thomas Andre as an apology for the trouble Hwang Dongsoo and the overall situation they were on. A symbol of peace between them and a sign of friendship between them.

He isn't supposed to be having those until later.

Unless The Jinwoo in front of you isn't the E-ranked Jinwoo who is slteadily climbing the levels at a rapid fast.

Jinwoo's blade seems like it's merely flying with how fast he is moving. Everytime he moves he just tilts his body a little for them to miss him narrowly.

And while everyone else is screaming in frustration, Jinwoo just throws them a sly smile, as if he is reveling in messing with them.

It was obvious he was teasing them, making them overly frustrated where they want to hit him but can't quite reach him at the way he expertly dodges them narrowly.

And when he's already bored of them?

He slices their limbs one by one and letting them bleed to death on the floor.

By the end of it Jinwoo is standing atop a pool of blood with crimson splatters sliding enticingly down his handsome features.

Whoever said Jinwoo isn't charming even in his baby-faced era must be blind.

Because even in the lack of his significant height, even when his cheeks are a bit chubbier, even if his eyes are a bit rounder and that his build is nothing more than bone and flesh— He has this haunting beauty to him that makes him look like a mischievous fae about to drag you into the abyss he calls his home.

"Do you understand now?" Jinwoo asks, his blank and empty grey eyes looking down on you as he lefts you cheek with his calloused hand. "Why I told you to quit being a hunter before?"

"I-I..." You sputter, unable to find the words from the shock of seeing your beloved murder people live in front of you.

"I'll get a rank evaluation after a month as soon as I fix this blasted body" He said, pressing his forehead against yours. "You're scared, aren't you? If I wasn't here, what could've happen to you?"

"....."

He's right.

What would've happen if Jinwoo isn't here? What would've happen if Jinwoo lets that man's hand go over to you?

The vision of it makes you falter, tears prickling your face as it slowly sunk in— That the only thing awaited you was unspeakable horrors had he not step in.

"Sssh..." He comforts you sweetly, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head. "You must have been scared, hm? I know, I know. I took care of it, didn't I? Don't be scared anymore."

You don't have to know the fact that he orchestrated all of this.

That Jinwoo himself is the reason why you died and was brought to this cursed world.

That he was well aware of what the hunters have been pulling off whenever they sign contracts with women.

He just wanted to scare you a little, really.

What better method can he do to make you reliant on him?

To make you extremely dependent on him and paranoid of him not being there?

The world of hunters is a cruel and unforgiving world.

He knows that himself.

Jinwoo isn't blind to any of the darker side of this path you both choose to thread on.

Except that right now his intention is to make you too scared of ever stepping into a gate.

That the thought of ever stepping into one makes you shiver into cold sweats and becoming sick at the mere thought of it.

And if this plan doesn't shake you enough?

Then he'll just do it again.

Shake you to the core, make you have a glimpse of hell and then swoop in the second he sees you frightened enough.

You'll be in his arms, weeping and completely afraid.

And he would drill it himself in your head:

You only need Jinwoo.

Just like right now, where you're too shaken to even process the fact the timeline is all wrong. That somehow the Jinwoo in front of you right now already has two hearts with the beat of two organs in his chest. One heart belongs to him, the other belongs to the late Ashborn who chose him as his heir.

Nothing is making sense right now, but you're stuck sobbing in his arms and seeking for solace and safety.

"We'll have to pretend to be hurt when we go out, hm?" Jinwoo lifts your face up with the palms of his warm hands, his expression hauntingly saintly despite the muddled color of grey in his lovely eyes. "Can you do that for me?"

You nod, sniffling, earning yourself a kiss on the forehead as a reward for your obedience.

"Good girl."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: What better way to start off my 2025 with a Lovesick Sung Jinwoo fic? Hahah, my beloved<3. No matter who I put into my extensive list of sweethearts Jinwoo will always be on top of everybody else! I love him it's unhealthy. I might make a lads post after this or a wholesome sylus fic that has been brewing in my mind for a bit? I wanna branch out more when it comes to my fics wwww!!! So aside from Hsr there will be the lads boys. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[jinisnuggets]

༊*·˚ 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖗 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖉

INCLUDES | Ciel, Sebastian, Grell, Undertaker, Alois, Vincent,

READER | Gn

GENRE | Fluff, Headcanons

WARNINGS | Mention of the word seductive in a non suggestive way

WORD COUNT | 0.3k (50ish per character)

A/N | Is there any other character from Black Butler who'd you like me to add to these headcanons? Please let me know :D

🪻 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌

Sebastian

He's the loving type and there's nothing you can do to convince me otherwise. Despite being a demon, he'll make sure you're his monarch and he's only ever doing what you ask of him. Of course, due to his personality, he'd absolutely love to tease you, but it's more of a love language for him.

Undertaker

His way of showing affection is far more seductive; teasing you often with heart-fluttering jokes and close proximity. He knows the best ways to edge you on and it's really what he wants, however when you do the same he'd tend to get more intimate (in a fluffy way).

Vincent

This man knows he's attractive and what's the least he can do than shower his S/O with gifts and love. He knows his partner's interests and likes, so it's quite simple to pick out good and high quality gifts, and although it isn't common, he doesn't mind physical affection such as hugs or kisses.

🪻 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖉

Ciel

What more can you expect from our tsundere king. Ciel isn't the best at expressing his emotions and because of it, it often causes him to come off as cold to his S/O.. however, he is an easily flustered boy, who will definitely become flushed in blush if his partner is just one step too close. He will often buy his partner gifts though.

Alois

He's been through a lot, so he doesn't enjoy the company of someone more than that of his S/O. Now, Alois is a great lover, fight the wall; but he's also quite clingy, and that is mainly because of his fear to lose yet another important person to him, so he'd often have nightmares where he'd need to cuddle up in between your arms.

🪻 𝕭𝖔𝖙𝖍

Grell

There's no need to say, they'd shower you with complements and absolutely die when you do the same. Their affection has no limit and they're willing to sacrifice absolutely anything for you, and of course, they love it when you show the same level of care and sincerity for them.

[strawberry-bubblef]

the post about the great seven made me think of a lot of things, but I now only remember one ╥﹏╥

Could I request the dormleaders with a reader that's immortal, and is the great sevens child ? Like for example, reader is the child of the queen of hearts

Feel free to ignore this lol ^_^

Dormleaders with an immortal!s/o that is the child of the great seven

Riddle Rosehearts

“You may be the child of the Queen... but you are nothing like her. And thank the Great Seven for that.”

No one remembers your name.

Once, it echoed through marble halls and velvet chambers, sewn into tapestries and whispered with reverence or fear. But when the Queen of Hearts died, everything that was hers was buried with her: her name, her reign… and you.

You were never crowned. Never introduced to the world. A shadow behind red curtains, a secret hidden even from her most loyal court. Perhaps she was trying to protect you. Or perhaps she knew the world would never accept a child raised by her.

You fled the Queendom the night it fell,when her court turned on itself and the roses bled. You remember the scent of scorched velvet, the last trembling lullaby she sang when she tucked you in that final night.

And then… nothing. Just centuries. Drifting.

You don’t know why you stopped aging. Maybe it’s the magic in your blood. Maybe it’s the curse of royalty. You wandered, studied, observed. Watched Heartslabyul rise in her image,flawed, rigid, hollow.

You didn’t plan to return. You didn’t even know how.

But the mirror chose you. Dragged you into a world echoing with her legacy. And now, you walk Night Raven College’s halls like a ghost wearing flesh, your past stitched beneath your skin, every step retracing memories that no one else remembers.

When you first arrive at Night Raven College, Riddle treats you like a wildcard,mildly irritating, overly cryptic, far too relaxed for someone claiming to know the Queen of Hearts' laws so intimately. To him, you're a contradiction. How could someone speak of Heartslabyul's customs with such precision, and yet flout them with the casual grace of someone who’s memorized every loophole?

You quote ancient laws in fluent Old Queendom dialect. You tie your cravat in the royal fashion,her fashion. And one day, when you're late to a dorm meeting, you offer an apology he recognizes, word for word, from a speech the Queen herself once gave to Parliament.

He doesn’t confront you at first. No, Riddle does what he always does. He observes, watches, collects evidence like petals pressed into the pages of his memory. You’re infuriatingly poised, with that slow, knowing smile. You rarely show emotion in public, but there’s an elegance to you that feels eerily timeless.

And then one day, he sees it.

You’re alone in the rose maze. Crying, not out of sadness, but from some invisible, ancient grief. A single red petal rests in your hand, crushed between your fingers. You whisper something he can't hear, but he knows it's not meant for this era.

He steps forward too loudly, and you stiffen.

“Who are you?” he demands, voice low and trembling. “Really.”

You turn, tired. Not annoyed. Just... worn down.

“I told you,” you say, voice soft. “I’m the child of the Queen of Hearts.”

Riddle doesn’t believe you.

At least, not at first.

But the proof starts stacking: the way you predict ceremonial patterns he hasn’t even memorized yet. The way you refer to royal events like you were there. The way you slip and say “when she was alive” with too much weight behind it.

He confronts you again. This time, behind closed doors, arms folded tight.

“You expect me to believe you’re centuries old? That you were born of one of the most famous monarchs in Twisted Wonderland’s history?”

“No,” you say calmly. “I don’t expect you to believe anything.”

“…But it’s the truth.”

You meet his eyes,his furious, brilliant eyes and something in you aches. He looks just like one of the Queen’s pages. The same fire. The same hunger for order. But the fear in him is new.

He’s afraid you’re right.

“…She wasn’t who they said she was,” you whisper. “Not always. She was terrifying, yes. Powerful. Cold. But she held me like I was porcelain, kissed my forehead every night before I slept. She taught me that rules were how she kept her heart from breaking again.”

Riddle stares. Unmoving.

“You knew her…” he says. Not a question. A quiet surrender.

You nod.

“But she died, Riddle. They all do. I’ve watched kingdoms rise and fall. Watched laws be rewritten. Watched people try to become her, wear her like a title. And every time, they fail.”

Then you look at him, gaze unwavering. “Even you.”

That hits him. Hard.

He’s spent years trying to be a perfect heir for his mother. To learn that he will never be enough in her eyes cuts deep. But deeper still is the quiet horror in your expression when you say it. You're not judging him. You're begging him not to become what she was.

“Why are you here?” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “But if I’m going to be immortal, I want to at least feel like I'm living.”

And that… is something Riddle understands more than he wants to.

From then on, he starts treating you differently.

At first, he’s hesitant. Unsure. But the more you talk, the more he sees the scars hidden beneath your stillness. You tell him stories of palace life. Of your mother’s sharpness, her loneliness, her ambition. Of the moment you realized you would outlive everyone and she was already gone.

He listens to you in the quiet hours between classes. Starts sneaking you teas he thinks you might have tasted in the court. Lets you revise the rules, not to manipulate them, but to restore the humanity lost in them.

You, who were once raised as a symbol, now walk beside him not as a relic, but as a person. A strange one. A sad one. But someone who understands what it's like to have your identity shaped by someone else's legacy.

And Riddle, for all his perfectionism, finds something freeing in your honesty. In your quiet wisdom. In your unflinching view of the past.

He asks you once:

“If she were here now… what would she think of me?”

You answer truthfully, gently, “She’d see you as a threat. Because you’re trying to do what she couldn’t,rule with kindness.”

He doesn’t cry. But he looks away.

You take his hand, fingers cool against his trembling ones.

And in that moment, immortal or not, past or future aside, Riddle Rosehearts is simply a boy.

And you are simply someone who understands.

Leona Kingscholar

"You come from the King… but you aren’t his echo. And maybe that’s the greatest blessing of all."

They called him the second son, the shadow beneath a golden crown.

But long before Falena was declared heir, before the pride lands of Sunset Savanna settled into peace under a careful rule there was you.

You weren’t born into the Kingscholar line. You were born into the original one.

The First Bloodline. The one that history erased you like you were a stain on the throne.

Your father, the King of Beasts, wasn’t just a ruler,he was a storm in a lion’s skin. Cunning. Unrivaled. Feared. And you were the child he kept hidden, not out of shame, but out of protection. His enemies were many. His politics ruthless. You were a secret too valuable to let out into the open.

But then he vanished.

Some say he was killed. Others believe he was betrayed by his own council. But you? You were only a child when they tore you from the palace and declared the bloodline broken.

The nobility chose another branch to carry the throne,one less “cursed,” more “obedient.”

The Kingscholars.

You were never mentioned again.

Until now.

You cross paths with Leona after a skirmish in the Spelldrive field. Dirt still on his cheek, sand in his boots, he snarls at you as you walk past, eyes narrowing like a lion scenting a rival on his territory.

"You walk like you own the place."

You don’t even look at him when you say, “I did. Once.”

He scoffs. “Right.”

But the words lodge in him like a thorn. And later,after too many coincidences, after hearing you speak in royal dialects that no one outside palace walls should know,he corners you behind the botanical garden greenhouse.

“You’re not from here. But you know too much.”

You exhale. The silence after that is long. Heavy.

Then: “I was born before the throne ever touched your bloodline.”

He stares. “You’re saying…?”

“My bloodline ruled before the Kingscholars were chosen.”

Leona scoffs the moment the words leave your mouth.

“Child of the King of Beasts? Right.” His arms fold, tail flicking with sharp annoyance. “Next thing you’ll tell me, you’re here to reclaim the throne.”

You don’t even blink. Just tilt your head slightly, expression calm.

“I’m not here for a throne.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“To exist,” you answer simply. “I’ve done enough hiding.”

Leona narrows his eyes. He’s not stupid,he can see the way you carry yourself. Proud. Collected. Like someone who’s had centuries to learn how to wear masks. But that doesn’t mean he’ll believe you. Not without proof.

“Fine. You’ve got five seconds to make me care,” he growls. “Or I walk.”

You pause.

Then, from under your coat, you pull something on a chain,worn, but gleaming faintly in the light. A pendant.

It’s shaped like a lion’s head. Old, far older than anything in Sunset Savanna’s current monarchy. The eyes are carved from faded sunstone, and around the mane are markings,etched in a script that hasn’t been taught in generations.

Leona’s scoff dies on his lips.

“…Where’d you get that?” His voice is quiet now. Sharp.

You don’t hand it to him. Your fingers curl around it instinctively.

“It was my father’s,” you say, gently. “The last thing I have of him.”

Leona takes a slow step forward, staring.

“I’ve seen that design. Once. In the sealed royal archive. Back when I still gave a damn.”

You nod. “You’d only see it once. The crest of the First King before the Kingscholars.”

He stares at you for a long moment.

“…You’re serious.”

“I am.”

“And you’ve been hiding this,why?”

“Because it’s not a crown,” you say quietly. “It’s grief. It’s centuries of watching others wear his name, rewrite his story, and erase me from it. I didn’t want to rule. I just wanted my father back.”

Leona’s jaw clenches. There’s something raw in his eyes. Familiar.

“…They erased me too,” he mutters. “The second son. Always in the background.”

You nod. “Then maybe you understand.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you, eyes flickering to the pendant again.

“…You keep that,” he says eventually, gruff. “I don’t need it.”

“I wasn’t giving it to you.”

“Tch. Fine.”

There’s a long pause.

Then he speaks, softer this time:

“So… what are you gonna do now?”

You exhale. “Live, I guess. For him. For me.”

Another silence.

Then, with a huff, Leona turns on his heel.

“You coming or not?”

You blink. “Where?”

“To the greenhouse. I’m not gonna sit around thinking about history all day. But if you wanna talk legacy or whatever… I’ll listen.”

You smile faintly, fingers still tight around the pendant.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” he grumbles again. “Just don’t vanish.”

“I already did. Not doing it again.”

And somehow, as the sun filters down on the golden plains beyond the dorm, there’s a strange, quiet peace in the air,two ghosts of old royalty, still learning how to be people.

Azul Ashengrotto

"Born of the Sea Witch, yet so far from her shadow… and honestly, the world is better for it.

Everyone knows who you are.

There’s no secret to your identity. The Sea Witch’s heir, that title follows you like the tide, carved into every introduction, every sideways glance. Most students keep their distance, unsure whether to bow or bolt. And Azul… Azul doesn’t know what to do with you at all.

Because he revered her.

Studied every scrap of her legend, built his entire image from the pieces of her legacy. Her cunning, her ambition, her raw, terrifying brilliance, Azul built the Lounge with those values in mind. But then you arrive. You, who could command a room with a breath and haven’t. You, who could claim dominion over the sea and haven’t.

You don't need to speak loudly,people listen anyway. You don’t bargain like a predator,people offer things to you freely. You carry your heritage like a pearl: luminous, heavy, and impossible to ignore.

Azul tries to treat you like anyone else.

He fails.

You step into the Lounge and every glass seems to hush. You give advice to Jade that he actually takes. Floyd calls you “Little Queenie” and follows your directions with that rare, dangerous glint of respect.

Azul is torn between admiration and envy.

Until one night, when he finally dares to ask.

“You don’t act like her,” he says quietly. “Why?”

You pause, hands stilling over a half-folded letter. “You mean like the stories?”

He nods.

You smile softly, something like nostalgia darkening your gaze. “My mother was… magnificent. The world remembers her power. I remember her songs.”

He’s silent. You continue.

“She taught me that power should be earned, not stolen. That knowledge is the real currency of the sea. She gave me her voice, not just to speak but to listen.”

You open your palm, revealing a small, polished nautilus shell,golden and glimmering, humming faintly with stored magic. “This is all I have left of her. And it’s enough.”

Azul stares at it. He’s never seen anything like it. Never felt anything like it. Power, ancient and soft. Not cold. Not cruel. Just vast.

“I admired her,” he whispers.

“So did I,” you reply, not missing a beat. “But I am not her. I could never be. And the ocean… doesn’t need a second Sea Witch. It needs something new.”

That’s when Azul sees it.

You could have built an empire. Could have drowned this school in your magic and crowned yourself without resistance. But instead, you chose something gentler. Something wiser. Influence without intimidation. Intelligence without cruelty.

And he realizes,painfully, humbly, that you have everything he wants to be. But you’ve already grown beyond the shadow of your legacy.

He watches you slip the shell back into its velvet pouch, tucking it away inside your coat like a promise.

“You may be the child of the Sea Witch,” he says, almost breathless.

“…but you are nothing like her.”

A beat of silence.

“And thank the Great Seven for that.”

You give him a long look. Thoughtful. Unreadable. But then your expression softens, and your voice dips low and personal, like a lullaby meant only for him.

“I’m not her,” you repeat, stepping closer, “but I still know how to make wishes come true.”

Azul's breath catches. You reach up and gently cup his cheek ,the motion graceful, tender, intentional. His glasses fog just a little from how close you are.

"And what if mine’s already come true?" he murmurs.

“Then you’d better hold on to it,” you whisper, “before I swim away.”

And this time, Azul doesn’t try to be like anyone else.

He just holds your hand.

Kalim Al Asim

"Though you carry the blood of the Sorcerer of the Sand, you are nothing like him and that, in itself, is a gift."

Everyone knows who you are.

When you arrive at Night Raven College, the whispers don’t stop. The child of Jafar, the legendary sorcerer from the sands, the one who wielded dark magic and commanded the winds, it’s a title that carries weight. Most students are cautious, staying on the sidelines, unsure whether to smile or bow in respect. After all, Jafar’s influence was legendary, his ambition was terrifying, and his downfall? Well, it’s still a cautionary tale.

But you? You’re nothing like him.

Kalim notices that immediately. It’s one of the first things he learns about you. You’re not cold like your father. You don’t speak in cryptic riddles or draw power from ancient relics. You don’t even seem interested in the wealth or the control he had. You just… exist. And Kalim, for all his brightness and enthusiasm, can’t help but be fascinated by you.

You’re mysterious, yet open. You don’t flaunt your magic, and you certainly don’t try to intimidate others. You smile when you need to. You laugh. You cry, even. And you have this air about you, a quiet elegance, as if you were made to rule, but chose not to. He can’t help but find it captivating.

On the surface, Kalim is an open book. He’s cheerful, full of life, quick to embrace people, quick to trust, quick to love. But you? You keep your emotions locked away, always playing the role of the calm, collected individual, hiding all the things you feel under a polished, neutral facade.

One day, after a particularly intense school event where everyone’s on edge, Kalim finds you alone in the desert garden, sitting cross-legged beneath the stars. You’re holding a small glass vial, the one your father once kept on his person, filled with a grain of sand that never seems to settle.

“What’s this?” Kalim asks, plopping down next to you without hesitation, his voice full of curiosity.

You glance at him, your face unreadable. Then, you slowly open the vial, letting the sand inside drift slowly, the grains twinkling in the moonlight. “A piece of something that’s gone,” you say softly. “A piece of him.”

For the first time, Kalim feels the weight in your words. He’s seen the way you carry yourself, how you’re both haunted by and detached from your father’s legacy. He knows you’re not here to claim power or revenge, but there’s something else in you,something bittersweet.

Kalim watches you closely, then gently nudges your arm with his.

“Hey,” he says with his usual enthusiasm, “It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to carry all of that by yourself.”

You blink, surprised by his straightforwardness. Kalim, in his warmth and innocence, doesn’t seem to understand the weight you carry. But maybe that’s what makes him so special, he doesn’t carry that same burden. Maybe he can lighten your load, even if just for a little while.

“I’m not him,” you murmur quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll never be him. But people expect me to be, and sometimes, it’s just easier to let them think that.”

Kalim tilts his head, clearly not understanding. He watches you for a long moment, before his face brightens with his usual, radiant smile.

“Why not show them who you really are, then?” he suggests, his voice teasing but gentle. “I mean, you’re you, right? And that’s way more interesting than some old sorcerer’s name, don’t you think?”

You blink, caught off guard by his confidence. Kalim’s words are so simple, so pure , yet they feel like a revelation. Maybe you could live for yourself, without the shadow of your father looming over your every move.

Kalim scoots closer, his smile softening, his eyes sparkling with kindness. He gently takes your hand in his, his fingers warm, a stark contrast to the cool, distant air that’s always surrounded you.

“I know it’s tough,” he says softly, “but you don’t have to be that person anymore. You don’t have to live up to anyone else’s expectations. You get to choose who you are.”

Your heart skips a beat. For a moment, you feel the cracks in your walls start to show. Kalim isn’t afraid of your past. He doesn’t look at you like a reflection of your father. He just sees you. And in that moment, you wonder if it’s possible to finally start living on your own terms.

“I think…” you start, your voice soft but gaining strength, “I think I might just try that.”

Kalim’s smile widens, his eyes lighting up. He moves closer, and for the first time, you allow yourself to lean into someone without fear of what they might think.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m here for you, okay?”

And when he wraps his arm around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found something new to hold onto. Not the legacy of the Sorcerer of the Sand, but something far more precious: your own future.

And as Kalim’s infectious laughter fills the air, you let yourself believe that, for the first time, you might just be ready to walk away from the past and forge your own path.

Vil Schoenheit

“You may carry the blood of the Fairest Queen… but your beauty shines in ways even she could never claim.”

Everyone knows your name.

It’s spoken with reverence across Night Raven College’s halls, embroidered on silk and memory both:

the heir of the Fairest Queen.

Your presence is like walking history but not something dusty or forgotten. You are a living embodiment of grace, refinement, and an impossible, devastating beauty that the world thought it had lost when the Queen’s mirror finally cracked.

The Fairest Queen was not simply beautiful.

She was an icon. A legend. A dream.

And you, you are her continuation.

No one knows exactly where you’ve been all these years. Some say you were hidden away to protect you from jealous enemies. Others whisper that after the Queen’s death, you chose exile, unable to live in a world without her. Whatever the truth, when the Dark Mirror summoned you to Night Raven College, the world held its breath.

Especially Vil Schoenheit.

Vil, who grew up studying the Fairest Queen’s philosophies like sacred scripture.

Vil, who shaped himself in the image of perfection she defined.

For Vil, meeting you is like meeting a star plucked from the heavens. No,worse. You aren’t just a star.

You are the night sky itself.

And he will not disgrace himself before you.

The first time your paths cross, you’re standing in the courtyard, a soft breeze stirring your clothes. Everything about you is effortless, the way you hold your posture, the tilt of your head, the calm, poised patience in your eyes. You look as though you were born to be admired.

Vil approaches,his steps are silent. Controlled.

He bows,not exaggeratedly, but perfectly, with a hand over his heart.

“Your Highness,” he murmurs. “It’s an honor.”

You smile, a small thing, but it lights you from within. Vil feels a rush of warmth, a heady, dizzying awe he hasn’t experienced since the first time he saw the Fairest Queen’s portrait.

“You don't have to call me that,” you say gently.

“But I choose to,” Vil replies, his voice low and steady.

Because to him, you are royalty not merely by blood, but by right.

He studies you shamelessly. Not to find flaws,no, he knows there are none.

Rather, he drinks in your existence the way an artist would, memorizing the way sunlight halos around you, the regal way you incline your head, the serene confidence in every breath.

Vil has spent his whole life pursuing beauty, striving to become something greater, something untouchable. Yet standing before you, he realizes:

You were born as the standard he’s been chasing all along.

Over time, Vil's respect only deepens.

He listens when you speak, genuinely attentive.

He offers you only the finest,handpicked skin-care products, rare imported teas, elegant gifts that speak of thought rather than extravagance.

He doesn’t flatter you meaninglessly; he gives the kind of honest praise that means everything coming from someone like him.

“You move with grace unmatched.” he murmurs one evening after a Dorm Assembly. “It’s as if the world bends itself to your will, simply to be worthy of your touch.”

And somehow, you never let it change you.

You are kind, but not naïve. Beautiful, but not arrogant. You carry your lineage with dignity, not pride.

And so Vil watches you. Studies you. Learns from you. Not as a rival. Not even as a mentor.

As something rarer.

As an equal he desperately hopes to be worthy of standing beside.

One night, when the stars hang low and silver over the horizon, Vil finally says it aloud.

“You could command the whole world to kneel,” he says softly, when the two of you are alone on the balcony of Pomefiore. “Yet you choose to walk among us.”

You tilt your head, amused. “And would you kneel for me, Vil?”

The question is playful. Teasing.

But Vil, proud and unyielding Vil Schoenheit, sinks gracefully onto one knee without hesitation.

“For you,” he says, voice like velvet and iron, “I already have.

And somehow, the knowledge of it doesn't make you feel more powerful.

It makes you feel seen.

Truly, fully seen.

Not just as the Fairest Queen's child.

But as you.

Idia Shroud

"You may be the child of the King of the Underworld… but you don't have to follow his path."

The first time Idia hears about you, he nearly chokes on his snack.

The child of Hades?!

The actual King of the Underworld?!

A real life demigod roaming the halls of NRC like it’s NBD?!

It’s the kind of thing that sounds like the premise of a high-level RPG questline,not something that actually happens in real life. But there you are, flesh and blood (and... well, probably something even more mystical), walking through the halls with an aura of death and ancient power so thick it almost glitches the atmosphere around you.

Most students are terrified of you.

Or obsessed with you.

Idia?

He’s hiding behind a pillar, peeking at you like you're some kind of ultra-rare mob he's too scared to approach.

He’s absolutely fascinated, of course.

You don’t strut around like you own the place (even though, technically, being the heir to the Underworld, you probably could).

You're oddly down-to-earth. Quiet. Almost reserved.

And that? That makes it even worse for Idia’s poor heart.

He overthinks every possible interaction with you for weeks. He even drafts multiple conversation scripts on his tablet,ranging from “cool aloof mysterious type” to “friendly casual gamer type” but never uses a single one because just thinking about talking to you makes him want to disintegrate into pixel dust.

You, however, notice him almost immediately.

Not because he’s super subtle (he’s not ,bright flaming hair behind a corner isn’t exactly stealthy) but because you can sense things most mortals can’t.

And Idia? Idia’s aura is like a beacon ,pulsing with intense, chaotic energy barely held together by layers of anxiety.

One day, when he’s hiding (badly) in the library, you finally corner him.

"You’re good at sneaking around the living," you say casually, leaning over the back of his chair.

Idia nearly dies on the spot (pun intended). His hair flares up bright pink, his tablet clatters to the ground, and he whirls around like a caught anime protagonist.

"ACK—!! I-I-I wasn’t staring!! I was just—researching!! Buffs intelligence +10!!! It’s not creepy, I swear!!" he stammers, practically vibrating with panic.

You just blink at him, expression unreadable, then... smile.

"Relax," you say, voice low and a little amused. "I don’t bite."

Idia freezes like a lagging game character.

He’s convinced he’s hallucinating.

You, literal royalty of the underworld are TALKING to him. Casually. Like it’s normal. Like he's normal.

From there, it’s a slow, awkward, chaotic friendship that blossoms into something deeper.

You’re one of the few people who understand when Idia talks about souls, afterlife theories, and obscure mythos.

And when you finally confess, it's clumsy, adorable, and very, very Idia:

"I-I know you could like... have literally anyone... or summon a loyal legion of, like, skeleton admirers or whatever... b-but uh... if you ever wanna, like, uh, game with me or whatever, I promise to only lose most of the time and...and maybe, uh, not die of happiness if you smiled at me again...?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head, reaching out to gently tap his forehead with your finger.

"You’re an idiot," you say affectionately. "But you're my idiot now."

If Idia could, he’d be on the floor, blue-screened from sheer joy.

Instead, he just short-circuits with a shy, wide, stunned grin,the kind only you get to see.

Malleus Draconia

“You may be the child of the Thorn Fairy… but you don't want to be like her.”

Everyone knows who you are.

Whispers trail behind you like mist: The heir to the Thorn Fairy. The last legacy of the fairest queen. In Diasomnia, you are regarded almost with reverence. In the halls of Night Raven College, where lineage means everything and legends walk in flesh and bone, you are already immortalized.

And to Malleus Draconia,you are more than that.

You are a living bridge to the one he reveres most.

The Thorn Fairy, the untouchable queen, the mistress of thorns and dreams and undying majesty.

The one whose wisdom shaped kingdoms.

The one whose power commanded storms and silence alike.

Malleus is enthralled by you from the start.

He watches you with an intensity few dare withstand, caught between awe and aching loneliness. You do not command attention,you draw it, effortlessly, as if the air itself leans toward you.

And you, for all your lineage, carry none of the cruelty history once feared.

You walk gently where others would conquer.

You speak thoughtfully where others would decree.

You smile softly where others would sneer.

It confounds him.

And yet, it delights him.

One evening, beneath a withering tree in the Diasomnia gardens, he finally approaches you, green eyes catching the silver of the stars in their depths.

“You are different from her,” Malleus says, not accusing,almost... wondering.

You look at him then, and your expression is so full of something ancient and mournful that it stills the breath in his lungs.

“My mother,” you say, voice quiet, “was majesty incarnate. Her beauty, her wrath, her sorrow… they shaped the very lands you and I walk upon.”

You reach into the folds of your cloak, and Malleus watches with sharp, expectant eyes as you withdraw a simple object, a thorn, long and blackened, gleaming like obsidian. You hold it as one would hold a relic, reverently.

“This is all I have left of her," you whisper. "One thorn. One fragment of the forest she once called her own."

The thorn hums faintly in your palm, old magic stirring like a sleeping dragon.

Malleus lowers his gaze, his heart a storm of emotion.

He had idolized her, the stories, the grandeur, the tragedy but you had known her. You had been loved by her.

“I am not her," you say at last. "I will never be her. I was not made to rule through fear or flame. I was made to remember."

The thorn vanishes back into the folds of your cloak, your hand brushing over your chest like a silent vow.

Malleus steps closer, the gravity between you almost suffocating.

“You may be the child of the Thorn Fairy…” he murmurs, voice low, reverent.

“…but you are nothing like her.”

He bows his head slightly, a rare gesture of deep, genuine respect.

He finds a companion.

A kindred soul.

Someone who remembers the past,and dares to walk beyond it.

English is not my first language !

[fyuyushia]

Capture target: You

Sung Jinwoo realizes messaging first is a surprisingly difficult thing to do. While searching for the most natural message to send, he gets sidetracked and gets beaten to the punch by you.

Masterlist for the series wawiwu

Sung Jinwoo hums, staring at your number aimlessly.

Saved on his phone, was your number kept as your name.

It's been well past 10 minutes since he's been staring at it. His fingers linger on the keyboard but no words were typed, unable to find the right words to say. This was the first message you'd exchange with him in a while, it had to be meaningful. Somewhat.

"Hey, did you get home safely?" He literally walked you home. Erase.

"How are you?" What is this, a get to know party? Erase.

"Are you free this Friday?" Too blunt. It needs to be more classy. Erase.

He rubs his chin with a hand, eyeing his phone critically. What would be the best opening statement? Something that isn't too casual but isn't too formal either. A message that hit just the right balance.

He racks his brain, tapping his head with a finger repeatedly in hopes of reaching eureka.

There's nothing. Absolutely nothing that seems fitting in his mind.

He doesn't notice as his shadow soldiers begin to pool around his shadow, taking a peek at their troubled monarch. It wasn't often, far from a common occurrence, and so they were worried. Who would've thought that their almighty monarch would be at a loss for words, acting so...humane like this?

"My liege," Beru breaks the silence that encompasses the room. "Perhaps it would be best to simply be honest."

Jinwoo stiffens at the ant's sudden intervention. His posture straightens, and he's immediately glaring daggers at the presumptuous shadow of his. (Not really, he was just surprised and didn't expect to be caught overthinking a simple message)

"It's not as simple as it sounds." He says after releasing his glare.

He leans back on his seat, a sigh leaving him in a fit of exasperation. Beru shrinks, settling with watching his liege struggle in the background instead. Despite his inclination to help, Jinwoo didn't seem to appreciate it, he could get that much.

Wait. Why is he thinking so hard about it? It's just a message.

Jinwoo sits up straight again, elbows resting on his desk and this chin on the back of his hand. It's just a message. It's not like he particularly liked you or was fond of you anymore. Why was he so pressed on what message to send?

He clicks his tongue. Old habits die hard. He surmises. He was always cautious of what to text you, ensuring every word was made to your liking. Now that he was past his highschool years of stupidly crushing on a friend, there was no need for him to be so cautious. No need to worry too much.

But then again this reunion wasn't just any other reunion. If he came off too strong or too weak then your affection points might go down. Can it even go down? He doesn't know, and he's not willing to know either.

It would be a waste of effort.

Indeed it would. It's a matter of convenience. Not anything else. (He ignores the part of him that panics at the thought of you being weirded out.)

He clears his throat. This isn't working.

Clearly he's not the best at making the first move.

What a dilemma.

He slumps in his seat, head up and eyes staring at the ceiling as if it had all the answers to all the problems he had difficulty solving.

He exhales through his nose. This is stupid. There's no reason to be this finicky. It's just a text message.

Indeed. It's just a text message to be sent to you. A capture target. A person he knew from the past. Nothing to be nervous about. Yes, you're just a person from his past who somehow came back to his present.

He sighs. Heavy. Tired. Exasperated. Baffled.

This is all so foolish. He can clear dungeons with ease but somehow a text is making him lose his marbles? That's impossible.

His thoughts spiral. You were his friend once. A good one. The kind who made rainy days feel like sunlight, who filled silence with laughter and warm glances across cafeteria tables. Back before he knew what power felt like. Back when his only real concern was if you’d notice the way he always saved you the last bite of his lunch.

Sung Jinwoo's not the type to worry this much about what other people would think. He might have once, especially when it came to his crush, but that was once. This was now. And Jinwoo right now was no longer a pushover with no power to fight back. He also didn't have a crush on you now either.

It's just the system. Definitely. It's just the system forcing him to think things through. If he was too careless about this matter then he'd lose affinity points, and he can't have that because it's a pain to build things up again.

So he does what he does best: think. Strategize. What would be the most efficient way to wooing you with one text message? Which one would leave the most impact?

It's now been twenty minutes and he still has nothing to show for all his strategizing.

Instead he sits in silence, as if staying still would miraculously give him the right combination of words to use.

[Hint: Struggling?

        Why not look at the past where it all began? You might've missed something.]

[Hint: Item "old phone"]

He nearly flinches at the system's sudden intervention. Keyword: nearly. He doesn't actually flinch, but he is pretty surprised by its timely appearance.

Jinwoo narrows his eyes, reading through the window's words. He scoffs. Him? Struggle? No, not really.

He had it handled. Cool.

He hastily closed the pop up. He didn't need help;  he had it all handled. It's just one possible love interest(his heart races at the thought of it alone but he pushes it down. It's been so long, he thinks himself to be incapable of love. Especially someone free of sins like you.) just another quest he had to follow through.

Staring at his phone again, his eyes twitch when he sees the empty text box haunting him. No, this is a trivial matter, he wasn't so helpless that he'd need a system to help him out.

He hasn't sunk into such levels of patheticness yet.

[Hint: use "old" phone]

His inventory practically opens itself upon a moment of inactiveness, pointing to his old phone he somehow has in the inventory despite not remembering putting it there for some reason with a glowing outline.

He parts his lips slightly in surprise. When did that get there? How did it end up in his inventory even?

He looks at the system window with a troubled look. Why was the system being so pushy about it?

Well, it's not like he can't handle it on his own. However, since the system's being very insistent on lending a help, then might as well accept.

Swallowing thickly, he mentally takes the phone from his inventory. He watches as it manifests on his hold, as broken as it was before he gave up on it.

He deadpans. How was he supposed to get help from this?

[Item: Old phone(broken)

         Repair? (-200 gold)]

Of course. How convenient. He thinks with a doubtful stare, what was the system's plan and how do you fit in the grand scheme of things?

It doesn't occur to him that it might've just been because it picked up on his feelings and urged him to act them out.

200 gold? A measly amount. But was he willing to spend such luxury just for the sake of bettering if messaging skills?

No. No it's not worth it.

...

[-200 gold]

[Brand new! Old phone(repaired)]

He looks at the now repaired phone. It was fascinating how easily they fixed such an ancient product. There were no cracks on its screen, as if it was brand new despite its already decade old model.

He questions how it could do that, but he doesn't linger on the thought. It was the least of his problems right now.

Pressing the power button, he coaxes the ancient phone back to life. He understands that it should've retired by this time and be allowed rest, but he needed whatever wisdom was stored inside the phone.

It takes a little more coaxing before it finally comes back to life. The screen flickers, as if protesting about its sudden resurrection.

He mentally apologizes, but quickly moves on to type his password that somehow someway still lurked in the back of his mind.

The phone opens up to your chat threat immediately, providing no other option to skim through anything else. Again, he wonders how the system could do that, but the system had always been mysterious like that.

Skimming through chat logs of his past, he lets go of his more modern gadget in favor of reading through everything this old(kind of) edition had to give.

And oh, it had a lot to give. Too many memories to read in one sitting, matter of fact.

At first, the messages were all mundane, expected. Assignments, casual questions, meet up plans, thoughtful check-ins with your personality shining through every message you sent.

As the messages grow warmer, more relaxed, the snarkier, the softer your messages become. Witty comments, playful banter, inside jokes, feigned squabbles—and then Jinwoo laughs.

Not a full blown chortle, but a quiet chuckle. His lips twitch upwards, and he does little to fight it. His shoulders shake as shame fills him. Unguarded, his cheeks turn the slightest bit red as he reads through the chats.

It's all there. His horrible jokes, your dramatic reactions, your teasing, his playful annoyance, his horrible flirts that never did lead him anywhere, and all the memes you sent to him in a passing once.

Sweat drips down his back as he reads through every message. Goodness, he was so obvious back then. So stupid and so...youthful.

He furrows his brow in half amusement half embarrassment. The him of the past was no laughing matter.

Failing to even realize it, Jinwoo's already immersing himself in every text, fascinated by how close the two of you grew, and how it reflected on the messages you sent. He doesn't even notice the time, too busy chuckling or getting the urge to bang his head as he reads through everything.

He finds a meme he sent you called 'unfunny but still endearing'

He finds a chat of you crushing hard on a certain character. (He then used it as the basis for your ideal type. Tried to build himself around that archetype, only to fail spectacularly and be laughed at by you, who then assured him he was fine as is)

He finds plans for an outing (he deluded himself into thinking it was a date) done by the two of you so late at night.

He finds a string of messages leading to him complimenting your new look, to which you follow along with a "took you long enough, I've been waiting for you to notice." (He remembers the blow you:'ve done to his heart just with that message. He was a fool who was hopessly inlove, overjoyed with such a simple sentiment. Now's different, though.)

He finds a thread of the both of you complaining about exams and sending your prayers in hopes you don't get kicked out of your house(s) upon seeing the results.

Everything's light hearted, playful. He himself can't stop the smile from forming on his lips as he scrolls through the history he once participated in with you.

He doesn't even notice the time passing, only snapping out of his immersion when he hears his more recent phone ping and blink open to get his attention.

Ding.

Jinwoo blinks, a smidge surprised after getting interrupted midway his backreading session. Acting similarly to a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar, he looks around discreetly and clears his throat.

Casting the phone aside, he picks up the newer edition.

You:

Did you get home safely?

He eyes the time, eyes widening just a fraction as he notices the time. An hour had already passed, and he still has yet to send a message. Realizing this, an awkward grin takes its place in his features.

Whoops.

Ashamed of how sidetracked he got when he was given the opportunity to backread, he pockets the old phone and saves the reading for another day. Or maybe later. Those text messages made for good entertainment(Only if he disassociates  himself from this past version of him and pretends it was another person entirely)

What was supposed to be information gathering for what would be the best thing to message ended up becoming him marathoning the chat threads you and him created during the years.

You:

Sorry stupid question

You definitely got home safely

He stares at the keyboard for a few moments, seeing your message immediately. A small smile curves up, and he lets it linger as he stares at your contact.

Gingerly picking the words he assumed would be safe, lithe fingers type out a coherent message for him to send.

Jinwoo:

I did.

Thanks for the concern

His thumb hovers over the send button for a moment, hesitation creeping back up again like an old friend he never truly outgrew.

His text is simple. Straightforward. Safe. Typed like how any other person would reply.

But after scrolling through all those old messages, Jinwoo knows something simple won’t cut it.(It would, but you deserve better. For higher affinity points, of course.) Not when you were always the one adding color to his grayscale world. It's blunt and to the point, to send it would be to end the thread before anything could even begin.

He exhales, low and slow, before backspacing the whole message.

He stares at the empty text box again. He's been staring it for a good amount now. He thinks it's a bit crazy how worried he is about this. He forces the feeling down, this is normal, he just wants to get the quest over with quickly.

Before he can overthink, he closes his eyes for a moment and lets his fingers move on their own, sealing his face.

Jinwoo:

I did. 

Thanks for worrying about me. 

...It's kind of nostalgic, seeing you worry.

He stops, frowning a little. Is it too much? Too emotional? No—it was honest. Beru’s words, as annoying as it might've sounded, echo faintly in his mind: Perhaps it would be best to simply be honest.

Before he can continue to talk himself out of it, Jinwoo taps send.

The message flies off, sent, and now irreversible. He slouches back against his chair, letting out a sigh and tossing the phone(coolly) onto the desk like it personally wronged him.

Seconds pass, turning into a full fledged minute, and then a minute becomes two. Still, there was nothing.

He taps his foot—not anxiously, just a way to pass the time. His eyes remained glued to the screen despite himself.

Ding.

You:

Hahaha!

I guess it is nostalgic huh? 

Old habits die hard

Guess some things don't change.

He lets go of the breath he unconsciously held.

You:

Except, I guess, you’re a lot cooler now. 

Way cooler than I remember, honestly.

In all aspects.

I feel like a peasant talking with a bigshot now ToT

He closes his parted lips. Fingers achingly frozen. He's not usually this pathetic, he's really not—it's just the joy of catching up to an old friend getting to him. And the system at work too.

You:

...Anyway!!

How did Jinah like the shortcake?

Sung Jinwoo stares. Again, he took one too many seconds long thinking of a reply (defending himself from no one) and you're already moving onto another topic before he can reply.

Taking his time reading through your messages, his mind scrambles to recall his younger sister's reaction.

"I'm home," Jinwoo's voice echoed throughout the living room.

Jinah, currently curled up on the couch, her eyes glued to the TV as she watches a new episode of the soap opera she recently subscribed to these past weeks.

"Welcome home." She replies without skipping a bit, refusing to take her eyes off of the drama.

Without any warning, Jinwoo set a small box down on the table in front of her without ceremony and with the nonchalance of a cool guy, bluntly said;

"Eat it."

Jinah blinked, parting from the tv for once and staring at the box in question. "What is this?"

"Cake."

That got her attention. She put her phone down and cautiously opened the lid. Inside was a perfectly neat slice of strawberry cake—not homemade, not store-brand cheap either. Actual bakery cake.

Jinah stared at the cake, then at Jinwoo, then back at the cake.

"...Why?" she asked, the gears in her head beginning to whir.

Jinwoo shrugged. "No reason."

"No reason," she repeated slowly, voice flat. "Are you sure?"

He headed for the kitchen without elaborating, leaving her holding the suspiciously luxurious dessert.

"Where's mom?"

Jinah narrowed her eyes, but answered his question nevertheless. "Out on the market."

Jinwoo hums, expressing his acknowledgement even without words. Jinah takes this as an opportunity to push for more information.

"You don't usually bring cake," she states. Her tone cool, low, suspicious.

"I did today," Jinwoo said, sounding way too casual.

Jinah pokes the cake with her fork like it might explode. "Did something happen?"

She gasps dramatically. "Did you...commit a crime?"

"No." Jinwoo deadpans.

"Are you dying?"

"No." His brows twitch.

"Are we dying?" His lips curl.

"No," Jinwoo repeated, sounding faintly exasperated now.

Jinah narrowed her eyes further. "You went on a date, didn't you?"

There was a beat of silence from the kitchen. He thought to ignore her and hope for the best, but clearly it wasn't the greatest action to take as she took it as a yes.

She gasped. Loud. Dramatic. "You totally did!"

"Eat your cake," Jinwoo says, voice muffled by the sound of running water.

"No wonder you were dressed so nicely today!"

He turns off the faucet, glaring half heatedly at his younger sister. "If you keep asking questions I'm taking that back."

Jinah gasps, offended, and hugs the cake close. "No way! I've been eyeing this bakery for so long now!"

"Then just be quiet and eat it."

She huffs, glares, stabs the cake with a fork and menacingly eats it—all the while without blinking an eye.

"You win this time." She begins, pointing two fingers at her eyes and then pointing it to him. "But I will be finding out more about this."

Jinwoo rolls his eyes. "Sure sure, you'll find nothing though, so you're just wasting your time."

"As if I believe you."

Yep, he thinks. Jinah liked it. Definitely.

Jinwoo:

Yea

She was happy about it and wouldn't even share

You:

LMAO TT

That's a relief

I was worried my recommendation would be outdated

Did you say hi to her for me?

Jinwoo:

...

Jinwoo pauses. Oh, he forgot. He couldn't tell her now either—it would only further encourage whatever delusion was going on inside her head. If Jinah found out he was out with an old friend, he definitely wouldn't hear the end of it.

Jinwoo:

Yes

She said hi too

He lies without skipping a beat. Just a small white lie until Jinah forgets about this incident. He'll tell her about you later, just not now. She's already suspicious enough as is, and he wouldn't want to give her more material to work with.

Especially since he didn't like you anymore. He doesn't want to get in any misunderstandings with you.

Taglist: @minh907 @daiyanomochi @soft-dots @snowy-violet @kokominari @ssolarsystm @2dmenfr @baby-bread-in @awwwia @coffeeisbehindyou @rai-xxx @sanchann @ilovestarwholock218 @simpingpandas @smellysluna @tanspostsblog

[artbyblastweave]

Superhero deconstructions for the Justice Leaguers who've managed to weasel out of it so far:

Wonder Woman: What's that? You're from a matriarchal, monarchal enclave of immortal, bronze-age warriors who worship the actual Greek gods? Who are real? And you came out the other side of that with values completely compatible with 21st-century progressive mores surrounding individualism, secularism, gender identity and governance? And you're completely accepting of trans people? That is so cool and marketable The Flash: A white midwestern cop has developed omnipresence. This is probably fine Green Lantern: Is the objectively-quantifiable and measurable quality of "Willpower" in the room with us right now. Also. who exactly signed off on this extraterrestrial paramilitary. Is this a cult Aquaman: A hereditary monarchy exerts military control over 70 percent of the world's surface. This is also probably fine

Martian Manhunter: God I wish Martian Manhunter had enough of a presence in the popular consciousness for there to be an intuitive attack surface

[yourownutopia]

Ultraviolent Heart

╰┈➤You know how it ends. From the very beginning, you carried that knowledge like an inescapable burden, a quiet ache that shaped your every choice. Yet you stayed—for him. Jin Woo—your confidant, your light in a world of darkness—could never walk with you to the very end. But you couldn't take it anymore. It was too much to bear. So, you leave - knowing your place by his side was never meant to last.

Left behind is Jin Woo, with questions no one will answer and a gaping void where your presence once was. You are gone, and yet the emptiness you leave lingers longer than any memory. ༊*·˚

Implied Jin Woo x Isekai'd!Player2!Fem!Reader | Songfic | Heartbreak | Goodbye | Angst | Jealousy | crying

Crywolf - ULTRAVIOLENT [adrenochrome] ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚--~

Your heart is torturing me.

Knock.

The dull sound of his fist striking hard stone echoed through the air.

Once—not too hard.

Twice—with more force.

Three times—before the rigid concrete wall could no longer withstand the immense power of the Shadow Monarch. Cracks spread across the structure, and where solid stone once stood, now a large, gaping hole remained, with Jin Woo’s hand at its center—much like the gaping hole in his heart.

The overwhelming anger he felt threatened to consume him entirely. Beru flinched violently, fear creeping up his limbs as his master’s eyes glowed dangerously. He had brought bad news—perhaps the worst Jin Woo had received in a long time.

"Search more thoroughly."

The black-haired man’s voice cut through the silence like his blades through flesh. Yet, despite his usual composed demeanor, his voice quivered with rage.

Beru wanted to point out that it was a pointless endeavor. If you were still there, he would have already found you. But his master would not accept that answer.

"Yes, my king," Beru replied reverently before retreating into the shadows, leaving Jin Woo alone in his fury.

This couldn’t be true. No one could simply vanish without a trace. And yet, it seemed that was exactly what had happened.

A thousand miles an hour again.

It had been a week, and none of his shadows could locate you. Even the Hunter’s Association had been unable to find any information about your current whereabouts. There wasn’t even a hint that you had left the country.

But giving up the search would mean it was over. It would mean that a part of him was gone forever and that the memories you shared were nothing more than illusions.

He clung to the last shred of hope he had because, no matter how furious he was with you, he desperately wanted answers.

And all that stays with me

How could you do this to him? He had trusted you so much, and you had abandoned him in the most cowardly way possible—without a word. No goodbye, no note, no message—as if you had never existed. And with that, you had torn a massive hole in his heart.

The anger began to ebb, only to be replaced with a suffocating fear—a fear that had gripped him time and time again in recent days.

Is the fear inside my gut.

It felt as though he was bleeding out, choking, drowning in place. As though his heart was overflowing with pain, longing for your warmth and softness, and all the things he had never been able to say—the things you had denied him. The fear that he would soon no longer remember you gnawed at his soul.

Memories were all he had left of you, yet even they were beginning to fade. What did your voice sound like again? Your beautiful face, once so vivid in his mind, was now blurring. Were you only a beautiful dream from which he had now awakened?

You're the fear inside my gut -‘๑’-

Two years had passed since you had been pulled into this world—the world you knew so well, almost like the back of your hand. The world that had accompanied you through so many sleepless nights as you eagerly read each chapter on your smartphone.

But just as you were about to finish the story, with the last chapter ahead of you, the universe intervened. You were pulled into the story yourself, long before Jin Woo set foot in the double dungeon.

You became Player 2. The system welcomed you like an old friend, and you quickly adapted. At first, you wanted to return home, but the system refused your departure with a single window:

[You can only leave the game when you truly want to.]

And, evidently, you didn’t truly want to leave. You wanted to stay, to experience firsthand the world you had come to know so well. And so, you stayed—with the goal of making life a little easier for Jin Woo, as though that was your purpose.

Starting as a C-rank mage with a few healing spells, you participated in every raid Jin Woo was involved in, which quickly made you friends. He had admired your strength from the beginning, just as you had admired his courage and determination.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t always lend him a helping hand. Every time something story-relevant occurred, no matter how you tried to intervene, it would inevitably happen anyway—only the timing or the path there would show minor deviations.

Whenever this happened, the system would display a message:

[The story will not change.]

The system made it painfully clear that you had no influence over key story elements. And though you had never had issues with the system before, these moments felt like mockery—a cruel reminder of your limitations.

No matter how heavy your heart felt or how deeply you wished you could change things, events unfolded as they were meant to. Ultimately, all you could do was make Jin Woo’s journey a little lighter, which he accepted with gratitude. The two of you were like light and shadow—one could not exist without the other.

You’ve been my reason to breathe

Not only were you an incredible team in battle, your abilities complementing one another seamlessly, but everyone who knew you—or even those who didn’t—could see that you belonged together. He trusted you; you were the light in his life. The lifeline that kept him from drowning in a sea of darkness. The one who reminded him he was still human whenever he no longer felt like one. The one who had held his trembling hands whenever he needed it—even after those hands had taken lives.

You were the one who stayed with him through so many nights, just to keep him from being alone with himself. The one his shadows respected and whom Beru grandly referred to as "his queen."

His shadows had known from the start how Jin Woo felt about you. But he feared telling you, terrified that it might drive you away. No heartbreak in the world could compare to the thought of you no longer by his side.

Of course, you had noticed, probably much sooner than anyone else. How his behavior changed—how his cheeks would flush whenever you complimented him. How he sought your company more often, how his voice would falter when you came close. Things that had always been intimate but normal between you suddenly left him flustered.

How deeply you wished you could give in to it, but you knew better. There was no happy ending for the two of you. You knew it, and the system knew it—perhaps that’s why it had never responded to his advances. Only Jin Woo remained blissfully unaware, while you locked your feelings away and buried them deep.

The gravity that pulls me in

Despite your efforts to keep him at arm’s length—to keep yourself at arm’s length—those moments grew more frequent. Moments when your gazes lingered a second too long or his hugs lasted just a little longer than necessary. Moments when his hand found yours, and your fingers intertwined. Moments when the two of you lay side by side, silently watching the stars, just to have an excuse to share the night.

It was almost impossible to push him away when he looked at you with such tenderness, smiling at you as though you were all he needed. The thought that the two of you didn’t have a chance began to fade into the background, and as long as the system didn’t intervene, everything felt fine.

I can't escape the weight of your ultraviolent heart

Until that day.

-‘๑’-

The Jeju Island raid had been about two weeks ago, and life had returned to normal. People mourned the fallen S-Rank hunters but celebrated the victory of reclaiming the island. You hadn’t participated in the raid yourself, only watched from a distance—at least until the moment when Hunter Cha was injured and Jin-Woo rushed to her aid.

The thought sent a pang straight to your gut.

What disgusting and pathetic thoughts to have. After all, Cha had nearly died—you knew that all too well. And yet, you struggled to ignore the stabbing pain in your chest, which worsened when she showed up at the guild's office building.

As usual, when there was nothing to do, you lay sprawled on the couch, your head resting lazily on Jin-Woo's lap while he scrolled through his phone.

At first, Jinho had been a little taken aback by the closeness between you two. But he’d quickly adjusted to the fact that his two best friends behaved like a couple—despite not being one.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door, and Jinho looked up from his computer.

You were momentarily confused before realization struck. You’d spent so many days here that you’d completely forgotten about when Hae-In was supposed to arrive. If it were up to you, you would’ve bolted; the less interaction with her, the better. But that would’ve raised too many questions.

You felt Jin-Woo shift, and you immediately sat up, unwilling to give the wrong impression. The black-haired man gave you a confused look as your warmth left his lap—though he made no move to get up himself.

“Who could that be?” Jinho asked, heading toward the door. You could already hear her soft voice as he opened it.

“Is this Mr. Sung’s office?” she asked quietly. When the door opened fully, all eyes fell on the blonde beauty in the doorway.

She wasn’t just pretty; she was immensely strong. Not stronger than you, but far more graceful in everything she did. She was perfect in every way, much to your dismay.

Her eyes widened briefly when she saw you, but she quickly masked her surprise with a polite cough.

Jin-Woo had now risen as well, his gaze cool and appraising as he looked at the young Hunter whose life he’d saved.

“What brings you here, Miss Cha?” he asked, his tone cold—devoid of the softness he reserved for you.

The blonde hesitated for a moment before stating that she wanted to join the guild.

Jin-Woo’s expression didn’t change, though Jinho looked like he’d just been hit with a bombshell.

This wasn’t a surprise to you, of course, but the words still felt like a blow to the stomach.

Less than five minutes later, you found yourself sitting across from Hae-In on the sofa. Jin-Woo sat beside you, once again asking why she was there. The blonde reiterated her desire to join the guild, causing Jin-Woo to frown in confusion as she sipped nervously on a cola. She dismissed his speculations, her cheeks growing redder with every passing moment as she avoided eye contact.

It was almost ironic how Jin-Woo, despite his overwhelming senses, had no clue that Hae-In was flustered. Of course, you knew better. She wanted to be near him because, unlike others, he smelled good and intrigued her. And you had to accept that.

When her face turned beet red and she began fanning herself nervously, Jin-Woo paused and asked again why she was going to such lengths to join the guild.

“I want to live a comfortable life. Is that so wrong?” she replied softly.

Jinho popped up behind you, whispering, “The Hunters Guild must’ve overworked her.”

Jin-Woo’s eyes darted to you, silently asking a question: What do you think?

Of course, you hated the idea. You didn’t want to lose him to her—but what could you do?

Your contemplative expression and brief hesitation were all Jin-Woo needed. He turned back to Hae-In and rejected her request.

Your eyes widened, staring in disbelief at the black-haired man. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go—the conversation wasn’t over yet.

Hae-In lowered her head, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“I understand,” she murmured, looking utterly dejected.

Panic surged through you. What was happening? A deviation?

“W-wait!” you blurted out, drawing everyone’s attention. Hae-In’s gaze flickered with hope, while Jin-Woo raised an inquisitive brow.

“P-please give us five minutes, Miss Cha,” you said, quickly standing and grabbing Jin-Woo’s hand to drag him into the adjacent room.

Almost disappointed when you released his hand, Jin-Woo looked at you as the door closed behind you.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, hands on your hips.

He seemed genuinely confused by your question.

“What?”

“Why are you rejecting her?!” you demanded.

Jin-Woo shrugged, his expression indifferent.

“I don’t want her in the guild,” he said flatly, his gray eyes avoiding yours.

He wanted to tell you that you were more than enough for him—that she was unnecessary. But saying so might’ve been too much in this situation.

“This is a one-time opportunity!” you argued, hoping he’d use his brain for once.

“I have you. We don’t need anyone else,” he countered, his cheeks tinged pink.

What the hell was he saying?

No, things couldn’t go this way—it would disrupt the entire timeline. Your thoughts spiraled.

“Then… have her fight Beru!” you blurted out. Jin-Woo stared at you, dumbfounded.

“And why would I do that? She’ll lose,” he said, still not understanding why this mattered so much to you.

“Then it’s a win-win. She doesn’t feel rejected, and you… get rid of her.”

He seemed to consider your words for a moment. From his shadow, the winged ant manifested.

“What do you think?” Jin-Woo asked.

The insect clicked its mandibles excitedly.

“Kekeke, that’s a wonderful idea, my queen,” it replied, clearly far too enthusiastic.

Why could you understand it? No clue. It was probably because you were also a Player, and Jin-Woo had drilled it into Beru from the start that he should listen to you as well. Besides, you liked him—and he liked you.

You looked expectantly at the Shadow Monarch, whose lips curved into a smile as he turned back to you.

“If it makes you happy,” he said, placing a hand on your head. A soft blush spread across your cheeks.

-‘๑’-

"Why the hell?!" you asked the moment your feet touched solid ground again.

You, Jin-Woo, and Hae-In now stood in the middle of the training arena. You hadn’t wanted to be part of this situation in the first place, and when the black-haired man had pulled the blonde closer, it had sent a sharp pain through your chest. You wanted to leave. But Jin-Woo had grabbed you by the wrist and brought you here, knowing that words alone wouldn’t convince you to stay. For once, he had chosen to be selfish.

Clearly irritated, you pulled yourself free from his grip and moved away from the two of them, seeking refuge at the edge of the arena. You trusted Beru to avoid accidentally hurting you, but the ant could be reckless in battle.

Jin-Woo watched you walk away, his mouth opening as if to stop you, but you were already storming off. This would have consequences later...

While Jin-Woo and Cha retreated to the armory, you were finally alone with your thoughts for the first time that day. Worry gnawed at you. Everything was unfolding differently than the story you remembered. Was it your fault? Had you interfered too much? If so, why hadn’t the system reacted? And if not... then what was the reason? Something was terribly wrong... but what?

Your mind drifted back to the manhwa, trying to recall the exact details of the events. Yet they eluded you. Meanwhile, the two hunters returned. Cha was now equipped with a weapon, and Jin-Woo stood several meters away. It wasn’t until Beru’s overwhelming aura enveloped your senses that realization struck.

This wasn’t right... She was supposed to face Igris first.

Before you could voice your concerns, the battle had already begun.

The fight went horribly wrong. Beru had lost control, and if Jin-Woo hadn’t stopped him, he would have torn Hae-In apart. The arena lay in ruins, and the black-haired man stood protectively in front of the blonde, while Beru fell to his knees, apologizing profusely.

Slowly, the conversation from the manhwa came back to you. She would tell him that she was interested in him.

I’ve been splintering apart

Badump.

Your heartbeat grew louder in your ears as the other sounds faded into the background.

Badump.

Your heart clenched as your eyes remained fixed on the two of them. They looked good together... too good.

Badump.

Panic slowly but surely crept up your limbs. You didn’t want to be here when she said it. You didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want to face the truth. You had known it all along, but you had willingly ignored it. They were meant to be together.

Badump.

Breaking open from the start

Your breaths became shallow, and your pounding heart grew louder as you watched Hae-In’s cheeks flush pink. Soon, you would see his eyes light up as he realized why Hae-In had taken on all these burdens. The pain in your chest made it hard to breathe, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

Badump.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You didn’t even hear the black-haired man call your name as you bolted out of the arena. The cold air outside whipped against your face.

But you didn’t get far. A warm hand gently grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, forcing you to stop.

“Hey!” His voice was both frustrated and worried—clearly not understanding why you had left without a word.

“Let me go, please,” you said softly, tugging lightly to reinforce your words. But Jin-Woo didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, he held on tighter to keep you from walking away.

You bit your lower lip, holding back tears. You avoided looking at him, unable to face the concern in his eyes.

“Hey... it’s not your fault this happened. I shouldn’t have let her fight him in the first place,” he said, his voice quieter now. Was that it? Did he think you felt guilty?

The evening continued its quiet work, slowly but surely extinguishing all the colors. Deep blue blended with pale orange where the last warriors of the sun made their final stand.

Gates of heaven are closing

Much like your emotions, fighting against the encroaching darkness—the images of the two of them vivid in your mind.

“That’s not it,” you replied, your voice strained.

Jin-Woo’s concerned expression hardened further. Was it... because he had dragged you here against your will?

But that wasn’t it.

Your throat felt tight, and you swallowed hard.

“That wasn’t fair of me... I’m sorry, I—” Jin-Woo began, but when he saw your face, the words caught in his throat.

Your expression was equal parts hurt and angry. Your [E/C] eyes, usually so bright with joy, were brimming with tears.

Why was this idiot here and not with Hae-In? Had he left her standing there? Why was he making it so hard for you to do the right thing?

His eyes widened, and his heart sank into his stomach as he took in your pained expression. What was wrong? What had he done?

“Why aren’t you with her?” you managed to ask, your voice trembling. Jin-Woo reflexively released your wrist in shock. What? Who?

You seized the opportunity and ran, leaving Jin-Woo momentarily speechless as his mind raced.

Did you mean Hae-In? Why should he be with her? That made no sense to him at all.

Until suddenly, realization struck. Could it be that...? No. That couldn’t be it.

He quickly caught up to you, your gaze fixed stubbornly ahead.

“Stop,” his voice was calm, and his tone commanding, but you had no intention of listening.

When you ignored his second plea, he firmly grabbed your wrist once more.

The protest died in your throat as he pulled you into his chest, trapping you in a warm embrace.

What did you do in my head?

His scent filled your nose, and the warmth of his body spread through your limbs as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

Why?

Jin-Woo held you tightly against him, one hand on your waist—the other buried in your hair.

“Wha—” you began, your voice trembling, but he silenced you with a soft sound.

“Because I want to be with you,” the black-haired man murmured into your hair, before gently pulling you away to look into your eyes.

The cool gray of his eyes softened, as it always did when he spoke to you, catching your [E/C]. But this time, there was nothing playful in his gaze. He was serious.

Jin-Woo noticed the confusion written on your face.

One of his hands found its way to your cheek, a warm tingling spreading across your skin as he cupped your face.

What are you doing?

“You asked me why I’m not with her,” he explained, gently wiping away a tear that had escaped from the corner of your eye. He had never seen you cry before, and he didn’t like the sight. Especially not if he was the reason.

Weren’t you laying in my bed

He had never intended to tell you, but he couldn’t keep it inside any longer. It had to come out. You needed to know how much you meant to him—that she didn’t matter and that you were everything he had ever wanted.

“I just want to be with you,” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly. He leaned down slightly, as if even this close wasn’t close enough. His breathing quickened as the sun’s rays fought valiantly against the darkness creeping over the sky.

Your heart pounded wildly, and your thoughts raced. Your palms grew sweaty, and you felt as though you might faint at any moment. The tension between you was palpable, begging for resolution.

You wanted to bridge the remaining inches, to tell him how you felt—to throw all your plans out the window.

Jin-Woo took a deep breath.

“[Y/N], I lo—”

[The course of the story remains unchanged.]

The window that flickered behind the black-haired man for a fraction of a second was a knife in your heart, now riddled with cracks, as you reflexively pressed a finger to his lips, stopping his sentence.

He fell silent immediately, looking at you in confusion, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Had he misread the signs after all?

Telling me I was chosen

“Don’t,” you whispered softly—your voice barely audible, but he heard it clearly.

If he said those three words, it would be over—there would be no turning back. If he said those words, you would break. If not now, then eventually—when fate ran its course. Because if you had learned one thing, it was that the system would find a way.

His throat tightened, and his chest constricted.

"I can’t—" you began haltingly, stumbling over your words. You couldn’t think of a single sentence that would make this situation any less painful for him.

You lowered your gaze, feeling Jin-Woo give up. His embrace loosened, and his arms fell limply to his sides.

You didn’t want to do this, but you had no choice. There simply wasn’t a happy ending for the two of you. Happiness together wasn’t meant to be.

Jin-Woo was hurt—he couldn’t believe how wrong he had been.

"I’m so sorry," you whispered before daring to look into his eyes one last time—eyes filled with anguish—before you turned and walked away.

-‘๑’-

The following weeks were quiet. Too quiet.

Jin-Woo and you hadn’t spoken since. Both of you were waiting for the other to take the first step, but neither of you dared to break the uncomfortable silence.

For Jin-Woo, the situation was clear: you didn’t return his feelings and wanted distance, just as much as he did. Yet it still felt wrong.

Your presence had taken over his life; he saw your shadow everywhere. Your absence had left a gaping hole, and the simplest things no longer brought him joy. Even Jinho was dejected. His shadows, too, felt the emptiness your absence had created in his heart—his inner turmoil and recklessness as he threw himself into battles reflected it.

Beru, in particular, wasn’t happy about your absence and kept asking after you until Jin-Woo firmly explained that you wouldn’t be coming back. The insect accepted it, albeit with a heavy heart.

Now I don’t even know you, and that’s the best part of it

Weeks turned into months, and Jin-Woo had regained much of his strength. He had grown more ruthless, focused solely on his goals. He had achieved so much, but none of it mattered if you weren’t there to cheer him on.

Neither the recognition from the Hunter’s Association nor the countless media articles praising him to the skies brought him any satisfaction. It wasn’t your recognition, so he didn’t need it.

He buried his heavy heart behind a wall of indifference, but he realized he was drifting further and further from any semblance of a normal life. He was rarely home, found himself in increasingly precarious situations during battles, and noticed how little he cared.

No matter what he did, nothing could fill the void.

It simply couldn’t go on like this, so he decided to do something he usually resisted.

He resolved to ask Hae-In on a date.

All I know, you’re the only thing that I see in color

While Jin-Woo threw himself into leveling up, you had shut yourself away at home for some time. Jin-Woo’s wounded face was burned into your mind; after all, it was the last thing you had seen of him.

Guilt gnawed at you, sapping your strength and will to move forward.

You had lost weight, only left your home for absolute necessities, and spent most of your time sleeping. You cried so much that you began to believe you had no tears left.

Every fiber of your being missed him.

His voice.

His scent.

His laughter.

Even his reprimanding tone when you and Beru got into trouble.

Everything about him. Your heart cried out for him, whether you were awake or asleep.

This heart is torturing me

A sigh escaped your lips as you stared at your phone screen—the numerous missed calls from Jinho had gradually become fewer, but he never gave up.

More guilt.

But what could you do to fix this? Calling Jin-Woo? Just tell him the truth? Maybe that would be the fairest way…

Countless times, you had typed his number into your phone, only to stop yourself at the last second. The fear that he wouldn’t believe you was too great. Or was it the fear that he would believe you?

You shook your head and stood up. This couldn’t go on. You had to talk to him, at least one last time—to come clean before you returned home.

You couldn’t bear the silence between you anymore.

The only pain I understand

Your eyes widened as you stared at the TV screen. A photo had just appeared on the display—your hands instantly dropped the paper cup you’d been holding, spilling the hot coffee it contained onto the ground.

With your mouth slightly open, you stared at the screen, which was displayed in the shop window of a store you had just been walking past.

You had stopped in your tracks as the image suddenly changed, revealing a paparazzi photo.

It showed Jin-Woo and Hae-In, with his arm around her shoulders.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything—maybe it was all just a big misunderstanding—but in your current state, you didn’t want to hear any of it.

Your heart had already cracked when you had to reject his feelings, but this time it felt as though it had shattered into a thousand pieces.

Your mouth went dry, and you couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

You stared at the picture as if hypnotized.

You half-expected a spiteful inner voice to appear, taunting you and telling you it had been right all along—but it stayed silent.

I can't escape the weight of your ultraviolent heart

You tore your gaze away from the screen, and your legs started moving on their own.

Faster.

Much faster.

As if you could somehow run away from it, as if these images wouldn’t follow you for the rest of your life.

Your body instinctively reacted to the pain in your soul, numbing it.

The pain ebbed away, leaving behind an emptiness that took over, shielding you from breaking down—at least for the moment.

When the door to your apartment finally closed behind you, shutting you away from the public’s eyes, every bullet hit you at once.

Your stomach churned, forcing you to vomit into the sink.

Your body doubled over, and you clung to the edge of the counter until the shaking subsided, until you rinsed your mouth and collapsed to your knees, clutching at your chest in anguish.

Your body trembled uncontrollably as you screamed out the pain you had been holding back for so long. You screamed until your voice grew hoarse, until no words could escape your throat anymore.

How had it come to this? Why had he entered your life if he was never meant to stay? Why was the universe so cruel? What had you done to deserve this?

It’s a poison in my gut

It took an eternity for your body to stop trembling and the sobs to subside. Your tears dried up, your body too exhausted to produce any more.

You sat on the floor, your back against the wall, drained of all strength. Your head throbbed, and every trace of willpower had left your body.

Weakly, you lifted your hand and swiped downward in the air.

[Do you really wish to leave the game?] [Yes] / [No] [Yes]

Jin-Woo woke with a silent scream from his nightmare, his hand outstretched, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes darting frantically around the room.

A few seconds passed before he realized he was in his bedroom. The full moon shone through his window, bathing everything in silver light.

It was just a dream…a damn nightmare. But it had felt so incredibly real.

His hand clutched at his chest, which ached under the crushing weight of emotion. He had seen your tear-streaked face as you looked at him, whispering a faint, “Goodbye.” Relief washed over him as he realized it had only been a dream. He rubbed his eyes, only to notice the glimmer of tears on his hand under the moonlight.

But it still felt so real - he felt so hollow, as though a giant hole had opened in his chest. As if something was terribly wrong. His mind wandered to you once again, missing the warmth of your Presence once more. He was sure you had seen the News, the speculations and rumors about his relationship with the blonde S-Rank - but they were all false. He only wanted to shield her from the Spotlights, since it was him who dragged her along in the first place. The Date with Hae-In was a welcoming distraction from fighting in a Dungeon, but it felt all wrong. It just made him realize once more, that it was you he wanted by his side - as lovers or friends, he couldn't care less. He just wanted you.

His resolve hardened: tomorrow, he would visit you and ask for your forgiveness, hoping you would be willing to forgive him. Hoping the empty feeling would finally disappear, that he would be whole again.

With that thought in mind, he drifted back to sleep. But the emptiness remained.

You’re the only thing that I see in color.

[part 2]

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ꨄ︎ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ Wow, this story just came to me while I was on the bus, listening to music…what can I say—I had to write it down before it was too late!

English isn’t my first language! I hope everything was understandable and legible.

since y'all are just suckers for drama, there will be a part two~ But first, feel free to read my series! A Jin Woo x Shadow! Reader story. [Shadowborn] Thank you for all your support! likes, reblogs & comments or just reading <3 .'*•.¸♡ I really appreciate it <3 ♡¸.•*'

♡¸.•*' ˋ°•*⁀✎ 𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑎

[sulkingheichou012]

Into the Dungeon with You

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's note: I'm happy that some of you are enjoying my silly work! Yes, if you're asking to be tagged—sure! 😊

Chapter 18

Y/N had thought she understood Jinwoo.

Stoic. Calm. Quiet.

A man who rarely showed emotion unless someone threatened his family or the world.

But now?

Now, Jinwoo was her husband.

Jinwoo was in full “husband unlocked, affection level MAX” mode.

The problem?

He wouldn’t. Stop. Touching. Her.

Y/N woke up tangled in limbs. Jinwoo was spooning her like he was afraid she’d vanish. One leg thrown over her hip. One arm across her waist. His face in her hair. And his hand—ahem—somewhere that made her blush daily.

“Jinwoo…” she whispered. “Mmh.” He didn’t even open his eyes. “You’re squeezing.” “I’m making sure you’re real.”

Y/N groaned, both flattered and mildly panicked.

Jinwoo found... other priorities.

Y/N was sitting at her desk, reviewing dungeon reports. Jinwoo walked in. Silent. Shadow Monarch smooth. Until he wasn’t. Until he planted his hands on either side of her chair and leaned in. His breath ghosted over her ear. “Take a break.” “I’m busy,” she muttered. He kissed just behind her ear. “Five minutes.” “No.” His lips brushed lower, down her neck. “I can make you forget paperwork.” Y/N swallowed. “I—Jinwoo!” And then he bit her gently.

She never finished those reports.

Y/N tried. Really, she did. She thought maybe tonight she’d cook dinner in peace. But no.

Jinwoo was behind her at the stove. Again. Arms around her waist. Again. Chin on her shoulder. And his hands? “Jinwoo,” she warned. “Yes?” Innocent. “Hands above the waist.” “They are.” “No, they’re not!” He hummed. “That’s a matter of perspective.”

She dropped the spoon. And found herself carried bridal-style to the couch. Dinner burned.

Every night.

…a battlefield. One Y/N lost. Every. Time.

He’d pull her close. Slide his fingers through her hair. Brush kisses over her temple. And then— “Wife,” he whispered, reverent. “You do remember I’m your wife every day, right?” she teased. “Mhm.” His gaze was molten. “But I like saying it. Because now you’re mine.” She arched a brow. “I was yours before.” “Now it’s forever.”

Cue: steamy kisses. Cue: hands on her waist. Cue: Jinwoo exploring every inch of her like it was the first time.

And that stamina recovery skill? It was real. Y/N had to beg for mercy.

“Jinwoo, wait—nooo!” “Yes,” he growled, smirking. “Yesss.”

The soft hum of the coffee maker filled the kitchen, mingling with the sizzle of bacon in the pan. Y/N stood at the counter, barefoot in nothing but Jinwoo’s oversized black shirt, the hem brushing against her thighs. Her hair was still tousled from sleep—or rather, from the lack of it, thanks to the last night’s stamina training lead by Jinwoo. The scent of fresh coffee and toasted bread wafted through the air as she flipped a pancake, her hips swaying slightly to an imaginary tune.

Jinwoo leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a lazy, predatory grin. He’d slipped on a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, leaving his chiseled torso bare. The honeymoon had been a blur of tangled sheets and whispered promises, but being back home didn’t mean the fire had dimmed. If anything, seeing Y/N in his shirt, moving so casually in their space, only stoked it higher.

“Smells good,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep, though his eyes weren’t on the food.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, catching the heat in his gaze. “The pancakes or me?” she teased, smirking as she turned back to the stove.

“Both,” he replied, pushing off the wall and stalking toward her. His footsteps were silent, but she felt his presence before his hands even touched her—warm, calloused fingers sliding over her hips, pulling her back against him.

“Jinwoo,” she laughed, half-protesting as she tried to focus on flipping the bacon. “I’m gonna burn breakfast. AGAIN..”

“Let it burn,” he murmured against her ear, his breath hot as his lips grazed her neck. His hands slipped under the shirt, tracing the curve of her waist before dipping lower, teasing the edge of her panties. “I’m hungry for something else.”

Her breath hitched, the spatula trembling in her hand. “You’re insatiable,” she managed, though her voice was already wavering, her body leaning into his touch despite herself.

“Says the one who kept me up all night,” he shot back, nipping at her earlobe. One hand slid up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak, while the other dipped beneath the fabric between her thighs, finding her already slick with want. “Seems like you’re not complaining.”

“Jinwoo—” Her protest melted into a moan as he pressed himself harder against her, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable through the thin sweatpants. The bacon popped in the pan, forgotten, as he spun her around to face him, pinning her against the counter.

His lips crashed into hers, hungry and unrelenting, tasting of last night’s wine and the promise of more. She clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he hoisted her up, setting her on the edge of the counter. The shirt rode up, exposing her to the cool air—and to him. His eyes darkened, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he dropped to his knees.

“Breakfast can wait,” he said, voice thick with lust, before burying his face between her thighs.

Y/N gasped, her hands flying to his hair, tugging at the dark strands as his tongue worked her over with ruthless precision. He knew her too well—every spot, every rhythm that made her unravel. The kitchen filled with her breathless moans, the coffee maker beeping in the background like a distant applause. Her legs trembled, hooked over his shoulders, and he gripped her thighs tighter, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

“Jinwoo—oh god—” She was close, teetering on the edge, when he pulled back just enough to look up at her, lips glistening, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Not yet,” he said, standing and tugging his sweatpants down just enough to free himself. He was hard, aching, and the sight of him made her whimper. He stepped between her legs, aligning himself with her entrance, teasing her with the tip. “I want to feel you when you come.”

She didn’t have time to respond before he thrust into her, deep and unrelenting, filling her completely. The counter creaked under them as he set a brutal pace, hands gripping her hips to pull her into every stroke. Y/N’s head tipped back, a string of curses spilling from her lips as pleasure crashed through her. The kitchen was a mess of heat and sound—the slap of skin, the clatter of a spatula hitting the floor, her cries mingling with his grunts.

“Fuck, you’re perfect, I love you,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. He bit down lightly, marking her as his, and that was enough to send her over the edge. She shattered around him, clenching tight, her whole body shaking as she came undone.

Jinwoo groaned, following her a moment later, spilling inside her with a final, shuddering thrust. They stayed like that, panting and tangled, until the smell of charred bacon finally broke through the haze.

Y/N laughed weakly, shoving at his chest. “You did let it burn.”

He smirked, kissing her slow and deep, still buried inside her. “Worth it.”

Several months, dozens of late-night snack runs, and countless stamina training have passed.

Fenrir had become strangely clingy.

Wherever Y/N went, the giant primordial wolf followed. Silent, looming, and attentive. His shadowy fur blended easily into the castle walls, and his glowing eyes tracked every move she made.

To most, it was unsettling. To Y/N, it was endearing… if a bit much.

“Fenrir,” Y/N sighed one morning, balancing a tray of snacks in her hands. “I love you, but you’re breathing down my neck.”

The massive wolf huffed quietly through his nose but didn’t budge from his spot at her side.

“I’m not helpless,” she said with a grin. “I can fight too, remember?”

Fenrir remained unmoving, his gaze dropping briefly to her midsection.

“You carry more than your own life now, my Queen,” Fenrir thought, ancient and knowing. “You carry the legacy of our King, and of this world yet to come.”

Y/N blinked at his look. “What? What’s that look?” No answer. Only quiet, dignified silence.

But Fenrir was already certain. He had felt it—the pulse of a life unlike any other. Small, yes. Fragile… not quite. There was power stirring within Y/N. Ancient, deep, and coiled like a newborn star.

“This child will eclipse even the light of this world,” he mused silently. “And I shall be its first sentinel.”

Y/N chuckled, scratching behind his ear without understanding the full weight of his presence. “You’re being weird today.”

Fenrir closed his eyes, indulging her affection briefly. But his mind was ever watchful. Silent guardian of life.

Over the next few days, Fenrir did not leave Y/N' side.

He sat at the edge of every room. He watched over her as she napped in the garden, his great form a living monument beside her. His breathing was so silent that even Beru once mistook him for a statue.

Jinwoo noticed. “Has he been like this all day?”

Y/N nodded, amused. “Yep. Clingy puppy mode.”

Fenrir snorted at the label, though his great body remained still.

“Puppy,” he mused, almost offended. “If only you knew, little Queen. I was ancient before your stars were born.” Still… he allowed the label. For her.

As they walked inside, Jinwoo kept an arm around Y/N. Fenrir followed. Unseen. Unheard. Watching.

The days after Fenrir’s mysterious behavior?

Pure chaos.

Y/N woke up clingier than ever. But also… bitey.

Jinwoo was lying on the couch, minding his own business, when suddenly— “Chomp.” Her teeth sank into his cheek. “Y/N… what are you doing?” he asked patiently. “I dunno,” she mumbled, still attached. “You’re… biting me.” “It’s because you’re so cute.” Chomp. “…I’m glad you think so.”

Later that night? Chomp. On his bicep. “I’m not food, you know,” he murmured. “You taste like husband,” she shrugged.

At 2:00 AM, Y/N shook him awake. “Jinwoo.” “Hm?” “I want strawberries.” “…Okay.”

Shadow exchange. Strawberries obtained. He returned… Y/N was asleep.

At 3:15 AM. “Jinwoo.” “…Yes?” “I want tteokbokki.” “Coming right up.”

Shadow exchange. Fresh tteokbokki. He returned… Y/N stared at it. “…I changed my mind.” “…To what?” “Chocolate milk.” Jinwoo sighed. “Got it.” Shadow exchange again. Chocolate milk. He returned… Y/N was snoring.

Y/N was happily chatting with Mrs. Sung in the living room, both of them perched on the couch like detectives dissecting a major scandal. Their hands flew through the air as they reenacted scenes, eyes wide with shared disbelief.

“Eomma! Have you seen the latest episode?!” Y/N gasped, grabbing Mrs. Sung’s arm like it was a lifeline. Mrs. Sung nodded, scandalized. “I did! That cheating man got caught—red-handed! With the other woman! In her car!” Y/N clutched her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. “And when she smacked him in front of everyone?! I swear I heard that slap in my soul!” Mrs. Sung leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You know, they say she practiced her slap on a melon to get the sound just right.”

At that moment, Jinwoo casually walked by, sipping his coffee. Y/N slowly turned her head to give him the look. The silent warning. The don’t you dare stare. Jinwoo froze, lowering his mug just slightly. “…What did I do?” Mrs. Sung patted Y/N’ hand approvingly. “That’s right. You let them know.” Y/N gave a tiny nod of solidarity… then blinked, her fingers tightening slightly. The room tilted, just for a second.

“Ah…” she murmured faintly. Mrs. Sung immediately caught her shoulder. “Y/N? Are you alright?” Jinwoo was already there in an instant, coffee abandoned, his hand steadying her waist. “What’s wrong?” His voice dipped low, serious. Y/N waved a hand, attempting a small laugh. “I’m fine! Just… maybe too much excitement.” Jinwoo didn’t look convinced. “No more watching dramas,” he declared.

Mrs. Sung stood up without another word, disappeared into the hallway, and came back holding a pregnancy test kit like she had it prepped for emergencies. “Trust me, I’ve been through this before—and survived.” she said matter-of-factly, handing it over like a seasoned battlefield medic. Y/N stared. “Wait, I—” “Bathroom. Now.”

Jinwoo peeked in from the kitchen, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” Mrs. Sung pointed at him without looking. “You. Sit. Stay.” Jinwoo sat like an obedient son.

Y/N returned a few minutes later, staring down at the stick in her hand. Two pink lines. “Uh…” she managed.

Mrs. Sung leaned over, squinted, and then let out a squeal that shook the heavens. “Oh-ho-ho! My grandbaby!!” She spun toward Jinwoo. “You did good! You worked hard!” she praised.

Jinwoo blinked. “I… did?” Mrs. Sung grabbed his shoulders and shook him proudly. “My son! So diligent! So productive! I knew all that stamina would come in handy!” “M-Mom!” Y/N slapped her palm over her face.

But Jinwoo’s brain was already overheating from pure happiness. He swept Y/N right off the floor into his arms. “You’re pregnant! We’re having a baby!” “I’m—Jinwoo, dizzy, remember—” Too late. He spun her around like they just won a game show.

“Jinwoo!!” Y/N yelped, gripping his neck. “PUT ME DOWN!” “But I’m happy!!” “YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE ME THROW UP ON YOU!” Mrs. Sung cheered them on from the couch. “Spin her again! She’s glowing!” Y/N shot her a look of betrayal. “Mother!!” “Don’t worry! If you throw up, it means he’s blessed!”

Fenrir, who was watching from the doorway, simply huffed in dignified silence. Chaos, he thought. Humans.

Jinwoo finally stopped spinning, setting Y/N down gently but beaming from ear to ear. “I’m going to be a dad…” he whispered, kissing her forehead softly. Y/N, still a little green, poked his cheek. “You owe me tteokbokki and strawberry milk for this.” He nodded solemnly. “I’m on it.”

Meanwhile, In Jinwoo’s inner domain.

For a moment, there was complete silence.

And then chaos.

“KYEEEEEEEHHHH!” Beru screamed, launching into the air like an overgrown cicada on steroids. “THE QUEEN IS WITH CHILD! THE MONARCH’S HEIR APPROACHES! ALL HAIL!”

Bellion let out an actual chuckle—deep, rumbling, and shockingly gleeful for a seven-foot-tall armored nightmare. “Congratulations, Shall I prepare a regiment of guards for the nursery.”

Igris silently drew his sword and saluted. A glowing black rose appeared in his free hand. He held it aloft with reverence, as if offering tribute.

Tusk was already scribbling furiously on a stone tablet: “Enchantment Plan: Anti-Teleportation, Anti-Flying, Baby-Proofing Fortresses.”

Even Greed, normally stoic, pumped both fists in the air like he’d just won the lottery.

Beru landed dramatically. “The next monarch will be legendary! We must celebrate, my king! A feast! A blood offering!”

“NO BLOOD OFFERING!” They object in unison.

It was “supposed” to be a calm evening.

Y/N sat cross-legged on their bed, flipping through a baby name book, while Jinwoo lounged next to her, elbows propped up, scrolling through his phone with intense concentration. His expression was so serious, you’d think he was reading a classified guild report… but no. He was deep in a list of baby girl names.

“How about Hana?” Jinwoo said, tapping the screen and showing it to her. Y/N blinked. “Why are you searching girl names?” Jinwoo looked at her like she was the one being weird. “Because it’s going to be a girl.” Y/N choked on her water.

“Excuse me?” she said, wiping her mouth. Jinwoo shrugged, completely casual. “It’s a girl. I know it.” Y/N set her glass down very slowly. “No, it’s going to be a boy.” “Nope. Girl.” “Boy!” “Definitely a girl.” “Why are you so sure!?” Y/N huffed, smacking his arm with the book.

Jinwoo turned toward her with that unreadable face, but his ears were turning a little red. “Because,” he said seriously, “I want her to look like you. Energetic like you.” Y/N’s cheeks flushed immediately. “She’d be chaos,” Jinwoo added with a faint smile, “but she’ll light up this house like you do.”

Y/N gawked at him for a second, then smacked his shoulder again—but gentler this time. “Stop saying sweet things, you’re trying to distract me.” “It’s working,” Jinwoo replied smoothly.

She crossed her arms. “It’s a boy. I’m sure.” Jinwoo gave her a look. “How are you sure?” Y/N gulped. Because I read the manhwa and Suho is adorable! But she kept her mouth shut and glared right back. “Woman’s intuition.”

Jinwoo leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “You’re wrong.” “Oh, I’m wrong?” “Yes. I made the baby,” Jinwoo said, raising an eyebrow. “I did all the effort.” Y/N blinked. “…And?” “The baby’s just paying rent in your womb,” he finished casually, as if it was scientific fact.

Y/N froze. “You WHAT!?” Jinwoo nodded solemnly. “Rent.” “You did NOT just say that—” “Full payment in kicks,” Jinwoo added. “See? Efficient tenant.”

Y/N threw the pillow at his face. Jinwoo caught it effortlessly, smirking as she lunged to tackle him. “You jerk! You dare say I’m just an innkeeper!?” “You’re a beautiful, glowing innkeeper,” Jinwoo teased, catching her wrists and pulling her down into his lap.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re lucky I love you,” she muttered. Jinwoo kissed her temple. “And you’re lucky I’m a responsible landlord.” “Jinwoo!” “I’ll offer a discount on rent if you kiss me right now.”

Y/N groaned into his shoulder, but she was laughing as she did it.

Fenrir, watching from the corner like the dignified guardian he was, sighed heavily and turned his back on them. Idiots, he thought. They will raise a kingdom, and yet… they are idiots.

Few months have passed.

It all started at 4 AM. As it always does.

Y/N woke up to a weird cramp. She poked Jinwoo in the ribs. “Wake up. I think this is it.” Jinwoo shot out of bed like he was raiding an S-rank dungeon. “WHERE’S THE BAG?!” “You packed it a week ago,” Y/N deadpanned, clutching her belly. Fenrir was already waiting by the door, dignified as ever but his tail wagging. It’s time.

They made it to the hospital in record time, partly because Jinwoo threatened to teleport them directly into the delivery room.

The contractions got worse. Y/N’ mood got… intense.

Mrs. Sung held her hand on one side. “You’re doing great, dear!” Y/N sniffled. “Eomma… thank you for being here.” “You’re my daughter now,” Mrs. Sung said firmly, kissing her forehead. “And after this, we’ll make Jinwoo your servant for a month.” “Make it a year,” Y/N groaned. “Deal.”

Meanwhile, Jinwoo was on her other side, holding her other hand like it was his lifeline. “You’ve got this,” he said quietly, but he was pale as hell. Y/N cracked an eye open. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” Jinwoo lied. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.” “Nope.” His face twitched. “I’m cheering for you.” “You look like I’m your support character and you’re dying in battle.”

The next contraction hit, and Y/N screamed his name. “JINWOO YOU DID THIS TO ME!!!” Jinwoo’s eyes widened. “I… yes, but—” “YOU’RE DEAD!!!” She crushed his hand in a vice grip. Jinwoo swore he heard bones crack. But he smiled anyway. “You’re doing amazing, Y/N. You’re so strong.”

Finally—after what felt like an all-night raid boss battle with no healer, half their mana gone, and aggro pulling left and right—the baby’s first cries echoed through the room.

Y/N gasped, the sound hitting her like a critical strike to the heart. “It’s a boy!” the doctor announced with a grin, carefully placing the tiny, crying bundle onto Y/N’ chest.

For a moment, everything stopped. Y/N slumped back against the bed, exhausted tears slipping down her cheeks as she stared at their son in awe. Jinwoo froze beside her, his breath caught in his throat. “…A boy,” he repeated softly, like he couldn’t believe it. Like the word alone might shatter if he spoke too loudly.

Y/N gave him a tired but victorious grin. “Told you so.” Jinwoo let out a shaky laugh that broke halfway through, his shoulders trembling. His dark eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, were now brimming with tears as he leaned in close. He kissed her temple first, gently, then their son’s tiny, wrinkled hand. “You did so well,” Jinwoo whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. Tears slid silently down his cheeks as he smiled at them both like they were his entire world. “I… couldn’t ask for more.”

And then it hit them. Both of them. Without a word, they started crying—quietly at first, tears of pure joy they didn’t try to hide. Y/N cradled Suho close to her chest, laughing between the tears as Jinwoo rested his forehead against hers. Outside the room, someone must have heard the baby’s first cry because, moments later, they heard muffled cheers, followed by sniffles and someone (probably Mrs. Sung) full-on sobbing.

Jinwoo finally pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand, but his smile stayed soft as he gazed down at his son. “He’s… beautiful,” he murmured. Y/N sniffled, brushing her fingers through the soft tuft of black hair on Suho’s head. “You think he’ll stay this cute, or will he start brooding and scaring people by the time he’s five?” Jinwoo chuckled. “If he takes after me… maybe four.” Y/N smirked, though her eyes were still glossy. “Better teach him how to smile early, then.”

Suho let out a tiny whimper, his little face scrunching in protest. Jinwoo’s expression softened even more—something Y/N hadn’t thought possible—as he carefully picked up his son, cradling him in his arms with the same reverence as if he were holding an ancient relic. “Shh,” he murmured, swaying slightly. “Time to sleep, little shadow.” And like magic—no, like Jinwoo—Suho settled almost immediately, his tiny fist curled against his father’s chest.

Y/N watched them both, utterly in love, and whispered, “He already trusts you… guess he knows who’s overpowered in this family.” Jinwoo chuckled quietly, keeping his gaze on their son as he replied, “No. That’s you.

Meanwhile, in Jinwoo’s Inner Domain.

The vast shadow plains trembled. A pulse of life, raw and ancient, rippled out.

Beru froze in mid-air, antennae twitching wildly. Then his insectoid mandibles split into a terrifying grin.

“KYEEEH! THE YOUNG MASTER HAS ARRIVED!” he shrieked.

Bellion dropped his sword point-first into the obsidian ground and roared. “IT IS TIME.”

What time? Nobody knew, but it sounded official.

Then it happened.

The elite Shadows who’d once been kings, warlords, and monsters… devolved into absolute chaos.

The High Orcs, normally stoic and terrifying, began chanting in deep, guttural voices as they formed a perfect circle.

“UGA! UGA! PRINCE! UGA!”

They stomped their feet rhythmically, shaking the obsidian ground. Then they started clapping in sync, forming a drum line with their fists pounding into their own thick chests.

One of them pulled out… maracas.

No one knew where he got them. No one asked.

Overhead, Kaisel, the fearsome dragon, landed with a bone-jarring THUD.

And then…

He tucked his tiny, bony arms under his ribs, flapped his massive skeletal wings like a chicken, and started bobbing his head in a full-on chicken dance.

Clap-clap! Flap-flap! Wiggle-wiggle!

Somehow, Kaisel managed to moonwalk backward while doing it.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” screamed a random mage-class shadow, openly sobbing with joy and confusion.

Bellion clutched his helmet, but the dignified knight was smiling. “The King’s heir is born. We rejoice.”

Beru launched himself off Bellion’s back like a missile, doing triple flips while screaming, “KYEEEHH! SHADOW PRINCE! KYEEEHHH!!”

The group of mage shadows joined hands in a ring, hopping  up and down, spinning in dizzy circles and flinging off fireworks spells like they were in a rave. One accidentally cast Meteor Shower—thankfully, it fizzled harmlessly.

Tusk screamed “UNCLE TUSK! TUSK CELEBRATE!” over and over again, scooping smaller shadows up and throwing them skyward like toddlers on a trampoline.

Greed flew by with another handmade banner trailing behind him. This one read:

“PRINCE SUHO: FIRST BLOOD, FIRST BITE, FIRST CRY—THE LEGACY BEGINS.”

Even Igris, ever the silent knight, was clapping politely… until Beru tackled him around the waist like a football striker scoring the winning goal.

They all ended up in a dogpile while Kaisel flapped over them in chicken dance formation.

Fenrir stood at the edges of the chaos, his golden eyes narrowing.

Buffoons. Every single one of them.

But his ears flicked once as if in approval.

And then he laid down beside Suho’s bassinet in the real world, resting his muzzle nearby. If anyone tried to approach the young heir, they’d be eating teeth.

He might let Kaisel squawk, but nobody messes with the pup.

The hospital room was finally quiet.

Y/N had drifted into an exhausted sleep not long after the delivery, her breathing soft and steady, a faint smile lingering on her lips even as she dozed. Jinwoo had tucked the blanket around her carefully, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. He kissed her forehead softly, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, before slipping out of the room.

He needed to see their son.

The nursery was dim, the soft glow of the lights casting a warm haze over the row of bassinets. Jinwoo’s steps were nearly silent, his hands slipping into his pockets like he always did when his mind was racing. But the moment his eyes landed on the tiny, wriggling bundle marked Sung Baby, he froze.

For a full minute, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just stared.

His feet carried him to the glass window on their own. He placed both hands against it, as if he could reach through the barrier, as if he could hold him again.

Suho was sleeping peacefully, his tiny fists balled up near his cheeks, his breaths soft and even. Occasionally, he made an adorable little noise that Jinwoo was sure sounded like a battle cry. That’s my son, he thought, pride swelling in his chest. Our son.

Jinwoo let out a shaky breath, smiling, even as tears gathered in his eyes. “You’re really here,” he murmured, voice soft. “We were fighting over your gender for months, you know.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve even though more tears slipped through. “Your mama was so sure you were a boy. She always wins, doesn’t she?” He shook his head fondly. “She’s cool like that.”

His fingers gently tapped the glass, like he was trying to get Suho’s attention even though he knew his son wouldn’t open those sleepy eyes just yet. “Hey… whatever you are, whoever you become…” Jinwoo whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “I’ll always be here. For you. For your mama. I’ll protect you both.”

Another tiny noise came from Suho’s crib. Jinwoo laughed again, a quiet, breathless sound. “You agree with me, huh? Mama is pretty cool.”

He stood there a little longer, hands still pressed to the glass, watching his son sleep like it was the most important mission of his life. Because it was.

“Welcome to the world, Suho,” Jinwoo said softly. “I’ll make sure it’s a good one for you.”

They had barely returned from the hospital when it happened.

Y/N had just sat down on the couch, Jinwoo was fussing over adjusting her pillows (even though she swore she was fine), and baby Suho was snuggled in her arms—when Beru approached.

Very slowly.

Very seriously.

“May I… borrow the Young Master for a moment, my Queen?”

Y/N blinked, suspicious. “Uh… why?”

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes. “Beru.”

Beru gave a dramatic bow, wings spread wide, his giant claws respectfully close to his chest. “I have seen something most inspiring in the human world. A sacred rite… for the future ruler.”

Jinwoo sighed. “You’ve been watching TV again, haven’t you?”

But Y/N was already handing over Suho with a grin. “Oh, this I need to see.”

Beru carefully scooped the bundled baby into his long arms like he was holding a priceless treasure—which, in his mind, he totally was.

Without another word, Beru marched toward the nearest open balcony.

Y/N sat up straighter. “Wait, where’s he going?”

Jinwoo was already on his feet. “Beru, no!”

But it was too late.

“.....................”

The moment Beru reached the balcony, Kaisel soared out of nowhere, landing smoothly at his side, as if he’d been summoned. Bellion was already there, standing tall and proud like some royal bodyguard. And Fenrir… Fenrir stood regally beside them, tail swishing with dignified approval.

And then it happened.

Beru lifted baby Suho high into the air, his black wings flaring wide behind him. “BEHOLD! THE FUTURE HEIR!”

The shadow legion, gathered below in the training yard, immediately dropped to one knee in perfect unison, heads bowed. Some were actually crying. No, wait—that was the mage corps.

And then there was Tusk.

Oh, Tusk.

Tusk stepped forward, his staff slamming into the ground with a mighty thud. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began chanting in a deep, rumbling voice, his tone like the rise of an ancient storm:

“NNNAAAAAAHHHHHH… SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVEENNYYYYYAAAAAA… BABA GEE TIBABAAAAA…”

His voice echoed, mana crackling faintly in the air as if the heavens themselves were watching.

Jinwoo was frozen at the door, jaw slack. “What… what is happening.”

Y/N was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe.

Beru turned slowly, as if hearing them, his voice full of reverence. “I have watched the Sacred Tale, my King and Queen. It is the Circle of Life. I'm so honored.”

Jinwoo ran a hand down his face.

Beru ignored him, still holding Suho high as the entire Shadow Legion started chanting something in perfect unison that sounded suspiciously like “Nants ingonyama bagithi baba!”

Y/N wheezed.

Jinwoo muttered, “I should’ve limited his screen time.”

Y/N wiped her tears of laughter, leaning into her husband. “Oh no, I love this. Our son’s first official introduction? Perfection.”

Jinwoo sighed, then smiled helplessly as he watched his legion honor their tiny prince with the most dramatic moment in existence.

Suho, for his part, let out a tiny yawn and sneezed.

The entire Shadow Legion gasped in unison and immediately bowed lower.

Beru clutched Suho to his chest. “Blessed be the Young Master! His power is mighty already!”

Y/N giggled. “You know what? We need to record this.”

A few weeks after Suho was born, it became undeniable. He was a miniature Jinwoo. Jet-black hair that already flopped messily over his forehead, serious little brows furrowed even while he slept, and a natural “resting monarch face” that made the everyone coo but also salute him instinctively.

“He looks like you copy-pasted your face onto a baby,” Y/N mumbled one morning, her cheek pressed against Jinwoo’s shoulder as they stared at Suho napping in his crib. Jinwoo smirked proudly, one arm wrapped around her waist. “Good genes.” Y/N reached up and playfully tugged his ear. “Yeah, well. The biting worked.”

Jinwoo groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t bring that up again. You bit me every day during the pregnancy.” “And look how perfect he turned out,” Y/N said smugly, poking Suho’s chubby cheek gently with her finger. “That’s the price of a masterpiece.”

Mrs. Sung was over the moon. She visited almost every day, bringing home-cooked meals and cooing over Suho as if he was made of pure gold. “Jinwoo-ah, you finally did something right,” she sniffled one day as she held Suho, her eyes gleaming. “This child is perfect. My grandson will rule the playground and the world.” “Mom,” Jinwoo sighed. “Don’t ‘Mom’ me! If you breathe wrongly around Y/N, I’ll slap you.” Y/N, sipping her tea beside her, gave Jinwoo a sweet, smug smile. “You heard your mom.”

Mrs. Sung beamed and patted Y/N's head like a precious child.

Jinwoo? He stood off to the side. Quiet. Slightly confused why his mom gave his wife the nickname “Daughter” and him the 'side-eye in-law' look.

Jinah became the coolest aunt in existence. She had already bought Suho tiny sneakers that lit up and attempted to teach him fist bumps—despite him being only two months old. “Bro, this kid’s going to be an athlete and a genius,” she bragged, holding up Suho. “Put him down,” Jinwoo deadpanned. “Not until he does the fist bump.”

Even Jinho—Uncle Jinho, Y/N’s walking wallet, as Y/N declared—got involved, spoiling Suho with plushies and random baby gadgets. “This kid’s got VIP insurance and a gold spoon in his mouth,” Jinho said proudly. “I’m calling it: future president.” “He’s not even sitting up yet,” Jinwoo replied, but he was smiling anyway.

After the fiasco with Fenrir howling mysteriously during the pregnancy, Jinwoo wasn’t taking chances. Tusk worked overtime carving anti-teleportation and anti-flying runes into the house. Every corner had subtle, glowing glyphs. “We’re locked down tighter than a national treasure vault,” Jinwoo said, hands on his hips. Y/N patted his back. “Good job. But if he shadow-exchanges into the fridge again, we’re going to have a problem.” “...That was one time.”

By six months, Suho could hover. By eight months, he could shadow exchange… randomly. One moment he was in his crib, the next he was sitting on top of Fenrir’s head, giggling as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Fenrir, ever dignified, simply sighed in his deep, ancient way and carried the baby like an heir on a throne. “Such power in one so small,” Fenrir mused. “The realms will tremble.”

They learned to keep an eye on Suho constantly. Y/N, however, wasn’t surprised at all. “I told you,” she said one night, as they both watched Suho playing with Igris’ helmet like a toy. “He’s destined to be overpowered.” Jinwoo just sighed, hugging her from behind. “At least he’s cute.” Y/N leaned back into his chest. “That’s the biting.” “Please stop saying that.”

One sunny afternoon, while Suho was peacefully gnawing on Beru’s antenna (Beru, ever the loyal subject, simply buzzed with pride), Y/N found herself on the couch, cuddled up next to Jinwoo. Jinwoo was flipping through reports on his tablet, while Y/N scrolled through old photos on her phone.

Out of nowhere, Y/N started giggling.

Jinwoo glanced at her. “What’s funny?” Y/N turned to him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m just thinking about our love story.” Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, putting his tablet down. “What about it?” She sat up, cracked her knuckles dramatically, and with a grin, declared, “It all started with sniffing… and ended with biting.” Jinwoo sighed. “Not this again.” “Oh yes,” Y/N said, poking his cheek. “And now? That sniffing and biting combo gave us Suho.”

Suho giggled in response, still hanging off Beru’s antenna like it was a jungle gym.

Y/N clapped her hands once. “Okay! Listen up, baby. Mama’s gonna tell you the story of how you came to be.” Jinwoo groaned. “He’s six months old. He doesn’t need to hear this.”

Y/N winked at Suho, who floated a little higher in excitement. “Too late. He deserves to know the truth.”

And maybe one day, Suho would understand the chaos, the love, and the wild adventures that brought them here.

But for now, the Shadow Monarch, his Queen, and their flying baby prince had everything they could ever need.

“The End… for now.”

<< Chapter 17

Tag requests: @kisssleeping; @catsf0rlife707; @aorifukuzawa; @joannthebish; @ojog404; @tanspostsblog; @snowy-violet; @o-qi-shisme; @sleepyamaya; @harrystylesfan2686; @night-shadowblood-writes2; @weaponxgames; @bubera974; @moonlightsof; @limerenceisserenity; @mashiromochi; @its-carlerrr; @kuramiachan; @purplehazzes; @leviackerman2030; @estrnrea;

Dear Y/Ns,

First of all—thank you! No, seriously… a HUGE thank you for riding along on this absolutely chaotic fanfic! From the very first moment Y/N sniffed Jinwoo to the legendary biting that somehow led to Baby Suho (who’s already flying around and dodging anti-teleportation runes like a tiny pro.) And I’m so, so happy you joined me to this madness lol.

I hope this story made you laugh, cry, and maybe shout, "WHY IS KAISER MOONWALKING?!" At least once. (Don’t worry,,, I’m still asking myself the same thing! Sigh…)

And guess what? I’m already cooking up some side stories—whether it’s Jinwoo’s Prime Hitting In (Yas… it’s steamy🔥) or another chaotic one-shot adventure with action, fluff, and who knows what else! If my imagination runs wild again, well… no one is safe...

Thank you again for all your support, comments, and good vibes! Y/N and Jinwoo’s story might be wrapping up for now, but who knows what’s next? If you have fun ideas or moments you’d love to see, feel free to share them—I’d love to hear from you!

— SulkingHeichou12

[ghostbsuter]

"I did not think I'd ever use it like this," the boy muttered next to batman.

It was comically, with the police and ambulance lighting up the entire area.

Danny, being himself, had gotten curious and accidentally busted a human trafficking ring, which ended up with batman and his kids (?) doing the fighting and the police being called.

"Son, solving crime doesn't mean you didn't trespass and break into someone's property, I will have to take you back to the station—"

"I have diplomatic immunity."

Officer Gordon stood still for a moment, progressing.

"You can't really, err— put me to prison." The boy took his phone out, stopped at a picture, and showed it to the officer and batman.

The vigilante confirmed his identity with a jerky nod, and Gordon is pinching his brows.

"Son– no offence your... majesty, why are you in Gotham of all places?"

The boy now identified as Daniel Phantom, prince of the other and currently the reigning monarch of another realm.

In gotham.

"Okay, so," Danny coughs, embarrassed. "I'm on university search and gotham had this really cool space science programm. I really wanted to see it."

—

(Once they checked his papers and got his statement, did they let him leave to his hotel + some of his squad going along for protection measure.

Gordon heaved a sigh, "We can be glad it wasn't the joker. That would have made headlines." and slumb in his seat.

Batman grunts, a sound the officer knows too well.

"You're gonna look out for the kid?"

Another grunt.

"Good, because Gotham help us all if that kid gets hurt.")

[candyredmusings]

Slay The Princess Sentence Starters

Sentences taken from Slay The Princess: The Pristine Cut by Blacktabby Games! Change Pronouns As Needed!

CW: Angst, Fluff, Comedic, Romantic

"Now we can both enjoy the mutual romantic subtext to this murder!"

"Yeah do you not know what The Look is? Even I know what The Look is."

"Do you think we can throw her out the window?"

"Hey you threw it out the window even though I just told you not to, I'm proud of you!" 

“WHY DO YOU HATE ME?” 

“What do you mean? This is what you wanted. Idiot.” 

"We ain't done yet, we get up."

"She asks that I tell you to remember her. You won't." 

"BEHOLD! The PERFECT woman!"

“I didn’t think you’d come back. We’re going to have a lot of fun, you and I!” 

“He’s making fun of us!”

“If only I were capable of throwing myself off a bridge.”

"Do I miss your heart because I can’t stand to see it go?"

“I will not be described into submission.” 

"By believing in your limitations you put a shackle on your neck."

"The number of stabbing implements I have is practically zero!"

"The world can't be bad if you're still in it."

"There are few things more terrifying than one's own heart, and there is almost nothing more terrifying than sharing it with another."

" ...do you not have anything witty to say? I could use a good bit of wit right now."

"The End. Nice knowing you."

"You're using a lot of words to say a lot of nothing."

"But violence and passion are dances that both of us know well."

"No. You stop that! Stop all this nonsense."

"If you want us to ignore her, then why did you tell us any of that 'wide pleadin eyes begging for mercy' business to begin with?"

"Whatever you're trying to do right now, you don't have to do it alone."

"You have no idea how good it is to hear you."

"I think you know who I am."

"HA! YOU BASTARD! Even face-to-face, you find a way to stab me in the back."

"I know you and you're hideous! Absolutely wretched! Just like me!"

"You ask of things that cannot be done."

"Why wouldn't I be kind to you? You are the only thing I know that isn't me."

"Fuck this guy. Don't trust him."

"You will have your rest in due time, and I am sorry for the burdens I place on you."

"I would never dare to tarnish our relationship by assuming myself above you."

"Names are their attempts to capture that which cannot be captured."

"Sweet! I've always wanted to off a monarch. Viva la revolucion!" 

"Oh, you bastard! You're in for it now. I'm wise to your tricks!"

“My will triumphs yours."

"We've hurt each other plenty, and I still like you."

"What nooo I wouldn't stab you."

"Why? Why did you let me do this?!"

"It takes a wretch to know a wretch, and we're all at the bottom of the barrel here."

"They're good questions. Great questions, even. But they don't have any answers."

“Do not mourn her; She has finally been heard.”

"Last time? If somebody came into my house and tried to kill me and I cut his neck open and then he stabbed me in the heart and we both died looking into each other's eyes, well, surely I would remember that! But I don't, so it must not have happened!"

"I just want to make you happy!"

"You've been kinder to me than anyone else I've met. Thank you."

“I’m not going to destroy the world, but I am going to hold it in my hands and squeeze it.”

"Oh that's right! Yeah, fuck this guy, don't trust him."

"If the world ended, how are we talking?"

"I'm going to die now! I think that's what you want."

"You've changed"

"And you've stayed exactly the same"

"I'll be damned. We're doomed."

 For everyone's sake, you're not in love."

 "They always say it's lonely at the top. I didn’t think they actually meant it."

“Ignore all the criticism. You’re doing great!” 

"She's been like me this whole time. She's just been hiding it."

 "Of course I'm not okay! I've never been okay. But maybe I needed to never be okay for us to make this happen"

[kaylaacutiepie]

vi. a heart left in the shadows (sung jin-woo × reader) genre: angst, hurt, heartbreak

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction based onSolo Leveling. The characters Sung Jin-Woo and Chae Hae-In belong to their original creators. This story is purely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. The events, dialogue, and interpretations of characters are the author's imagination and are not part of the official Solo Leveling canon. Please do not repost, copy, or translate without permission.

The Monarch of Destruction had fallen.

The world was saved.

And Sung Jin-Woo stood amidst the ruins, victorious, yet hollow inside.

Because somewhere deep in his soul, even as the cheers of humanity roared around him, something was missing. Someone was missing.

Someone whose face he could barely remember anymore, like a dream slipping through his fingers.

Y/N.

The name echoed inside him like a prayer he couldn’t forget.

When he had taken the power of the Shadow Monarch and turned back time, sacrificing his past life to give humanity another chance, he thought maybe… just maybe… he could fix everything.

He thought he could find you. Hold you. Never let you slip away again.

But no matter where he searched in this rewound world, you were gone.

You were nowhere.

He walked the streets you used to love. He called out your name into the empty nights.

No one knew you. No one had ever heard of you.

It was as if you had been erased from existence itself.

One evening, after days of searching that bled into months, he sat alone on a bench in a quiet park, the same place you once waited for him after missions.

He buried his face into his hands, the weight of his failure pressing down on him.

"Where are you, Y/N?" he whispered.

Only the wind answered.

Memories flickered behind his eyes, your smiles, your laughter, the way you used to look at him like he was more than just a hunter, more than just a weapon.

And then, something surfaced from the depths of his mind.

A memory.

A conversation he hadn’t thought much about at the time.

"Jin-Woo," you had said one evening, your voice low and hesitant, "what if I told you… I already know how everything will end?"

He had laughed, brushing it off. "You sound like you're telling a prophecy."

You had smiled sadly, a heartbreaking smile he hadn't understood then. "Maybe I am."

"Don't joke about that." "I'm serious," you whispered. "One day, you’ll become the strongest. You’ll save the world. But…"

"But?" he asked.

You had turned away, hiding your face.

"But I won’t be there to see it."

At the time, he thought you were just being dramatic. He hadn’t known.

He hadn’t listened.

Now, sitting in the aftermath of a war only he remembered, Sung Jin-Woo realized the terrible truth.

You had known. You had always known.

Because you were never meant to stay.

You were not from this world.

You had come from somewhere else, another reality, another time, just to walk by his side for a while. To help him survive. To love him when no one else would.

And then… you had vanished, because the world you had known was rewritten, and there was no place for you in this second chance.

He pressed a trembling hand to his chest, where an invisible scar pulsed with every beat of his heart.

A wound no healing magic could touch.

Days later, Jin-Woo stood by the Han River, where the city lights shimmered against the dark waters.

He held the small pendant you had once given him, the only proof you had ever existed. Somehow, it had remained even after the timeline reset, tucked away in his storage, untouched by time.

He closed his eyes and spoke into the empty night:

"I was too late, wasn’t I?"

The pendant glinted softly in his palm, like a tear frozen in silver.

"I should’ve seen you," he whispered. "I should've known."

The wind swept past him, carrying the faintest whisper, so soft he almost thought he imagined it.

"I’m proud of you, Jin-Woo."

His heart broke all over again.

Tears slid down his cheeks, silent, unrelenting.

He fell to his knees by the riverbank, clutching the pendant against his heart, and for the first time in years, Sung Jin-Woo, the strongest hunter, the savior of humanity, wept like a boy who had lost his whole world.

Because he had.

You had been his world.

And now, you were only a ghost in his memories, a love story that the universe itself refused to remember.

Somewhere, in the spaces between worlds, you smiled softly, even as your own form faded.

"Thank you for living, Jin-Woo." "Even if I was never meant to stay."

And the stars above wept with you both.