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mononijikayu · 8 months ago

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

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

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation;

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

WORDS: 15k words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, at that moment, he wasn’t.

Ryomen Sukuna had a problem.

He was stumped from hell and back.

And he doesn’t understand why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My lord…..my lord Sukuna.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, its Uraume.

Shit, shit. Is it already that time?

He hasn’t messaged them for two days.

How the fuck is he going to survive—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even then—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d be honored.”

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

Perhaps, that is until now.

Ryomen Sukuna was the first to notice.

There was a wide shoji that appeared before them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was just a sinner, a cruel cursed sinner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

525 notes · View notes

ozzgin · 2 years ago

Note

Sorry to bother you, but the bodyguard post you did was just 🤤🥰😍 and I can't stop thinking about it day later

Have you ever seen Oshi no Ko? I'd love to see Bodyguard react to someone trying to do something similar as what happened to Ai.

Fans get wind their beloved idol might have feeling for her staff, so a crazed fan tracks down her private address. He plans to get revenge for "His idol cheating on him" but doesn't know there is a guard dog inside ready to bite any threat to his precious charge.

Sorry to keep ragging on about the topic, I just adore you work enough that it lives in my head rent free.

Happy holidays

-🌟

I sadly haven't seen Oshi no Ko, but your description sounds very interesting. Thank you for the idea! I've combined it with your previous suggestion, I think they work together really well. Happy Holidays to you, too! :)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (II)

Your new manager has sent you home for the holidays after persistent rumors surrounding you and your bodyguard. And, as luck would have it, the fan responsible for the accusations successfully sneaks his way in. Sadly for him, you’ve never left the watchful gaze of your loyal, mean dog.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

content: female reader, violence, threats, mentions of stalking

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog”)

"Enjoy your holidays!"

The driver cheerfully bids you goodbye and speeds away, leaving you behind the imposing gate. You drag your luggage inside and nonchalantly toss it with an annoyed huff.

What now? You're all alone in a hollow mansion.

Early December you begun receiving worrying letters from a fan, making wild claims about you and your bodyguard. Naturally, you laughed it off. Your bodyguard found them equally amusing. So much, that he'd ask you to read them out loud as you rode him. "I w-won't stand for it. You know we ha-ave something special going on, (Y/N)-chan." You barely managed to form coherent sentences, feverishly clinging to the large man underneath you. "You heard the guy. Better be on your best behavior", he'd add with a chuckle, wiping the drool from your mouth.

The new manager, however, wasn't as relaxed about it. He couldn't risk tarnishing the reputation of his beloved cash cow, so he suggested you take a break from personal assistants until the rumors tone down. If you remained within your expensively secured house, you wouldn't need any guarding. So, he caringly prescribed a dose of homely isolation for the upcoming holidays.

"Don't be so dramatic", he said, "Jesus spent 40 days in the desert by himself. And he didn't have your indoor cinema or jacuzzi bathtub."

"Yeah, but he had the Devil to tempt him. Where's my bad guy?" You whined as a retort.

You let out another groan and throw yourself on the couch, fiddling with the remote. Kind of them to decorate everything for Christmas, you think as you eye the gigantic kitsch of a tree slapped in the middle of the living room.

Fuck. What an absolute waste of time. All because of one crazy fan. You almost wish he'd show his stupid face so your bodyguard could pummel it to bits and crumbles. You wonder what he's doing by himself. Is he going to be assigned to another idol? Probably not, two weeks is too short of a time for anything. You check your phone.

Suddenly, the screen lights up. A text notification.

"Bored?"

Heh. It's almost as if he can read your mind. You smile to yourself and type your response, stretching onto the sofa. Your little back and forth messaging goes on until you look up and notice the room has gotten darker. Already evening. You can hear your stomach growl, so you get up and drag your feet towards the kitchen, searching for takeaway fliers. If you're going to be under house arrest, the least you can afford is junk food.

Once you place your decadent order, you hop onto the counter and idly dangle your legs in anticipation. Your favorite off-duty guard dog has abruptly told you he needs to go and is now offline. "Something came up". What could possibly require his immediate attention? A mistress? You giggle at the idea. In all your time spent together, you haven't seen him glance at a single woman. If he must, he will engage with other people using one-word replies, visibly uninterested. You never considered him much of a talker, but his behavior with anyone else, in comparison, is downright hostile.

There's a rustling sound and you jolt. Was the food delivered already? It hasn't been that long. You jump off the marble countertop and freeze in place once you see the man standing in the doorway. His face is concealed with a medical mask and he's audibly panting, the hot air fogging up his glasses. You notice the knife in his hand.

"How rude of you to cheat on me so shamelessly, (Y/N) dear."

Huh? Your eyes widen in realization. Was this the crazed fan bombarding you with threatening letters? Your features twist in utter disgust, still transfixed on the weapon within his grip.

This little shit. Not only does he break into your home, but he decides to intimidate you with a department store kitchen utensil. Is that all you're worth? Is that any way to greet one of the top idols in this country?

You angrily pull the nearby drawer open and grab a long, sharp blade. The man tenses up and steps forward, but you stop him in his tracks, throwing the item at his feet. He stares at you, bewildered.

"It's a Yoshihiro Sashimi knife. More than your monthly income, most likely." You state as you leer down at him, grimace plastered on your face. "Pick it up like the animal you are."

He cannot move. Is this his beloved (Y/N)? Her pretty, innocent smile and sparkling eyes have been replaced by this hateful scowl. He feels like a cockroach about to be stepped on, a mere vermin invading her personal space. This can't be right. It's him that should be upset, he's the betrayed party. When has she gotten so...Ah. This must be the work of that bodyguard. He's always known. The way he looks at her, with a predatory glint as if marking his territory. He should've noticed earlier. Poor, sweet (Y/N), at the hands of a brute. Tears form in his eyes and he opens his mouth to speak up, but a burning blow assaults his back and everything goes black.

Your bodyguard casually walks in and lifts the intruder up by the nape of his neck.

"Are you okay? Did he touch you?"

You blush and wipe your eyelashes dramatically, releasing a gentle sob from your puckered lips.

"Touch? He almost killed me! I was so scared...I thought I was done for."

He frowns at your words.

"I'll take care of it."

You can feel the familiar knot forming in your stomach. As he drags the body out of the kitchen, you follow behind enthusiastically.

"Do it in the living room!" You almost squeal.

"Are you sure? It will get messy. I'm not letting this one walk out." He warns you with a worried expression.

"Yes, yes!" you nod, all bubbly. "Right here, next to the Christmas tree."

Once the gory spectacle is over, the bodyguard sprawls onto the sofa, exhausted. He exhales loudly and runs a hand through his hair. You are about to join him, when a thought crosses your mind.

"Now that I think about it, how did you know I was about to be attacked? That was some really extraordinary timing."

Out of reflex, he palms his pocket to check if his phone is still within his possession. Thankfully he hasn't left it in plain sight. You squint suspiciously.

"Are you spying on me or something?"

He remains quiet for a few moments and eventually lowers his head apologetically, avoiding eye contact.

"Forgive me, Miss."

When he glances up again, your small figure is looming over him.

"Wow, what a pervert you are." You push his chin up with your dainty fingers. "How will you make it up to me for such nasty habit~?"

"Is there anything you want me to do?"

"Good boy."

#female reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere bodyguard #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #male yandere x reader #yandere original character #yandere oc

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delicatebarness · 1 year ago

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Hi! For the Barnes rogers family adventures could you do reader who is obsessed with her paci and Steve and Bucky try and take it but she get very whiny and upset and cries for her binky please? If not I understand! Please and thank you!!! 🎀🍼

The Barnes-Rogers Family Adventures | “No, I want my paci,” #005

Summary: ^^ Requested.

Warnings: This post and series are safe for work (SFW) regressions. Nothing explicit. However, please be aware that the rest of my blog is NOT. NSFW accounts are welcome to read and reblog, but please keep all comments SFW out of consideration for other littles.

Word Count: 477

Series Masterlist

A/N: I've always wanted a paci, but it's just never been something I've ended up having :( - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @sapphirebarnes | Let me know if you want to be tagged specifically for this series.

Engrossed in your coloring book, you sat on the living room floor as the Sunday afternoon sun shined brightly through the windows. Your beloved pacifier is firmly in your mouth. Exchanging a glance, Steve and Bucky silently agreed that it was time to try and get to take a break from it for today.

“Hey, Baby…” Steve began gently as he knelt beside you. “How about we try going without your paci for a little while?”

You clutched the pacifier even tighter as your eyes widened. “No, Papa,” you mumbled around it while shaking your head.

He stroked your hair, offering a warm smile. “We just thought it might be good for you to play without it for a little bit.”

Tears welled up in your eyes due to the surge of anxiety that rushed through you. “No, Papa,” you insisted, your voice starting to tremble. “I need my paci.”

Steve gently took your hand after exchanging a concerned look with Bucky. “We’re not taking it away forever, Baby, just a short break. How about we play a game together?”

Spilling over your cheeks, your tears soaked your skin as you shook your head vigorously. “No! I want my paci!” you cried, feeling more upset with each passing second.

Bucky sighed softly, reaching out to wipe your tears. “Shh, it’s okay, Tiny.”

You hiccuped through your sobs, still clinging to your pacifier. “I need it, Daddy,” you repeated.

Steve’s hand gently stroked your back, trying to calm you down. “Okay, baby. How about we try something fun together? Would you like to bake some cookies? Cupcakes?”

You hesitated for a moment, tempted by the idea, your tears slowly. However, you clutched your paci even tighter. “No, I need my paci,” you whispered again, almost desperately.

Another sigh came from Bucky as he gently lifted you onto his lap, rocking you soothingly. “How about we read one of your books together? Or… maybe we watch a movie?”

Sniffling, you shook your head again. “No, I want my paci,” your voice wavered as you insisted.

Steve and Bucky were at a loss as they exchanged another glance. “Okay, baby. We just want you to be happy.” Steve said softly, placing a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“And, if that means keeping your paci for now, that’s okay,” Bucky added, his fingers tracing light patterns up and down your back.

Nodding, you snuggled close to Bucky, content with your pacifier in place as you felt the warmth and love from them. Wrapping an arm around both of you, Steve’s presence soothed you.

Just then, Peter rushed into the room, curiosity etched on his face. “What’s going on?” he asked, noticing the cuddle.

He climbed onto the couch, and without a word, he squeezed in beside you and Bucky. Steve wrapped his arm around Peter as well, chuckling at the antics.

---

Series Masterlist

#the barnes rogers family adventures #cg!stucky x little!reader x little!peter #cg!bucky barnes #cg!stucky #cg!steve rogers #cg!bucky #daddy!bucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky x little!reader #daddy!steve x little!reader #agere little #little!reader #peter parker x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #little!peter x little!reader #little!peter #agere community #sfw agere

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thatdeadaquarius · 2 years ago

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So like I just went through almost all your language posts and I was wondering what if like the creator sometimes just switches languages out of no where and everyone is just like:😃. Cuz like they don’t understand what they mean and it happens randomly too or when they’re irritated and they just start cussing in like 3 different languages at once

IM SO SORRY TO DO IT TO YOU-

but i think ive written some stuff abt this before?

u know what tho.

ive got an even better idea. my “go-to” if you will.

Torture Alhaitham.

>:)

^^^ ALHAITHAM RUNNING U DOWN AFTER YOU SAY EXACTLY (1) WORD IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE HE’S NEVER HEARD-

☆

Sun: Gender neutral Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: SHORT headcanons-ish?, Language shenanigans!

Stars: Alhaitham (suffer lol)

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: None Known & Trigger Warnings: None Known.

he’s watching you. constantly.

he’s always writing about you.

he’s following you around Sumeru City.

he’s following you around Port Ormos.

he’s at your house-

Alhaitham learns you speak multiple languages before any other akademiya schloar, and he’s submitting a thesis about “the Greatest Lords languages from their home world”

before you can even say “I’ll think about it” in any language u know lol

people have definitely mistaken him as your favored acolyte (not that he does much to deny it)

and talk to him like he’s your secretary?? …oh, welp.

Alhaitham knows your schedule for the next month within a week of following you

mans is willing to do the MOST to get you to sit down and just start talking in a language at him

want food? his specialty dish ingredients are always at the ready at his house

want literature? he’s offering to literally break into the akademiya (or giving you a copy of his house key to have access to his personal library all the time)

(tho kaveh is practically hugging you to his chest as you walk around perusing as he talks ur ear off lmao)

Haitham (he sometimes insists you call him when it’s just you two) wants to singlehandedly be the first person who understands every word you say when u coo at dogs in another language

or cuss out a fictional character for being stupid

CRYING U CANT EVEN GET MAD AT HIM BC

every time u get pissed he’s interrupting every other word you say to ask for definitions/clarifications of slang 😭

send help he’s made a red string theory board of all the languages you’ve used to try and just- make sense of all their rules and when you use them and how to tell the difference and oh no-

Alhaitham’s hanging pictures of you mid-sentence with ur mouth open or even worse when ur yelling.

…u know maybe its not for an akademiya project, maybe he’s just trying to humble you. 💀

☆

thanks again for sending this ask in!! :D

language sagaus my beloved <3

tbh i have likeeeee 54 things in my drafts rn? so needless to say im slow, BUT IM SO HAPPY U GUYS GAVE ME THIS MUCH TO FAWN OVER, REQUESTS OR NO <333333333333

an iced coffee? for me?? :O

☆

Safe Travels Ariasdream,

💀♒

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks

#short post !#gonna try and spam u guys over next couple of days lmao #i wanna open askbox/mail again so bad but i wasnt /j about those 54 drafts 💀#genshin sagau #sagau #genshin isekai #my asks #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #sagau genshin #self aware genshin #gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #ily guys hope ur having a good week! :)

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sohnric · 1 year ago

Text

SUGAR TALK — S. JAEYUN

pairing: jake x fem! reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers au, vacation au, summer au, fluff. a tinge of first love au. jake and the reader discussing their feelings. shy jake (somebody protect him)

wc: 1.7k

warnings: swearing, a sexual joke :(

a/n: thank u @csenke my beloved for beta reading and hyping me up into posting this i owe you my whole entire LIFE. also lowkey fuck u for dragging me into yet another fandom. anyways my enhablr debut :)) kinda nervous.... pls be nice or else ill cry

A midsummer night in Italy reveals many things you and Jake managed to hide over the course of your friendship—all over a quarrel about ice cream.

“Is it good?” you ask, pointing towards the ice lolly in Jake’s mouth, your legs propped up against the wall right next to where his back is resting. You’re currently laying on the floor– because the heat in Italy makes it unbearable to sprawl on the bed during summer, just the blankets laying under you being enough to make your body flood with sweat.

“I asked you if you wanted it,” he grunts, taking his eyes off his phone screen and gazing at you through the hair falling into his forehead and shielding his vision, “and you said no.”

“Okay, and? I’m not asking to have it, I’m just asking you if it’s good–”

“So you don’t want a taste, yeah?” he challenges you. A second of silence passes by as the two of you stare at each other wordlessly before he sighs, right as you open your mouth and utter out your next comment.

“I mean, you can just give me a taste, it wouldn’t hurt you–”

“I’m not sharing my ice cream with you,” your childhood best friend says, shaking his head at your greediness.

“Why not? I was generous enough to let you have the last one, so you may as well share it with me in this terrible, terrible heat–”

“I’m not letting you lick my ice cream, that’s disgusting,” he mumbles. That comment is enough to have you snicker out loud– because even though you and Jake aren’t teenagers anymore, your brain is still somehow stuck in the age where everything sounds like a sexual innuendo to you– but you manage to make the situation even worse when you let out your next comment, shocking the boy.

“You’re saying that as if it’s the first time we would be exchanging saliva.”

Jake almost chokes on the ice cream, nervously licking his lips. You and him have been childhood friends– with your parents being in the same friend group since high school, it was only natural for them to want their children to be each other’s safe haven as well. And it worked, for the most part– you could never imagine a better person to grow up with than Sim Jake, the energetic boy that lived just down the street from you– but that doesn’t mean you and him don’t have your fair share of memories you rarely talk about.

One of them being you kissing Jake when you got drunk for the first time. You just turned seventeen and although your parents were mostly understanding of your bad life choices, showing up home after underage drinking still wasn’t the wisest idea, and so Jake convinced both of your parents that you were staying over at his friend Sunghoon’s house instead. That boy can be really convincing when he tries to, and with the phone calls done and the fake arrangements in place, you two spent the night together in the nearby park.

In your drunken state, you managed to say a sentence that stayed in his mind to this day and haunted him on some nights: “You’re too pretty. I could honestly kiss you right now,” said slurred and with a voice tired– and without asking for his thoughts on the matter, you leaned in and just followed your gut.

He kissed you back a few moments later– messy and uncoordinated– and although young Jake wanted to talk about the matter while it was still at hand, you fell asleep in his lap on the top of a skating ramp shortly after, leaving him dazed and confused, watching over you until the sun rose.

It’s now 4 years later, and somehow, you thought that bringing it up on a family trip to Italy– in the middle of the night, sitting on the cold tile floor of your shared hotel room– was the best time to talk about it.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t remember it,” you joke, watching the boy get a little red in his cheeks. “I was the drunk one and I remember, so there’s no way you don’t.”

Jake gulps down the ice cream melting in his mouth, averting his gaze from you completely. “I mean, it was my first kiss. Of course I remember.”

The moment the words escape his mouth, you feel like cotton was stuffed into your ears and the whole world stopped spinning. Your throat goes dry and you momentarily panic– you had no idea that you technically took your friend’s kiss virginity until now. Guilt washes you over– because what if he wanted to save it for someone else? Someone more worthy, someone he liked? What if he wasn't ready? You made that decision for him, and suddenly, you feel insanely bad– wishing that the ground would swallow you alive.

“So that’s why you were such a bad kisser–” you say instead, trying to act nonchalant– to which you earn yourself a kick to your side, having the boy laugh in embarrassment.

“Hey! It’s not my fault you caught me unprepared,” he says, shaking his head at you.

“Well, for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry,” you hum in all seriousness. Now is your time to avert your gaze from the boy, pointing your eyes towards your legs resting up against the wall. There is a moment of silence following your sincere words, and just when you think the situation got too awkward to continue talking about the incident– which is why you never really brought it up in the first place– Jake speaks up again, breaking the quiet atmosphere of the hotel room.

“For what?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“For kissing you without asking,” you say, furrowing your brows. “It was selfish of me. Had I known it was your first kiss, I wouldn’t steal it all for myself,” you snicker, feeling a little shy.

“Oh,” he hums just before you hear him laugh airly at your words. “I mean… I enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” you ask, allowing yourself to look back at the boy– noticing the softness of his eyes when he watches you, something in the air tensing, but making you feel like you’re floating, light. “Because you seemed pretty frightened back then.”

“That’s because I was embarrassed,” he explains, laughing. “I had a huge crush on you back then, so it was kind of a big deal for me,” he hums, a tint of pink appearing on the tips of his cheekbones, eyes glimmering a little in the low light of the room.

Now is your time to let out a dead-pan “Oh,” the shock of the new information still settling into you. With how long you’ve known Sim Jake, you thought you could read him like an open book– easily and clearly. Most of the time, you were really in tune with his emotions and thoughts, you could predict what his opinion would be on most things and how he’d feel about certain situations– leaving you checking in with him whenever you sensed he’d be down but wouldn’t outright tell you to your face. But maybe you were wrong to believe this assumption– maybe you couldn’t read your best friend as much as you thought you could.

Because you would’ve never thought of this being a reality.

“You didn’t know? I thought you knew, but you didn’t want it to be awkward between us so you didn’t mention it,” he laughs, taking in the situation with much more lightness now, seeing how affected you are by the simple confession. This is not how you imagined this conversation to go.

“No?!” you exclaim, baffled. “How the fuck would I know?”

“Now come on, Y/N,” he sighs, shaking his head at you in disbelief, “I invited you to prom. I think that might have been a clear sign that something was going on,” he snickers before he continues munching on his ice cream. After speaking the fact into existence, Jake seems to be less nervous about the topic– approaching it with almost utmost nonchalance, leaving you space to process with panicked thoughts instead.

“I thought you invited me because you had no one else to invite,” you said, blinking slowly as if rebooting your brain.

“You thought I had no one else to invite?” he laughs, now in disbelief at your words. “I was cute in high school, thank you very much. You think no one else would wanna go with me?”

“Okay, don’t get all cocky on me now,” you grunt, huffing and pointing your eyes towards the ceiling.

Your brain takes on the challenge of projecting every single memory of Jake and your high school self together, seeing all those situations with much different eyes. You remember telling your friends about how sweet of a guy Jake always was– carrying your stuff for you, helping you with your Science homework, walking you home after your tutoring, buying you lunch– ‘any girl would be so lucky to date him!’. Your little advertisements never worked out, though, because your best friend never really cared about any other girl in the first place.

Now you kind of see why. And it leaves you wondering– are the late night calls you two shared when you’re away at university really just two friends missing each other? Does he get overly-protective over you because he wants to take care of you, or is it jealousy? That one time he called you ‘his girl’, was it perhaps something deeper that you missed?

“Are we talking past tense, though?” you hear yourself speaking out, and you don’t know why you’re suddenly holding your breath.

When you look at Jake, the popsicle is in his mouth and his brows are raised in question. Thinking he’s confused, you ask again. “Or do you still have a crush on me?”

The boy chokes a little on the ice cream, making you laugh at his animated response. His cheeks grow deep red, and he seems to be avoiding your gaze. Now, you’re no expert at body language, but if you were asked, you’d say this was a telling sign.

“You know what? Just keep the ice cream,” he says instead, the sweet, cold treat levitating in front of your lips now. Satisfied, with butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your fingertips tingling when they come in contact with his skin around the wooden stick, you take the popsicle into your mouth with the knowledge that you won.

Mid-july, melting into the hardwood floor of your Italian hotel room, you feel like there is something within your storyline that is slowly coming full circle. Maybe after years of denial, you’re finally going to face the feelings left unsaid.

#bjnet #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen scenarios #jake sim #jake sim x reader #jake x reader #jake sim drabbles #jake sim scenarios #jake fluff #jake sim fluff #enhypen fluff

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stellarsturniolos · 9 months ago

Text

━━ ⟢‘MEANT TO BE’ ╰ M.S.

pairing: matt sturniolo x plus-sized!reader

content warning: mentions of insecurity & comparison, brief mention of bullying, reader struggles with body image, cursing.

A/N: reblogs and likes are appreciated! i do NOT give consent for my work to be copied or uploaded to any other platform. thank you. this is my first time posting my writing in years, so please be kind. ily.

falling in love with your childhood best friend, matthew bernard sturniolo, was not something you saw coming. although you probably should’ve seen it coming.

you grew up with matt, nick and chris and you’ve always been incredibly close with all three of them — but matt was always special. the two of you had a very unique bond from the moment you met. being around matt was an instant serotonin boost for you, every time you saw him.

matt was always your overzealous protector — he was always around to make you feel safe, whether it be from something as small as a bumble bee or from something more severe like the assholes who bullied you in high school.

he never failed to make you feel beautiful. every time you saw him, even if it was just on facetime, he complimented you. any time you felt insecure about your body, he was there to comfort you and let you know that he thought you were perfect as you were.

you always just assumed he did all of those things because he was a very good best friend. even when he would intertwine his fingers with your own, or hold you in his arms a little too tight when you’d hug him goodbye, and you’d feel the fluttery sensation of butterflies in your stomach, you never thought you were in love with him.

you finally came to terms with your true feelings for matt when he went on a date with a flawless instagram model who slid into his dms because she was a fan of the triplets youtube channel.

you tried to be happy for him. you really did. but the jealousy nearly ate you alive.

for the entire duration of his date, you tried your best to distract yourself — you tried to read your favorite chapters of your favorite book, and you even turned on your most beloved episode of your favorite tv show, but nothing kept your attention.

you found yourself looking at every photo the model he was on a date with had ever posted on instagram. and comparing yourself to her. she’s tiny, you’re heavy. she has clear skin, you don’t. she’s beautiful, you’re not.

the insecurity was tearing you apart, slowly but surely.

you felt sad because you wanted matt to want you. but he was on a date with a hot model who had millions of followers and a perfect body.

and you?

you didn’t look nearly as pretty as she did. not to mention you were just an average college student. you weren’t famous, you didn’t have an abundance of cash lying around, you didn’t understand what it was like to be an influencer. not the way she did.

what did you have to offer matt? absolutely nothing. but that didn’t stop you from wanting him.

you felt tears blur your vision and you quickly blinked them away. you didn’t want to cry.

when you heard a knock on your apartment door, you were pulled out of the hateful thoughts you were thinking about yourself. it was nearly dark outside and you weren’t expecting company, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat. so you opened the door.

you were both surprised and pleased to see matt on the other side of the door.

“oh. hi, matty.” your smile was faint. “not that i’m unhappy to see you, but.. aren’t you supposed to be on a date right now?”

“i was on a date. but i left.” he said, pushing past you and walking into your apartment. he started pacing and let out a deep sigh. “i left because i don’t want to date her. i.. i wanna date someone else.”

you felt your heart fall into your ass and you almost forget to respond. of course he’s in love with someone. that’s just your luck. “oh, um.. okay. am i allowed to ask who the lucky girl is?”

he just stared at you for a long moment — his big, wide, beautiful blue eyes almost stared a hole through your soul.

he moved closer to you and laced his fingers with yours, which wasn’t unusual. you two held hands all the time. but your heart still skipped a beat.

“i need to tell you something,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “but i need to make something clear first. if you don’t feel the way i feel, i’ll understand, okay? you’re always gonna be my best friend. if friendship is all you wanna give me — that’s enough. you’re always enough. but, um.. i just need you to know that i, uh..” he laughed softly, a nervous chuckle, but continued to hold eye contact with you. almost like he was afraid you’d disappear if he looked away. “this is harder than i thought. holy shit. i just.. want you to know that.. i’m really fucking in love with you. and that’s why i left my date tonight.”

your mind shut off. your brain felt fucking paralyzed. your entire body was frozen. your mouth moved, but no words would come out.

you felt his hand shaking as he held onto you for dear life. “can you, um, say something? please?”

the vulnerability in his tone made your brain flip a switch and fucking start working again. “matty.” you breathed out his name, then in a soft voice, you asked. “do you really mean it?”

instead of responding, he pulled you even closer and then suddenly his lips were touching yours. matthew sturniolo’s lips were touching yours. it was soft, almost hesitant, but it was the most perfect kiss you’d ever experienced.

he pulled back, but he stayed close. so, so close. too close but not close enough at the same time. “i’ve never said anything more fucking true in my life. i love you.”

with teary eyes and a bright smile, you said. “fuck. i love you so goddamn much, matt sturniolo.”

the way he smiled at you in that moment lit up his entire face. and your heart.

he reached up with both hands, grabbed your face and pulled you in for another kiss. this one more heated than the last.

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #plus sized reader #✿ — mimi’s writing ✧

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kakashixhatakesxwhore · 1 year ago

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hc/short story/blurb?? for shino with a girl that specializes on plant jutsu? I like thinking of them as sort of like in nature. (I had to look it up lol) mutualism! 🌱🪲

Also whenever shino (attempts) to talk, she takes all of it in. When shino’s not around, she notices and remembers him. Shino and her go back and forth about all sorts of stuff; she asks about Shino’s bugs and his favorites and she actually listens. Shino finally reciprocates and asks about her plants and all that.

She vibes well with most of the teams though so she’s got friend groups up the wazoo. Shino’s petty as fuck so I’m getting some jealous vibes from him too. But he shouldn’t feel that way over someone he’s not even in a relationship with, he thinks…. Not with the first person that’s actually remembered him, no……

(Also, shino’s canonically packing so do with that as you will, my friend. I just need something for our beloved bug boy.)

this request had me in a chokehold for two whole days - i really ran with this, it's pretty long, but sets up well for the last part of your request - i hope this hits your marks, thank you for the request!!

The Art of Mutual Growth

Pairing: Shino x f!Reader

Summary: Shino meets his perfect match while on a mission, and he quickly finds out that his solitude was dust, compared to the castle of your company.

W/c: 4.3k

Warnings: Swearing, talk of suicide (Shino's terribly dramatic about you), self-loathing

Notes: i was imagining Shino a few years post Blank Period in this, but this could work for Boruto era Shino too if y'all are in to that top knot - if you want a smuttier part 2, i got that shit lined right up, just lmk

Masterlist💿

He was used to being overlooked, discounted, alone. It never bothered him - even in love, his parents were solitary people, raising him to be unbothered by a sullen lack of attention. Being left to his own devices, Shino turned to his bugs for solace, and they provided as much as they could. To his knowledge, he was perfectly happy, alone with his insects.

But then you danced into his life, a trail of flowers in your wake.

You were his perfect match; a woman who could use Plant Release technique. Your kekkei tota was a gift of your Kiso blood, but too powerful for you to ever have full control over. Still, your control was wildly impressive, and your technical fighting skills were more precise than any Shino had seen before. Unlike him, you hailed from the Land of Flowers, but you couldn't reveal any further personal details at the time. It was a shame that the mission that brought you to Shino didn't allow him the time he so desperately needed to talk to you.

Side by side, you and he had fought together. Your snaking vines fed Shino's bugs chakra, and allowed them to infiltrate places on your vines with a much greater speed and accuracy than they ever could when Shino was alone. His bugs found your chakra delicious, almost as distracted as he was by you and your power. The recon mission went without hitch, mainly thanks to your immense amount of pure chakra and will to prove your capabilities. It was a shame.

Upon the mission's completion, Shino merely listened to your cracking conversation with Kiba and Shikamaru, resigned to the fact that he had missed his chance, already moving on in his mind.

When the team returned to the Hidden Leaf, Shino was ready to be the first to leave, already peeling away from the group until...

"I'm sorry," your sweet voice said timidly, behind Shino.

He stopped in his tracks, and you did as well, staying right behind him. The bugs' chakra told him you seemed nervous, which arguably relaxed him. Clipped, he asked, "What for?"

"We never got the chance to get to know each other," you grinned, coming around Shino to face him with a placid smile. Extending your hand, you gave him your name, and with a charm to your tone, asked for his.

Clearing his throat, Shino couldn't find his voice for a second. He had never seen such a pretty smile, let alone been the receiver of one. Your bubbly attitude caught him off guard. He couldn't fathom what you were doing, why you would be wasting your time, talking to him. You could've stayed with the team, striking up any number of conversations with one of them... but you didn't. You chose to talk to him.

"Shino Aburame," he said finally, taking your warm hand in his.

"You're wonderfully strong, Shino," you hummed, shaking his hand slightly. "The chakra control you possess is to be envied. I'd love to know more about your insects, if you have the time."

Staring the gift horse right in the mouth, he scoffed, "You must be joking."

"No." The expression you wore quickly became confused, but your tone genuinely despondent. With a twitch, you let go of his hand and Shino could feel his heart plummet. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

From behind, Kiba's strong voice cut you off. "Hey, Y/n! Wanna take a tour of Konoha?" He came bounding up to the pair of you, Akamaru by his side, stealing your attention from Shino. "I'm free to be your guide, unless...you two..."

Looking back at Shino for a moment, you seemed to mull something over thoroughly in your mind. Your eyes were full of expectation, and Shino could feel his palms dampen.

"Go with him," Shino said, as casually as he could, though his words came out rather harshly.

He wished he could take it back as soon as he said it. The feeling that came when he saw a sharp sparkle in your eye, followed by an overbearing dullness, made Shino feel empty and so very stupid. Your lips drew straight, and your air became serious - everything about you became stony, frigid. The exact opposite of your demeanour before Shino had opened his stupid mouth.

Maintaining eye contact with Shino as you took Kiba up on his offer, he could feel his heart leap from his chest and into your palm. You squeezed it then, and when he watched you walk away with Kiba and his ninken, you crushed it.

In the aftermath of the successful recon mission, you were invited by the Fifth Hokage to stay in Konoha and train under her. You took her up, of course, and became an active member of the society within the Hidden Leaf. Everywhere Shino went, there you would be, talking to swarms of people at a time.

It was Promethean punishment, that he didn't deserve.

You would never speak to him again, because he was born with his foot in his mouth. He would be cursed to see you everywhere he turned, but you would never speak to him again.

A week had passed since you came to Konoha to stay. Shino had been tantalized, shown exactly what he wanted but couldn't have, for seven days, and he was sick to death. His solitude had never felt so solitary, watching you bop around the village with an onslaught of people.

It was made even worse by the fact that he had consistently been catching you, staring at him. The bugs would be abuzz, begging Shino to ask you to sprout one of your vines, telling him that you looked ready to approach him, yourself. He ignored then dually, thinking they were exaggerating your apparent willingness to speak to him. Why would you ever leave a full entourage, just to speak to him?

With the sun sinking lowly over Hokage Mountain, Shino decided to wrap up his meditation and just go home. His body was alight with energy, but his soul begged for rest and reprieve, something that Shino could not provide. As such, he left the sanctity of his neck of the woods to make a medial dinner and have a long sleep. Maybe that would fix him, though it hadn't seemed to work for the last week. Shino felt restless, completely unable to settle in a way that even resembled himself before you came along.

He would just have to get over you. The chance you served up on a silver platter had been spit on, and you would surely never serve it again. Shino had to move onward and upward, he couldn't stagnate.

But then-

There you were. In his hallway. In front of a door. Fiddling with your keys and hissing curses under your breath.

And all Shino could think was, I am going to make her my wife. I need to marry this woman.

"Hi."

You looked up, startled, but quickly smiled and looked back at your keys, still pulling and shoving. Slowly, you said, "Hey...Shino, right?"

He had never heard his name like that before. It dripped with silver and gold as it left your pretty lips, and Shino never wanted anyone else to say his name again. Only you. Only you, forever.

Looking up at his lack of response, you seemed nervous but tried to smile. "You're my bug boy, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said a little too quickly. The nervousness vanished from your expression as embarrassment became his. He cleared his throat, trying again, "Yeah. That's me. Shino."

She remembered. Her bug boy. Her's. She knows. I need to make her mine. Someway, somehow.

"I didn't think I knew anyone in the building," you said, finally procuring the key you wanted from the tangle. You slipped it into your door, the smiled at Shino, the nervousness coming back to you. In a light voice, you asked, "Would you...would you like to come in? Have a tea? With me?"

Shino thought he had died and gone to Heaven. There was no other plausible reason for him to have been getting another opportunity with you, this one infinitely more golden than the last.

The lock clicked and you opened the door, still awaiting his answer. A rush of cool air came over Shino, standing near your door. Leaning back, Shino tried to bite back his forming grin, before saying,

"I would like that very much."

You mumbled something under your breath and stepped into the apartment. Shino followed in after you, welcomed by the scent of lavender and rosemary. As you let him look around the living room, you went to the kitchen to prepare the tea.

Shino had never seen such a beautiful little place, especially not one that reflected it's inhabitant so well. Plants sprawled across every wall, their pots interconnected through a series of braided vines that wrapped and weaved around the others. All of the wooden things in the apartment were birch, the coffee table, the bookshelves, the chairs. To boot, all of the pillows and cushions were a pale, dusty green colour. Books and journals laid all over, accompanied by a myriad weapons and solo-practice materials. The feeling of peace was abundant in the small apartment, Shino found himself actually start to relax.

So, he would be letting you decorate the house when you eventually became his wife. This was useful information to Shino.

"Sencha or matcha?" You asked him, poking your head out of the kitchen.

You cared. "Sencha."

"Okay, give me another minute." You ducked back into the kitchen, your hair flowing so nicely behind you.

Feeling his bugs growing anticipatory, he began to try and suppress them. The last thing Shino wanted right now was for his bugs to take advantage of your hospitality. But his refusal only made them angrier. With your vines so near, it was like holding a lollipop in front of a child and saying no.

Coming back into the living room with a tea tray, you smiled at Shino, making him neglect his control over the bugs. Almost immediately, a swarm of insects came from Shino's body and flocked to the nearest vine before Shino could do anything about it. He swore and started trying to wrangle them, only stopping when he heard your melodic laugh.

He never wanted to hear anything else again. Not even the way you said his name could compare to your laughter - no sweeter sound had ever been produced.

"I don't mind, Shino, let them be," you hummed, setting the tray onto the table almost silently. Shino turned to you slowly, unsure if you were just letting your hospitality speak for you. You laughed, "It's fine. I promise."

"Whatever you say," Shino replied faintly, still not convinced but not willing to argue with you for even a second.

He came around to the couch as you picked up the jade teapot and poured both cups. He thanked you, taking up his teacup while you sat down on the couch. Sipping the steaming beverage, Shino hummed,

"This might be the best tea I've ever had."

"I'm glad," you grinned, sipping your tea before patting the cushion beside you. "Sit with me. Please."

Without hesitation, Shino sat on the furthest edge of the couch, giving you the space you deserved. You just giggled softly, collecting your legs onto the couch and shifting your entire body to face Shino. He smiled absentmindedly, heart thumping inside of his chest.

"So, I have to ask," you started. Shino turned more toward you, giving you his full attention. "Why did you get all aggro when I asked you about your bugs, the other day?"

Oh. No. No, this wasn't what he wanted. No.

"It...erm, it was... I don't..." Stars above, wasn't he pathetic? Couldn't even speak to the only person he wanted to speak to. He sighed deeply, "It wasn't the bugs, I just... I thought you were making fun of me when... when you... you know...?"

Furrowing your eyebrows as he blathered, you looked at Shino like he was crazy. He had never had so much trouble stringing together a sentence, and he didn't even finish the thought. The silence that followed was thick and heavy, just making Shino feel worse about his inability to talk to you.

"When I complimented your chakra and your control?" You asked finally. Shino nodded, just thankful that you spoke and he didn't have to. To his surprise, you smiled that sweet smile of yours and asked, "Why?"

"Who are you? The police?"

"Oh, n-no... I'm sorry."

Fuck, he could've killed himself. Only Shino Aburame could make a joke that wipes the smile off of your face. It was his voice, it wasn't jovial enough. No, it was his face, he looked too mean. No, no, it was his brain.

"No, I'm sorry," Shino sighed, setting his cup on the coffee table before rubbing his eyes under his sunglasses. "It's the fact that you're as powerful as you are... and I'm not..."

"We don't have to talk about that."

Letting a short chuckle fall from his lips, Shino looked at you from the side of his glasses, getting a fully coloured vision of you in his peripheral. He took a breath, then felt a small bubble of laughter as he asked,

"Then what do you want to talk about?" He sipped his tea, letting it warm his hands. "I'm a much better listener than talker, if you haven't caught on."

"I could've guessed." Narrowing his eyes, though you couldn't see them, Shino turned his head to you slowly. You laughed freely, "I talk too much as it is. I've got some innate need to chew the air. Aren't we a lovely pair?"

The church bells ringing, everyone's chatter falling to a hush as the organ begins-

"Hm, you've got such a nice voice, Shino - it's a pity you want to deprive me of it."

And here you are, coming down the aisle, right into his arms.

"W-what do you want me to say?" He asked quickly, chomping at the bit to make you happy. He didn't even have the mind to question your sentiment, just elated that it existed.

You sipped your tea, saying, "Tell me about your bugs."

"You're not making this easy for someone born to be a mute," he joked, watching your reaction intensely. Shino prayed his tone was humorous, that the small smile on his lips would support him.

And, to his joy, you laughed. Warm and rich, each soundwave landed on Shino's ear like a butterfly's kiss. You hummed, "I'm sorry-"

"And, please, stop apologizing to me - you haven't had a thing to be sorry for," he added.

"Okay," you said softly, looking at Shino with a matching expression. "Who's your favourite, then?"

That was a hard question for Shino to answer, especially given the bugs were in the room. But they were distracted, and so was he - both parties too under your influence to care.

Shino was still stumbling over his words and forgetting the most important ones, but you remained patient and attentive. It seemed you either were enchanted by his voice, or you were genuinely interested in what he had to say. Either way, Shino felt confidence bloom within him, and he started launching into great detail about his insects.

With rapt attention, you listened to every word that came from his mouth. Here and there, you would interject valid questions into the lulls of his speech, and he would answer them fully. As the two of you gradually finished the entire teapot, Shino found himself talking, and talking, and talking. He suddenly couldn't shut up.

"Fuckin' pot's empty," you grumbled, letting the final drop drip into Shino's half-full cup. "Want me to put on another, or do you fancy something else?"

"It's getting late, and I've already taken up enough of your time," he declined politely, finishing off the swig in his cup.

You sighed, "You say that like I've not been enjoying myself over the last-" Glancing at your watch, you gasped, "-three hours. Jumping Jehovah, I'm so sorry, I totally sucked up your night under the guise of tea."

"I would've just been sitting around, wanting to talk to you anyway," Shino chuckled lowly, feeling rather bold after having spent so much time with you.

Both of you stood from the couch with bashful smiles, each too shy to look at the other. Shino walked to your door and you followed after him.

"Do you want me to walk you to your door?"

He laughed lightly, "I don't expect that of you, but I'd have to be insane to turn down your company."

Opening the door wide, Shino motioned for you to go through. You thanked him kindly, then walked beside him in the hallway, five whole paces, to his door.

"Thank you for the tea, Y/n," he murmured, getting out his keys.

Your hand found purchase between his shoulder blades, making Shino freeze in his motion. His eyes darted to your face, finding the beautiful crescent of your smile in full bloom. "Anytime. We should make it a thing."

"We should."

"Goodnight, Shino."

"Goodnight, Y/n."

The breeze floated down the street with Shino. Today was the day, and it seemed even nature knew it. Nothing could slow him down, nothing could stand in his way.

Today was the day.

He had decided last night, today was going to be the day. It was an easy decision to make, but the gathering of courage tested Shino's resolve. But he was ardent, he was determined. Even if he did stutter, you would find it endearing, just like you had for the last six months. Even if he did say something wrong, you would understand, just like you always did.

Today, he was going to make you his. And he would finally be yours.

The plan was simple; show up at your door with something you would enjoy and deliver a great, long monologue that perfectly encapsulated every emotion he felt for you, then you would jump into Shino's arms and promise yourself to him.

The issues immediately became obvious; you could've hated the gift, he could've (and probably would've) screwed the monologue up to high Heaven, and, scariest of all, you might not have been so quick to jump into his arms.

Shino could have potentially been planning on destroying the only relationship that ever particularly flowed naturally for him. He didn't want to think about that, not at all.

Not when today was the day.

The act of getting you a gift turned out to be more of a tribulation than Shino had imagined it to be. Nothing was grand enough, nothing meaningful enough. He needed something that would blow your socks off, something that would reduce you to the babbling fool that he became around you.

After spending an hour scouring the market squares, Shino moved to the trading post. Even longer was spent there, looking through stalls and trying to picture your reaction to each thing that struck him. But nothing was good enough. Nothing would ever be good enough for you.

Settling on a pricey collection of teas before the trading post closed, Shino haggled with the old man selling the tea. Just trying to get the price down to the amount he had in his wallet, Shino eventually left the trading post, coatless and penniless.

It didn't matter. Today was the day.

Stars, he wondered how nerve-wracking the ring shopping would be in a few years if this little trifle was causing so much strife.

Rounding the corner of the main street, Shino mulled over what to say to you. He just wanted to say I love you and kiss you, but that left you no agency. Even though it was becoming abundantly clear that you were interested in him, Shino still wanted to give you the chance to say no.

One thing that Shino hadn't taken in to account, though, were your other relationships.

And, as you came out of a restaurant with Kiba and Akamaru, Shino realized how grave of a mistake he had made.

Your face shone with a smile, ear to ear as you laughed at some witty quip Kiba delivered. He smiled back proudly, looking at you hungrily. The three of you began to walk toward Shino and he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"Oh! Shino!" You exclaimed brightly the second you saw him. Tearing away from Kiba and his ninken, you quickened your pace to Shino. He took a step back as you approached, otherwise frozen. Your happiness faded to worry as you asked, "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

The fact that anyone else could be graced by your laugh was wrong. The fact that you just finished what looked a lot like a date with Shino's former teammate was wrong. The fact that you didn't know what was wrong, was wrong.

"Shino, sweetheart, talk to me," you commanded gently. Kiba and Akamaru loomed a few paces behind you, trying to look like they weren't intensely listening. It aggravated Shino monumentally.

Everything about how today was becoming was aggravating him. Shino couldn't even enjoy his name on your tongue, let alone the pet name you had given him. It all felt like lip service.

"I got this for you," he said weakly, offering up the wooden box in his grasp. You looked down and cocked your eyebrow, before looking back at Shino. "I wanted to... to... nevermind." His heart was shattering. "Just take it."

Even if the gift wouldn't have the same effect, Shino wanted to see your reaction. He truly thought you would like the tea, potentially more so now that his unrequited feelings weren't attached. Cautiously, you took the box from Shino but didn't open it.

"You just wanted to what?" You asked, still so concerned over the man before you. "Where's your jacket? Shino, please, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's not important."

"Something is clearly bothering you, and it is important," you rebutted, acquiring a slight edge. "What's bothering you? If you don't tell me, I can't help."

Fuck.

"I love you!" He shouted, putting every single emotion he felt into his words.

Fuck.

Feeling like he was going to cry, Shino turned on his heel and walked. He didn't want your reaction now, he just wanted to save face, if that was even at all possible, at this point.

"Shino," your sweet voice said timidly, right behind him.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Shino hung his head lowly. The bugs were no help, just saying your eyes were as glossy as his.

Slowly, you came around to face Shino and bent lowly enough to be in his view. You smiled up at him and he couldn't help but smile back, taking in the odd posture you assumed as you let the wooden box rest beside your feet. Everything felt so silly. So trivial.

"Yeah?"

You straightened out, making Shino's head follow you as his eyes stayed glued to your face. Your beautiful face.

"Before I make myself look stupid-" Your sentiment made Shino scoff a laugh, because no one could look more stupid than him. Sweetly, you just smiled, continuing, "Do you love me platonically, or romantically?"

He took a deep breath, blinking slowly, before answering, "Every single way under the sun."

"Good," you beamed, taking a step forward and taking the lapels of Shino's flak jacket into your hands, pulling him forward. On your toes, your face came closer to his than it ever had been before, your petal soft lips brushing against his so gently as you said, "I love you too."

Not wasting a moment, not getting in his head, Shino knew that this was it.

He leaned down, closing the small gap, and met your lips fantastically. Not even Shino's wildest, wettest dream could've prepared him for the utter decadence of your kiss. His hands found your hips, pulling you as closely as he had needed you to be for months. But it wasn't enough, for either of you.

Leaning even lower, Shino's left hand cascaded down your lower back and you got the message. Immediately, you jumped up and he caught the bottom of your thigh, squeezing your tender flesh with his left hand while his right explored your back, sitting you atop his hip bones. Your legs locked behind Shino, squishing his waist in a way he didn't know he craved so badly. Warmth exuded from your being, a warmth that Shino longed to be blanketed under and hidden within.

"Come back to my place," you said between kisses. Shino just smiled and started to walk, but then you stopped kissing him, making him stop on a dime. Running your fingers up his lapels and allowing his neck the sweet contact, you laughed, "What's in the box, if you can just leave it in the middle of the street?"

With a chuckle, Shino turned around. He noticed Kiba had left, and he felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him. Not putting you down, Shino knelt and picked up the heavy box with his right hand, holding it behind you.

You groaned, scratching his neck lightly, "My stars, you're strong."

"You never noticed?" Shino joked, though a feeling of pride surged through him.

"I've noticed you're impressive in a few different respects," you replied with a teasing lilt. Moving your hips, Shino felt a friction that was positively dream-like and you purred, "Don't you want to impress me?"

"More than anything." And he meant every syllable.

"Good," you hummed, placing a lingering kiss to Shino's lips. You looked at him, eyes more obviously filled with desire than Shino had ever thought visibly possible. "Take me home."

By his lucky stars, Shino would gladly do so for the rest of his life.

Part 2 - The Art of Mutual Pleasure

#shino aburame #shino aburame x reader #shino aburame fluff #naruto shino #shino naruto #naruto fanfiction #shino #aburame shino #aburame shino x reader #shino x reader

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silenzahra · 2 months ago

Note

Could you share something about any of your current writing projects?^^ It can be anything, even a little fun fact will do!🙏

Oookay!! I have taken FOREVER to respond to this ask, my dear twin, and I'm very sorry about that 🙏 I just wasn't sure exactly what to share... but I think now I know 🤭

I'm guessing you're looking forward to seeing something from the angsty Brothership fic I started working on a few months ago, so... I'll go for it 🤭 It's gonna be a LONG fic and I'm trying to keep it as secret as possible so it'll be a surprise (and hopefully a rollercoaster of emotions 😆) whenever I can finally start posting it. Still, I think I can share a short snippet... with no context whatsoever though. I'm afraid you'll have to wait to get the entire picture 😜

Still, I hope you'll enjoy reading this, my twin!! ❤️💚

Luigi barely has a moment to dive forward and catch Mario. His unconscious twin falls into his arms, and Luigi is glad that at least he's been able to prevent him from hitting the ground harder.

But that's not enough to ease the guilt that has taken hold of his soul.

“M-Mario...”

His hand trembles as he gently places it on Mario's cheek. He's forced to blink violently to keep his vision from clouding. He carefully rests his brother's head on his arm and rushes to find his heartbeat. He keeps repeating the word 'please' in his mind as he gently places his fingers on Mario's neck, next to the gold chain from which his sun-shaped dog tag hangs. His eyes close almost instinctively, tears streaming down his cheeks, unable to hold them back any longer. He would never forgive himself if his older brother had lost his life because of him, if he had sacrificed himself for him...

Precisely for him. The only person who doesn't deserve to be saved by the bravery and courage of his strong and heroic sibling.

He should have fallen instead of Mario.

Luigi's eyes fly open when he feels his brother's pulse under his fingers. It's slow and weak, as if his heart is making a superhuman effort to keep Mario alive, but for Luigi, for now, it's enough. With relief washing over him, he caresses his brother's face and presses his lips against his forehead, forcing himself to hold back the sobs that want to escape his throat. His cheeks are so wet that he's afraid he might accidentally soak Mario, so he pulls away and, without taking his eyes off him, begins to search his pockets with his free hand.

“Hang in there, Mario,” he whispers nervously. "You'll be fine soon, I promise.”

This is it!! Any guesses about what could've happened to Mario? 🤭 Also, I'm sure you must've seen a certain dog tag right there!! You have to thank our dear @vulpixfairy1985 as she was so kind to allow me to use her wonderful dog tags headcanon for this story 🥰 I hope that, when it's finally ready, you'll see why it fits so well!! 💖💖

Thank you so so much for sending this ask, my beloved twin!! I really hope that your curiosity was satiated... at least for now 🤭❤️💚

(This is a WIP, so it might be worded differently whenever it's finally ready to be fully posted ‼)

#asks #answered asks #send me asks #super mario #zahra's writing #zahra's fics #short snippet #super mario fanfic #brothership fic #fanfic writer #wip #work in progress

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wardenparker · 2 months ago

Text

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection, ch 8

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When an accident of fate throws Javi G into the path of his soulmate, his instinct is to dive in head first. Adjusting to life as the fated partner of someone you barely know is going to be harder than either of you suspect, but anything worth having is worth working for. Isn't it?

(This story is heavily inspired by the lovely house museums that I work in every day and the fantastic few months that HBO was using our houses to film a TV show in fall! I spent each day on that set in wonder and I can't wait to share the experience with all of you through this story.)

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, references to abusive family members -- i.e. Lucas, discussion of money/finances.* Miscommunication, fluff, flirting, surprises. Summary: The first party you and Javi throw at the house turns out be to much more eventful than anticipated! Notes: As a heads up for next week, I'll be taking Sunday the 20th off from posting. It is birthday weekend for my beloved @julesonrecord and I'll be in VT with her to celebrate. Enjoy your holidays if you celebrate, and enjoy the triumphant return of TLoU!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

Saturday, May 24, 2025

“Sweetheart, did you want the stack of towels outside?” Javi asks. The pool is done, beautiful and perfectly balanced chemically thanks to the pool company that you had hired. Now the moment that everyone had been waiting for. The pool party that you had offered to throw. Combining the celebration of breaking ground on the house and finishing the pool.”

“Will you put them on the table behind where we have the chairs set up?” For all the flirting around you’re doing, the outside observer might think you’re nervous about this party. But in the last few weeks you’ve felt more yourself than ever.

Javi is wearing one of the new shirts you made him with the linen you picked up a few weeks ago, and you made yourself a wrap dress to use as a swimsuit cover up. There are plenty of drinks, tons of food, and a plethora of friends coming over. It’s really the first party you’re throwing at the house, and the house isn’t even built yet — but the excitement is here.

"Did Billie say that she would be able to make it?" Filming is done for the week and he knows that everyone is looking forward to relaxing. Alex joked that he might never get out of the pool and Tamara agreed whole heartedly. The production was close and it was a good time, something that Javi loved. Nick was out of town, but Olivia was coming, so he couldn't complain.

“She said she would be here after work.” You check your watch as you shift pillows on the brand new lounge chairs around the pool. “So that should be around one o’clock.”

"How is the outdoor kitchen working out?" Javi asks. "Martin said he was going to check in with us in a few days to make sure there's nothing we want to change or add after we used it a few times."

“Today will be the real test.” Everything is at least functional, but it will take a party to make sure that it flows well and that nothing needs changing. “It’s noon now, so people should start showing up any time. Is there anything else you need to do to get ready, mi amor?”

"Just to give you a kiss and tell you that I want to strip that swimsuit off of you." He smirks, and moves over to pull you into his arms.

“I’ll let you tonight,” you promise him, moving easily into his side and sighing at the nearness of his soft warmth.

"I love my new shirt," your fingers slide across his chest and stroke the fabric gently. Making him smile as you do it almost unconsciously. "It is probably the best fit I've ever had."

“It probably helps that I know your body better than any seamstress you could have gone to.” Flirting with your husband is more than second nature at this point. It’s as easy as breathing. “But…you really like it? You’re not just saying that?”

"Sweetheart, I love it." He promises, his hand covering yours in reassurance. "Honestly? I was going to ask if you could make me another just like it."

“I’ll make as many as you want.” Starting to design and sew and mend again has brought you so much comfort and joy over the last few weeks that you can’t possibly express it. It’s like someone reached into your chest and held your rib cage open, giving you the space to breathe. “Pants, shorts, anything you want.”

"I just don't want to load you down." He leans in and kisses you softly.

“You couldn’t possibly.” The notebook you carry on set is starting to fill with dress designs just like your notebooks did when you were younger, you’ll be glad to add other things alongside.

"What do you think about making me something to wear to the premier?" He asks. It's still a long way off, but he wants to encourage you as much as he can.

“Seriously?” You perk up at that idea, eyes wide with surprise. “You…on a red carpet? You want to wear something homemade?”

"Why not?" He asks, smiling confidently at you. "All designers were homemade at one point."

The way your heart swells almost makes it feel like you’re floating. “You really have that much faith in me?”

“I really have that much faith in you.” He repeats with a nod and a small wink. “Whatever you want. I trust you completely. Match us too if you can.”

“If I start designing now, I’ll have enough time.” The suggestion — and the support — earn him a grateful kiss. One that you sink into happily and let the world melt away.

“I will help you in whatever way I can.” He promises with a happy smile. The idea was planted and he loves encouraging you. What’s even better? You have true talent.

"Can I show you my sketches when I have a few ideas?" That's the stage you're in now -- ideas and concepts -- and you're not going to claim otherwise.

“You can show me anything.” He shares his pages with you sometimes, uses you as a sounding board when he is hung up or unsure of where to go with a scene, and he would be honored if you did the same thing. “I promise I will never be anything but honest with you.”

"And that is the very best thing that you could possibly be." There is time for a kiss lasting just a few seconds, but the doorbell sounds from inside the house before you can sink into it. "I'll go get that."

“Okay.” You had already set out some snacks, so Javi goes to the outdoor bar to start setting out drinks, ready for the party to get underway.

It's Moira at the door, squealing with excitement and ready to hug. "Hi gorgeous!!" You squeak, throwing your arms around her the second you open the door.

“I am soooooo ready to lounge by your pool and pretend it’s mine.” She teases with a huge grin and pulls back to press the bottle of cheap champagne she had bought into your hand. “Shouldn’t we break a bottle over the grill or something? Like they do ships?”

"Mi casa es su casa, bitch. Get in here." You tug her inside, giggling, and practically fly through the house to the back porch.

"Oh god, it's gorgeous." She's seen pictures, but she's not seen the final product until now. You and Javi had teasingly kept everyone away until the big reveal tonight. "It's- babe- you now live the dream!"

"I've been living the dream for months." Sighing softly – happily – and looking back at your best friend, you grin. "Welcome to paradise, babe. Construction on the house is fully underway!"

"How do you feel about the plans?" She asks, brows raised and her lips twisting into a grin.

"What do you know about the plans?" Her reaction to the final design for the house makes you raise your eyebrow in turn. "Don't tell me you were Javi's consultant?"

Her shrug is just a little too casual. "I don't know what you are talking about." She hums innocently.

"You sneaks!" It's pure blustering, of course, but you had been so excited to unveil the house plans to Moira and your friends this weekend. For a moment you can't tell if you're more touched or bewildered that they managed to coordinate everything without you knowing any of it. "Javi, it was Moira? You got my dreamhouse plans out of her with no effort, didn't you?"

Javi looks between you and Moira and there is a little bit of a conspiring grin that is twisting his lips, but he just shrugs just as casually as Moira did earlier. "Don't know what you are talking about."

"Amor de mi vida." There is already a drink in your hand, as you automatically started pouring for Moira and then for yourself, and you brandish the cold glass at him with fervor. "You sneak!" You repeat, breaking out into giggles.

"I wanted to make sure that I was not doing too much." Javi admits, grinning and moving over to you again to steal a kiss.

"He absolutely did too much," Moira promises you.

"Oh, I know." If you're a little teary, neither your husband or your best friend is going to call you out on it just yet. "I finally saw the plans. I thought I was going to be surprising you with the mini-modified Hazelwood that my soulmate is building for our family. But you knew. Sneak!"

"He wanted to make sure you wouldn't hate it or think he was insane." She throws her arm around you and laughs wildly. "I cannot believe that you are going to basically create history with this house."

When you had at last joined Javi and your architect for the finalization of the plans for the house and seen what your husband had created, you had wept with surprise and love. Javi, who had given up building one dream house already, had swept in and picked up your dream with wild abandon. The big difference, he had said, is that the landscaping he had in mind was from his family's home in Mallorca. Your suggestion of olive trees on the property went along with his wish to recreate some of the gardens from home, and all at once the decision had been complete.

"It still needs a name," you remind both of them, caught happily in the middle of a husband-and-best-friend hug sandwich. "Javi insists it has to have a name."

"Whatever it is, it needs to pay homage to the original Hazelwood." Moira taps her finger on the edge of the glass you had given her and takes a sip. "Why not something like Olivewood or...." She shrugs. "I don't know."

"We thought about Olivewood." It was the first idea, in fact, but it had been vetoed fairly quickly. "But we thought Olivia would hate it. It sounds a little too much like it's named after her."

"Almas Gemelas." She smirks at the romanticism of it. "You can't say no to that."

"Almas Gemelas." You look up to Javi, with the hum of the words on your lips. Soulmates. Surely a house built by love can be named for it, too.

He tilts his head and smiles. "You like it?" He asks softly. "Because I do."

It only takes one step to move into his side again, sliding your arms around his waist and lifting your chin up to place a sweet kiss on his lips. “Then it’s settled.”

“We will have to have it written on the gates.” He’s going to make sure that the property is secure for his family.

“Oo, gates?” Moira grins. “Fancy schmancy.”

“Yes, but you will have a code for the gate.” He promises with a quick smile. “Family is always welcomed anytime.”

“What did I tell you?” You wink, giving her arm a squeeze when you hear the doorbell again. “Mi casa es su casa.”

Jason is next, greeting Javi happily when he comes inside and bringing a bottle of booze that he swears is the best.

Tracy and Tandy arrive not longer after, practically dragging Heather in tow. While the costumer claims not to be much for parties, she does love all of the people here, so she let herself be talked into accepting the invitation. Olivia and Tamara arrive nearer to one o'clock, and then the last arrivals of the day are left to be Alex and Billie.

"If they get here at the same time, my cousin might combust," you joke to Moira, who fully understands the being at a party with your celebrity crush craziness. She seems to be avoiding Jason still but you're trying not to press.

“She likes Alex?” Moira hums, knowing that the man is technically attractive, but she just finds him sweet.

"I think most people in America who are attracted to men like Alex at least a little." But you just grin, shrugging one shoulder in faux innocence. "All I know is that she keeps asking about him and her voice gets all squeaky and pitchy when she does. So am I gonna intentionally throw them together like a meddling old granny? Of course I am."

She rolls her eyes and then freezes for a second before grabbing your arm. “Please don’t throw me with- uh, um—” she stops when Jason moves closer, within hearing. “Never mind.”

The way Moira just about freezes and Jason looks like a kicked puppy fully activates your bullshit meter, and you nab your best friend's hand. "C'mere," you insist. "I need help grabbing something from inside." You drag Moira inside before she can sputter a protest, and close the sliding glass door behind you. "Talk." You insist. "It's been weeks since the boob graze. Is it still making shit weird?"

“No……” she rolls her eyes and huffs before you practically growl at her. “No.” she insists when you look skeptical. “I fucked up, okay?” She hisses, grabbing your arm and turning you away from glass door so no one outside can read her lips. “I humiliated myself in front of him, so it’s best if I just never talk to him again.”

"I can't believe that." You shake your head, but lead her away from the windows to sit down at the table. "I'm sure it was a misunderstanding. Whatever it was."

She lets out snort. “I wish.” She sighs, shoulders slumping as she gives in. She’s been too embarrassed to say anything. “He- he came by the desk a couple of days ago.” She admits. “He asked me out.”

“Oh my god!” The massive screech you have to immediately smother is nothing like her reaction in any way. “I thought you would have been excited! Why aren’t you excited? You’ve had a crush on Jason for years!”

She closes her eyes and groans as she buries her face in her hands and mumbles something you don’t quite catch.

“Babe,” you reach forward to hold her hand. “You gotta use your big girl words and tell me what happened.”

She can’t help but laugh at your comment and sighs again. “Are you sure you want to know?” Her tone is playfully dramatic but you just wait, “I opened my mouth to answer him and guess who had just finished her Sprite.”

"That's it?" That's all? That can't be all! Your wrinkle your nose but tilt your head, trying to fully take in Moira's embarrassment. Because she clearly is. She's mortified just retelling the moment by half. "You burped? That's all?"

“Then I started laughing and ended up snorting.” She groans. “And I just…decided to run away.”

"But..." You lean forward and set your chin expectantly on your upturned palm. "You never gave him an answer."

“Seriously?” She huffs. “That’s what you’re focused on? Not that I completely embarrassed myself? I can’t even look at him, let along give him an answer to a question he has to regret.”

"Why in the hell would he regret asking you out?" Her hand is easy to catch in yours with all of her flailing, and you bring it back to the table to attempt reeling her in. "You're smart, sweet, hot as hell, and oh no! You're human, too. If he regrets asking you out just because you burped and got embarrassed then he's less than a quarter of the person I thought he was and it's him who should be embarrassed instead."

“Don’t be mad at him.” Even though she’s completely embarrassed and not maybe a little ashamed of her running away, she’s defending Jason. He doesn’t deserve you talking bad about him.

"I'm only going to be mad if he deserves it." That part, at least, deserves clarification. "But my bet is, he's either still waiting on that answer or he's mortified that he made you feel bad."

“There’s no way.” She doesn’t believe it for a second but it makes her feel slightly better. “I mean-“ she shakes her head, “he’s famous and gorgeous and smart…..”

"And he likes you, dumb ass." With the hand that isn't tightly gripping hers, you pinch Moira's arm and grin when she huffs at you to smother a laugh. "You should go talk to him. Apologize for being a weirdo and let him take you out."

“And what are you going to say when you’re wrong about something?” She demands, wanting to know when you became so fucking reasonable.

"I will apologize for meddling, and then meddle again very quickly after." As if to prove the point, or at least punctuate it, you press a kiss to the knuckles of her hand that you're still holding and wave toward the door. "But angel, that boy looked like a spurned hound dog out there. He's yearning, Moira Elizabeth Keene. Yearning!"

“He’s not yearning.” She huffs even if it does make her actually look outside at where Jason is staring into his drink like it will give him the secrets of the universe. “Is he?”

“That is not the face of a man who has all the things in life he wants,” you insist. Just because you said you were getting something, you get up from the table and take out The rest you had packed of things to throw in the grill. It’s not too early to start making lunch. “Yearning. Pining. Moping. Whatever you want to call it, he’s doing it. And if he asked you out then my guess is he’s wishing he’d at least gotten an answer.”

“Shit.” She sighs and hangs her head. “So you’re saying I should go talk to him?” She asks, even though she knows that’s exactly what you are saying.

“And more than that,” you wag a finger at her. “You should say yes.”

“Yes mom.” She groans and hangs her head for a moment before she takes a deep breath. “When this backfires, I’m blaming you.” She grumbles, walking to the door to go back outside.

"You're welcome," you hum at her back, waiting two beats before you follow so that she doesn't feel hustled.

Moira bites her lip, happy that she hadn’t had anything to drink yet as she slowly approaches Jason. “Hey…” she murmurs softly.

Startled by what is definitely the first time ever that Moira has spoken to him first, Jason looks around in every direction before pointing at his own chest. "Hey me?"

She huffs out a small laugh before letting it die in her throat and swallows. “Yeah, you.” She nods. “Um—”

"Do you wanna..." He nods his head away from the pool where there is a little privacy. "Walk?"

“Sure, yeah- I mean—” she shakes her head again. “I think we should talk.” She manages.

Jason's normally easy smile has been absent the last few days, and he chews on his lip as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He's just going to savor walking beside her and soak up her aura and he'll nurse his surprisingly devastated broken heart in private. "Yeah," he nods his head. "Sure."

Both of them are awkward and Moira lets Jason lead here wherever he wants to out, even though it’s just on the other side of the pool so far. “I-- I’m sorry.” She blurts out after the silence between them starts driving her insane.

"It's okay." He shakes his head, jumping onto the apology like Steve Rogers onto that grenade in Captain America. "You're not interested. I—it's fine. I get it."

“What? No! I mean, not no, I mean that I—” she sighs in frustration. “I’m sorry that I was so gross and just- burped and then laughed about it.”

He laughs reflexively, swallowing the chuckle when she looks genuinely upset about the whole thing. "I'm not one of those 'girls shouldn't have bodily functions' kind of assholes," he tells her, hands squirming where they are still shoved in his pockets. He wants to reach out and reassure her but can't be certain the gesture would be acceptable. "I was more upset when you Road Runner-ed out of the room like a rocket was after you."

Relief rushed through her like a tsunami and she manages to laugh. “I had just made a complete ass out of myself in front of Jason Grant.” She reminds him. “God, I just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.”

The shade of pink that overtakes Jason's cheeks is nearly cartoonish. "I don't see why it should matter," he mumbles, one hand combing through his hair nervously. "I just...I like you. A lot. And I thought maybe you might like me too..."

“You—” Moira frowns. “You still want to go out with me?” She can’t react to that ‘a lot’ part, otherwise she’ll start squealing.

Jason just shrugs. "If I was gonna give up just because we're both human enough to be awkward around each other then I never deserved a chance in the first place." It's the first time in days that a smile returns to his lips, and he blushes even harder because of it. "Plus...ya know...you're cute when you do that laughing-snort thing."

“Really?” It’s her turn to fluster, completely floored by the fact that this man, this gorgeous man, is blushing and thinks she’s cute. “I— don’t—” she laughs nervously and does the little snort, which only makes her laugh harder. “I didn’t— d-do that on pur-purpose!” She promises while giggling.

The full, bashful smile that blossoms on Jason’s face is beaming. ��I know.” There is a chance, he hopes, and he gently touches her arm with barely enough fingers to count as his hand. “That’s why I like it. It’s just…you.”

The giggles calm down, sobered by the look on his face that could only be described as yearning. She’s never going to hear the end of this. “I—” she licks her lips and can’t help but laugh at herself again. “If this was a movie, this would be the scene where I don’t answer you, I just throw myself at you and kiss you.” She admits. “But since this isn’t a movie…” she smiles back at him. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

“It can be a movie if you want it to be.” He’s teasing — probably — mostly because he’ll do whatever he can to get her to keep looking at him like that. But he’s just ecstatic to have gotten a yes, so he’s not going to push his luck. “Tomorrow? Or is—is that too soon?”

She nods, grinning because she feels a little more confident knowing that Jason still wants to go out with her and apparently wants a kiss. “Tomorrow’s good, tonight is better.” She admits. “What better date than a Hollywood party?” She teases, gesturing around the back yard. “This is my kind of date.”

He had a whole thing planned. A romantic picnic, flowers, stargazing. He’ll save the plan for date number two. “Then this is perfect,” he agrees, opening up the hand that was just touching her arm in invitation. She can take it if she wants — and he hopes she will — or he’ll go as slow as she wants him to. All that matters is that she’s giving him a shot.

It’s like something out of a fairy tale and she presses her lips together to keep from squealing. “If I- uh- pinch myself occasionally….” She ventures. “Don’t think anything of it. Just making sure this isn’t some kind of Inception dream.”

“How about you pinch me and I’ll pinch you?” It comes out just a tad flirtier than he meant it to, but he doesn’t correct himself or apologize. She’s said yes — he’s going to flirt. “Just to make sure we’re both awake.”

“Well you can just pinch me whenever and wherever you want.” She’s bolder now, especially with the way that he’s eyeing her. Now she can let herself believe those looks are actually meant for her.

Jason smirks, scoops her to his side with an arm around her waist, and pinches her side playfully. “Good to know,” he hums, grinning like he just won the lottery.

“I’m sorry I pulled a Houdini and just left you hanging.” She admits. “I should have tried to say something.”

“We’re only human.” He gives her side a squeeze, still smiling. “I’m just glad you said yes, even if I had to wait to hear it.”

“I guess that I just didn’t believe that you would want to go out with me.” She admits. “And I just got stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” He would argue that point with her if necessary, but for now he shakes his head and starts to lead her back to the party. “But you are cute when you blush. For the record.”

“And you’re just…cute all the time.” She huffs, her arm sliding around his back cautiously. Still slightly overwhelmed that she can touch him.

“Are we going to get into one-ups-manship this early in the relationship?” He raises an eyebrow at her, and suppresses a little shiver of excitement. The early stages are full of the thrills of new attraction and he’s been pining since the very first day of filming. “Noted.”

She bites her lip and hums as she motions towards the bar. “Let’s get a drink.”

Alex is at the bar when Jason and Moira wander over with their arms around each other, and he smirks but momentarily suppresses his impulse to tease mercilessly. “This is gonna be the party house,” he observes instead, waving his hand at the way the full bar is set up. “They really went all out.”

“Yeah they did.” Jason can easily agree and he looks down at Moira. “This is the perfect place to socialize without worrying about paps.”

"And the place isn't even fully gated yet." Moira accepts the glass of sangria that Jason pours for her with a blushing grin. Have you guys heard about the plans yet?" Now that the secret is out in the open, she doesn't mind sharing anymore. Especially since you're so delighted with the house that Javi is building for you.

“Nothing.” Alex huffs, pouting slightly. “I’ve been trying to get Javi to crack, I know the man has taste, but he’s not said a word.”

"He wanted to show her first." Your best friend nods in your direction, where you're laughing by the other end of the pool with Tamara and a woman with pink hair that she's never met before. That must be the cousin you mentioned.

“Who is that?” Alex drops the rag he was holding and leans in, eyes narrowing as he looks at the new addition to the party.

"Her cousin, I think?" Moira's head whips back around to see Alex practically gawping and she has to cover her mouth to cover a snorting laugh. "She ran into her cousin a couple of weeks ago and they've been hanging out again." Is Moira your best friend? Of course. She doesn't doubt that for a second. But she also knows that this friendship is older and complicated, and has been consciously giving you the space to work through any complications.

“Her cousin, huh?” Alex is a flirt, a social butterfly, but this girl just draws him in naturally. “I swear I’ve seen her before somewhere.”

"Do you ever shop at Sew Far, So Good in Burbank?" Moira asks, stifling another giggle at the idea of hulking movie star Alex Powell with knitting needles.

Alex snaps his fingers. “That’s where she’s from!” He snorts before he rolls his eyes at Moira. “I buy my yarn online, Moi.” He teases, looking back over at Billie.

"What fucking yarn?" Jason demands, though he is doing nothing at all to hold in his laughter.

Alex flips Jason a bird and huffs before he mutters under his breath.

"Alex," Moira's grin spreads. "Do you have secret crafty grandma tendencies?"

“No.” Alex crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “I just— I occasionally go down to the nursing home near my apartment and let the ladies teach me how to crochet.” He confesses, blushing furiously.

"That..." Moira and Jason exchange a bewildered look of surprise and she looks back at Alex with an entirely new perspective on the man in front of her. She knew he was sweet, but this is a whole extra level to things. "Is incredibly nice of you, actually."

He looks genuinely embarrassed by the compliment. “It’s fun.” He promises. “They get to teach me something and socialize.” He shrugs. “And they don’t care if my latest movie flopped or not.”

“And when their granddaughters visit, they try to set you up?” Jason guesses. “I used to go play chess with the grumpy grandpas in Central Park between shows when I was on Broadway. They started bringing their granddaughters around after a while. It got slightly uncomfortable.” He shrugs. “Hopefully your thing doesn’t get like that.”

“Hope not.” Alex shakes his head. “I think a lot of them don’t talk to their family. Or not a lot.” He sighs, hating that for them. They are a good group of ladies.

Jason nods solemnly, as if he knows that situation all too well, and Moira reaches out to give Alex’s arm a tender squeeze. “It’s even sweeter, then. That they have someone to come and visit them.”

“Let’s uh, just keep that between the three of us, okay?” Alex isn’t ashamed of what he does, but he doesn’t want it interrupted.

“Sure.” Moira and nods at the same time Jason says, “Of course.” They all know that if any media outlet got ahold of that portion of Alex’s life it would be ruined with unwanted attention, so mum’s the word.

"They probably should." Alex admits. His laughs is heartier this time. Fuller. "Alright. I guess I should give it another go, huh?"

“Yeah.” Javi grins. “Apologize first. Then explain.”

"Sounds like the right order to me." It sounds like it's going to be fumbling as hell, but that's okay. If humbling himself in front of that goddess is what it takes to talk to her again? He'll do it.

Javi stands when Alex does and he dutifully takes the empty beer bottle after the other man finishes it. Smirking slightly as he tells Alex that Billie is in the bedroom and walks with him just as far as you are standing.

Billie is adjusting the tie on her bikini when a knock sounds on the door. She's inspecting herself in the mirror to make sure that everything is tied properly and she didn't miss any smears of sunscreen, and wonders if you've come up to talk about Alex some more. "Come on in."

Alex opens the door halfway, poking his head in. “Hi.” He clears his throat. “Can I, um, come in?” He asks, wanting to make sure that she didn’t want to talk with him somewhere else.

"Oh!" That is a hundred percent not who she was expecting, and considering she was planning on spending the rest of the afternoon avoiding him? She's not really sure what to do now. "Uh...if you were looking for my cousin, she hasn't come upstairs."

“I know.” He doesn’t come into the room any more, but he does push the door open a little wider. “I came to talk to you.” He tells her, “to apologize.”

"Oh..." The same small word but with such a different meaning behind it this time. Billie looks around, but it's just them up in the bedroom you and Javi share. Probably better that there are no witnesses for this, she reflects vaguely. "Yeah. Okay. Go ahead..."

“I wasn’t trying to hit on you.” Alex promises before he immediately takes it back. “I mean, I was but I was trying to flirt with you. Playfully, um- and my stupid manager said that women liked the character voice so I figured I would give it a shot, since I was nervous.” He doesn’t rush through his explanation, but he is talking fast like he’s racing a teleprompter. “That being said, I’m sorry that I caused any hurt feelings or upset.” He switched orders on the explanation and apology, but Javi doesn’t have to know that. “I got nervous and stupid.”

“I walked away because I have no interest in being anybody’s one night stand.” Billie hears him. She does. And frankly she appreciates the fuck out of an actual apology even if it’s a little twisted around. “From the way you were starting out, it sounded like — or it felt like — that was what you were going for. So I apologize too, if I assumed wrongly.”

“I don’t…really…like one night stands.” Alex admits. “They feel a little dirty? Like I’m shorting myself of getting to know someone.” He shakes his head. “No excuse, except that I was trying to make a good impression.” He chuckles, flashing a small smile. “Fucked that up.” He sighs and wipes his hands on his trunks. “So, yeah. I’m sorry, and I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Hey Hollywood.” It’s a little trite, but a treating cliche every now and then never hurt anybody. Plus, he turns around so the little tease did its job. “You could get to know me now, if you still wanted to.”

“Yeah?” His face lights up, eyes widening in surprise and gratitude that she is willing to talk to him for another moment. “I’d like that.” He promises.

"Did I miss any sunscreen on my back?" It takes a small act of bravery to ask him to possibly touch her when she knows full well that the last time he did, it almost turned her legs to jelly. But she's feeling bold now that things have been cleared up between them.

He hesitates before he nods. “There’s a big patch missing right in the middle.” He admits. “Do you want me to—”

"Can't very well do it myself," she pauses a second after saying it and laughs. "Obviously. Or it wouldn't be there." She turns slightly, willing herself not to freak out, and waves him over. "Would you mind?"

“Yes madam.” He nods and flashes another grin as he rushes over and grabs the tube of sunscreen. “Hold still, I’ll get you all lotioned up.”

"Thanks." Billie swallows thickly and turns her face away from the mirror, telling herself not to watch. That feels a little too much like the beginning of a porn.

Alex squirts some of the lotion on his hands and rubs them together to warm it up. He knows he hates cold suntan cream. “Here we go.” He murmurs softly, so she can expect to feel him. He bites his lips to keep from groaning at the innocent touch, but her skin is so soft and warm that he has to remind himself that she thinks he’s a tool already and not to embarrass himself.

For her part, Billie feels like she’s about to spontaneously combust the second he touches her, but she hides her face and manages not to make a sound and frankly? That is top notch self-restraint in her book.

“You have soft skin.” Alex comments, before he huffs at himself in annoyance. “I mean—”

Billie barely stifles a giggle. “It’s okay. I mean— I know you’re not a dick now.”

“You make me nervous.” He chuckles softly, relaxing because she isn’t stiffening up or taking it in offense.

“Any particular reason for that?” Her hair isn’t long enough that she needs to move it out of the way, but it gives her something to do with her hands. Something besides twist her fingers around each other over and over again because she’s nervous too.

He snorts softly. “You’re gorgeous.” He tells her, “but you know that. More importantly? You have this…aura.” He never talks about this kind of thing, since people will look at him like he’s crazy. “You seem like you are an amazing person and I – I don’t know.” He admit. “I just know I don’t want to fuck up - again.”

“Hell of a way to flatter a girl.” Her cheeks are as red as they can possibly get when she glances over her shoulder at him, and she wonders if she’s imagining that he’s blushing as well. “Should have led with that, gorgeous. Then we could have skipped the awkwardness.”

He hums, grinning slightly and shrugs. “Hopefully there’s no lasting harm from being a dumb man.” He jokes. “You know we are simple creatures.”

“I might tease you about it a little,” she admits, smile blossoming a little wider on her face. “But that’s only funny if we like…actually end up dating or something. Then it’s a cute story.”

“So why don’t you go on a date with me?” She opened the door and he’s gonna bust through like the Kool-aid man if possible. “Make it that cute story.” His hands are still rubbing her back, even though the cream is worked in.

Billie’s eyes widen and she swallows a hiccup of surprise. “Seriously?”

His hands still before he reaches up for her shoulders to gently turn her around. “Seriously.”

“But—” The protest is inarticulate, practically tripping over her lips as she lets it tumble out. “You—you could date anyone. Literally anyone you wanted to?”

His brow furrows slightly, confused by her reaction. “And I would like to go on a date with you.” He stresses. “Unless you aren’t interested?”

“Oh no, I am.” That probably came out way too fast, but there’s nothing she can do about it now. “I just…it’s a little…” Billie blows out a sigh. “It’s a little surreal, honestly? Like I’ve got a magazine with your face on it in my kitchen table at home and actual you is helping me with sunscreen and asking me out in my cousin’s bedroom.”

“Have you ever seen someone and just…instantly knew they were going to be important to you?” Alex asks, staring at her seriously.

“Once.” She nods slowly. “But it felt…silly.”

“Why is that?” He frowns and wonders if she’s had her heart broken.

“Well…” Even though she’s standing right in front of him with his hands still on her shoulders and the smell of whatever cologne he favors hanging in the air, she feels embarrassed enough to spontaneously combust when she admits, “because you were on a movie screen at the time. It’s not like I’d ever met you. Not…at that point, anyway.”

“Really?” Alex’s eyes widen in surprise before he breaks into a happy smile. Looking just like that human Labrador that you had claimed he was.

“Don’t get cocky on me again, Hollywood.” Billie huffs, but it’s clear now that that little sound of impetuousness is just for show. “I like the sweet, silly version of you a lot better.”

“I can be sweet.” He promises. “I’m just really happy.” He confesses easily. “Happy I didn’t completely bomb out.” He chuckles at himself now.

“I am too.” It would have been a hell of a disappointment, if she’s honest. And she wasn’t looking forward to living with that. “But we should probably go back down? Swim a little? Have a bite?”

“That sounds good to me.” He nods and smiles again. “We can decide when and where we are going on the date later on.” He tells her before stepping back and opening the door. “After you.” He offers.

When they make it back down to the patio, the air smells like grilled meat and there is dance music playing — something pop-ish with a salsa beat that Billie doesn’t recognize but people seem to be enjoying. Frankly she doesn’t really care. She’s just floating on a happy little cloud right now and not too much in the world could ever hope to pop it.

Alex meets both Javi and your concerned looks and gives a small nod and an even smaller wink. His hand drifting to Billie’s back as he guides her towards the outdoor kitchen. “Thirsty or hungry?” He asks.

“Thirsty,” she decides, mostly because she can see the grill from here and the burgers look like they just went on. “Is that okay with you?”

“Perfect.” He decides to grab a bottle of water since he’s already had two beers. Not wanting to spend the day getting wasted. “What do you want?”

“I think I saw iced tea earlier?” From past his shoulder she can see you trying and failing not to spy on them and she flashes you a thumbs up.

“Tea sounds good.” Alex moves over to the drinks and spies the pitcher with the lemons and ice in it. “I think this is it.”

“She used to dream about throwing parties like this.” Her tone is a little wistful but she’s smiling when Alex hands her a glass of iced tea. “And bigger. The bigger, the better.”

“And from what Javi’s told us, he’s thrown some huge parties.” Alex chuckles. “So I expect they will have people over all the time.”

“Good.” Billie likes the sound of that, still of the mind that you deserve nothing but your dreams. “That’s exactly what she loves and she’ll have so much fun.”

“They are perfect for each other.” Alex’s pang of jealousy isn’t quite as pronounced as it normally is. Excited for a date with Billie overriding that.

“Soulmates.” She smiles and sips her tea. “They’re lucky that they found each other.”

“Yes they are.” Alex sighs softly, wishing that somehow he would just know when he met his soulmate. If it could just be that easy, it would be amazing.

"It's not the only way to be happy, though." She sees the look on his face. It isn't hard to tell that that is what he wants. And for a second she wonders if dating is a waste if they don't have matching marks.

“No, it’s not.” His gaze shifts back to her and he’s hit with that same certainty that she is important to him. “Tell me, what’s your version of a perfect date?” He asks innocent enough except he’s grinning.

“Live music.” They start to wander toward the pool. “Food that’s either not good for you or something totally new.” She thinks for a second and grins guiltlessly. “Has to at least end with a kiss. But preferably that part starts somewhere in the middle.”

“Good food and live music.” He hums. “Sounds like a good dive bar and a band.” He turns his head and winks at her. “Kissing is always acceptable.”

“There’s something to be said for enjoying life—” she starts to say, but finds herself cut off by the unexpected and complete change in the mood of the party after a shriek sounds from the far edge of the pool.

Alex’s head snaps up, but it’s not in anxiety. That shriek is one of happiness and joy. He sees Jason and Moira, touching and kissing frantically and he shakes his head. “Holy shit.” He huffs. “I did not see that coming.”

“What happened?” Billie missed it, whatever it was, but hears you squeal in equal joy just a second later.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!”

“They are soulmates.” It’s the only logical conclusion and he chuckles at the starstruck look on his friend’s face.

“Two sets at one party?” Billie half-laughs, but feels a sting regardless. Quiet jealousy, but it’s still there.

He hears the undercurrent in her voice. The same longing that was probably in his own if he was honest. “Only thing that could make it better is if it was three.” He jokes.

Billie hums, sure there’s no chance, but offers him a smile anyway. “That would make it a hell of a party.”

“Yeah it would.” He feels like she’s not interested in discovering that, so he touches her back. “Why don’t we go say congrats?” He asks. “You know Moira, right?

“We just met today, actually.” She takes his hand when he offers it. It’s a sweet gesture that she appreciates. “But we should still go and say congratulations.”

“You are just meeting all kinds of new people today, aren’t you?” He squeezes her hand gently.

“I seem to be,” she agrees with a small laugh, ready to be swallowed up by the celebrating.

Alex guides her over to the group, not letting go of Billie’s hand, but he throws his other arm around Jason when he reaches him. “Holy shit! I knew it!” He lies, laughing the entire time as he pounds his costar on the back.

"I'm glad someone did!" Jason is crying ecstatic tears, refusing to let go of Moira by accepting the hug as easily as the whirlwind around him. "Because I sure didn't!"

Alex laughs and lets go of his friend to move towards Moria, still holding onto Billie as he folds her into a hug. “Congratulations, beautiful.” He murmurs. “He’s a good man.”

"It's just so crazy." Moira's tears are more of a watery eyes situation and she's sniffling away anything more as she laughs in continuous disbelief. "it's completely crazy."

“Crazy and perfect.” Alex insists with another quick hug before he steps back and draws Billie into his side. “Just like this entire movie has been.”

"I knew I had a good feeling about you guys for a reason." After ducking back into the house to grab champagne, you have reappeared by the pool with the bottle in hand. "This is absolutely cause to celebrate."

“Ohhhh! Let me go get the glasses!” Billie volunteers, wanting to help with the festivities. Maybe it will squelch the tug of jealousy in her.

"Cupboard to the left of the sink!" You call after your retreating cousin's back, just in case she's forgotten.

Alex watches her walk back into the house before he turns back to Jason with a wide grin. “So are you getting married today?” He asks them with a chuckle.

"This group of friends has already had one on-the-spot wedding." Jason laughs, though he leans down and kisses Moira's forehead softly. "Maybe next week."

“It worked for us.” Javi chuckles, taking the champagne bottle from you when you want him to open it. “But I like to think we are special.”

"Very special," you hum, leaning in to kiss him before he fusses with the champagne.

Billie comes back with the glasses while Tamara scoots next to Alex. “Sooooo.” Her voice is dripping with humor. “The cousin, huh?”

"Yeah." Alex smirks an raises an eyebrow at her. "And?"

“Nothing.” She shrugs innocently. “Nothing at all.”

"C'mon Tam-Tam," Alex laughs. "You can say it. What's on your mind?"

She rolls her eyes playfully, but she reaches out to touch his arm. “You look like you’re halfway in love already.”

Unashamed, Alex casts his eyes back toward where Billie is handing out glasses of bubbly with you while Javi pours. "Maybe," he admits dreamily. "She's...I can't explain it. She's special, Tam."

“Wow.” His confession makes her eyes widen and even if she is cautious, she won’t try to dim the light in his eyes. “Good for you.” She murmurs honestly.

"Besides," Alex laughs, nudging his friend. "At this rate, we'll all have met our soulmates before filming wraps."

“Oh I doubt it.” Personal doubt had her scoffing, but like everyone else, she wants to find her person. Soulmate or not. “But it’s a nice thought.”

“You’ll find your person.” Alex loops an arm around her and hugs her to his side. “Or people. Who knows? Maybe you’re lucky enough to have two.”

That makes her laugh. “No one has two.” She huffs. “Not at the same time at least. And I’ve only ever heard of a few cases where someone gets another soulmate after their first one dies.”

“My point,” he nudges her again. “Is don’t give up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She knows he’s meaning well, but it makes her uneasy. With the billions of people on the planet, how is she supposed to find her one? “I won’t, but I’m not gonna focus on me, tonight.” She nods towards Jason and Moira. “My guy looks like he just won an Oscar.”

“He feels like he did.” Or, at least, Alex knows that’s how he would feel if he was in the same circumstance. “Good for them. They’re sweet. And they’ve been dancing around each other for months.”

“I’ve been telling Jason to ask her out.” Tamara rolls her eyes. “He doesn’t listen.”

“You know how he is.” When you appear beside your friends with glasses of champagne for them, you’re all smiles and good cheer. “He’s shy when he’s not sure of something. But he doesn’t need to be shy anymore.”

“No, no he doesn’t.” His eyes are on Billie, smiling as she talks with Moira. “He’s lucky.” He admits, hoping that he could be as confident as Jason with her, even if she isn’t his soulmate.

“He’s not the only one, ya know.” The meddling grin on your face is unmistakable. “You guys like a lot of the same music, but the way.”

“That’s good.” He shrugs innocently. “So I can hope I pick a good live band when I take her out.”

Immediately, you light up with excitement. “Did you already ask??”

“Yeah.” He blushes a little. “When we were in your room, and I was groveling.”

“Good boy!” You squeak with happy approval and practically dance from all the excitement today. “She’s the best. You’re going to have such a good time.”

“She doesn’t understand why I was nervous, but she accepted my apology.” He hums, grinning at you.

"Be as good of a date to her as you are a friend to the rest of us, and you'll be just fine."

“Oh, I will be better.” Alex winks at you. “You missed out.” He teases. “You coulda had all this but you had to find your soulmate.”

"You'll have to make it up to me by being amazing to my cousin." He gets another squeeze from you and a beaming smile. You have a good feeling about this.

“I have to be.” He huffs, shooting you a wide eyed look of terror. “You’ll kick my ass if I don’t!”

"Damn right!" You flash him a wink and stride away again, ready to hug the shit out of your best friend all over again, then tuck yourself under your own soulmate's arm.

“I can’t believe you are my soulmate.” Jason murmurs again, his thumb sweeping over the small patch of skin that tells the world the two of them belong together. “We’ve been around each other for weeks and wasted so much time.”

"It wasn't wasted," Moira insists, though her arms are up around his neck like they never would have been even yesterday. She'd taken off her suit cover and slipped into the pool and Jason had seen the lily tattooed on her hip, the small memorial of her grandmother that she had had for years. And now here they are. "Because we had that time we know things about each other. We know we get along. We have mutual friends. That's not a waste at all."

“Not a waste.” He concedes, albeit a bit begrudgingly. “I want you to move in with me.” He tells her quickly. “We can wait for sex, however long you want, but I want to sleep beside you. Hold you.”

Moira laughs, not because anything he said was wrong or necessary funny, but because she can feel the change in the air already. "You think we're going to be able to sleep next to each other and not have sex?" She poses, smirking at him.

“No.” He admits, grinning even though his voice is a little raspy. “But I didn’t want you to think I expected it.” He shrugs. “I was just hoping you’d jump me in my sleep.”

“If I’m going to jump you, I’d vastly prefer you to be awake,” she laughs, but she’s pulling him in for a kiss all the same.

His own laugh is cut short by her lips. Serious when he draws her closer, feeling like he will never get enough.

Even the little kisses so far have been deep and sweet, and this one is no exception. It’s like the little part of her that’s been missing was in him the whole time and she doesn’t know how she didn’t see it before.

Jason pulls back after a moment and presses his forehead against hers. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Already?” She teases. She’s breathless every time she gets to kiss him but now that they’re real soulmates she feels lighter than air. “The day is barely half over. There’s so much more to go.”

“It feels like it can only get better from here.” He laughs. “But how? When right now is perfect?”

“I guess we’re just going to have to see what happens next.” Moira says. But really? It would take a hell of a lot for this day to get any better.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

TUWOP: @inept-the-magnificent @missladym1981 @sunnytuliptime @iamladyp @spishsstuff @famouslyanonymous

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javi Gutierrez #Javi Gutierrez x you #Javi Gutierrez x reader #Javi Gutierrez x female reader #Javi Gutierrez x f!reader #Javi G #TUWOMT #the unbearable weight of massive talent #soulmate au

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teez-the-time · 1 year ago

Text

Strawberries and Wine

Pairing: Consort! Seonghwa x Emperor! Fem! Reader

Genre: fantasy, romance, smut

Synopsis: as an Emperor, you liked to indulge in the pleasantries of life. The shiniest jewels, the best wines, the tastiest delicacies. But in the years of your reign, you had never found something as exquisite as the lips of Park Seonghwa.

Warnings: switch! lean dom! reader, switch! sub lean! Seonghwa, masturbation (f and m receiving), oral sex (f), breast play, piv sex, riding, dry humping, grinding, a lil food play, alcohol consumption (no drunk characters), pretty vanilla actually, body wordship, my characters are whipped as usual, pls tell me if I miss something

Wc: 9.1k

Taglist: none

A/N. What's this? Me actually posting a fic? Make a wish, people, cause a miracle has happened. Anyway, I humbly offer you this Hwa x reader fic, I hope you enjoy it. Please pretend that I actually know how to write smut and that I don't suck at it. Also, let's pretend this isn't totally inspired by the Webtoon, "Men of the Harem". Go read it if you haven't. Any like, comment, message, reblog, etc. is highly appreciated. My DMs are open as always. See you later!

XOXO

-May

“I believe that was the last engagement for the day, Your Majesty,” your trustworthy secretary, Marquis Kim Hongjoong, announced.

You rolled back your neck, releasing little pops of accumulated stress from the long day. Your eyes almost cried in relief when you closed them for more than a couple of seconds, having been subjected to the harsh candlelight for hours. “That is good to hear. It’s already very late. You may be excused, Hongjoong, and thank you for today”.

Your secretary stood up beside your desk, slightly bowing his head as he held a thick stack of papers underneath his arm. “If my services aren’t required any longer, then I’ll be on my way, ma’am. Have a pleasant night, Your Majesty”.

For a couple of seconds, only Hongjoong’s steps could be heard in your office room. You were putting away letters, documents and your beloved stationary when a little note tucked away in one of your drawers reminded you of something.

Poor Hongjoong had a hand on the door knob when you called out for him. “Wait, Hongjoong!”

“Yes, ma’am?” he inquired after being stopped seconds away from freedom. He looked worried from your sudden abrasiveness.

“I had almost forgotten to ask,” you explained, “did you inform Lord Park Seonghwa of my visit tonight?”

Hongjoong wanted to sigh from relief, as well as laugh at the mention of your little appointment with the young noble, Lord Park Seonghwa. “Yes, Your Majesty. His Grace and his entourage were made aware of your intentions of passing by tonight”.

“Good, good.” You spaced out and forgot to add something else to that sentence, but was suddenly called back to Earth when you saw your poor Hongjoong still standing by the door like a dog waiting to get out. “Now you are truly dismissed. Sorry to keep you here”.

“No worries, ma’am,” he assured you, finally leaving you alone in your office. Just you and your thoughts of that commitment with none other than your adored Park Seonghwa. At last, something exciting in your day after many hours of meetings with your court, and mountains of papers with budgets, reports, complaints and many more.

God, you thought, it’s depressing to still be thinking about work. I guess it's inevitable if you want to run an empire.

You finished picking up after yourself and blew out what remained of the candles. They had just been replaced that day, but you would need to call for someone to put even more the next day.

I guess I will have to set aside a budget for candles.

The halls of the palace were considerably more empty in the late hours of the night, but that didn’t stop you from running into several maids and guards on their nightly duties. They all bowed to you and waited until you were far enough to continue with their tasks. In those moments, you thought that, no matter how bothersome and grueling your responsibilities could get, at least you didn’t have to stand up for hours on end or wash silverware in the middle of the night.

Near your chambers appeared to be the busiest. You opened the door to find your maids awaiting to assist you in your nightly routine. They curtsied at your arrival, and hastily dragged you to your vanity to begin dressing you down.

“Look at these hours!” one exclaimed while removing the pins of your hair, “Your Majesty must be so tired after such a long day. Should we draw a bath with those special salts for you to relax, ma’am? Then we can serve you some lavender tea for sleep”.

“You are a dear to me,” you thanked her and the others, “I’ll gladly take the offer of the bath, but I’m afraid I won’t be staying the night here. I plan to visit Lord Park, so please draw me that bath and fetch my robe”.

They giggled. “As you wish, Your Majesty”.

The hands were the most delicate when removing your makeup, hair and clothes. They rubbed away the stress of work and replaced it with the most pleasant of oils and perfumes. Indeed, they were masters of the art of polishing the body and the soul. Before you realized, you were already dressed in your nightgown and the robe that you reserved for these occasions.

“Is there anything else we can help Your Majesty with?” another one asked.

“I’m afraid not. Thank you once again. Please retire to your chambers for some sleep. We will have to wake up very early tomorrow!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

They curtsied as they left, and you could hear some of their giddy laughter and hushed voices just before the door closed. They loved gossip, even if it was about the whereabouts of their emperor (which was no secret to anyone). You let them entertain themselves however they wanted, choosing to keep them content as they were the people that spend the most time with you.

You sat in your vanity once more to contemplate their work. There was no sign of fatigue or worry in the face that looked back at you from the mirror. Quite the contrary. You looked more refreshed and rested than you had in weeks, all thanks to the magical wonders of your maids.

There was nothing you could do better in your appearance, so you decided to leave before you could consider staying in your chambers. While that thought seemed pleasant, a more promising option awaited you at one of the wings of the palace.

The wing reserved for the royal consorts was exquisite and lavish. Several rooms expanded around, forming a circle with a marble fountain in the middle depicting two lovers embracing each other with the utmost intensity. A dome was constructed on top of it, so the lovers were perpetually bathed in sunshine or moonlight. The floors were carpeted with the finest rugs imported from exotic lands in faraway continents. No speck of dust could be found on any corner, and all vases were always kept full with your favourite flowers. All the artwork was seasonally changed and handpicked by the emperors themselves according to their consorts' tastes. After all, it was the emperors' duty to pamper them and keep them content.

Having prided enough in your work at the consort wing, you began walking through the left part of the circle. Despite being able to hold many guests, most of the chambers were empty. In your short reign as emperor, you had only taken four consorts, without planning to add more in the foreseeable future. As a female emperor, it wasn’t a good look for your legacy to be remembered for promiscuity rather than your political achievements. Also, you were quite content with whom you had chosen to be your lovers.

Normally, the consort wing was brewing with life, always full of servants and guards waiting on your partners. While it could be refreshing to breathe that atmosphere, it was undeniable that the emperor’s visit was a cause of drama in the palace. Everyone was always eager to learn who were you coming to see, what you talked about and what to expect, and no doubt the speculation resulted in scheming that you weren’t ready to discover just yet. That’s why you tried to keep your appearances late and spaced in between, just to keep gossip at bay.

And, maybe, add some excitement too.

Seonghwa’s room was the farthest away, much to your dislike. Nevertheless, the wait made your little escapade even more thrilling. You reached the door, softly knocking on the sturdy wood. A few seconds passed and no one answered it. You knocked again, and still no answer. By now, one of Seonghwa’s servants would have opened it to let you go in, but tonight didn’t seem to be the case. Starting to get worried, you grabbed the knob and tried to push it open by yourself. Surprisingly, it offered no resistance and you found yourself inside Seonghwa’s chambers. You were preparing to scold him for his imprudence of leaving a door unlocked at night when the most pleasant of smells inundated your nostrils.

At first, it was just the sweet aroma of vanilla and jasmine, but the more you breathed in, the richer the smell got. Soon enough, your mind was floating along with the scent, making you relax into the atmosphere. It reminded you of something hidden in the depths of the soul. Desire. It wasn’t strong nor overpowering, but it lingered there, just barely out of reach .

When you shook out the initial stupor of the aroma, you scanned the room looking for your companion for the night. Normally, he would be waiting for you in one of the exquisite sofas and chairs of the sitting area before the door, but tonight he wasn’t there either.

Apparently, the young lord had made sure that your night was full of oddities.

After a few more seconds of appreciating the neatness and taste of Seonghwa’s bedchambers, your eyes fell into the sleeping area. The furniture around the bed was lit up with soft candles, and a few scenting oil containers laid open, explaining the delicious odor that greeted you. A bottle of wine and two glasses waited for you at the coffee table in front of the chaise lounge that sat in front of the bed. That was, certainly, a direct clue to move there.

As you got closer, you saw that the drapes of the bed were completely closed, but the light from the candles illuminated the silhouette of a man sitting inside. With big strides and a grin, you closed the distance even more.

“My, my, what do we have here?” you asked in a teasing tone, one hand laying on the back of the chaise lounge. You circled it and sat down on the plush cushions, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back into one arm. “Looks like someone is hiding from me. Where did my precious Seonghwa go?”.

A deep chuckle came from within the curtains. “Not very far, Your Majesty”.

“My, my, there he is!” you poured yourself a glass of wine from the bottle that awaited you on the coffee table before the chaise lounge. It was yours and Seonghwa’s favourite. “What an odd feeling to not have you welcome me into your chambers. Playing hard to get, aren’t we?”

His rich laugh resonated once again in the room and you could see he shifted his position a little from the candlelight. “Your Majesty should know by now that familiarity breeds contempt”.

“That is very true, darling,” you sipped the wine, “but I will admit that seeing you that eager has always been my favourite part of the day. Perhaps you are right and I’ve spoiled my puppy too much, so now he is bored of me. I guess I’ll have to go to one of the other consorts…”

Slight panic rose to Seonghwa’s voice, but he managed to save face in time. “Quite on the contrary. I thought that Your Majesty might start getting bored of our encounters, so I thought a little change was due”.

Your heart fluttered at Seonghwa’s thoughtfulness, but you weren’t done playing with him. “What a kind puppy I have got here. Thank you for thinking about me, but remember I’m the one who makes the decisions here”.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but you heard a little mischief there.

Still, you decided to let it slide once. “Either way, I’m feeling extra generous tonight, so I’ll follow your little plan for a while. So, tell me, where do we go from here, my darling?”.

Seonghwa shifted once more in his bed. His shadows danced across the fabric of the drapes.

“Well,” he started, “I believe that Your Majesty has already made herself comfortable on my chair, but I’m afraid that none of what I intend on doing tonight makes use of it. So, why don’t you come closer, ma’am?”.

Now, you thought, he is using that charm of his. A little bit longer and I would’ve gone to get him myself.

You stood from your resting position, not leaving behind your glass. Not long after, you stood at the foot of the bed, one hand gripping the opening of the lace drapes, eagerly waiting to reveal your lover’s form.

The sight in front of you left you drunker than the wine on your lips could ever.

In the many years that he had resided in your palace, you had commissioned dozens of artists to portray the beauty of the young lord, Park Seonghwa. But, even after having a room full of just paintings of him in every position imaginable, you still had yet to acquire any piece of art that could rival the one sitting before your very eyes.

Seonghwa sat between the plush pillows and cushions at the head of the bed. His posture was relaxed, with his legs slightly crossed and one arm supporting most of his upper torso. His robe was barely tied, leaving almost the entirety of his torso exposed. Not that it would have been of much help, given the scandalous sheerness of the garment, which left little to the imagination. His neck, ears and fingers were littered with the golden shine of the jewelry you had especially commissioned to compliment his tan complexion. Your eyes found purchase of every inch of his small waist and defined limbs. He was carefully sculpted by the gods, even if he politely declined any comment made towards his appearance.

One trait you loved about Seonghwa was his eyes. They never lied. You could tell what he was feeling from a simple stare. Right now, many things flashed through them

Desire. Lust. Adoration.

You stood there without moving except to sip on your wine once again. As you stared at him, you noticed that one of his hands laid inside a crystal bowl. Never removing his eyes from yours, he raised it to his plump lips and opened his mouth. His tongue darted out to receive whatever it was that his hand carried and, for a moment, you saw a glint. He let you see the ruby-like gem before he closed his mouth and bit down on it slowly. A slight smirk adorned his face.

He knew you. He knew you liked jewelry. And him.

“Oh?” you exclaimed while looking at the bowl once again, seeing it full with more of the gems, “Is that candy?”

His smile grew wider. “Yes, Your Majesty. The finest of your empire.”

“I see, very interesting. Will you tell me which flavor is it?”

He grabbed one more piece of candy and showed it to you. The light from the candles bounced off it, making it look like a real ruby. “That, ma’am, is something you will have to find out”.

You arched your eyebrow at him in a questioning manner. “Is the puppy going to keep me guessing? Well then, bring it here so I can taste it myself”.

With your command, Seonghwa got on his knees and crawled over the bed towards you, bringing one of the damned candies with him. The closer he got, the more breathtaking he looked. Part of you wanted to order him to stop with his act, but the other part loved seeing his sensual side on display for you. Also, deep inside, you were too soft to ruin his fun.

His head towered slightly over yours. From that distance, you could see every detail of his face, including the nonexistent imperfections. Without a word, your hand scanned his jaw, chin and neck until you felt the cold of one of his gold chains, leaving it there. With your other hand, you grabbed the candy gem and brought it closer to both of your heads. You twirled it twice on your fingers before putting it against Seonghwa’s lips. Not wasting a second, he opened his mouth and let the candy fall on it like it had done earlier. Before closing it again, he playfully licked the tip of your index finger.

What a naughty puppy.

You grabbed his chin and put your face even closer to his. “You are playing a dangerous game, my darling”.

He had barely swallowed the candy when you closed the space between you with a kiss. Immediately, Seonghwa reciprocated, closing his eyes and grabbing you by your waist and shoulder.

Strawberry. He tasted like strawberries.

You took advantage of the kiss to let your hands explore even more of the body you saw earlier. His skin was as soft and warm as always, but you never got tired of how it felt against yours. Your fingers slid inside his robe and slowly dragged it down his shoulders, leaving even more skin exposed. You wanted all of it. All of him.

You separated from the kiss to get some air, but apparently it wasn’t enough for Seonghwa. He latched himself on the juncture of your neck and jaw, peppering open-mouthed kisses on every inch of your skin that you could find. You let out a content sigh, and weaved your fingers through his hair, knowing he loved when you did that. His hands held you firmly by your waist, pulling you flush against himself. Bit by bit, his kisses went lower until he reached the neck of your nightgown.

Through the years, you had learnt that Seonghwa was addicting. There was never “just a bit” with him. It was all or nothing. And that’s what you intended tonight. Take all of him.

In more than one way.

“As much as I would love to stay like this all night long,” you said while pushing Seonghwa slightly off of your chest, “I’m afraid my legs will give out at some point. Perhaps we should take this further into the bed”.

Seonghwa said nothing. Still, he got up from his kneeling position and down the bed, grabbed your hand and walked around the furniture and sat on the edge of it near the pillows. While smiling, he placed your hands back on his shoulders and pulled you between his legs. He looked at you from beneath, expecting you to follow along with his plans for you.

“I’m also afraid of tiring Your Majesty’s legs before we have even begun,” he shooted you a smirk. “Why don’t you take a seat so I can take care of you, ma’am?”

He didn’t even wait for your answer before grabbing your behind and pulling you with force to himself. You let out a yelp and fell down on him. While he laughed at you, you tried to pull yourself up by pressing down on his shoulders and putting your legs on each side of his. In any other situation you would’ve also laughed with him, but you wanted to keep control for a little longer.

“What a naughty puppy,” you exclaimed, grabbing Seonghwa by his jaw to shut him up. “Good thing you that I love you a little too much. Otherwise I would have your head on a plate”. You didn’t really mean that, but you noticed that Seonghwa’s eyes lit up a bit when you said love. “You will pay me back another day”.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” he replied, “but let me enjoy myself a little longer”.

He captured your lips once more. Somewhere in your conversation he had gained a confidence you had only witnessed a handful of times. He didn’t hesitate to remove your robe from your body, letting it fall to the floor without a care. He didn’t hesitate while pulling you to sit entirely on his lap, making you feel everything underneath. He didn’t hesitate while looking at you in a way no one dared to before.

The adoration you had towards this man felt way too much for a moment, and you got scared. So, you decided to avoid your feelings for a little longer by kissing him again, praying that he wouldn’t notice how different you were acting tonight. And if he did, he didn’t show.

At one point, during your touching, Seonghwa had lost that goddamned robe, leaving the both of you in nothing but your underwear. You could feel the heat radiating from each other, almost too hot to the touch but not enough to make you pull away. As much as you could spend eternity just kissing Seonghwa’s strawberry lips, you were starting to feel impatient and the man could tell.

It started slow, barely enough for you to feel at first. He had broken the kiss to leave more marks on your neck and naked chest. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to his crotch. The space between you was almost non-existent. Little by little, he started to move your hips along his, igniting sparks of pleasure throughout your body. In no time, he accompanied it with movements of his own pelvis, creating the perfect amount of friction to send you into overdrive.

One particularity of Seonghwa was his ability to make every movement enticing. After all, there was a time he was known as the best dancer and performer in your whole land, seeked and desired by hundreds, and it was that reputation that had drawn you towards him in the first place. Every move of his appeared calculated enough to look tempting yet effortless, and here you were paying the price of that talent by being subjected to one of the most sublime pleasures known to humankind.

At one point, Seonghwa had stilled your hips, opting for grinding his against them. This ensured that you could feel the entirety of his erection pressing against every part of your core, all the way from your entrance to your clit. After a while of receiving this tortuous treatment, you were climbing a peak you weren’t ready yet to reach.

You stilled his movements by pressing your hand against his hard on, which earned you a whine from Seonghwa. You almost went back into a desperate grinding after hearing that delicious noise, but you held back. “I’m afraid that if we continue with this much longer, both you and I won’t last enough to get to whatever you wish to do”.

“You don’t have to worry about me, ma’am” he teased you with a cheeky grin. “I can continue all night long, Your Majesty”.

You grabbed him by the back of his head once again and got your faces close. “Y/N”. He blinked a couple times in confusion, so you repeated yourself once again. “Y/N. It’s Y/N when I’m with you”.

Now it was Seonghwa’s turn to pray that you didn’t notice how fast his heart was beating from your statement. One would think that he had loved you enough time for your name to roll easily from his lips, but it wasn’t the case at all. It was impossible when some days, your sole presence was enough to make him nervous. It was impossible when sometimes he looked at the other consorts and it made his blood boil. It was impossible when he knew that using your name meant owning a part of you, something he would never be able to do given the nature of your relationship.

Nevertheless, he allowed the syllables to run through his tongue, even if they stinged. “Well then, I can continue all night long, Y/N”.

He didn’t give you time to reply, because in one moment he was leaving a peck on your lips, and on the other you were swiftly being turned around and laid against the pillows of the bed. You gasped in surprise at the same time that Seonghwa let out the most beautiful laugh you had ever heard.

And what would you not do to hear it again.

“You little scoundrel!” you exclaimed. “You have absolutely no idea what you are getting yourself into. Next time you’ll see how well it goes for you!”

Seonghwa positioned himself on top of you, his chest almost pressed against yours. He shot you another mischievous grin. “I’ll be waiting eagerly, then”.

He left a kiss on the column of your throat, so soft it was barely there. Then he left another one a little lower. Then another. And another. And another, until he reached your sternum. Your eyes fluttered when he started moving upwards towards one of your breasts. He used one of his hands to trace mindless patterns across your stomach, hips and waist. The tender stimulation was starting to heighten the heat in your core, somewhat lost in the brief moments you had stopped rubbing on Seonghwa. Finally, it reached an all-time peak when his warm tongue enveloped your right nipple.

“Ah!” you let out with a moan. He continued his assault on your breast, sucking and licking on your sensitive mound. After some moments of this treatment, he brought the hand that had been on your hip and used it to massage the forgotten bud. Then, he switched sides, continuing his ministrations on both of your nipples. It felt good. So good that you started rubbing your thighs together, hoping to get some friction and relieve some of that growing heat.

Seonghwa took notice of your impatience and decided to act on it. He unlatched his mouth from your bud, replacing it with his other hand. Meanwhile, he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your stomach. You let out content sighs, using your own hands to rub soothing circles on Seonghwa’s defined back and shoulders. His mouth reached the hem of your panties, and you couldn’t help but hitch a breath in expectation. But that fucker had other plans for you.

He peppered even more kisses along the waistband of your underwear, even going as far as to nip it. But, when he got to where you needed him the most, he ignored the wet patch on your crotch, opting to lick your inner thighs. He left another wet trail on your legs up until your knees, bending them slightly to give him better access. Without missing a beat, he switched from one leg to the other, this time going upwards towards your centre. He rubbed your calves and knees tenderly, relieving the tension in them.

Seonghwa broke away from the task he had been focused on for the last minutes to look back at you, and spoke.

“You know,” he stated, “there was once a time where I could have been considered the most beautiful man of the kingdom”. You stared back at him, curious about what point he was trying to make. “It has been almost five years since then, and I’m sure age has changed that fact”.

You frowned at his words, and you were about to refute that claim when he spoke again. “I am certain that has been the case for me. But for you, Y/N, Your Majesty, it is completely the opposite. Every day that you come visit me, I am more certain that time has only made you even more beautiful”.

You were left speechless in awe, but Seonghwa did not seem to interpret it the same way. “I am most sorry if my words have been bold tonight, but the thought has been wandering on my mind for the entirety of this evening. Let me make it up to you, Y/N”.

With nothing else to add, he brought relief to the ache on your core that had been plaguing you from the moment you stepped on Seonghwa’s chambers. Slowly, he bit down on the waistband of your underwear and began to bring it down with his teeth enough to then remove them with his fingers. When he was sure there was not a single millimeter of fabric separating you from him, he dived head first into your folds, tasting you like you were a meal he had been depriving himself of for weeks.

The expertise of his tongue and the long wait had you moaning immediately. “Oh, fuck!” Your hands grabbed the back of his head and pushed him further into you.

Seonghwa never shied away from giving you the best pleasure he could offer. He continually switched from kitty licks on your clit to long swipes through your whole slit. He ate you out like a starved man, sucking on your nub with enough force to make you almost reach the ceiling of pleasure. Nevertheless, he didn’t want you arriving at your climax just yet. No, he had a lot more to give you. He separated himself from your core slightly, just enough to be able to watch you in all your glory.

The sight of your eyes rolling back into your skull, head hanging weakly over the pillows and your mouth wide open almost made him cum on himself. You looked so fucked out, barely even registering what happened on your surrounds aside from the movement of his tongue and your hand on his hair.

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed, “you are doing so well for me, Y/N. So, so good”.

You whined at his growl-like tone. “Hwa, I’m close. Don’t stop, please.”

Seonghwa moaned at your whining. It was rare to witness his emperor relinquishing so much of the control you normally had on every aspect of your life, even in bed. He was harder than he remembered ever feeling before, and it drove him crazy. He didn’t want to, he needed to make you cum. So, after looking at you one last time, he went back to his task, now inserting a finger into your hole.

You gasped at the sudden feeling of having his digit inside yourself. His fingers were long and slender, perfect for how you liked it. Little by little, Seonghwa started inserting more and more of it, feeling no resistance from your part. With the same slow pace, he began sliding out, only to go back inside. In no time, he had found a rhythm that matched his licks and slurps on your clit.

This time, you could feel your climax start to unravel once Seonghwa hit the perfect spot. “Oh my god, I’m coming. Shit, shit, I’m coming!”.

The perfect combination of one of his licks with his fingering movements left your vision white. You felt the air being sucked from your lungs as a fiery heat traveled from all your extremities to your core. Your back arched beautifully, almost as if wanting to ascend to the upper plane of pleasure Seonghwa was sending you to. Your fingers clutched anything they could get a hold of; pillows, sheets, and Seonghwa’s dark locks of hair.

The high was dizzying and intoxicating.

Seonghwa continued to shyly lick your cunt while you came back from your orgasm. You felt sensitive to his touch, but your craving for him still wasn’t satisfied. You propped yourself on one elbow to look at him better, moving your other hand from his hair to his cheek. With soft touches, you removed his face from your core to stop him.

The sight before you was erotic in every sense of the word. The lower bottom of his face was drenched in your cum, his tongue darting out from his mouth to lick around it. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, making it seem like it was him who had received one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life. His eyes, still full of love and adoration for you, continued to pierce into yours, feeding into the fire that had slowly been growing since the start of the evening.

“My puppy has done such a good job tonight,” you praised him, running your fingers down his jaw to his neck and chest. In a soft gesture, you put your hand under his armpit, urging him to come up from his lying position to hover over you. With his hands on each side of your face, his legs tangled between yours, and your hands woven over the back of his head, you gazed back at him with a mischievous smile. “I believe a reward is in order”.

You closed the distance between your lips, pressing them into another feverish kiss. Seonghwa let out a content sigh into your mouth, melting until both of your figures became indistinguishable. You ran a hand over his broad back, lightly scratching your nails over his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your journey. Then, you dipped it under his waist and over his abdominals, going lower and lower until your hand reached its final destination.

Seonghwa almost collapsed on top of you when he felt you touch his dick. He let out divine sounds when he felt you begin to stroke the base of his member under his underwear, your other hand removing the last piece of clothing for him. For a moment, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the way your hand moved downwards towards the tip, in a movement you had memorized from your countless nights spent with him. To have you touch the most intimate part of his body felt the biggest reward he could receive for his actions, but that wasn’t how he wanted things to go.

You were surprised when you felt his hand grab your wrist to halt your movements. “What is wrong?” you asked, worried about hurting him.

He looked down to where you connected with him and then back at you with his ever-present soft smile. “Nothing is wrong, but I don’t wish to make this night about me”.

You raised your eyebrow at him. “But you deserve it”.

He pecked your nose and gifted you with another smile. “Thank you, Y/N, save it for another time”.

Seonghwa removed your hand from his underwear and intertwined your fingers with his, resting both of your hands besides your head. He left small kisses on your lips, one after another, until you were giggling. The cold metal of his necklaces against your chest gave you small goosebumps, but you still pulled his face against yours, rubbing your noses together.

“I will, Hwa,” you promised him.

Seonghwa let out a chuckle of his own. You looked so cute at that moment. “Thank you, Y/N. Now, if you let me, there’s still one thing on my list for tonight”.

In one swift moment, he sat back on the bed, similar to the position you found him earlier in the night, but this time with you sitting directly on his crotch once more. This time, there was nothing separating your cores. You could feel the entirety of Seonghwa’s length pressed against your slit, warm and slippery with your juices. A small movement of your hips and you would have the head of his cock pressed against your entrance.

Apparently, that same thought crossed Seonghwa. He grabbed your waist to lift you slightly up, leaving you on your knees over him. With one hand he positioned you where he needed you, and with the other he grabbed his cock, stroking himself while aligning it with your entrance. He looked up at you, eyes round and soft.

“May I?” he asked, not needing to say further.

You nodded, and he began your descend towards the climax of tonight’s act.

The first wave came with the first inch. There was always a sense of euphoria when you felt the tip of his length breach your inner walls, slowly dragging upwards to give way to more of it. Your body always responds with a gasp at this initial moment. The second wave is less intense but more prolonged. As he entered deeper and deeper, Seonghwa started losing control of himself. At this stage, he would start touching and grabbing every part of your body he could reach. Hips, thighs, breasts and ass would be covered in small marks the next day from his mindless touch. The last wave was the one that left the both of you with the biggest satisfaction. It was the bliss of being connected in one of the most intimate ways two people could.

“Oh, fuck!” Seonghwa let out, throwing his head back. No matter how many times he had done this, it still felt delicious.

You were also a mess above him. Your back was arched towards him, eyes pressed shut to savour the drag of his dick inside of you, and mouth wide open. Seonghwa felt like cumming from that sight alone. He wanted to devour you whole; crawl beneath your skin and live inside your heart forever.

If only he knew.

Regaining a bit of your senses, you started moving your hips slowly. Up and down, front to back, side to side. You began to find the rhythm that drove the both of you crazy. Wanton moans escaped from your lips as you felt Seonghwa in the deepest parts of your body. You grabbed his shoulders to support yourself better, and his hands found nest on the curve of your hips. In no time, you had picked up the speed, feeling him go in and out harder.

“God, you feel so good,” you moaned. “You are always so good for me. So, so good”.

The praise seemed to get into Seonghwa’s head (and cock). He whined beautifully, his eyes rolling back into his skull. He bit his lower lip to contain the sounds escaping from his throat. You didn’t like that.

You freed his lip with your thumb, once again getting closer to his face. “Don’t you ever try to hold back with me. I want to hear you”.

That set Seonghwa on fire. He planted his feet on the bed, grabbing you firmly by the waist, and started thrusting up into you with force. For a moment, all breath escaped from your lungs, being replaced by the smell of sex and lust. A whiny scream left your lips without meaning to, followed by broken moans and gasps. You hugged your lover by the shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself from falling too hard too fast on the abyss.

Seonghwa’s plump lips now rested against your ear, gifting you with his unrestrained groans and grunts of pleasure. You clenched around his cock deliciously, fitting him like a glove. It felt like a new heaven was opened to him every time he entered you, and your hands roaming across his back and chest felt akin to feather touches of an angel. If he closed his eyes a little longer, then he would be gone for good.

“Y/N, Y/N,” he repeated like a mantra, “I’m so close! God, I can’t wait to come inside of you. I’m going to make you mine”.

Seonghwa was a goner when he felt you clench even harder around him, but he needed you to cum first. It was a rule in his world, a commandment of his, to always satisfy your needs before his, even if it meant never getting back what he had offered you. So, feeling his impending climax approaching, he slid his fingers between your bodies to where your clit rested. His other hand slithered up to your breast, and played with your sensitive peaks.

That was your breaking point. The stimulation of all those points elevated you to your highest peak of the night. Your body shook with electricity that spread through your spine down to every nerve. You back arched against Seonghwa’s chest, pushing your face away from him. Your toes curled and your legs tensed, your inner thighs wet from the mess of cum and saliva.

You were a sight to behold.

Not long after, Seonghwa came. With sloppy thrusts into your core, he tried to prolong his and your orgasms. Overstimulation was becoming overwhelming, but something carnal and animalistic inside of him pushed him to go further. To claim every inch of your body and soul. Make you his in every way imaginable.

He didn’t stop until he felt like he had pushed the last bits of cum into your pussy. He felt the mess you both had created slip between your bodies, letting out a slight smirk at the thought of your cum and his mixing together.

It was him who had you in his bed tonight. Him who had given you the highest form of pleasure. Him who held you as you recovered from having sex with him.

But still, you weren’t his.

Despite Seonghwa facing inner turmoil at the moment, you felt very content at his side. Still feeling him inside, you were full of him, not just in the physical sense. The weight of your actions with him left your heart soaring higher than the sky, almost at peace. There was just a single detail missing in your equation.

With him standing by your side, there was nothing else you needed.

↠↠↠↞↞↞

The moonlight shone through the open balcony, drawing pale and shapeless silhouettes on the floor beneath your feet. You could hear the branches of the trees sway with the wind in the garden below. It was rare for you to have enough time to sit quietly to observe the mundane beauties of the world that surrounded you.

Except on those nights when you laid with Seonghwa.

After a brief clean-up session with him in his bathroom, you went back to his room. It was a comforting routine for both of you. Just being in each other’s company felt more intimate than any sexual activity you could engage in. You sat there in peace, no clothes needed to enjoy the pleasant company. It was symbolic of how you both bared yourselves naked in more than the literal way.

You sat on the edge of the bed, both feet planted on the floor. The long-forgotten wine returned to your hand, swirling slowly inside the glass, guided by the rhythmic movement of your body. Seonghwa laid on the bed behind you, sipping on his wine. You could feel his intense stare on your back, digging holes at it in silence.

Neither of you felt brave enough to break it.

At last, it was Seonghwa who dared to perturb the tranquility of the room.

“You have been behaving oddly tonight,” he declared, speaking into the rim of his glass.

You turned your neck around just enough to see him gulp down the rest of the beverage. For a couple of moments, the only sound in the room was that of liquid pouring before you answered.

“Am I the only one, though?” you questioned back, but not denying his claim.

“Certainly not,” he replied, seemingly submerged in his thoughts. His long fingers tapped against the stem of the glass before settling it down on the nightstand, “but it is unlike you to drain out your concerns in such ways”.

In five years, Seonghwa learnt to read you like a book. He picked on every cue and sign to assess your moods and act according to them. That way he had managed to completely obliterate the walls you had built around yourself, becoming your trusted confidant in record speed. He had not only looks but a bright mind.

But, still, even Seonghwa couldn’t escape the claws of the cold palace politics.

For that reason, you just offered a close-mouthed smile. “I know you have your people in my council, Seonghwa, so you should know what matter plagues me”.

Seonghwa ignored your cold countenance, choosing to gift you a warm smile. “Yes, I do know, but I'd rather hear it from you”.

You looked into his deep, dark eyes and you knew that if you could trust anyone, it would only be Park Seonghwa.

You exhaled some air and sipped on the glass. “The old foxes at the council have been reminding me that it has been five years since I took the throne, and there are no signs of an upcoming wedding, much less an heir. It makes them restless that there is no one they can trust to succeed me if something happens to me, so they have been pressuring me to pick someone at last”.

You turned around your torso to watch him more carefully. Seonghwa appeared as calm as ever, but the firm grip on the stem of the glass betrayed him

“So,” he asked nonchalantly, “will you do it?”

You left your wine on one of the nightstands and slid up further into the bed to sit beside Seonghwa. He looked at you with extreme curiosity while you settled at his side. While it wasn’t the first time you had touched the subject, it had never affected you like this before.

“Yes,” you said, simply.

For the nth time that night, Seonghwa prayed that you couldn’t hear his heart beating erratically inside his chest. That simple word had planted seeds of jealousy and hope, and he feared that more conversation would water them into a horrific ivy that would swallow his spirit whole. Tonight had not been a good night for his heart. Nevertheless, he made his best effort to appear calm amidst his internal storm.

“Oh?” he asked in an almost teasing tone. “Glad to see you finally settling down. Do you have someone in mind already, or should I suggest candidates?”

The green ivy grew bigger on his chest.

“Yes,” you answered, holding his intense gaze, “I have someone in mind already”.

“Oh?” Seonghwa repeated, but this time less sure of himself, “Is it a consort? Or will you bring someone from outside?”

“Oh god, no. In five years as Emperor, the amount of people I trust has reduced significantly. I could never bring myself to find someone outside this palace”.

Seonghwa bit his lip. “So it is a consort”.

You scooted even closer to him. “Yes, he is a consort”.

Seonghwa’s breath hitched. His head was spinning. One in four. He had one in four chances to be the one you picked.

Against his better judgment, he dared to prod the dragon’s belly. “Well then, who is him?”

You grinned at him, teasing him further. “Aren’t you awfully curious tonight?”

Trying to save face, Seonghwa answered. “Can you judge me? I am part of that pool, so I might as well ask before I hear the news from someone else”.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you scooted even closer to his frame, his arm instinctively wrapping around you and resting you on his shoulder. You inhaled his aroma from that distance and hid your face on his neck.

He smelt like home. And strawberries.

You leaned back to watch him, finding he was already looking back at you. Some of his hair fell on his eyes, covering part of his sculpted visage.

“Your hair is getting longer,” you commented, brushing the dark locks behind his ear.

“Should I cut it?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, it looks beautiful on you”.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

For two entire breaths, you stood in silence. “Seonghwa”.

“Yes?”

You wetted your lips. “Seonghwa, for almost five years, you have lived here in the palace as my consort. You were the first one I brought in many years ago when I had recently taken the throne, and you are my closest confidant aside from Hongjoong”.

You felt him gulp nervously, but you continued. “In these years, you have proven yourself to be more than just a consort. You are indeed handsome, but also brilliant, charismatic, strong, brave, and kind. In many instances, you have been my biggest ally and supporter, as well as a voice of reason when circumstances appear grim. You have a talent few men can say they possess, and it gives me pride to have you on my side, whether as your Emperor, your friend, or your lover”.

Seonghwa felt his chest swell with pride and joy while hearing your words. It was a one-in-four chance, but he certainly felt like it had been him all this time.

But you weren’t finished. “You are a man of many talents, Park Seonghwa, and in these five years I have witnessed that potential grow beyond what this restrictive palace can offer.” Seonghwa tensed beside you. “This place is nothing more than a beautiful prison for minds like yours, whose limit cannot be determined. A breeding ground for the greed and ambitions of the worst of mankind”.

You went back to stroking Seonghwa’s head. “You are my most beautiful flower, Seonghwa. I have sinned by ripping off your roots and hiding you here. I have taken you away from everything you loved and knew: your home, your family, your dance… I have been a horrible woman by keeping you tied to me for five years of your precious youth”.

Seonghwa had started to shake and you felt drops falling on top of your head. You pushed yourself away from him, only to see him crying. Your heart shattered in the very instance when he pushed himself away from your embrace. He sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over his knees, hand covering his mouth.

“That’s a terrible way to announce it’s not me,” he stated, briefly uncovering his mouth, but never looking back at you.

You got up from your lying position. On your knees, you crawled behind him, looping your arms underneath his armpits. Without a second thought, Seonghwa rested his hands on yours on top of his chest.

Seonghwa had always been an easy crier.

You rested your forehead on his cervical. “I told you I am a horrible person. I am merciless to my enemies, and awful to my friends. More despicable is the fact that I don’t believe those words”. Seonghwa’s head shot up, listening to what you said. “You are my most beautiful flower, and I don’t plan on letting you go”.

You pressed yourself further into Seonghwa’s broad back. “In five long and short years, you have become indispensable to me. It is you who I come to when I am happy. It is you who I come to when I am in need of comfort. It is to you who I confess my fears and sins, and to whom I share the deepest parts of my soul. Your happiness has become my happiness, your grief my grief, and your pride my pride. You are my better half, and my equal in everything but in body”.

“So do forgive me for being a selfish Emperor and even a worse lover, but I will not release you from my grasp, even if it is against my better judgment. I will do anything and give you anything you desire if it means I will get to keep you by my side for the rest of our lives”.

Seonghwa swallowed once again. “Will you give me anything?”

You grabbed his left hand and brought it to your lips. “Yes, anything. Say the word and it shall be yours”.

“You. I want you. I want (L/N) (Y/N)”.

Your heart exploded in a million fireworks inside your chest. “Then, I shall be yours”.

Suddenly, Seonghwa turned back at you, tackling you into a hug. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, slightly shaking with short sobs. He was crying, but this time they were happy tears. Softly, you removed him from yourself with a smile.

“Lord Park Seonghwa,” you said while looking deep into his eyes, “will you do me the honor of becoming Imperial King and marry me?”.

“Yes, yes, yes!” he shouted. “A hundred times yes!”.

You laughed, and he started peppering kisses all over your face. You both went from hugging to kissing to laughing hysterically every couple of seconds. No joy in life could compare to the state of bliss you were in, knowing you belonged wholeheartedly to each other.

You had said it before. Tonight, you had intended to make Seonghwa yours in more than one way.

“But wait,” Seonghwa stopped the both of you abruptly, “isn’t this done through a formal ceremony?”

“I mean, yes,” you replied, “but I wanted to make sure it is what you wanted before officially proposing to you in front of everyone. I would have felt awful to put you on the spot like that if you didn’t want to actually marry me”.

“Are you kidding me? I’m so in love with you that I would have said yes no matter when and where you had asked me”.

“Good to know my fiancé is in love with me as much as I am in love with him”, you smirked and rubbed your noses together. “Either way, I will have to inform Lord Hongjoong of the changes in our situation. I bet he will be very surprised”.

(Spoiler alert, he was not).

You both laid on your backs, staring at the ceiling of Seonghwa’s room. Hands intertwined like vines. The night continued to be silent, uncaring of the two lovers who had decided to give themselves to each other without the knowledge of the rest of the world. The Earth didn’t stop spinning nor did the Moon stop her beaming, but now your whole galaxy shone with the glint of Park Seonghwa’s eyes.

“I never thought I would say this,” Seonghwa broke the last silence of the night, “but I thank those old geezers at the council for pushing you into my arms. From the moment that I met you, my heart, body, and soul have belonged to you and only you. From the moment I rise in the morning to the closing of my eyes at night, my every thought is dedicated to you. I will do everything in my power to be dutiful as your husband, and you shall never regret having me, my love”.

“There’s nothing in the world that will make me regret having you as my husband,” you kissed both of his hands. “As far as the members of the council, I bet they will be happy knowing that I’m marrying at last, especially if it’s with someone as brilliant as you”.

“We will be the most powerful sovereigns this nation has seen,” Seonghwa sealed his promise with a sweet kiss on your lips. “I’ll give you all of me if you need it”.

“Then it shall be that way,” you kissed him back.

With the threat of an early morning, you tucked yourselves into bed. Seonghwa attached himself to your back, tangling his arms and legs until you couldn’t tell where began who. He released his soft breaths into your ear, slowly lulling you to your rest. Just as you were about to fall asleep, he muttered to you.

“I bet the council will really be happy with our marriage,” you could hear the grin in his voice, “because, with me, you won’t be having any problem conceiving that heir… Your Majesty”.

It was safe to say, you didn’t wake up early that day.

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