#or alternatively someone should write this into a fic or something

[magicalrocketships]

You talked in the author's note about having more thoughts on Max's sexuality in Breaking every rule for you. I'd love to hear more about that, if you want to? 🤍

Oh, thank you for asking!! I did a whole disassociation thing after I posted the last chapter and I was like "it's very important to reply to comments and asks about this fic which meant a lot to me to write and to receive" and then I simultaneously thought orrrrr, alternatively, you can keep putting that off because you won't be able to properly tell people how much all the comments and asks meant. Anyway, that's a perfectly sensible series of thoughts to have, which brings me to this ask.

So, Max in Breaking Every Rule For You. This is half brain-dump, half director's cut of Max's POV. Either way, I accidentally wrote 3000 words about my beloved, feral Max. Sorry? Not sorry. I'll always want to talk about him 🧡🧡

He has literally no conception of this (and neither does Daniel), but he's very much on the asexual spectrum. He's demisexual, which is a word he's never heard and wouldn't know to use even if he had. 

He continues to tell the truth about his experience of life, but Daniel doesn't know enough to understand what Max is accidentally telling him, and Max doesn't know that his experience isn't universal. So! This fic is basically Max experiencing sexual attraction for the first time.

OBVIOUSLY this does not excuse Max behaving monstrously to Zoe and being hopelessly cruel to Daniel. He is, however, experiencing a lot of stuff for the first time and he didn't know! That he could feel like this! He is horny about someone else for the first time in his life! He'd be feral anyway, and he and Daniel stay completely feral after the fic's done and long into the future, feral and horny and all over each other, but there's this whole extra layer to it that's just Max being like... you can feel like this about another person? You can want someone THIS MUCH? You can want to fuck and come and kiss and touch another human being? Everybody in the world isn't lying about wanting it?

So on the one hand you've got Daniel's much more linear experience of oh, fuck, I've been bisexual all along, and the person who's opened my eyes about it is Max, what does this mean for my life and am I allowed to have something with Max for the longer term? In contrast to Max being so fucking thirsty to experience all of these things he's wanting for the first time, and barely understanding what it is he's wanting and the impact on the lives of the people around him who love him. He's so fucking needy and he barely understands the reasoning behind that, but that's partly why he keeps bringing Daniel back and reminding him of everything he's promised, everything Max is dying to experience but hasn't yet.

Even like, right back at the beginning when Max wants pictures of Daniel, it's because he's literally never felt attraction to another person. He's never looked at someone's body and wanted to touch it (or, in Max's case, to come all over him over and and over again and make him fucking filthy and his and have him show Max how he touches himself and how he looks soft and hard and horny and everything in between).

And all the things he wants to do to Daniel, he's never done to anyone else because he was horny about it. Everything he's done is because he thought he should, because he thought everyone was faking it when they said they were horny for touching other people. He can't slow himself down. He wants all of it. And then he'll do things like just warm Daniel's dick because he didn't know it felt good, and it feels so good.

On the other hand, Max has a fixed conception of love and relationships and they are work. They are a job. He has had girlfriends because he was supposed to have girlfriends and he's literally not figured out he's gay because he's not been close to a man long enough for attraction to develop, and with Max it takes a lonnnnng time, he's known Daniel for years and it's only been in the past few months it's started to change how he feels about him, ever since Daniel said he was going to leave and Max realised he not only wanted him to stay, he wanted him. And he doesn't want what he has with Daniel (something good) to crossover into relationship (something bad, something that's work, something that's always been a to-do list item) because then it will be bad. Max is getting every single thing he wants for the very first time in his life, of course he wants to keep things exactly how they are and ringfence this space in his life where Daniel is and he's getting everything he wants. The downside is that it's horribly cruel, but he doesn't entirely understand that, because he doesn't entirely understand either how he feels or how Daniel feels, and because he thinks that what he experiences is the universal, which is that relationships and love are bad and work. 

I kind of love that Max at the beginning isn't a great kisser - Max kisses like he jerks off, fierce and unimaginative. A race to the finish line. One day Daniel will make him slow it down. And part of that is literally because he's never enjoyed it before. He's never kissed anyone he wanted to have kiss him back.

But also, Max loves to jerk off. He loves to jerk off. Masturbation is the one thing he's always loved to do, because he's never been low on sexual desire, just attraction. He's jerked off thinking about Daniel before, too. Even before being really attracted to him. It's sort of why he wants Daniel in his bed, not because it's where he shares with Zoe when she's in Monaco, but because it's where Max jerks off, which is the one hugely positive sexual thing he's ever had in his life. Yeah, there's also some kind of "having a girlfriend is boring and work and I'm beating the system by having a better time in the space where that boring work happens" but Max isn't pre-meditiatively cruel in this. His cruelty is a by-product. 

Also: Max doesn't know that things can be better than what he has. 

He's barely managed to get his shirt off before Max is launching himself at him, making some Max-like attempt at human touch by cupping Daniel's face in his hands and pressing their mouths together. It's not romantic. It's not anything, other than fast, and maybe a little furious.

"You talked about kissing me," Max says, pulling away just enough that Daniel can feel the heat of his breath against his mouth. He's still cupping Daniel's face, and Daniel wants to cover Max's hands with his own and keep him there, make him stay still, make time slow down for them just this fucking once. "You said you thought about it. Kissing me. I've never kissed anyone like that, Daniel. I want it."

Max is telling Daniel the truth but Daniel doesn't pick up on it. Max hasn't ever kissed anyone like this before. And he wants it. 

Daniel spends a lot of time thinking about Zoe. Max doesn't think about her at all. He buys Daniel gifts because he's wild about him, because he needs to, like, put some of what he's feeling out into the world but he just— doesn't know how to do it. He's overflowing with it. 

"Think all the time about kissing you," Max tells him, still kneeling over him, leaning in so that he can mouth at Daniel's neck, kiss him so that Daniel will have a fucking love bite he'll have to cover with concealer if he wants to leave the house. Daniel doesn't stop him. Max can mark him up any way he wants. Daniel will take any scrap he can get. People shouldn't live off scraps, but Daniel will take anything Max throws at him. He'll judge himself later. "You have a good mouth, Daniel, I think about it so much." He kisses Daniel's jaw, along the line of it, over his stubble and up to his ear. It is not foreplay. It is just Max, taking what he wants. Daniel giving it because he wants the whole fucking lot of it and to drown in it afterwards. Better drown than starve. Max kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Once, twice. The side of his nose. Is this Max, trying to be gentle with him? Trying to give something he normally only takes?

And then Daniel changes things, he tries to break up with Max and Max goes insane with it. For Max, Daniel really is ruining things. He is being a stupid motherfucker. This really is just sex because Max doesn't know how to understand what he's feeling. And he doesn't want to feel! Feeling is bad. He keeps trying to make the feelings stop. Of course Max just keeps trying to take things back to the space where things were working, because he wants it so much. Of course he's jealous, because he's fucking feral and a mess and he has no idea how to feel things like a real boy, because he never fucking has, and how he feels about Daniel is really fucking easy if only he knew how to identify or name any of the feelings he's feeling. 

So yeah: Max is heartbroken for the first time in his life, but he also just doesn't understand it. His chest hurts. He wants Daniel back in the space where it was all working. Daniel isn't the stupid motherfucker, Max is, for not managing to keep it so that Daniel would still kiss him and want him and touch him and text him, and Max is for not being able to stop himself from feeling stuff he doesn't understand. And then Zoe goes, and he doesn't feel anything. Not really. The only thing he's thinking about is Daniel. And then you get Max's entirely pragmatic, ruthless side, whereby he just makes sure Daniel is safe. He pays whatever he needs to pay to make sure Zoe is satisfied. He tells her the truth about not feeling about her the way he feels about Daniel. He doesn't mean to be cruel. It's a by-product again. It still is hopelessly cruel. He still only wants Daniel. He's the stupid motherfucker, not Daniel. 

And all the time, Max thinking he can get Daniel back to what they had before if only he keep trying. He knows Daniel wants him back. And he thinks he's getting it. He thinks he's getting Daniel back. It's want like he's never wanted. He thinks he's managed it, and then Daniel just— shuts him down. And Max just… breaks. It takes him by surprise as much as it takes Daniel when he sees Max crying, like he's crying and he didn't mean to start but he also can't stop. He loves him. That's what this is. 

"You are not listening," Max says, wiping his tears on his shoulder. "All of this time I am trying and I am trying not to want you and not to feel things but it did not work and I do and I did and I feel it in here and it won't stop." He presses the side of his fist to his chest, like Max is referring to his own fucking heart, which he can't be, because Max is Max, and Max doesn't feel anything, and he doesn't fucking feel anything for Daniel. "It is not fair that you won't listen. Always I am asking how do I make it stop, because you are just supposed to be sex, you are dick and that is for the dark and instead you are always just here, in my head and you have made me go mad thinking about you. Everything I do is very insane and it is all about you and my girlfriend left me and I do not care because she is not you and you tell me that you miss me too but now you are saying no when I want you more than I want anything and it is not okay."

It's the first time in his life he's ever been in love, and he's trying to make sense of it because he couldn't stop loving Daniel if he tried, but here's Daniel telling him he doesn't, and that he's stopped, and that is just— so far outside of Max's understanding. It's not fair and it's not okay and he doesn't know how Daniel could stop loving him if love is what he feels back for Daniel. 

And then he stays. He tells Daniel that no one kisses him like Daniel does. He says: "Nobody touches me like you do," Max says, which is probably a lie since Zoe loved him and wanted him and probably would have touched Max any way he wanted if he'd only told her. "Nobody, Daniel, nobody makes me feel like you do."

Daniel makes a soft, unholy noise in the back of his throat.

"It's true," Max says, urgently. "It is true."

Daniel doesn't realise how true. That no one has ever made Max feel or want like this. That this is the first time he's ever been attracted to someone. 

And for Max it's so clearly worlds apart from him and Zoe. They're not comparable. 

"She was my girlfriend," Max says. "But I didn't love her like I love you."

For a moment, Daniel's brain judders to a halt. It's felt like he's been on a constant spin cycle since last night, but for a moment, everything's still. "Yeah?"

"With you it is very different," Max says. "Everything is very different."

He keeps stroking the inside of Daniel's wrist. Daniel can't think of anything to say. He just watches Max touch him.

"Of course I kissed her, Daniel. She was my girlfriend. I did all the things you're supposed to do with your girlfriend. You cannot be tearing yourself up into knots about her when she is gone and you are here."

And

"I thought about your dick a lot. I thought I would like to see it. I jerked off and used my fingers and thought about you jerking off. I thought if I was going to suck a dick then it would be nice if it was yours."

"You had a girlfriend."

"Yes. I had everything I was supposed to want. Red Bull and Zoe and one day I will have my World Championship. But not you because you are a stupid motherfucker and you left me."

And Max loves jerking off. It's his favourite thing. 

But like, Max finally gets what he didn't know he wanted, which is more than just having sex at regular and irregular intervals, he gets a boyfriend, someone he can actually love and want to be with and it's all turning his conception of relationships and love upside down and he has to re-evaluate how that fits into his life, because relationships have been a boring part of work before, and now they're not, so he just has to… figure that shit out. 

This conversation where Daniel asks Max if he's gay: 

"Max," he says softly, after a minute. "Max, do you like girls?"

Max shifts on the pillow. He rolls his eyes. "Of course I do, Daniel, do not ask stupid questions. They are 50% of the population."

"I'm not—" Daniel searches Max's face. He wants to find something there that Max isn't showing him, some measure of understanding, of common ground beyond the fact that they're fucking and in love. "Do you like dating them?"

"I am dating you," Max says, as if he's talking to someone who barely understands English.

"Yes, but. Before. Did you like having sex with girls?"

"Zoe was my girlfriend. Of course I liked having sex with her."

This isn't Max just obfuscating. He hasn't defined himself as gay. He is, but he didn't necessarily— need to know it or define himself as such? It just wasn't important to him. He didn't really want to have sex with anyone so not wanting to have sex with girls less than him not wanting to have sex with guys he wasn't attracted to didn't matter so much? And now there's Daniel so it's even less of an issue because it turns out he can ferally cheat on Zoe for months and still not intend to ever be with anyone who isn't Daniel. 

Honestly it's more of a journey than Daniel will ever know to get Max to this: 

"I will do better," Max says, when there's nothing else coming, and Daniel's about to step out into the road. "I will learn, Daniel. To be a good boyfriend." 

It's not something he ever even considered before, and now not only does he want to, he's going to work on it too. 

Max smiles at him. He still fingers Daniel, because Max likes to multi-task and do it efficiently, but he lets his gaze rest on Daniel's. He looks happy. He looks so, so happy. "It has never been like this," he says, and Daniel doesn't say because you've been having sex with girls and you don't like them. He'll believe it's just about him. That Max feels like this about him and him alone.

Max telling the ultimate truth - it never has been like this, not a single element of it. Not kissing, not sex, not loving somebody else. Daniel doesn't entirely hear it, but then why would he? Even Max doesn't realise how much of a truth it is. 

"I always thought people were lying about kissing," Max says, without moving or looking at him or anything. "It was so boring. Everyone had to be lying. Nobody could like it unless they liked boring things."

What the fuck.

"So boring," Max says. He still doesn't move or look at him "Sex was boring too. I didn't know why anybody went out of their way when they could just jerk off. Masturbating was so much better than sex, Daniel."

Christ. Daniel's fingers twitch in Max's. "Did you ever think that was because you didn't like girls? And you kept having sex with them?"

"Eh," Max says, and shrugs. "I kissed boys too. Two of them. It was still boring."

Daniel's never thought sex was boring. He's liked it pretty much every time he's had it. He's been kissing girls since he was 14 and could make them laugh enough to kiss him over bags of crisps after school. He thinks about the two boys Max has kissed. What he did with them. When it was. Who it was. If he really thought it was awful. "Do you still think it's boring?"

Max shifts at that, twisting so he can look up at Daniel with the most insulted, don't be fucking stupid look on his face. "I have just licked my come out of your ass, Daniel. I want to have sex with you all the time. All of the things I jerked off thinking about doing I want to do with you. I want to kiss you forever."

Anyway. TL;DR, Max is demisexual and is new to sexual attraction and wouldn't be able to label himself as that if somebody paid him. 

[the-way-astray]

hello everybody . . . have a fintante oneshot thing i wrote. it’s poorly named because i don’t have magical fic naming powers. dedicated to @crescentpaws for his birthday . . . happy birthday and also i borrowed your brainworms for this one . . . you can have them back next week. anyway. apparently you’re supposed to write descriptions for fics and stuff but honestly nothing much happens here except fintan tries to piss bronte off and then gets thrown out of his castle. loser. also you’re supposed to say how many words? idk man it isn’t long. should take about five minutes to read. without further ado, enjoy it or don’t

If I Could Touch the Sun

Fintan wasn’t much in the habit of keeping up with the news. 

He blamed his Ancient state whenever someone was annoying enough to needle him about it or try to regale him with (boring) tales of Emissary escapades or whatever the Council’s latest fuck-up was.

But there was one exception to his self-made no-news rule: the Talentless. 

How far he’d fallen. 

At one point, he’d never have stooped so low as to care about whatever was going on with those who had no abilities, and, therefore, nothing to contribute. At one point, he’d been soaring, reaching for heights most people could’ve never even dreamed of.

But now. Well. If only it was possible to touch the sun without getting burned. 

His eyes flicked over the line of castles lining the path in front of him now. He didn’t strictly have to get his news straight from the top; a walk through Mysterium would likely confirm his suspicions. But he never passed up an opportunity to irritate Bronte.

He strode up to one of the castles nestled toward the side in the line. After rapping on the door far louder than was really necessary, he sat down on a nearby rock to wait. Bronte would no doubt take his time answering, knowing it was just Fintan. 

No less than five entire minutes later, the door creaked open and Bronte poked his head out. He scowled. 

Wonderful. 

Fintan stood up and strode into the castle, shoving Bronte aside on the way. Bronte closed the door behind him with no comment, likely realizing it would only provide Fintan with ample verbal ammunition. 

Bronte’s sitting room: what the average sane person might call the epitome of nihility. It was as bare (or “clean”, as Bronte might call it) as possible, with just a single, pathetic table accompanied by a single, pathetic chair. Fintan immediately claimed it before Bronte could. 

“Why have you come this time?” Bronte sighed, raking his fingers through his dark, thick curls, something that made Fintan notice that his Councillor’s circlet was missing. Strange. But, really, he didn’t care anyway.

“Same reason as always,” Fintan said to the grains in Bronte’s table. “To find that item I left here when I was Councillor. I’m sure I’ll find it one of these days.” This he accompanied with a quick eyelash flutter to just his right eye and a slight twinge to the left corner of his lips. Most importantly: a head tilt, so Bronte could catch a proper glimpse. He wondered if Bronte would interpret it as a smirk or a sneer. 

It was an old taunt. Bronte had moved into the very same castle that Fintan had occupied when he was Councillor, and Fintan was pretty sure he’d managed to convince Bronte that he had actually left or hidden something important in his castle when he’d first brought the item up. Of course, there was nothing, nothing but Fintan’s amusement when he realized Bronte had actually upturned the castle in the fruitless search that had followed.

Not much amused him these days.

“I assume you’ll be wanting those rumors of a new Talentless child confirmed, then?” Bronte twitched his right eyebrow while tilting the left side of his mouth up just a hair. The result made his face look lopsided. Lopsided, because the alternative was to think the expression made his face look handsome yet smug, which, needless to say, was not what Fintan thought. At all.

“You do know me so well.”

“Why should I confirm or deny anything for you?”

“For the same reason you told me about that girl from a few years ago, and that boy from a decade ago, and every single other Talentless child you’ve told me about over the centuries.”

“And that reason would be?”

“How should I know? I don’t know anything about you.” Fintan grinned then—a true grin. Ironic, but true. Bronte’s gaze darkened at the sight.

Bronte sighed, seeming to consider. He always did, always pretended he wouldn’t, but then he always caved. Always. Sometimes it took minutes, hours, days. But he always caved.

Bronte scanned Fintan’s face once. Naturally, Fintan took the opportunity to do the same. Bronte had probably combed out his curls into his favored style—thick, tidy layers piled on his head—just before Fintan had arrived, but his dragging his hand through them had ruined their careful pattern. Dark brown eyes: they were so dark Fintan couldn’t tell where the iris ended and the pupil started. Flat, unforgiving eyes: someone else might have been worried about that expression, but Fintan knew it was just a look. His former lopsided quirks were now wiped from his face entirely; he held his face almost unnaturally still and smooth.

What a drama king. Fintan rolled his eyes, internally first, then externally when Bronte turned on his heel and marched back toward the door. Fintan heard the bolts slide open and briefly wondered if Bronte would leave him here. If he’d somehow managed to annoy him that much. But then he reappeared in the sitting room, stomped over to Fintan’s chair, grabbed him just above the elbow, and yanked him out of the chair. Fintan yelped, but by the time he’d gotten his bearings, Bronte had already dragged him to the door.

“Yes, there is a new Talentless child. All but confirmed, unless he suddenly manifests at sixteen. But he’s none of your business. None of them are.” Bronte spoke the words slowly, bitingly, but they still felt too quick for Fintan’s current state of shock. He wondered what expression was currently on his face. He knew it wasn’t good, if the glee that danced in Bronte’s eyes meant anything.

Bronte spared him one last glance before flicking his wrist. Unfortunately for Fintan, that wrist happened to be connected to the hand that was clenched around his arm. He stumbled over the threshold, catching one last look at Bronte’s lopsided face and hearing the door slam before he fell particularly hard on the very same rock he’d been lounging on not even ten minutes ago.

But he barely registered the sharp spike of pain in his shoulder. Another Talentless child. He had to find out who this boy was. Immediately.

[mariejordans]

Just had a thought. Marie can probably sense heartbeats, right? My thinking is that she’ll eventually be able to tell peoples specific heartbeats. Like, for example, she can recognize Emma’s heartbeat from Andre’s.

The way I imagine it, something happens and Marie and Jordan get separated- and it’s one of those high risk, tense situations where they don’t know if the other is alive - and Marie finds them through their heartbeat.

oooh yes i love this! it makes even more sense when you remember that she is able to distinguish other people’s blood from each other, so the next obvious step would be recognizing heartbeats/distinguishing heartbeats from one another.

marie saving jordan by tracking them by their heatbeat oooohhhh that would be so cunty i’m adding this to my s2 limoreau wishlist…

[glucosegaurdian]

Something something a smoothie God the newest chapter got me feeling the emotions

Luffy and Zoro’s interactions with everyone written so in character it made me want to bite someone it’s not even funny anymore I’m obsessed and it’s not going away help

Luffy saw a problem and decided to fix it without telling anyone how he planned to do it and Zoro just reassuring everyone that Luffy has it handled and has a plan gahhhhhhh I’m going to have a stroke

[absolutely-esme]

I have seen too many posts where a time traveling member of the JL decides to kill Danny to prevent Dan from happening and not nearly enough where they decide to kill Vlad for the same reason.

Even if a hero was pushed to the point of preemptively killing one of the two people Dan was made from in order to prevent his creation, why would they pick the one who is currently both a hero and a kid instead of the one who's already a villain and a grown ass adult?

Also, it would be so much more fun to read about Vlad getting hunted down by Booster Gold or scrambling to try and stay one step ahead of the world's fastest man while desperately trying to figure out which of his evil schemes they found out and got this hero's attention and pissed them off this much.

Was it bugging his nemesis's house? He can see how that probably looks bad out of context, but he swears the video surveillance of a teenager's bedroom was regular supervillain creepiness, not other types of creepiness!

Edit: Two things.

First off, my wording about having seen too many of the other thing was intended playfully. I am not putting those fics down. You don't have to justify it to me, and I am genuinely sorry if I came across as antagonistic. I think everyone should be allowed to write whatever they want and I don't expect it all to adhere to my likes and dislikes.

That said, I wanted to address something else. I've gotten a few different people just talking about how they would have no reason to target Vlad because of what looks like an older version of Danny, and I wanted to clarify.

Here's the thing: Dan does not look like an older version of Danny, he looks like a fusion of Danny and Vlad.

Unless someone they have reason to believe tells them that Danny grows up to be Dan, there's no reason for them to assume that Danny and Dan are the same person (especially considering that Dan is a name the fans came up with and not something the character himself went by).

So this time traveler sees a teen hero fighting an adult villain both of whom share differing physical characteristics with the Future threat, and the most likely conclusion to draw is that it's a Conner scenario.

Alternately, maybe they did actual research on the origins of the threat before time traveling instead of just hoping that murdering the first person they saw with a familial-level resemblance to the threat would prevent him from going on a rampage.

Here are some pictures of them

See how much Dan gets from Vlad's side?

[mononijikayu]

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

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

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation;

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

WORDS: 15k words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, at that moment, he wasn’t.

Ryomen Sukuna had a problem.

He was stumped from hell and back.

And he doesn’t understand why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My lord…..my lord Sukuna.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, its Uraume.

Shit, shit. Is it already that time?

He hasn’t messaged them for two days.

How the fuck is he going to survive—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even then—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d be honored.”

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

══════════════════

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

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

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

Perhaps, that is until now.

Ryomen Sukuna was the first to notice.

There was a wide shoji that appeared before them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was just a sinner, a cruel cursed sinner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[holysupesbatman]

SuperBat Fic Recs

Woaaaah boy. I was in the Superbat tag and saw someone asking for recs and I got about 5 fics in before I realized that wouldn't fit in a reply and decided I should just make a whole post. I feel like I've read half of the Bruce/Clark tag on ao3 at this point and yet I still find more every time I look.

As a note, this post is heavily editorialized. These are all fics I've personally read and are here because I liked them and they come from my ao3 bookmarks. If you want better details about the fic, follow the links and check them out 🤷‍♀️ I'm a picky reader so the fact that it's on the list says a lot, though our tastes may vary.

Onto the recs! I'll organize them by ratings and then by length for simplicity and at the end I'll recommend some of my favorite SuperBat authors for further reading!

🦇

Rated: G

Uno Reverse by WixenBurr (~7k rated G) is really cute and fluffy

Summary: The batkids are trying to set Batman and Superman up. Unfortunately Bruce Wayne wants to date some rando news reporter named Clark Kent.

Rated: T

Know You Better by rotasha (~6k rated T)

super fluffy and cute. I adore this fic. Summary: Clark asks Bruce on a date, not knowing he’s a famous billionaire. Bruce says yes, because this is the first time this has ever happened to him.

I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by Mardiaz173 (~13k rated T)

This one is SO much fun – Nobody believes Clark after he meets the supposed "flirty, stupid, entitled drunk" playboy billionaire Brucie Wayne when he says he's actually "clever, mischievous, and sober with an indecipherable ulterior motive."

Saudade by liodain (~20k rated T)

OK THIS ONE MAKES MY HEART MELT IT'S SO FLUFFY AND SWEET I CAN'T. Like put this on your re-read when you're sad and need to feel like love and goodness exist list. Bruce breaks down in Kansas in 2006 years before BvS and meets young Clark.

fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace by Resacon1990 (~23k rated T)

It's just 20k of Clark simping for Bruce. That's it. That's the fic. He's a golden retriever and he's in love, Your Honor. Bruce is not unaffected, but the pining is glorious.

summary: Or, five times Clark finds himself falling for Bruce, and the one time he does something about it

Mr. Romantic by Pandamomochan (~24k rated T)

ft Established Relationship SuperBat. Summary: Clark gets tasked to write a Valentine's Day article. The end result has every single women throwing themselves at him. Clark has always been patient with the drove of Brucie fans. Will Bruce be as mature with Clark's sudden popularity?

How to Date a Superhero by @solomonara (~25k rated T)

Technically a series of fics. Pure fluff. 1. Someone spots the Batman kissing Mild Mannered Reporter Clark Kent. Hijinks ensue. 2. Superman kissed Bruce Wayne in full view of several dozen phones. Now the whole world, including Lex Luthor, knows Superman has a boyfriend. But that's okay. Batman has a plan. 3. Deleted scenes from the How to Date a Superhero series, ruthlessly cut in most cases to prevent the Robins from taking over.

In every sense of the word by froggy-o (bobafiend) (~29k rated T) From the author's summary: Alternatively titled "Why Wonder Woman is on the verge of losing her fucking mind."

I swear this fic is just Diana's eyebrow twitching as she watches Bruce and Clark start dating and she's let in on both their civilian identities meanwhile Superman and Batman are on the watchtower arguing and disagreeing about basically everything on the daily. In the name of Justice, of course. The identity porn is on a whole other level and it was done so well.

Get Over It by rotasha (~32k rated T)

heh this one has plenty of identity hijinks. Sooooo funny. Summary: Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish (~96k rated T)

hehehe... the batkids set up a dating profile for Bruce and catfish Clark. It's more of a blind date for Bruce (not that he had any idea he was going on a date at all), but who has Clark been texting for the past several weeks??? Oh yeah. The kids. What follows is as follows. Still with capes!

Rated: M

Guardian Dog by BombusBombus (~22k rated M)

Summary: There's something wrong with Clark Kent. He has to be a villain, right? A threat? He doesn't behave like a normal person, no matter how handsome or clever he may seem.

grasp his heart (once and for all) by liodain (~32k rated M) soulmate AU fic. Pretty emotional LOTS of identity issues going on there like so much. Kinda high on the drama and angst there honestly but it was a cute read. Summary: Bruce Wayne doesn't believe in fate.

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter (~33k rated M)

love me a fake dating AU. Summary: It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Strangers When We Meet by Trista_zevkia (~63k rated M)

ANOTHER soulmate AU! This time feat. Kryptonian Biology hehehe. Summary: Clark Kent thought he was straight, until Batman kick started something. The question is what did Batman start? Is Brucie Wayne able to explain it to him?

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat (~77k rated M)

OK NO LISTEN this is one of my all-time favorite fics EVER. It's so meta and so funny. Clark is us. We are Clark. Clark is writing RPF for the Bruce/Batman ship and he's very convinced it's real EVEN THOUGH he has a huge crush on the Batman... let the hijinks BEGIN.

Rated: E

Embracing Destiny by Mithen (~8k rated E)

This one is just really really cute. Summary: As a member of the Legion of Super-Heroes in the 31st century, a teenaged Clark learns a stunning secret about his own future: he and someone called "Batman" will be legendary lovers.

perfect strangers by susiecarter (~15k rated E)

like. bruh. susie did it again. This tag says it all: communication failure. I love this one though. Summary: Batman and Superman are fucking. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are a great cover for fighting crime, and also might be dating. Bruce and Clark have no idea what they're doing; but they definitely aren't going to be able to talk themselves into stopping.

Relinquishing Control by foxyk (~25k rated E)

afsfwsdfhishdfksj no words. Read the authors summary and then just go read the fic:

Superman worries that if he lets go he'll injure his partner. Batman knows better. Batman worries that if he lets someone else in, he'll hurt them. Superman knows better.

Picture Perfect by TheSaltiestDog @the-saltiest-dog (~26k rated E)

this one is cute and then horny on main but also just so fluffy. Clark sees Bruce in a new light through candid shots, then proceeds to take lots of candid shots as they begin a relationship. Cue schmoop, fluff, smut, and – you guessed it! –Miscommunication!

A Night Off and sequel A Day Off by Mawiiish (~37k combined; first part is E, second is T)

One of my all-time favorites. My bookmark says 10/10 would read again soooooooo... 👀🤷‍♀️😅🥵

Bruce is enjoying one of his few nights off when a very persistent young man offers to buy him a drink. At first he's apprehensive; he's just here for a good time and this Clark seems to be looking for more than that. Then again, what harm can one drink do?

Clark wakes up to an empty bed and despite Bruce being honest from the start, he's still disappointed.

The Downsides to a Secret Identity by liodain (~42k rated E)

I'm currently reading this one – the summary from the author says it all, it's so good but sooo drama:

Bruce Wayne has taken a shine to Clark Kent, but Clark is more interested in the Bat of Gotham. The Bat, however, has it in for the Superman in a big way. Clark should probably have considered that before falling quite so hard. They're working together to track down some missing Kryptonian weaponry, after all...

50 Shades of Wayne by susiecarter (~161k rated E)

No but listen, this is actually so full of plot and emotional depth and not as much smut as you might think. It's a full-scale retelling of Batman v Superman but without them knowing each other's secret identities. I read it in one go... the reveal? Maybe the best I've ever read. Soooo many emotions. It's one of the few times I've read BDSM in a fic and it actually felt in character. I wasn't sure I would read it when I started, but it was a compelling read and extremely well done. Honestly, I'd read it again.

SuperBat Author Shoutouts:

susiecarter @susiecarter

liodain @liodain

Resacon1990 @sassyresacon1990

shipyrds @burins

Mawiiish @superbattrash

rotasha

Mithen

[azullumi]

trying different types of kissing with scaramouche?💔 like forehead, neck kisses, hand or anything at all....

“say yes to heaven” ; wanderer/scaramouche

summary — ultimately, he really does just want to be loved, behind the many layers of him to hide all that yearning and longing. but how can he say it when love, for him, was a synonym to forgiveness; alternatively, different kisses with him, with each one signifying a progressing relationship.

pairing — scaramouche/wanderer (w/ gender-neutral reader) ; could imagine this with either but i wrote this with wanderer in mind

tags — established relationship, fluff, a little bit of angst, not proofread, 1.1k ; ficlet

note — i needed an excuse to write a fic that is just all about kissing him and also comforting him (but still, i hope u like this nonnieee!!)

i. hand

You hold his hand and press small kisses on his knuckles, a little bit ticklish it was for him but he doesn’t retract. The feeling of it makes something in his chest ache with an unfamiliar sensation, and he knows it’s not his heart because he never had any.

You kiss the back of his hand, an intimate gesture, like devotion, like he was something—or someone—that should be adored.

“I am no god.” He was no deity to be worshiped so why are you so gentle to him? He wasn’t made of glass nor is he fragile; he was born from ashes of a burned home, he was carved out of war and winter storms and everything that you could ever pray against, he was a symphony composed of nothing but bad luck and conflicting melodies—he was not the kind people would choose to be around, much less adore.

And as if you bear a part of him in your mind, you understood what he was trying to say, could hear the questions that tormented him, could see the conflicted look on him as he looks at you with a gaze that seems to scrutinize your being when only he is looking for an answer. He tries to look for a crack, a gap in your expression, so that he can look through it and see what you’re really thinking.

“You don’t have to be one to be loved.” You press one last kiss on his hand just as you finished speaking, looking up to him. Indigo blue orbs met yours in a gentle gaze, eyes filled with affection only for the other to drown in. If he could put all that he was feeling, all that he was asking and seeking an answer to, into a simple word, it all condenses to: why?

“Do you still have doubts?” You ask, despite knowing the answer. He opens his mouth only to close it again, looking for the words that he should say but chose to be silent instead. And you smile—not a beaming grin nor a subtle paint on your features, but something gentle and comforting as if you’re assuring him: it’s okay, I understand you. I know you.

“You’re not unloveable.”

Loving him wasn’t the hardest thing to do, it came to you naturally as if breathing but the man thinks otherwise. A burnt child who loves the fire will only hear the fact that he is loveable, people just choose not to.

“How do you know that?” You know him well enough to hear the way his voice trembles at the effort to allow himself to be vulnerable. Long was the fall of the tall and formidable walls that he built around him.

“You’re not unloveable.” You repeat, taking hold of his fingers to kiss his hand once more. “Am I not enough proof of that?”

ii. forehead and cheeks

You cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead, an unspoken language of tenderness in which he took a long time to understand. When love and affection has finally been given to him after decades of yearning, he’s unsure of how to hold it in his hands—does he gently hold it with both? Every bit overwhelms him to the bone, the gratifying yet intense feeling seeps through his being and settles inside of him in a way that it slowly consumes the crevices of his mind, until all that is left of him is nothing but a starved man who only longs for the feeling of your skin against his own.

There was a flicker of warmth in his expression and he closed his eyes as he relished in your kindness, your hands cradling his cheeks with warmth that coaxed his entire existence, your lips pressing against his forehead softly. Then, you started to pepper his face with small kisses and the man could only surrender to your touch, a dance of vulnerability and intimacy as he crumbled into your hold.

No one has ever come this close to him (a closeness that was a stranger to the pages of his past, a tender note composed solely for him), no one and nothing.

You spoke, murmuring against his skin and close to his lips: “Sunshine.” Humor weaves through your tone, teasing the absurdity of the mismatched title and the man who wears it with subtle grace.

“Don’t call me that.” He snarks yet no bite. It’s ironically funny how you use that nickname on him despite him being the complete contrast of it; he stands as the living paradox of the word itself.

The sound of laughter bubbles up in your throat and you answer, “Why not? It suits you perfectly, don’t you think?”

What else should you call the man who grasps the warmth and tender light in his chest only the sun could give? To be with him was to sit in the autumn sunlight, to sleep in the comfort of your sheets when the rain patters against your window, to walk barefoot on the sand even if it feels like shards of glasses against your sole, to be with him was to simply exist; you’ve never met anyone who had the sun for a soul and he has never met anyone who had the stars in their eyes, and while you had the universe etched on the palm of your hands, he has your name engraved on his.

iii. lips

Your lips ghost against his own, albeit in a tantalizing manner, teasing and quite slow—but he wasn’t a patient man.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” He whispers and you don't waver at his straightforwardness, having been used to this note. There was no hostility in his tone, just pure and raw desperation and desire to feel you.

You could imagine the eye roll he would give you had he not had his eyes closed at the moment, could imagine the frown on his expression while he spoke and could imagine it faltering soon when you finally kissed him, slow as if to savor the softness of his lips and how it reminds you of spring; he could not properly express the warmth on his chest at the thought of how you love him when he still tasted of heartache and war.

You part from him but remained close, foreheads pressed against one another, breathing heavily, and looking into each other’s eyes. You wanted to tell him that you will find him in every lifetime, but the silence between you two was enough to convey such strong affections that you could hear him respond: And I will love you in each one.

(And he somehow finds himself thinking at the same, this is what he deserves. He’d do these, these vulnerable moments where he lays himself bare for you to touch and hold even if you’ll see the scars and cracks on his skin, the falling and getting hurt despite the fear, the burning and constant searching for something, he’ll do it all over again—if it’s you.)

If someone were to ask him what forgiveness tastes like, he would utter your name—everything that he has ever longed for came in the form of you. And he fears that this longing will last forever even while you’re here, that this longing will grow even when he crumbles to dust, that this longing will outlive this body and weave life into the earth that swallows your existence.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[explicit-tae]

Hey can you write a jk fic about a world where people can't express anything like they can't laugh,cry or feel any type of emotions and they don't know about these and then jk feels something after seeing oc like that ...

Actually I don't know how to tell you 😭😭

Since there's not really a lot to go off of, I just did what I could with what you gave me 😅 hopefully its similar to what you were intending to say 🫶🏽

Cosmic Balance

Every universal realm has a positive and negative - good or bad. Jungkook manages to cross the portal from his dystopian world to your utopian one and decides that he'd do anything to stay with you.

Word Count: 8.786

Warning: dystopian world, sex-work/brothel, protected/unprotected sex, mentions of cheating, kissing, virtual reality sex, nipple sucking, oral sex, riding, creampie, slight dirty talk, fingering,

Alternate Universe

“Just try it…” is all Jungkook can hear in his mind. His eyes flash to the large digital clock flashing outside his window - he was supposed to be asleep now, as was everyone in his world. “It’s a portal to a whole different world. Just make sure you’re back by 6 am.”

Jungkook’s hands tremble as he grasps the cover on his mirror. It’s one - of many - forbidden rules, completely unforgivable. He never questioned why all reflected areas should be covered as night came, but then again, it was a question that should never be answered.

Jungkook’s world is dark and dull - gray. He was raised upon these rules - he and millions of others. There were rules that were meant to be followed and going against them meant dire consequences - death always an option. 

Jungkook removes the cover quickly and swallows the lump in his throat. He stares at his reflection - the terrified look in his eyes and his heaving chest. He licks his lips, the thought of his breaking a forbidden rule has the hairs on his skin rising.

Jungkook looks closer at his reflection, his finger reaching out to touch. There’s a rippling effect in the reflection that when Jungkook touches, he visibly is horrified when his hand falls through the mirror.

Jungkook snatches himself away from the mirror and quickly covers the mirror with the cover once more. He falls onto his bed, heart thumping that they were right - his friends were correct. There was a whole different world besides the one he’s in now and the thought scares him.

Jungkook often wished that there was a different world he could live in. A world where there weren't strict rules for being excited - he could laugh freely in public when something was funny and not risk being arrested and fined.

Was there truly a world that allowed their people to be free - where the atmosphere was carefree and loving. Did the other world allow their people to laugh, smile - even cry - in public and not the confines of their own room. Did the other people only arrest those who were actually committing heinous crimes, and not because they were a minute late on curfew?

Did the other world allow their people to love and marry whoever they wanted? Jungkook thinks how in a few years at the age of 28 he would be married to whoever his government chose - based on status - and he would be expected to have a child no later than a year. Women who couldn’t bear children would be forced to be alone and provide for themselves. They were encouraged to be whores and work in brothels - “it’s not like you could bear a child anyways” is the harsh words the government would speak to them.

Men would oftentimes be ridiculed, losing job opportunities and their status in life lowering. 

Jungkook thinks how his life would be if he was in another world where he could love who he wants to and not who he was chosen to.

It’s what Jungkook thinks when he sees you, the same work attire as his. You were soon destined to marry someone else just like he was and he knows that he could never have you. There was always a possibility that you would be chosen for him - but Jungkook doesn’t allow himself to think about it. He isn’t an idiot and he understands that you were going to be taken away by some other man and married - and you’d have that man’s child instead.

Your eyes meet Jungkook’s for a moment and he glances away. He was staring again, he thinks. You’re a smart woman and you know how he feels for you and understands that he could never act upon them. You weren’t a barren woman - and a relationship - sexual or not - prior to marriage to an unbarren woman is one of many forbidden rules.

“Still looking at Y/N?” 

The seat beside Jungkook is taken by Taehyung. His friend opens the laptop and begins to type, continuing his work. He speaks in a low tone to not disturb the peace - doing so could lead to arrest.

“She could report you for harassment.” 

You could, Jungkook thinks. Women have reported men for harassment all the time - harrassment being even glancing their way if they didn’t appreciate the act. 

You could, but you never did.

“Have you gone to the brothel? Maybe you need to let off some steam.” Taehyung glances his way a bit, his typing not ceasing. “Staring at her isn’t going to make things easier.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond - because he knows Taehyung is correct. The last thing he did want was for you to report him for harassment. He could go to the brothel, sure, but there was no real connection there. He could fuck for as long as he desired, but there was no true connection to the women he was fucking nor did he ever know what these women looked like as their upper and lower body are separated. 

Sex shouldn’t be so quick nor easy - so one sided. Jungkook wants to know did these women feel the same as he did - even if it was a quick high. Did they enjoy the way he fucked them or did they want him to be slower - or faster, go deeper. 

“There you go,” Taehyung murmurs, his fingers typing fast. “in your head again. Did you do as we told you?”

Jungkook sends a e-document and shakes his head. “Freaked out.” he murmurs. 

Taehyung snorts quietly. “I knew you would.”

Jungkook sighs. “It isn’t that easy.”

“How so? You walk through the mirror during an in-between and make sure you’re back on time.” Taehyung shrugs. He glances at you for a moment, noticing how your eyes are upon them - mainly Jungkook. You appear to be surprised that Taehyung catches you and quickly, you turn away. 

“What are you afraid of?” Taehyung murmurs.

What was he afraid of?

There was a lot to be afraid of. He had never broken a forbidden rule before - uncovering a mirror after hours  was an unforgivable one, and now he understood why. There was a whole different universe out there that was seemingly different than his own - he wouldn’t know how to navigate it. His friends had told him stories that appeared to be just that, stories. Something fictional and unbelievable. 

Jungkook was afraid that if he went to this world, that he’d never want to return to his own.

Jungkook is disgusted with himself - disgusted in how he finds himself in the brothel.

Not only Jungkook - but many unmarried men starting at the age of 21-27. This was the only place where it didn’t matter how loud you were. You could scream, yell, curse - hell, cry. You can display any type of emotion inside the brothel.

The brothel had color and life to it - not the sad beige and gray of the outside world. It appeared to be like a dream - was this what the other world was like? Colorful? Cherry? Maybe that’s why his friend visited at night. It was like a vacation away from the reality in which they lived.

“Kook!”

As arm wraps around Jungkook’s shoulders. 

“Not surprised to see you here after the way you acted at work.” Taehyung says loudly, his natural state booming inside of the brothel. “You’re late. We have to all be gone in an hour.”

Jungkook knows this - he never intended on coming until the last minute. It feels like he’s doing the walk of shame coming inside the brothel, but no one cares. All of these men inside of here were looking to get away; to let off steam from the world they lived in.

“You look depressed.” Taehyung snorts. “You know we don’t judge here.”

“Exactly, Kook.” Jimin places a hand on his shoulder, seemingly appearing from thin air. “I think you should try virtual reality.”

Jungkook scoffs. “It’s bad enough I’m in here.” he murmurs.

“Tae told me the way you were looking at Y/N.”

Of course Taehyung did.

“She’s a fertile woman. Meaning she will be married off to whoever the government chooses as would you.”

Jimin was never the one to sugar coat anything. Jungkook could only respect it.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t pretend.” Taehyung slaps Jungkook's back. “I’ll pay for it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. “That’ll be expensive.” he says with a shake of his head.

Casual sex was free and paid by the government. At first it’s weird - surrounded by men who were all taking turns on fucking multiple girls in the wall that you couldn’t see. But after a while it got easier and Jungkook only was there to cum and go.

Virtual Reality, however, was not free. It costs to have a private room, a girl and the virtual contact lenses to alter reality. You could choose whatever reality you desired for a price - and Jungkook already felt shitty enough about coming here.

“You’re never going to have Y/N unless fate is on your side.” Jimin says. “And fate is on no one side in our world.”

Meaning, Jungkook had to give up on having you chosen as his partner; an act he already gave up on. 

“But just for an hour, you can pretend to be with her. It’ll feel good. I promise.”

Taehyung’s words ring through his ears. He’s done this before, Jungkook thinks. He only has a few months left until he’s set to be married, the woman he once wanted far from his reach.

“Okay.” Jungkook murmurs sullenly.

Jungkook is disgusted with himself already - and even more so. But he was a man and he couldn’t hide what desires he had for you.

All the desires he did have for you were taken out on the woman who’s name or face he did not know - he moaned for you. He called you pretty and beautiful and in his mind, he was fucking you.

Jungkook likes to think that in another world, he and you could be together. That you and he could talk freely without others speculating he was harassing you - a fertile unwed woman. But as of right now, he would pretend he was fucking you and not another woman in the brothel during virtual reality.

Jungkook’s eyes watch the way your face contort with pleasure as he fucks deep into you. There was only an hour until he had to leave and he took full advantage of it. He isn’t sure how many times he came, filling the condom he wore completely - but he never wants to stop. 

Jungkook doesn’t want this reality with you to end - even deep down he knows that this wasn’t real. Those weren’t your moans nor was it your reaction to him but it’s what he has to deal with to feel closer to you.

“Ah, look at you.” Jimin smirks as he eyes Jungkook exiting the room. His eyes are slightly red due to having to remove the contact lenses. “Feel better?”

No, Jungkook thinks, but he only nods his head. 

 “What are you afraid of?”

Jungkook places a hand towards the mirror, his eyes widening as it begins to go through just as it did the night prior. He has to coach himself to do it - this was okay. He could do it - he could make it through the portal just fine.

As long as he was back before 6 am, he was good. No one would have to know that he was committing a crime that could be punishable by death. 

The portal sucks him in completely - it’s dark and cold. Jungkook’s mind races and he opens his mouth to scream, but he can’t. The feeling is as if he’s jumped from a high surface, gravity completely taking a toll on him.

Jungkook falls onto the ground with a thud, his hands not able to catch himself. He releases a low groan at the impact he’s faced crashing to the floor. He grumbles and pushes himself off of the ground. 

Jungkook’s eyes open and it’s then he realizes that he isn’t where he should be. This isn’t his room - even if it was nearly identical. The room had personality - not like the dull one he had back in his world. The ceiling was just as high as his back in his world but the bed is larger. He notices that the headboard - block - has a strange glow behind it and beneath the bed. It glows multiple colors that Jungkook finds fascinating. The large window - where outside displays a large digital clock for not only him, but for the surrounding homes to see - is covered by a long, dark curtain, blocking out the outside world. The closet is on the far right of the room and Jungkook’s curiosity peaks - his world, clothes weren’t expressive. They were bland and more of a uniform that most citizens wore.

Jungkook gasps, having strolled towards the closet and opened it. Even the clothes in this world had personality - different colors and textures. Long, short, tight or loose - it amazes him how people in this world could express themselves freely. 

“Does your girlfriend know you have me here?” a voice sounds from right outside the door that Jungkook leaps into the closet and hides, only sliding the door close a bit to see.

Jungkook is flabbergasted upon seeing himself - or, this new world version of him. Did this man have the same name as him, or was it just a look alike?

“Y/N’s not going to be here tonight.” Jungkook hears his voice and he stiffens. “She’s out with her friends.”

Y/N.

You.

You were in this universe, too. 

You and him - could Jungkook call this different version of this man “him”? Regardless, you and he were together.

You were his girlfriend in this universe.

And he was cheating on you - Jungkook wants to faint at the revelation alone that in this universe he had you. He had you - the person he wanted. There were no rules on sex outside of brothels here - nor did it appear that a government was controlling every aspect of life.

Jungkook had you in this universe - and he was cheating on you.

Jungkook couldn’t stay here any longer and watch himself be with another girl. He wouldn’t notice himself creeping out of the room - it's dimly lit and the only lights are that of the changing colorful ones. He’s slow with opening the door and closing it discreetly behind him.

The rest of the home is just as amazing as the bedroom - full of this version of him. There’s artwork displayed on the walls that catches Jungkook's eyes, but he doesn’t have the time to stop and appreciate it like he wants to because something else catches his eye. It’s in the hallway as he’s walking by.

A picture of you and him - together. You were smiling, arms wrapped firmly around him, your cheek pressed against his own. You looked beautiful; happy. He did, as well.

Jungkook touches the picture - were you different in this universe? Is this why he was cheating on you? There had to be a reason as to why this version of him would go against everything he wanted for one night with a woman when all he wanted was you.

Jungkook hears a muffled voice and his head snaps down the hall where his front door would be. He contemplates running, but he doesn’t. The door opens and his heart stops.

“Kookie.” you tilt your head and offer him a smile and then a confused look. “You’re still up?”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say and it’s like his breath was taken away. You’re in front of him - you’re speaking to him.

You called him Kookie.

Your clothes are something he’d never see you wear in his world. Your dress is dark and tightly fitted and it shows a great amount of cleavage. Your skin looks so smooth and soft and his hands tremble to feel it beneath his palm.

“Are you okay?” you take a step forward, your heels clicking against the floor. You reach out to touch his forehead and Jungkook knows now that he isn’t okay. “You don’t feel hot-”

“Y/N.” Jungkook says, and this is his moment. He touches your face fondly, thumb pressing itself against your lips. 

You snicker. “What’s gotten into you?” you ask. “I know I said I would be out all night but I wanted to come home to you.”

Jungkook releases a shaky breath at your words. You wanted to come home to him - but not him, your version of him. The same Jungkook that was cheating on you now and expecting not to see you.

Jungkook doesn’t want that for you - even if this was his last time seeing you in this world. He doesn’t want to be the reason for your pain. “Let’s go out together.”

“Together?” you knit your brows. “Dressed like that?”

Jungkook looks down at his own attire - basic black t-shirt and jeans that would only be acceptable for him to wear at home back in his world - but maybe in this one it was exactly that; basic. 

“I just want to be with you.” Jungkook murmurs truthfully and you smile - a bright smile that causes his heart to sink. He would have to go home eventually, and he wouldn’t be able to see it anymore. 

“Okay.” you nod slowly, taking his hand in yours. “You hungry? We can go to Late Night Slice.”

Jungkook is shocked to see how crowded the streets are. Back in his world, no one was allowed outside past 9 pm. Even during the day, citizens had to walk in a straight line, no more than three people standing side by side. 

It was past curfew but yet here everyone was. People were laughing, littering the streets without a care in the world. There was a melodic tune playing, something he’s never heard before. 

“You act like you’ve never heard music before.”

You say it as though you can read him, Jungkook thinks.  “Music…” he murmurs, trailing off. 

There wasn’t any music where Jungkook was from, and now he’s realizing that his world was Hell compared to this. It was night time but yet, everything was so bright. The laughter from everyone surrounding them, the music - the atmosphere in general. 

Jungkook feels his skin erupt with goosebumps.

“Come,” you yank him lightly to get his attention and you fully have it. You take him to a small shop where only a few people were inside. The smell makes Jungkook’s stomach rumble and his mouth salivate. “I ordered ahead already, so it should be done.”

Order ahead? Jungkook wants to ask what you meant, but he doesn’t want to appear any more dumb than he was when it came to you and this world.

“I can take that.” Jungkook says as you go to grab a large tray of pizza - it smells as delicious as it looks and Jungkook cannot fathom how someone can be open and cook amazingly this late at night. 

“I’ll go get our drinks.” you smile at him brightly that it nearly causes Jungkook to drop the tray of food. “Go find us a table, okay?”

“Yes.” Jungkook nods, licking his lips. He wants to hurt himself - not really. Hurt this version of him. As you and he sit here and eat as a couple, he was cheating on you with another woman - one not worthy of his attention. 

Jungkook finds a table farther from everyone else and sits down, placing the tray of pizza onto the table. He watches from afar as you come back with two drinks in your hands and his lifts form into a small smile.

“What’s funny?” you ask him as you sit down across from him, placing the drink in front of him. 

“I’m not laughing.” Jungkook knits his brows. “You just look very beautiful.”

Jungkooks cheeks are red as he speaks.

You’re taken aback by the compliment. “Ah, really?” you snort. “You only ever call me beautiful when you’re fucking me.”

Jungkook’s throat tightens at your words and his breath hitches. You can speak so freely in this world, he thinks. There doesn’t need to be a hidden conversation of whispers or hushed murmurs. “I-I…” he doesn’t know what to say. On one hand, the thought of him being with you outside of virtual reality has him excited - but the other part of him finds this version of himself highly selfish. He cannot think about only calling you beautiful when he is intimate with you - especially in a world in which he doesn’t have to hide his love. “...You’re very beautiful to me, Y/N. Even outside of…sex.”

You blink a few times, watching Jungkook intently. Slowly, you begin to smile. “Thank you.” you say softly. “I think you’re beautiful, as well, Kookie.” you say teasingly. “Now let’s eat!”

Jungkook never wants to go back to his world. He doesn’t want to leave you behind with the version of him that doesn’t love you. You and he eat and it mainly consists of you talking to him while he listens closely - he isn’t sure of what you are talking about. He isn’t from a world where “clubs” or “bars” are normal - but they seem fun. 

Jungkook takes a sip of the drink you gave him and he immediately coughs. 

“Kookie? You okay?” you rush to place a napkin in his hands.

“W-What is this?” Jungkook smells the clear drink and his eyes widen as it begins to fizzle.

“Sprite…?” you tilt your head. “Does it taste funny?”

Funny wasn’t the word - it tasted strong. He hasn’t tasted anything like this before, the taste feels as if it’s stabbing against his taste buds and fighting against his throat.

It was a weird taste that Jungkook liked.

Jungkook begins to chug the rest of the drink entirely, his body shuddering at the amazing taste. It brings a rush through him.

You watch wide eyed as Jungkook slams the cup down against the table and burp. He places a hand over his mouth at his crude actions. “Excuse-”

“You’re so cute, Kookie!” you laugh at his actions, a sweet melodic laugh that he wants to hear for the rest of his life.

Jungkook finds himself never wanting to leave you, but needing to each time he’s visited and coincidentally managing to not come face to face with himself while doing so.

The first time he had to go through the portal, there was a longing feeling holding him back - the euphoric sense that this new world was better. It was colorful and full of life - returning back to his world left him with deep sorrow. He was coming down from a serotonin high and he realized that each time he did so, he was growing more and more depressed.

But Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to care. He would go through the drop of serotonin if it meant he could see you every night - and each night he did. He would visit you, somehow managing to avoid himself, and have an amazing time with you in this Utopian world. Each night was something different - you took him to midnight festivals that played “music” - an amazing tune with people singing and dancing and it’s something you forced him to do with you.

And Jungkook loved it - he adored dancing with you. He enjoyed being carefree and not feeling judgmental eyes upon him. He tried different foods that his world would never allow, drinks that caused his taste buds to go crazy and such sweet snacks that at times would cause his teeth to hurt.

This utopian world was amazing and each time he would return home, he hated it. He was exhausted from the lack of sleep but wouldn’t stop from returning the next night because it was worth it to get away from his world and to see you.

On his 12th day of returning to the Utopian world, Jungkook isn’t alone. He hears screaming coming from further into the home. He ventures outside of the room stealthy to see what’s wrong - mainly because he hears your voice. It’s strained and filled with pain - as is your appearance when his eyes catch you. His heart drops when his eyes catch your face - you’re crying, a black streak streaming down your cheeks. It’s makeup he now knows, having watched you put on the products and astonished when it enhances your beauty even more.

“Where are you planning on going, Y/N?” Jungkook hears his voice say, his tone far too aggressive for his liking. “You live here. With me.”

“You had another woman in the same bed that I sleep in Jungkook.”

Jungkook sighs to himself, his heart falling once more. It was a matter of time until you found out, he thinks. It wasn’t something he wanted to happen for you - you were someone he loved, even if he wasn’t from this world. He wanted you to be happy and live an amazing life, even if it wasn’t with him but with the version of him that didn’t deserve you.

Jungkook watches you push him away with a huff when he tries to bring you closer to him.

“Fine.” Jungkook then shrugs with a scoff. “I’m leaving. If you want to pack everything and leave then you can. But I’m not forcing you to go.”

You snicker with a shake of your head at the audacity of Jungkook.

“You’re going to throw everything away because of one mistake?”

“Was it only once?” you ask him with folded arms. You’re waiting for him to respond to the question you know the answer to already. “Your silence tells me everything I need to know.”

You feel Jungkook’s eyes watch you storm away. He bites back a remark and instead decides to let you cool off. You weren’t going to leave him - where would you even go? You didn’t have anyone but him.

Jungkook watches himself leave out the front door, slamming it behind him as you’re making your way towards the bedroom. Jungkook saunters back inside the bedroom and hides inside the closet, a sense of deja vu coming through him.

You slam through the door and fall onto the large bed. You’re crying again and the sound makes Jungkook want to hurt this world's version of him.

An affair wasn’t allowed in his world and it’s a punishable offense. Of course, very few men loved their wives that they’re set upon and vice versa. Only few come to love one another - but it’s rare. He had to look at his own parents as evidence of this. As he and you would walk the busy streets the past weeks, he noticed people of all ages and genders together - two older couples sitting side by side enjoying one another's company. Two men holding one another while taking pictures - it’s nice to see and experience.

This version of Jungkook didn’t deserve you or this world, he thinks - he took it for granted.

“Y/N.”

You flinch at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. Your eyes widen at him, not hearing him come in. “W-Why are you in the closet?”

Jungkook swallows.

“And when did you change…?” your words trail off, hands wiping your tears.

“I’m sorry that he hurt you.” Jungkook murmurs, his tone lowering. His eyes are sad, you note, sad for you. He comes closer, his demeanor soft unlike the cocky and narcissistic one of that prior.

You stand to your feet and tilt your head, your eyes focusing on his face. “You just got a piercing earlier.” you murmur, more to yourself than to Jungkook. “Where did it go?”

Jungkook stiffens when he feels your fingers on his lips. His hand reaches up to touch yours on his face and he sighs. “I hate the way he treats you, Y/N. He doesn’t deserve you.”

Your head is spinning at Jungkook’s choice of words. You’re confused at how he’s wording everything - as if he’s a third person in this situation.

“Kookie…?”

Jungkook kisses your fingers then your hand. “I wish I could stay here with you. Forever.”

You aren’t sure how to feel, your emotions are spiraling. Jungkook speaks as if everything that went down between the two of you hasn’t happened - and your mind is beginning to fog; contemplating if it did or not.

“I’m not from here, Y/N.” Jungkook speaks once more, lowering your hand to your side and entangling his fingers with yours. “I wish I was so I could treat you better than him. I wouldn’t take you or this world for granted.”

You don’t speak, unable on what to say in response. You aren’t crying anymore, your cheeks stained with tears and puffy.

Jungkook tugs you deeper into the room and towards the mirror by the closet. You’re unsure what’s going on and where he’s getting at.

Jungkook’s sure he might regret this - that you would be freaked out to the point that you wouldn’t want to talk with him anymore, but he had to show you.

Jungkook stops in front of the mirror and turns towards you. He lifts your hand that’s holding his and slowly, brings it towards the mirror.

Your eyes widen in shock when your hand sinks into the mirror, a cold, windy feeling causing your hand to tremble.

“J-Jungkook-”

“I’m from a different world. I was just as scared as you are right now.” Jungkook says, bringing your hand out of the mirror and letting it go. His hands grasp your face. “I came here and everything's so…euphoric. It’s nice that everyone is accepting. There’s no strict rules enforced by the government to control you all.”

Jungkook’s thumb rubs along your lips.

“You…in my world you and I can never be together. Not unless the Government allowed it and I’m positive they aren’t. You are free to be in love with whoever you want here, Y/N. And I’m sorry this version of me is taking you for granted.”

Your heart is beating at an alarming rate. Your eyes are wide with shock at his words.

This Jungkook was not your Jungkook - not the man who cheated on you and left without as much as acknowledging your feelings. This Jungkook came from a different world - and as unbelievable as it sounded, it was true.

“Why can’t we be together?” you murmur, still unsure if this was reality or a dream - everything felt real at this point.

“The Government chooses who we marry based on ranking and status.” Jungkook explains. “You’re a woman who can bear children, so you’ll be married to someone of their choosing.”

Your eyebrows knit. “Why does it matter if I can bear children or not?”

Jungkook smiles sadly at you. “Barren women cannot be married.” He recalls wishing that you and he were both barren, then maybe the Government would see the two of you as useless and allow him to marry you - but life wasn’t that cruel to either of you.

“It must be a cruel world.” you murmur, and Jungkook agrees. “How long have you…”

Jungkook knows what you’re speaking of. “Close to two weeks. I’ve been coming to you every night.”

Your eyes widened and now, everything made sense. How Jungkook - well, not the one before you, but the other one - would be confused about the night prior, but you’d just thought he was either faking or too tired to. But no, you and this Jungkook from a different world were the one spending it together.

This is why the connection between the two of you suddenly has changed. It became bearable to be around Jungkook. He smiled and laughed more. He was willing to hold your hand wherever the two of you went and would sneak kisses at random times. He took more pictures with you and appeared overall happier than before.

But it wasn’t the Jungkook you know - it was a different version of him.

You snicker, your eyes swelling with tears.

Jungkook shakes his head. “I-I’m sorry for taking advantage of you, Y/N. Please don’t cry-”

You hand your head. “I’m not upset with you, Jungkook.” you say, blinking away the tears that are forming. “I’m upset that you and I can never be together because you aren’t from this world.”

Jungkook’s chest tightens at your words.

“And I…I can’t go to your world, either.” You didn’t want to, Jungkook thinks. He doesn’t want to see your demeanor and personality change if you went to a world so different from this one.

“I’m sorry-”

Jungkook is interrupted suddenly by your lips on his. He’s taken aback by your sudden actions, but he doesn’t push you awake.

“If there’s a world,” you remove your lips from his for a moment. “that is an alternate realm where you and I are in, that means…he can’t die.”

Jungkook isn’t sure where you’re getting at.

“Jungkook can’t die because then you’ll die.” you say, your hand caressing Jungkook’s cheek. “I-I don’t think you and he can be in the same world, either. It would probably cause some type of unbalance.”

Jungkook nods. “The in between opens at 12. I make sure I’m back before 6.”

You nod slowly.

“I want you to stay with me, Jungkook.” you murmur to him, as if it was a secret that only he can hear. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

Jungkook nods his head, doe-like eyes widening. “I do,” he admits. “but I don’t think-”

“SShh,” you peck him on his lips once more and Jungkook melts into the kiss. “we have a few hours before we can figure out what to do. I just want you to stay with me.”

Jungkook nods.

Kissing you had to be his favorite thing to do. And touching you, feeling your smooth skin against his palm.

Your back hits against the bed, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. This Jungkook was different from the one you’ve known. He was gentle and kind. He cared for your feelings and truly wanted what was best for you.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you.” Jungkook manages to push himself away from you just as your hand dips underneath his pants. “You’re already hurting from what he’s done to you.”

“You aren’t like him.” It’s weird to speak of a different version of himself as if it was a whole different person with a different face. “I want to be with you.”

Your hands do make their way into his pants and you proceed to grasp his hardened length. Jungkook hisses. “O-Okay.” he nods hastily with no other argument. He caves far too easily - but he’s wanted you for so long. The virtual reality he had was an embarrassing moment he wanted to forget - but now he was going to have the real thing. The real you.

“I-I want to pleasure you.” Jungkook’s cheeks are tinted as he speaks, but it’s like a dream of his. Coming from a world where pleasuring a woman (before marriage) isn’t a priority, he wants to do this - especially with you.

Jungkook kisses your neck, inhaling your sweet scent that starts to drive him wild. His hands roam your body, grasping the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your head.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” Jungkook murmurs, his lips kissing down your collarbone to between your breasts.”So beautiful and all mine.”

Jungkook doesn’t want this moment to end - he wants to savor every bit of it. He wants to sit and stare at the beauty that’s your body for hours if the universe would let him.

You feel Jungkook's hand dip behind your back to unclasp your bra. It’s left discarded, his hands roaming your back entirely. He shudders.

“You look scared.” you teased with a hushed tone. “As if you have never done this before.”

“I’m not married, so no, I have not.” Jungkook speaks. “Every man goes to the brothel but that isn’t pleasurable for the woman. I don’t even see their faces.”

You swallow, your eyes widening slightly.

“My friends often come here, too…” Jungkook begins, his hands slowly gripping your breast in the palm of his hands. “...and they told me how free it was here. What they’d do when they were pleasuring women here.”

Jungkook’s friends - you ponder if it’s the same friends in his world that Jungkook has in this one.

“And I want to try it.”

You yelp when you feel Jungkook’s mouth wrap a nipple into his mouth entirely, suckling as if his life depended on it. You weren’t complaining, enjoying just how needy Jungkook appeared. Jungkook groans in your breast, his free hand gripping your breast entirely while he sucks on the other. He’s unsure why he appears so stuck on your breast - or why he enjoys doing so. They didn’t have a particular taste to them - it only tasted like skin.

Jungkook’s positive that it’s your reaction to him doing so. Your moans - so sweet and velvety. The way your legs wrap around his waist a little tighter and your hand rests on the back of his head.

There’s a string of saliva connecting your nipple to his lips when Jungkook finally comes up from them. He licks his lips, eyes dark and full of lust.

You eye Jungkook has his lips place warm kisses upon your skin, dipping down to your stomach. His hands reach your shorts, tugging them down just as he gets lower and lower.

“Y-You don’t have to do that.” you say, embarrassed when Jungkook pulls down your shorts entirely.

Jungkook looks up at you for a moment before down at your exposed underwear - purple and cotton. They were cute, he thinks, especially as he witnesses the slight wet spot directly in the middle of them.

“Why not?” Jungkook places his fingers on your clothed clit, rubbing gently.

You swallow back a moan, thighs twitching. “Y-You never have…not you but. The other Jungkook.”

Jungkook wants to shake his head. The audacity of this other version of him - if he had the chance to ravish you at every given moment, he would. He didn’t understand why this world took everything for granted - being allowed to roam the streets after 9 Pm was a luxury alone that this world provided.

“But I want to.” Jungkook hooks his fingers between your panties and pushes it aside. He licks his lips at your wet clit and he hums. “So beautiful.” he murmurs.

Jungkook lowers himself to your heat and your eyes widen - he was really going to do this. You don’t have time to react, either. His tongue pokes out of his mouth and it’s already swiping along your clit.

“S-Stop…!” you yelp, jerking at the unfamiliar feeling.

Jungkook catches your legs just as they were about to crush him. “Relax, Y/N.” he laughs gleefully. “Just let me take care of you, okay?”

You bite your lip but nod. Your legs are trembling with nerves and slight embarrassment at how close Jungkook was to your sex - vaginas couldn’t look that appealing for him to appear ready to risk it all at just a taste of it.

But to Jungkook, it was. His nails dig into the skin of your thighs as he holds you into place, his tongue flat and his head shifting from side to side.

Your stomach bubbles with tension and pleasure. You aren’t aware that something like this could feel good for you - you imagined it whenever you went down on Jungkook, but there was a difference between the two genitalia.

Now, it was like Jungkook was getting rid of an itch you never knew was there. You couldn’t contain your moans any longer, nor did he want you to. There was no pleasuring any women from the brothel and in the end, even after he came, he could never feel truly satisfied with himself.

Now, it’s different. It’s more intimate - pleasuring you the way he wants to. His demeanor changes entirely from that of the soft man she’s come to love to be around - to a man hungry for what's between her legs.

“K-Kookie!” you yelp once more at feeling fingers pierce through your entrance. Even then, he doesnt stop sucking your clit.

Jungkook hums, the vibration felt throughout your lower region. His eyes dart up at you and it causes him to groan. So beautiful, he thinks. The look of pure bliss on your face, eyes fluttering closed as pleasure shoots through you.

Jungkook leans back to watch intently at the way your pussy tightens around his fingers. He pumps in and out, your juices coating not only his fingers, but down his palm and to his wrists.

“I wish I can stay here with you forever.” Jungkook says, adding another finger to fill you even more. “I would treat you better. I would never make you cry.”

Jungkook is such a smooth talker, you think . But even so, you believed him. His eyes are much softer and even now as he’s fucking his fingers inside of you, he’s still so loving.

“Kook - shit!” Jungkook connects his lips back onto your already swollen clit and is determined to make you cum.

Your hands grip along the bedsheets, your thighs trembling. It was all too much to handle right now. Each time your hips would buck, Jungkook would just push you back down onto the mattress and plunge his fingers even deeper.

“I know you’re about to cum.” Jungkook purrs, then goes back to lapping your clit, his eyes watching your every emotion. His fingers are hitting your spot so sweetly that you can’t hold it back anymore, releasing the tension from deep inside of you with a shriek.

Jungkook’s chest is soaked entirely, but he couldn’t care any less. Instead, he removes his fingers from inside of you and licks them clean.

Your thighs are trembling even more now, your eyes closing and your chest heaving in an attempt to catch your breath.

There was no way Jungkook never done this before. Even from a different world, Jungkook had to have some similar characteristics of the other Jungkook - determined to make you cum regardless if it was never his mouth or tongue, not stopping until he had.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks you, kissing your lips gently. You tasted yourself on him.

You hum a lazy response.

“So cute.” Jungkook smiles. “Are you tired? Hungry? “ he tilts his head for a response. “I can go get those sugar things you like with the chocolate filling-“

“I want you to fuck me before we think about eating.” you sigh, tone serious. Your eyes flutter open until they’re no longer blurry.

Jungkook’s cheek flush at your words. “You don’t even look like you’re capable of-“

Jungkook’s left stunned when you manage to flip him on his back, hovering right above him. “Just needed a few seconds is all.” you say to him. “I really want to taste you, too but…I’m really impatient.”

Jungkook nods hastily as you go to remove his pants.

“I will next time. Promise.”

Jungkook isn’t upset about you not returning the favor - he didn’t expect you to. Having the opportunity to do anything with you was what he truly desired.

“Don’t we need some form of protection?” Jungkook asks when you’re hovering above him, ready to bring him into you entirely.

“I’m on birth control.” You shake your head with a giggle and Jungkook only appears more confused.

“What’s that?”

You tilt your head. “There’s no birth control in your world?”

Jungkook shakes his head slowly, trying to ponder how anyone can control something like-

Jungkook gasps, feeling you entirely. You’re so warm and wet and his mind is going crazy at feeling you entirely raw.

“The chances of getting pregnant are low when on birth control.” you explain, placing both of your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. “So it should be okay.”

Jungkook was going to take your word for it. His hands find your waist and it holds on it for support.

Your hips begin to rise and fall at a rhythmic pace, wet skin slapping against his own. Soon moans filled the room, both yours and his - and Jungkook wasn’t going to hide how good you were making him feel.

“Feel…so…good…” Jungkook huffs with each bounce on his cock. His eyes fight to focus on something for longer than a few seconds, but he can’t. Your breast bounces in his face and he tries to catch a nipple but fails a few times. Your face is so beautiful, contorted with pleasure as you take him.

“Does it?”

You lean back, your palms on his thighs. Your feet are pressed firmly onto the mattress and you continue your bouncing.

Jungkook hisses, the next position allowing him to go a bit deeper in you. You knew what you were doing, knowing exactly how to pleasure him just right. Jungkook wants to harm the other version of him - how could you go elsewhere when everything he needed was right here?

Jungkook opens his eyes to look at you and he grunts all over again. Your pussy is dripping all over him, creaming his cock so lovingly. There’s a white ring around his cock, evident of how much you were loving this.

“You’re so-“

“Beautiful?” you finished the sentence for Jungkook, giggling. You clench around him and Jungkook hisses.

“It’s true. You are.”

Your heart swells at his words - they aren’t just sex words. Often he would tell you how beautiful he thought you were and of course you were smitten. You thought it was your Jungkook, not this new Jungkook from a different world.

Jungkook allows his hands to roam your naked skin, goosebumps running along his arms. He hisses with a slight shake of his head. “You’re too g-good at this.”

“So were you.” you giggle, grinding against him. “Surprised you never pleasured a girl before.”

“I learn fast.” Jungkook licks his lips, pressing a thumb against your swollen clit, satisfied when you flinch.

While Jungkook's right hand plays with your clit, his left places itself on your ass and squeezes.

Jungkook flickers his eyes up st your face to find that you’re already looking at him. He gives a slight grin - the thrust upwards.

“Fuck, s-stop!” your body flushes with heat. “I was supposed to make you cum this time!”

“You are.” Jungkook hooks both of his arms beneath your thighs and then on your hips to keep you steady. “This birth control means I can cum in you?”

You bite your lip and nod and that's all the confirmation Jungkook needs.

Jungkook begins to pound into you, his pace entirely alarming and there's no build up to it. All he knows is that he’s wanted you for as long as he could remember and in this world he had you - you and whatever birth control was.

Soon the room is filled with wet squelching of your pussy being stuffed so full mixed with Jungkook’s grunts and your whimpers. Your arms wrap around Jungkook’s neck for support and this has Jungkook peppering your skin with kisses.

Jungkook doesn’t stop his pounding, not even when you're trembling and scratching along his back. He only snickers at your actions, far too enthralled in this moment that he doesn’t care what pain you might cause him.

“I-I don’t think-“

“Sshhh,” Jungkook presses his lips on yours to silence your whining. His teeth clap on your bottom lip, tugging slightly. “I know you can take it, baby.”

You came - an embarrassing moment for you. You didn’t hold in the shriek as you do so and it was entirely Jungkook’s fault - his insane stamina, his soft kisses on your skin and the dark whisper of a pet name.

Jungkook groans, your cum dripping out of you and onto him entirely. He could never get enough of you and each thrust has him hating the version of him that left you here crying.

“Gonna cum,” Jungkook huffs, kissing your face entirely. Your eyes are closed tightly and a few whimpers are releasing from your lips due to the overstimulation.

You clench around him as tight as you could to get Jungkook to cum and it works. A few sloppy thrusts and a deep moan later, Jungkook’s cumming deep inside of you - a wave of emotion shudders through his body.

You fall limp against Jungkook while your eyes flutter close. “So tired.” you murmur.

Jungkook places a kiss upon your forehead. “You don’t want those sugar things with the filling?”

You grumble, “It sounds like you want them.”

Jungkook does.

“I’ll put an order for them to be delivered.” you lift yourself and sigh. “How about you just take my phone and go get it? You remember the way?”

Jungkook nods his head and soon, you’re sleeping soundly on the bed.

Jungkook licks his lips as he gets dressed. Currency was different in your world. Though he worked, there was only a certain amount he could ever earn from his job, the rest went towards whatever the Government saw fit - funding the brothel and new technology to advance the world. Even being able to go somewhere and eat was a luxury - it was something the Government also controlled; when and how they got their food.

Jungkook opens the door to the room and stops dead in his tracks.

Jungkook blinks at the familiar face of himself. There’s a piercing on his eyebrow and lip and it causes Jungkook to tilt his head at it.

“What the fuck-“

Jungkook reacts entirely too fast, even before his mind can think of what to do. He watches as the version of himself falls back and holds his nose, blood pooling from his hand.

“You don’t belong here.” Jungkook murmurs , his voice dangerously low. “You don’t deserve her.”

Jungkook is surprised that you don’t awake - maybe you were that exhausted. He doesn’t stop punching until the version of him is unconscious and he’s covered in an alarming amount of blood.

Jungkook huffs. He grabs the versions of him arms and begins to drag him inside the room. He glances at your sleeping figure and feels an emotion go through him. He wants to love you the way you deserve - to care for you like he should be able to.

And with this Jungkook here, he never could.

Jungkook pushes towards the mirror, the ripple effect telling him that there was still time.

There’s a moan - he was waking up. Jungkook curses mentally to himself and pushes as hard as he could to this world’s Jungkook until he’s fully through the mirror.

Now, all he had to do was wait until it was time for the portal to be closed.

Jungkook’s eyes open, shooting straight up. His eyes look around his surroundings - where the fuck was he?

This wasn’t his room - no, it couldn’t be. It was so dull, dark. Plain - where were the lights he had on his bed? Where were the mirrors he placed up?

Jungkook’s eyes the large window outside, noticing that lights were peaking through. There was a digital clock flashing red numbers. He shakes his head. “What the hell…?”

Jungkook turns towards the mirror in front of him, eyes wide as it begins to crack. He shields himself with his hands as mirror pieces begin to fly on him suddenly, the mirror breaking out of thin air.

Jungkook releases a deep breath, hammer in hand. His chest heaves, the mirror shards surrounding him entirely.

“Kookie?!”

You run inside the room, head flailing around to see what the commotion was. “How did the mirror…” your eyes glance down to the hammer in Jungkook’s hands.

It was now 6 A.M, Jungkook notes, and it was time for his world to wake and go on with their lives - without him.

“I thought you said you were gonna go shower?” Jungkook drops the hammer and turns towards you. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”

You sigh, shoulders relaxing. “It’s okay.” you say. “Is…is the portal gone?”

Jungkook nods his head, for now at least. He’s positive there was a way for him to return through a different mirror - but he had no intentions to. As long as the Utopian world Jungkook didn’t know how to return, he was satisfied.

“Good.” you smile at Jungkook, a genuine smile that warms his heart.

Good - it was good. Now Jungkook could have you like he always has - no strict rules, no Government forcing him to marry a woman he didn’t want.

Just you and him - you & this Jungkook - forever.

@seokjinkismet @bloodline1632 @babycandy111

[mrmeowski]

˚✧𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐭. 𝟏/𝟐✧˚

Synopsis: An alternate time where they lived as not tales to tell in the dark but actual, living people. Although, they're not much different from the tales... as they still are monsters that aren't afraid to kill to get or protect their beloved.

CW: Yandere tendancies, blood, stalking, slight body horror

A/N: I caved in after a long break. I mean, I couldn't not write a fic about Homicipher! I fell hard for these monster men🥰

Word Count: 5.4k

Characters: 🧡༻✧ Mr. Chopped [1.4k] 💜༻✧ Mr. Crawling [2.2k] 🧡༻✧ Mr. Gap [1.8k]

⋇��MR. CHOPPED⊱⋇

Haruto is hard to miss on campus. With his fiery ginger hair and boundless energy, he stood out in every crowd. At just eighteen, he acted more like a child than a college student, bounding around like a ball of energy.

He’d sprint up to classmates, pleading with them to join him in a game. The responses were always the same: excuses, polite rejections, or outright dismissals.

“Maybe later, Haruto.”

“I’m busy right now.”

“No thanks.”

Each rejection chipped away at his smile, but only for a moment. He’d bounce back, laughing off the rejection, and run off to find someone else. You admired his resilience even if you could see through the cracks in his ever-present grin.

There is only one person who occasionally humored his games: a tall, stoic student with silver hair. While Haruto seemed happy to have someone around, it's clear the other student barely tolerated his antics.

You’d watch from the sidelines as he desperately tried to engage the unwilling participant in an overly complicated game of tag or hide-and-seek around campus. Despite his efforts, it's obvious the games weren’t as fun when the enthusiasm isn’t mutual. Still, he carried on, his laughter ringing out like a challenge to the dull, routine college life.

Until now.

It' during your lunch break when you heard it: soft, muffled crying from one of the quieter corners of the library. The sound tugged at your chest, urging you to investigate. Rounding a shelf of dusty textbooks, you saw him.

Haruto, the campus’s eternal ball of sunshine, is crumpled on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest and his face buried in his arms. His usual vibrant energy is replaced with trembling shoulders and quiet sobs.

“Haruto…?” You called out gently.

His head snapped up, wide amber eyes locking onto yours. He hastily scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, forcing a shaky grin to replace the vulnerability you’d just witnessed.

“Oh, hey! W-What are you doing here?” He said, his voice betraying the attempt at cheer. “Looking f-for a book or something? I.. I-I could help!”

Concern swimming in your voice as you spoke, “I should be asking you that... Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” He waved you off with a laugh that sounded more hollow than his usual bright tone. “Just… resting my eyes. You know how boring studying is!~” You tilted your head, unconvinced.

“...Hey, it’s okay to be upset. You don’t.. have to hide it from me.” Something in your voice seemed to anchor him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.

Looking away, unable to meet your gaze, he managed to push out some words.

“I-It’s just…” he started, his voice breaking into a trembling whisper, “Nobody wants to play with me.” His fingers fidgeted in his lap, clutching at the hem of his uniform as if searching for some comfort.

“I get it… I really do. Everyone’s busy with their work, with exams, with their big, important futures... But—” His voice cracked, and he quickly swiped at the tears pooling in his amber eyes with his sleeve. “That doesn’t give them a reason to be so mean!” His words came out in a rush, raw and vulnerable. His gaze finally met yours, and your heart shattered.

He looked like a child left out in the rain—eyes wide, brimming with unshed tears, and filled with an innocence that felt too pure for this world.

You didn’t think it's possible for a person to express so much emotion, but he defied all expectations.

“I’m… sorry,” you murmured softly, unsure what else to say but desperate to soothe the ache in his voice.

“It’s not your fault,” he muttered, lowering his head again. “I just thought… maybe if I kept smiling, kept trying, someone would eventually want to have fun too. But…” His voice broke again as a single tear slid down his cheek.

Kneeling down beside him, your hand instinctively reaching out to brush away the tear tracing down his cheek.

“Why don’t we play?” You offered softly.

For a moment, he simply stared at you, searching your face as though trying to confirm that your words were real.

“You… you mean it?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were scared you might change your mind.

“Of course,” you grinned. “What do you want to play?” The light in his eyes returned, brighter and brighter, until he's practically glowing.

He sat up straighter, his usual energy bubbling back to the surface, though tinged with disbelief.

“I—I don’t know! I wasn’t expecting anyone to actually say yes!” He laughed, and it is the first real laugh you’d heard from him all day. “We could—oh! Hide-and-seek? Or tag? Or maybe we could build a card tower! No, wait—do you know how to fold paper cranes?”

You couldn’t help but laugh along with him at his excitement infectious.

“Slow down, Haruto! We’ve got time, we can do whatever you want.”

His cheeks flushed a bright red, the warmth of his shy grin making your chest ache in the best way. He scratched the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in the messy strands of his orange hair.

“Hehe… sorry." Voice soft with an almost childlike sheepishness. “I’m just not used to being asked to play… or, well, being asked for anything at all, so I guess I got a little too excited.” He shrugged, glancing at the floor before his gaze flickered toward the clock hanging on the wall then back at you.

“How long’s your break?”

It had been a few weeks since that first encounter in the serenity of the library, where Haruto’s energy had melted, and you’d seen the hidden cracks in his endless joy.

Since then, your days had been peppered with moments spent together, from silly games in the courtyard to quiet talks on the campus benches.

You even met his peculiar silver-haired acquaintance, a stoic figure who always had this... smile in his pale features. The man struck you as strange yet you just dimissed it.

But of course, like him, you had your own life—friends, classes, and responsibilities that didn’t always align with his. Though you cherished the time you spent together, it isn’t always possible to hang out with him all the time.

Unbeknownst to you, he didn’t see it that way.

He didn’t care much for classes. If anything, they were an obstacle, stealing precious moments he could have spent with you. Whenever you weren’t around, his energy waned. It's as though your presence is the only thing keeping his world vibrant.

And when he did catch glimpses of you laughing with your friends during lunch or chatting in the halls.

His blood boiled.

Jealousy is an ugly, consuming thing. It twisted inside him, wrapping around his heart like sharp vines. His cheerful mask stayed firmly in place—he’d perfected it long ago—but beneath it, cracks were forming.

He couldn’t stand it.

That monster inside of him, the one he always kept at bay, clawed its way to the surface. He knew it's wrong, but the thought of you laughing with someone else, sharing the pieces of yourself that he craved, s unbearable.

So, when he saw your closest friend walking alone, his mind snapped. That friend had been stealing your attention, distracting you from him. They were the reason you weren’t his completely. And now... they were going to pay.

He followed silently, amber eyes locked onto their every movement. Like a predator stalking its prey, he kept his distance until the street grew quiet and deserted.

A rock lay nearby, jagged and heavy. He picked it up, gripping it tightly as his knuckles turned white. His breathing quickened and smile widened, stretching unnaturally across his face until it seemed like it might split his cheeks.

When your friend turned curious, he's already rushing forward, his figure a blur of orange and malice. They barely had time to register what's happening before the rock collided with a sickening crunch.

He didn’t stop.

Over and over, the rock came down, staining his hands and clothes as he laughed—a manic, broken sound that echoed in the empty street. Even when your friend’s features became unrecognizable, he didn’t pause. His smile never wavered.

This is for you.

When it's over, he let the rock drop from his bloodied hand, his chest heaving with exhilaration. He wiped his hands on his pants, smearing crimson streaks across the fabric, and looked up at the sky with a soft, almost serene expression.

“You’ll only have me in the end,” he whispered to himself, his voice dripping with quiet satisfaction. “I’ll be the only one you can turn to, the only one you can trust. My arms are the only place you belong… just like it should always be.”

⋇⊰MR. CRAWLING⊱⋇

Kaito—that is his name. One you’d only heard whispered during roll calls or by professors when pressed for an answer. Despite being in the same class for nearly half the semester, you’d barely noticed him—well, not entirely.

Tall and lanky, he looked like a shadow lingering at the edges of your vision. His pale complexion only added to the air of frailty around him, and the dark circles beneath his eyes gave him a perpetually exhausted. He's quiet, too quiet, always sitting alone with a notebook in hand, scribbling away.

Yet, you couldn’t ignore the way his soft, almost wistful smile lingered as he watched the groups of friends laughing together. You’d caught him sneaking glances at you once or twice as well, but each time you tried to meet his gaze, he quickly turned away, his face tinged with pink.

You felt bad for him. Maybe it's the loneliness in his eyes that mirrored your own.

Still, when it came time to pair up for a group assignment, Partners were chosen quickly, laughter and chatter filling the room as people paired up until only two remained.

It's to no surprise that he's left without a partner. Your own friends weren’t in this class, leaving you with little choice but to approach him.

He looked up then, his dark eyes meeting yours as you spoke, "Kaito... do you want to partner up?”

His eyes merely widened a bit and you had to stand in front of him for quite an awkwardly long time before he finally responding, "S-Sure.. it's just the two of us left, right?" True, whether either of you liked it or not, you have no choice.

Still, you wanted to ask him.

You sat on the chair beside him. Up close, you noticed the details you’d missed before—the small scars scattered near his eyes, the way his fingers kept fidgeting with his pen as though trying to mask his nervousness.

Opening your textbook, you placed it on the desk, while he quietly flipped to a fresh page in his notebook. The two of you started working in silence, diving into the labyrinth of symbols and translations required for the project.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that he is doing most of the heavy lifting. You tried to follow along, but the jumble of ancient symbols began to blur together, leaving you feeling overwhelmed.

“You’re really good at this,” you murmured, breaking the silence.

Your eyes stayed glued to the book, but you didn’t miss the way his hand froze mid-note. Slowly, he turned to look at you, his expression one of quiet disbelief, like he hadn’t expected to hear those words directed at him. A shaky smile crept across his lips.

“Th-Thank you,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… doing well too.” You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head.

“Don’t lie. I’m just flipping pages while you’re the one doing all the real work.”

He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck, “It’s not—”

“I mean, look at this!” You interrupted, gesturing to the maze of symbols on the page in front of you. “It all looks the same! How are you even making sense of it?” You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration, leaning back in your chair, distancing yourself from the headache-inducing text.

A faint, amused sound escaping his lips.

“I… I guess I’ve just always been good at patterns,” he said quietly.

His gaze lingered on you as you sighed in frustration, lips pursed and brows furrowed in concentration. There's something endearing about you and a hint of admiration flickered in his tired, dark eyes. Though he quickly looked away, pretending to refocus on the notebook in front of him.

His pen hovered over the page, his progress slowing. Deep down, he didn’t want to finish it. Each moment spent working with you felt precious, and the thought of the task ending meant the excuse to spend time together would be gone. But time had a cruel way of moving faster especially with someone you like.

The sharp ring of the bell shattered the quiet bubble the two of you had been working in. He blinked, the sound jarring him back to reality. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been smiling until it faded, replaced by a dull ache in his chest.

The teacher’s voice became a distant murmur, instructions about wrapping up barely registering. He didn’t move, still staring at the open notebook, feeling strangely hollow. That , until your voice cut through the fog.

“Hey, you good?” You asked, wrapping an arm around your book.

Kaito startled slightly, looking up at you.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stammered, quickly gathering his notebook and pen. “I just… spaced out, I guess. I-I do that uh.. quite a lot ahaha...”

“You sure?” Raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring at that page for, like, a solid minute. You were so super focused and all.” Your teasing smile made his cheeks flush a faint pink, and he ducked his head, trying to hide it.

"S-Sorry,” he mumbled.

You laughed, “Well, don’t let it get to you. But seriously, I don’t know how I would’ve survived this without you.”

His lips parting as though he wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he nodded, clutching his notebook a little tighter.

“See you tomorrow?” You asked, pausing at the door.

“Y-Yeah,” he replied quickly, a little too eagerly.

You gave him one last smile before disappearing into the hallway, leaving him alone in the classroom. He stayed there for a moment, staring at the spot where you’d sat, his heart thudding in his chest.

Tomorrow. It isn’t much, but it' enough at least.

That conversation between you and Kaito replayed in his mind endlessly. For weeks, those stolen glances you two had shared across the room had been the highlight of his days, but now? Now he had something more—actual words, a connection, no matter how small.

But those interactions came at a cost. His nights grew restless, filled with vivid dreams and fantasies that left him feeling dazed when he woke up. He found himself longing for more moments with you.

Since the assignment brought you closer, he began to use your newfound acquaintance as a reason to linger near you. He’d sit beside you during breaks, his quiet presence soothing. He always seemed to know where you are, finding ways to cross paths with you after class.

You quickly realized that he is incredibly sweet. There is a warmth to his awkwardness that made it hard not to smile. He had this endearing habit of sticking close, always trailing behind you like a shadow, his tall frame somehow making his devotion seem both protective and.. puppy-like.

He also had a knack for being helpful. Whether it's explaining complex history topics, organizing your notes, or even packing your bag when you were running late, he always seemed eager to lighten your load. At lunch, he’d quietly take your empty tray without a word.

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” you said one day, watching as he rearranged your books neatly into your bag.

“I know,” he replied softly, avoiding your gaze. “But I want to.” His sincerity always catch you off guard.

His eyes, dark and tired as they often seemed, held a vulnerability that made your heart ache. He isn’t just being kind—he's trying, in his own quiet way, to make himself indispensable to you.

And, little by little, it worked. You found yourself looking forward to his presence. But there is something about the way he always seemed to be there, watching, waiting, that would sent a chill up your spine.

You brushed it off, convincing yourself it was nothing. After all, he's just harmless, isn't he? Just a sweet, shy guy who wanted to help... right?

Well... the day came when your doubts turned into something far more tangible, far more terrifying.

It was a cold night, and the streets were empty as you made your way home. The air carried a biting chill that seeped into your bones and the dim streetlights cast long, eerie shadows across the pavement. Ever since you’d left your friend’s house, you’d felt it—a presence just out of sight.

You kept glancing over your shoulder but each time, the street behind you was empty. It’s just paranoia, you told yourself, shaking your head and quickening your pace. Yet, as you crossed an alleyway, the feeling became undeniable.

Before you could react, an arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you back into the shadows. Another hand clamped over your mouth, muffling the scream that tore from your throat. The furry fabric of their jacket brushed against your skin as you thrashed, but your attacker’s grip was unyielding.

You kicked and struggled, panic flooding your veins like ice, but it was no use. They were too strong. Then, amidst the sound of your muffled cries and your heart pounding in your ears, you heard a voice calling your name.

“[Name]!!” His voice was desperate, the footsteps quick and unsteady.

Your eyes widened as you spotted him at the mouth of the alleyway—Kaito. He was dressed entirely in black, a hood obscuring most of his features save for a glimpse of raven-black hair; the slightest bit of his eyes showing through the strands; and his slightly parted lips as he caught sight of you.

You tried to cry out, but your voice was trapped beneath the stranger’s hand.

The desperation in his expression hardened into something colder, something sharp and dangerous. His usual timid demeanor seemed to melt away as he stepped closer, his eyes locked onto the man holding you.

“Let them go,” he hissed.

The stranger only tightened their grip on you, a mocking laugh escaping their throat, “And what are you gonna do about it, kid?”

He didn’t respond. His dark eyes flicked to the trash can nearby, and before you could even register what he was planning, he grabbed the metal lid. With startling precision, he hurled it at the attacker.

A sickening crunch followed as the metal lid struck the stranger’s face. They yelped in pain, their grip on you loosening as they stumbled backward and crumpled to the ground. You staggered forward, gasping for air as you clutched your chest, your legs trembling beneath you.

But he wasn’t done.

He strode past you without a word, his shoulders tense, his movements deliberate.

“Kaito?” You called weakly, your voice shaking.

He didn’t acknowledge you. Instead, he knelt down, retrieving the trash can lid. His grip was firm, his knuckles white as he raised it high above his head.

You watched in horror as the first strike came down with a nauseating thud, the sound of metal meeting flesh reverberating in the narrow alleyway.

You flinched. Then another blow came, and another, each one more forceful, more brutal. The crunch of bone and the wet, sickening sound that followed made your stomach churn.

Your body refused to move. You stood there, shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps as tears welled up in your eyes. The sounds—the violence—it was too much.

“Kaito!” You finally screamed, your voice breaking. “Please... stop!”

Finally, the onslaught ceased. The silence that followed was deafening, save for your ragged breathing and the faint clang as he let the blood-soaked lid slip from his hands.

His pale skin were stained with blood, his dark hair matted to his forehead. His wide eyes, bloodshot and wild, locked onto yours.

But what sent a cold shiver down your spine was the smile that crept across his face—a smile too wide, too unnatural.

He giggled, a soft, unsettling sound, and began walking toward you. Instinctively, you took a step back, but your foot caught on a loose rock. You stumbled, falling onto the cold pavement.

He stopped in front of you and knelt, bloodstained fingers brushing against his knees as he tilted his head to observe your frightened features.

“There’s no reason to be scared anymore,” he murmured, his voice soft and almost comforting if it were not with the situation. “I already dealt with it.”

His giggle returned, light and playful, like he hadn’t just done something horrifying.

“W-Why?” You choked out, your voice barely audible. “Why would you do that?!” Your mind raced with questions, a realization dawning on you. “Kaito… were you… w-were you follo—” Before you could finish, his blood-soaked finger trailed gently across your cheek, silencing you.

The sensation made your breath hitch, and he chuckled at your reaction.

“I was expecting a thank you, you know? Not questions...” He teased, his tone light and cheerful. Then, he placed his hand on top of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he gently ruffled it. “Hehe! But you’re adorable! I think that’s enough…~”

You could only stare at him, your body trembling with fear and confusion. His grin never faltered, his eyes gleaming with twisted affection

As he stood, towering over you, he extended a hand. You didn't take it. You couldn't.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he pouted. "I'm not the bad guy here! You know that I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.” Perhaps those words were too literal.

It just seemed that no matter where you were, he’d always be crawling back to your side whether you like it or not.

⋇⊰MR. GAP⊱⋇

What an absolute jerk.

You couldn’t help but glare at the man standing in front of you, his pale skin making the dark circles under his eyes even more prominent. His wavy, medium-length raven hair framed his smug face, and that ever-present, arrogant grin made your blood boil.

“What’s the matter? Just going to stare at me? You want this book, right?” He teased, holding the textbook just out of reach.

His laughter was sharp, echoing in the quiet of the library. This guy, Sukima, was the worst. He was always around, always popping up when you least wanted him.

It was as if he lived to make your life just a little more inconvenient. Like right now—when the book you needed was on a high shelf, and just as you were about to grab the ladder, he appeared out of nowhere, snatching it before you could.

He did this constantly, not just to you, but to everyone. Most people had learned to avoid him, except for the new students who hadn’t yet seen through his charm. But for you and the others, his antics were old news. They had grown sick of him, and you were no different.

"Heeeey, my arm’s getting tired," he taunted, swinging the book playfully. "I might just put it back, unless you—"

Before he could finish that infuriating sentence, you swiftly kicked him in the groin, your foot connecting squarely with his vulnerable spot.

He let out a yelp of pain, doubling over and dropping the book. You caught it with ease, your eyes narrowing as you turned on your heel.

"Go mess with someone else," you spat, walking away without sparing him another glance.

You missed the way his grin faltered, replaced with a deep frown as he clutched his groin.

“That’s not very kind of you!” He called after you, his voice strained but still carrying that mocking tone as he tried to catch up. “I was doing you a favor, and this is the thanks I get?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

“I’m not some new student you can mess with,” you retorted, marching toward the librarian’s desk to check out the book.

"Why do you always assume the worst of me?" He's tone shifted slightly, but you weren’t having any of it.

He always played these games, always tried to twist things in his favor but you weren’t falling for it.

"You act like an ass, Sukima," you said bluntly, handing the book to the librarian. "What else am I supposed to assume?"

He chuckled behind you, his voice taking on that playful lilt again, "Well, maybe I'm just misunderstood. Ever think of that?"

You didn’t even bother responding as you took the book back and started heading for the exit. Yet, of course, he wasn’t done.

"I’ll see you around, you know," he called after you, his grin returning as he leaned against a nearby bookshelf. "I’ll pop back again~"

You sighed, not sparing a glance back at him, "I’m sure you will..."

Thank the heavens he wasn’t in your classes. If he were, you’d surely lose your sanity. Still, that didn’t mean you could avoid him entirely. Somehow, he always found a way to cross your path. Whether it was coincidence or intentional, you couldn’t tell.

If he was teasing someone else and spotted you, he'd drop them like a bad habit and rush over. The pattern had become so obvious that other students started using you as a shield, calling your name whenever he begans bothering them.

“Hey, it’s [Name]!” Someone shouted from the other side of the courtyard, and dread sank in your stomach like a stone.

Against your better judgment, you turned around. Sure enough, there he was—his lanky frame looming over the wide-eyed freshman.

The moment he heard your name, though, his entire demeanor shifted. He straightened, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, and started toward you with open arms.

“[Naaaame]!~” He called out in an exaggerated tone, giggling as he approached. “It’s been forever, hasn’t it?”

You shot him a glare. “It’s been a day, Sukima. Piss off.” You sidestepped him just as he was about to pull you into one of his infamous, unwanted hugs.

His pout was almost comical.

“Aw, come ooon,” he whined, flipping a strand of hair out of his face with dramatic flair. “Such a sunny day, and you’re so grumpy. Honestly, I’m doing you a favor by gracing you with my presence. And for free, no less!”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You look like you crawled out of a sewer. I’m doing you a favor by tolerating you.”

His gasp was theatrical, as if you’d mortally wounded him, “How cruel!” He cried, clutching his chest.

You ignored him and brushed past, determined to get to class on time. But just as you moved forward, you collided with someone else, nearly losing your balance as books tumbled to the ground.

“Ah, shit, I’m so sorry!” You blurted, crouching to help gather the fallen books.

“N-No, it’s my fault,” the other student mumbled, kneeling to join you.

His bangs obscured most of his face, but you recognized him immediately—a quiet guy from one of your lectures.

“Hey, I know you,” you said, handing him a book. “And seriously, don’t apologize. I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention.”

He blinked at you, his cheeks turning faintly pink as he accepted the books.

“Th-Thank you,” he murmured, bowing slightly before hurrying off.

You smiled softly, watching him leave, only to feel Sukima’s presence looming behind you like a storm cloud.

“See?” You said, turning to face him. “That’s how it should be—an apology and a thank-you. Not ‘you owe me one.’” You rolled your eyes, brushing past him again.

He scoffed, his grin faltering as soon as you turned your back. His gaze flicked to the other student, now disappearing into the crowd, and his jaw tightened.

He’d caught the way that guy looked at you—the faint blush, the soft gratitude—and it made something ugly stir in his chest.

Sukima never cared much for classes. They were a tedious obligation, forced upon him by parents who still clung to the belief that he could make something of himself.

His grades were just enough to keep him afloat, a fact he took little pride in. So, skipping wasn’t a big deal—it just gave him more time to focus on things that truly piqued his interest. Like that student.

He leaned casually against the wall in the shadowy corner of the hallway, his dark eyes scanning the crowd as students began trickling out of their classrooms. He spotted him easily, the boy with the long bangs and timid demeanor, standing out in his gaze like a sore thumb.

The student moved with quiet purpose, pulling a striking red umbrella from his bag as he prepared to step into the rain.

He smirked. That color is disgusting, he thought, the brightness almost mocking his preference for muted tones. Still, he didn’t follow. Not yet. He had learned patience in these situations.

If you followed too closely, people noticed. And he hated being noticed when he didn’t want to be. The way students veered away from him in the hallways, their whispers trailing after him, only made it harder to move unnoticed.

The rain picked up, pattering against the windows as the student stepped outside, the crimson umbrella unfurling like a blooming flower. Sukima lingered just a moment longer, his smirk softening into something unreadable.

He wasn’t worried about losing sight of his target. He knew this town better than anyone—its alleyways, its shortcuts, its cracks.

This was his playground.

Pulling his hood up to shield himself from the rain, he slipped out a glass doors, taking a roundabout route to intersect with the student’s path.

The streets were quiet, save for the soft drumming of rain and the occasional splash of tires through puddles. His footsteps were nearly silent as he moved, weaving through narrow alleyways with practiced ease.

He didn’t need to see the red umbrella to know exactly where the student was.

His sharp gaze locked onto the crimson umbrella as he reached the end of the alley. The brightness of it against the dim, rainy backdrop only served to irritate him further.

Hidden in the shadows, he toyed with the flick knife in his hand, the blade glinting faintly in the dull light. Without hesitation, he surged forward, closing the gap between himself and the student.

The boy barely had time to react. Their eyes met—wide, terrified against Sukima’s predatory calm. The umbrella slipped from his grasp, forgotten as his hand shot out, gripping him by the throat and slamming him against the wet brick wall.

"W-Wait—" The student gasped, his voice strangled as Sukima’s grip tightened. "If it’s money you need! I-I have some! Please—just let me go!"

His dark chuckle echoed in the narrow alley.

"Money? Do I look like I give a damn about that?" He leaned closer, his breath cold against the student’s clammy skin. "No, no. I want you to leave [Name] alone. Permanently. Understand?" His words were laced with venom, his smile unnervingly wide.

The student’s face paled further.

Panic flickered in his eyes as he stammered, "O-Okay! I get it! I swear I’ll leave them alone!" He writhed in Sukima’s grasp, desperate to free himself.

His legs kicked, his hands clawed weakly at the arm pinning him, but Sukima barely flinched.

The struggle was almost pathetic. Though the student was taller, his frail build was no match for Sukima’s wiry strength. His grin twisted further, his satisfaction palpable as he effortlessly deflected the boy’s weak attempts at resistance.

"No, no, no." He shook his head mockingly, his grip tightening enough to make the student wheeze. "Words aren’t enough for me. I need… assurance." His gaze dropped to the student’s trembling arms. With a flick of his blade, the sharp edge caught the faint light once more. "You won’t be needing that, will you?"

The student’s eyes widened in horror as his intent became clear.

"W-Wait! No, please—!"

But he wasn’t listening. The blade moved swiftly, slicing into the student’s arm. The rain mixed with the crimson flow that seeped from the wound. The boy screamed, a piercing sound that echoed through the alley as the knife tore through flesh.

He met resistance at the bone, the blade catching on it with a sickening scrape. The student thrashed harder, his screams turning into ragged cries of pain. Blood coated Sukima’s hand, slick and hot, but his expression remained cold, focused.

"You’ll live," he muttered, his voice devoid of any real emotion. "But I doubt you’ll ever forget this." He pressed harder, forcing the blade deeper, until the student’s strength finally gave out.

His body slumped, but Sukima’s grip held him upright, ensuring the boy couldn’t collapse entirely.

He looked down on the atisfied, he let go abruptly, allowing the student to fall to the wet ground. He knelt briefly, his voice soft yet dripping with malice.

"Remember this pain every time you even think about [Name]. Next time, you'd lose more than an arm."

What Could've Been Pt. 2/2» [WIP] Request» Masterlist»

[supercutszns]

luke castellan comforting his gf?

btw i love ur work 💗💗

wc + pairing: 0.9k, luke castellan x reader

oh i really needed this,,, if i stop writing comfort fics i’m dead i will literally write a thousand of them over and over they could be exact replicas and i would not care. sorry this took such a long time i've been in a big writing slump and i really don't like this but we have to start somewhere <3 every time someone requests a comfort fic i get very happy inside! i know this isn’t my best work like at all but hopefully it’s enough for now

Luke’s good at finding hidden things. A playing card wedged between wooden panels. A camper that always trudges at the back of the line. He can find something at its most sheltered and pluck it right back where it belongs. He’s good at that with you, too. When you wedge yourself somewhere tough, he slips through the cracks every damn time. 

You’re exhausted. You don’t know what time it is, how long you’ve been here, or how you can stop it. You just couldn’t get up this morning and your siblings let you stay sick. You imagine an alternate version of this day over and over, where you’re up and alive and contributing to something. But that’s not today. But it should be. You dream it until tears press against your eyes but you’ve got no energy to push them out. 

Feeling like this isn’t a constant occurrence, but it happens. Luke finds his way in each time, wedging open the slightest crack in your door or coming in through the window. He comes bearing gifts, he jokes. You don’t ask him where he gets the things he brings you—snacks, chocolate, plastic figurines to place on your windowsill. Menial things you like. Luke has his methods, and you know he loves you too much to reveal them. 

“Got some offerings for a goddess here,” he says when he sits down on your bed, knuckles brushing your arm. If you’re too tired to answer he never minds, he just crosses his legs and pulls your head into his lap. He smooths the hair away from your face to massage your scalp, and lets you rest. He doesn’t ask you for anything. Doesn’t force you to speak. You do when you’re ready. 

“I don’t feel good,” you admit hoarsely, blinking back tears. 

“That’s okay.” He leans down to kiss your forehead. “You just rest.”

It almost makes you laugh. “I’ve been in bed all day, Luke.”

“Mm, yeah, but you’re not really resting,” he says without judgement, letting you cling to his body as you pull yourself up to a seated position. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

You press your face into his neck so the warmth can distract you. Sometimes you say a lot, sometimes you say a little, like your mouth has separated from your body. It almost always ends with, “I feel like shit. I don’t know what to do.”

Luke is patient with you, but never overbearing. He knows you shut down when things are laid on too thick. “Want to take a nap?” He offers, threading his hands through your hair. “I can take you to my cabin, it’s cooler.”

He’s right, so you let him, and he steals you away without a fuss. The sheets smell like him, so even if you want to be alone, he still grounds you. When you fall into his bed you curl into a ball like an armadillo, like you can squeeze the rot out of your bones if you compress hard enough. Luke slots himself beside you after confirming it’s what you want, pressing kisses into your shoulder, until you turn into him and starfish over his body. “You let me know if you need anything, angel,” he murmurs, swiping your hair away from your face. “I’ve got you.” 

You manage to doze off, with his arms loose around your back and his chest underneath you. When you wake up later with a kiss of late afternoon breeze, you’re struck with the disorienting feeling of a good sleep. “Luke,” you mutter, digging your nose into his neck. 

He rouses too. “How’re you feeling?”

“Still bad.”

“Mm.” He kisses your forehead, squeezes you against him. “That’s okay. Want me to go grab you some food?” 

“Can we talk a little before?” 

“‘Course,” he says gently. He ghosts a kiss over your jaw. 

Sleep has pieced together some of the words you need, and Luke brings them out of you with hardly any effort. You have what’s probably a fragmented reason at best, but he doesn’t care. He keeps you anchored to him as long as you want him to, rubbing your back and letting you take your time. Once you’re done with the conversation, Luke diligently wipes your tears and kisses you. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Anytime,” he grins. “I mean, I do love you. Nothing else I’d rather do.”

You let your forehead rest against his. Your throat feels thick but you get the words out, “I’m worried I’m going to feel this way forever.”

It doesn’t feel good to admit. Luke’s face softens, and he presses a kiss between your brows. “You won’t,” he murmurs, wrapping you in his arms. “You’ve got time.”

The length of the day moving around you matters a little less when Luke shields you from it. His knuckles rub across the ridges in your back until you’re sure the texture of his shirt is imprinted on your face. 

After he goes off to bring you some food, you find the strength to go wash your face in the bathroom. It’s practically nothing. Practically. At least you settle back into his bed, the blankets aren’t as heavy as before. You don’t feel better yet, but Luke’s got plenty of time for you. (He’ll pawn his kids off to Chris. None of them need this grilled cheese anyway.)

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant @huang-the-geek @daughterofthemoons-stuff @jennapancake @idunnowhattonamethis @jarofshells @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @lauraisthebestyapper @nininehaaa

[pillowspace]

The Magnus Archives Fic Rec List

Press the read more for recommended fanfiction of The Magnus Archives! Never heard The Magnus Archives and are interested?

Current number of fics: 85

last updated March 18th, 2024

These are all works that I have personally read at least a couple thousand words of and enjoyed myself, so this list will reflect my own reading habits

If you are the author of a fic, you can request your work be removed from the list. Everyone should be comfortable

Table of Contents - 1. England Jonmartin-centric, 2. Scottish Safehouse Period, 3. Gen or Background Pairings, 4. Time Travel, 5. Highly Alternate, 6. Gerrymichael, 7. Other, 8. Updates (note: some categories tend to overlap. Only one will be prioritized)

England Jonmartin-Centric

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Full, Riotous Bloom by BigTed

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding…” Jon looks at him. Looks at him. The look of a boss whose employee was late three times last week, the look of a man who was just busy doing something really important and now he’s here, doing this instead. “...why he stole a grieving family’s oven gloves.”

-

Martin has a run in with a deadly Leitner, leaving him choking on his unrequited love.

M | Words: 66,962 | Chapters: 13/13

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fell in your opinion when i fell in love with you by Athina_Blaine

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“This is the Magnus Institute, not a creative writing course at university. If that doesn’t agree with him, he can leave.” There was a thud and the sound of rifling tapes. “He can take his bloody tea with him.”

Martin’s fingers tightened on the saucer. Oh.

-

Martin knows better than to talk about it. It's fine. He's fine.

Part 1 of it's only when i hit the ground it causes all the grief

M | Words: 18,987 | Chapters: 2/2

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Just a Little Bit Pet-tea by arthureameslove

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin makes Jon tea for the first time about a week into his transfer. It’s horrible. Gag-reflex inducing. Somehow sporting all the wrong flavors.

For some reason, he does not have the heart to break this to Martin.

Little does Jon know that Martin actually makes wonderful tea. Just not for him.

G | Words: 13,335 | Chapters: 3/3

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Misshapes, Mistakes, Monsters by ZaliaChimera

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

The Archives are his and stepping away from them, even for a night… it’s strange. Like he’s pretending to be someone else.

Like he’s pretending to be human.

Jon and Martin attend Jon's Oxford University Reunion.

T | Words: 7,969 | Chapters: 1/1

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Say You Love Me (Learn to Lie) by iamcringebutiamfree

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

It shouldn’t have been surprising to learn that Martin hated him. He had been, he knew, a truly terrible boss - he’d treated Martin horribly, caused him to lose his home, nearly gotten him killed. Really, it had been ridiculous to ever think that Martin wouldn’t hate him.

Still, Jon had been trying, in his own way, to make it up to him. There wasn’t exactly a card at the drugstore that said, “I’m sorry I berated you for six months and caused you to nearly be eaten by a swarm of worms of potentially supernatural origin,” but he’d been trying. He brought Martin breakfast every morning, made sure the breakroom cabinets were stocked with his favorite blends of tea, and had tried to work some genuine praise into his feedback of Martin’s work. None of it was the direct apology that his conscience told him he really ought to give, but Martin had appreciated it. Or seemed to, anyway.

Jon wasn’t certain what motivated the decision he made next - whether it was guilt or spite or something else. He could, he knew, be quite petty when the situation called for it. Either way, he made up his mind then and there to prove Martin wrong. He was going to be the best fake boyfriend he could be.

A Fake Dating AU!

T | Words: 37,889 | Chapters: 10/10

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a consideration of tropes by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Do you know much about cataloguing?” Jon asks, a little out of breath from the stairs.

Martin, mid-trolley, rolls his eyes. The gesture he makes at the shelves around him is only emphasised by the book he’s holding.

“What exactly do you think I do here, other than sit around and wait for angry patrons to yell at me?”

“Think of what you’re going to yell back?” Jon says, and Martin’s mouth twitches into a smile.

-

Asking the very important question: what if Jon and Martin had a gentle archives/library romance, and kept running into tropes? What if there was mutual pining involved? Only one bed? Fake dating? Hurt/comfort? Or perhaps, a soft and happy ending?

T | Words: 40,966 | Chapters: 8/8

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It Serenely Disdains to Destroy Us by trill_gutterbug

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin gnaws his lower lip. “Do you think he’ll - I mean, do you think it’ll be…”

Melanie's smile becomes a little less of a grimace. She claps his shoulder. “Martin. It’ll be fine. It’s only temporary. He’s not moving in.”

Martin chuckles. “Yes. Of course.”

-

Jon's flat is being fumigated. He is not impressed. Martin offers his spare bedroom.

T | Words: 13,048 | Chapters: 1/1

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terror management theory by prismatical

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist (briefly)

“It’s a preexisting condition,” Jon explains, sipping more bitter tea. “I sort of got—hm. You know Spiderman?”

Tim raises an eyebrow.

“Heard of him, yeah.”

Jon nods, studying his tea.

“It’s sort of like that,” he says. “A spider killed and ate me when I was a child, and now I can’t stay dead.”

-

Resurrection isn't all it's cracked up to be.

T | Words: 36,587 | Chapters: 1/1

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Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight.

It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs.

He always liked the idea of it.

And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

NR | Words: 7,624 | Chapters: 1/1

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a little love, a little sympathy by Did

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

And then Jon is snarling into his face, demanding what are you hiding with a strange, bright-eyed intensity Martin has never seen from him before, and Martin thinks god, maybe he should just come clean about his CV, Jon thinking he's a fraud can't be any worse than Jon thinking he's a murderer-

Martin opens his mouth to speak. To his absolute horror, what actually comes out is: "I used to pretend to cry because I liked how nice you were to me when you thought I was upset!"

G | Words: 3,308 | Chapters: 1/1

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all resistance wearing thin by DivineProjectZero

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin Blackwood would do anything for Jonathan Sims. The Web made him that way, after all.

T | Words: 4,799 | Chapters: 1/1

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Sam nie pojmuję, jak w twe zajdę progi by Mad_Maudlin

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin's been acting odd since Jon came back. Well, odder than usual.

T | Words: 3,118 | Chapters: 1/1

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Mundanity by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Inspired by @ themlet's post on Tumblr: Jon has to deal with normal human interactions. Martin helps (sort of). Featuring high school reunions, knitted sweaters, and conversations on the bus ride home.

T | Words: 3,097 | Chapters: 1/1

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Musical Mechanism by Darblesify

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin has always used music to cope. One day he's playing music music out loud in the archive and Tim and Sasha realize the main singer's voice sounds familiar.

AKA Martin's favorite band might happen to be the one Jon was secretly a part of in college.

T | Words: 21,411 | Chapters: 8/8

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Misfiled and Misinformed by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

Jon and Martin are married. Tim and Sasha know this. What they don't know is that it's to each other.

T | Words: 2,507 | Chapters: 1/1

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look no further by inkyindigo

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin just wants to keep Jon safe. Sometimes the easiest way to do that is to bodily remove him from harm's way.

or, a collection of times Martin picks Jon up.

T | Words: 15,145 | Chapters: 8/8

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Touch Me, Even if it Hurts by AuralQueer

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner

People don't really touch Jonathan Sims unless they want to hurt him. That's mostly fine. Jon has never been a tactile person, and he doesn't need anyone but himself.

Except the world is falling down around him, and loneliness aches, and sometimes he'll take anything - even cruelty - just to feel human again.

*A story set between s1 and s4, looking at Jon's relationship with touch, friendship, and his own humanity.

T | Words: 6,540 | Chapters: 1/1

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I'll bring the motion by callmearcturus

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

A long series of kidnappings and international flights leaves its own special mark on someone. Before the Unknowing, Jon is a mess.

Martin helps.

(based on this amazing art by linecrosser)

T | Words: 3,127 | Chapters: 1/1

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thanks for the company by lukeskqwalker

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin had been baffled by how easily he spilled his guts out to this odd stranger. Now, Martin is more baffled by the baggy My Chemical Romance t-shirt he's wearing, paired with tasteful plaid pajama bottoms.

Or, Martin gets a visitor in his dreams. Reliving the same 14 days of loneliness every night isn't as bad when you have company.

T | Words: 4,314 | Chapters: 1/1

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stranger, stranger by blueskiddoo

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Sure,” Georgie says, still laughing at him. At least someone is having fun. “Don’t you have assistants for that kind of thing?”

“Yes, but…” He huffs, scratching the back of his neck. “I wasn’t going to ask one of them to download an app called...Lover? Lov-rrr? I don’t know how you say it.” He flaps his hands dismissively. “There are--unions and such. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

*

jon makes a fake account on a dating app to investigate a statement. tim sets martin up with fake account on a dating app to boost his self-confidence. it goes exactly how you might expect.

G | Words: 36,771 | Chapters: 11/11

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i wanna find a home (i wanna share it with you) by heartshapedguy

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Have you got anywhere to stay?” Jon asks him, briskly. “Friends, acquaintances, maybe, who you could stay with…?”

Martin flushes, deeply. “I, I mean— n-no, not really,” he stammers, and then goes even redder. “Or, just, y’know not that I’d want to, to. Put in the middle of this. Put in danger of, of worms.”

“Ah,” Jon says, “No, of course, that makes sense.” Why drag anyone else into this mess? Seven people died during Prentiss’s initial hospitalization; the collateral damage of roping someone from outside the Institute into her orbit doesn’t bare thinking about. “In that case…” Jon feels like there’s some alternative solution, one he’s just not thinking of at the moment, but it evades him, and Martin needs somewhere safe to stay. “My couch is quite comfortable. You’re welcome to come and stay with me until you figure something else out.”

Martin is held hostage by Jane Prentiss for two weeks, and can't go back to his flat. Jon offers him a place to stay until Prentiss and her worms can be dealt with, and they can be sure he's safe.

T | Words: 65,951 | Chapters: 19/19

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true kinda love by Did

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

So. Martin isn't expecting anything to happen. But then, one day, something...does happen. It happens when Martin is passing Jon in the hall, and stops to ask how he’s doing, because Jon always looks a little bit like hell these days, and it makes Martin feel like he has to do something, and useless small talk is pretty much all he can do, so that’s what he does. And instead of grunting or shrugging or mumbling something dismissive, Jon replies, with perfect, involuntary clarity, "Every part of me aches, and I would just about kill to have someone rub my shoulders right now."

There's a positively deafening silence as they both come to grips with this unprecedented turn of events. Then they both start talking at once.

"Ah," says Jon.

"Wow," says Martin, at the same time.

G | Words: 5,053 | Chapters: 1/1

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hey stranger by ennuijpg

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker

It’s a late night Tesco run, how eventful could it be? It’s not like Martin is going to run into his boss who’s wearing something absurdly different from usual and get the most acute form of whiplash possible from seeing him, right?

(Based on this post about alt jon on tumblr because it's all I've been thinking about of late.)

T | Words: 2,701 | Chapters: 1/1

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Sun-kissed by Rauchendes_GNU

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner

Martin doesn’t have any freckles. Jon has watched him and the others for a while now, and he knows that everyone has freckles. Tim is absolutely covered in them, and he seems to get more and more every day as Sasha seems very determined to kiss every part of Tim that is not yet covered in tiny dark spots.

Everyone has been loved by someone at some point. Everyone has been kissed, no matter if a platonic peck on the cheek or a heated kiss on the mouth. Everyone but Martin, it seems.

Or: Jon realises Martin has never been kissed. He rectifies that right away.

T | Words: 3,407 | Chapters: 1/1

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skin deep by isthepartyover

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker & Jonathan Sims

“Hello, Martin Blackwood speaking.”

“Oh thank god-” a woman’s voice answered, rushed and panicked, and Martin immediately closes the folder he was leafing through absent-mindedly and snaps his head towards the door. “Sorry, oh god, I’m Georgie, I’m Jon’s friend, I don’t know what to do-”

(au where georgie calls martin post burn)

M | Words: 3,125 | Chapters: 1/1

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Take Care of You (And I'll Take Care of Me) by Mad_Maudlin

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

When Martin Blackwood met the new research assistant, his heart skipped a beat. Too bad Jonathan Sims seems to hate him.

(A soulmates AU)

M | Words: 20,386 | Chapters: 6/6

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Somebody That I Used to Know by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner (background), Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker

(Minor) SPOILERS FOR MAG 161!!!

Jon gets replaced by the Not!Them. Life goes on.

T | Words: 6,358 | Chapters: 1/1

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a six-step process by bluejayblueskies

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin stands next to him on the train. His hand rests just beneath Jon’s where it grips one of the metal poles, and Martin takes care not to brush against him despite how crowded the car is. Jon considered telling Martin, when they first got on the tube, that it was okay—that his touch would be… well, it wouldn’t be bad. Not like Nikola's. But he’d stayed silent, allowing Martin to cultivate a careful space between them. They’ve been silent for the past twenty minutes as they’ve passed by station after station on their way to Martin’s flat in Brixton.

Jon adds 24 hours onto his mental countdown of the time he has left until he’s allowed to break down and tells himself that he can manage. It’s… important to have goals, he thinks. He splits this one into steps.

Step one: get to Martin’s flat without crying.

Part 2 of touch prompts

T | Words: 2,138 | Chapters: 1/1

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who's there? by bubonickitten

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Jon has a panic attack after Elias shows him exactly what happened behind the door after Mr. Spider took its victim.

Martin helps him calm down, and Jon tells him the story of his first Leitner.

Part 2 of thresholds

T | Words: 6,139 | Chapters: 1/1

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Clothes Have No Gender by kristsune

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Jon wears a skirt to the Institute for the first time, and gets reactions he hadn't expected.

NR | Words: 1,846 | Chapters: 1/1

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northwest 6 to gale 8. rain. poor, occasionally good. by chewsdaychillin

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

A voicemail made up of a female robot and Jon’s professional work tone tells him to leave a message, but Martin hangs up before the beep. He’s not even sure he can speak, let alone put this into words.

‘Hi Jon, sorry to call at four fifty-two AM. My mum just died and I don’t know what to do or how to feel. Call me back when you can! Love you, bye!’

AUish where Jon is alive when Martin's mum passes away, helps him grieve and heal (and they maybe admit to being in love)

Part 1 of northwest 6 to gale 8

M | Words: 35,828 | Chapters: 9/9

Scottish Safehouse Period

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Resigned, Though Not to Fate by inkfingers_mcgee

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“You’re really suggesting this,” Martin says, voice pulled thin.

“Yes.” No hesitation.

“You would- actually do it?”

“I would.”

“With me.”

“Yes, Martin.”

“Why?” Because love is blind, says something cliché and cruel in the pit of his gut. Christ, he never was much of a poet, was he?

Or,

When Jon asks Martin to Quit the Archives with him, Martin says yes. Things don't go as planned. In the Scottish Highlands, they hurt, and they heal.

(Re-written as of 22-12-27; see chapter 9 for more info.)

T | Words: 145,748 | Chapters: 9/9

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nor any more youth or age than there is now by Ravenesta

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

The local Primary school has a new teacher. He is, to say the very least, odd.

A series of statements regarding the interactions of the townsfolk with one Jonathan Sims, never formally given.

T | Words: 6,512 | Chapters: 1/1

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There's a 15th Fear, and it's Teenagers by captloverboy

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King & Jonathan Sims, Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Basira Hussain, Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Basira Hussain, Helen | The Distortion & Martin Blackwood

What if Jonah didn't ruin everything? Didn't send the end of everything statement? What do Jon and Martin do now? Get a job, I guess. A teaching job, for Jon, though it was hardly his first pick. But sometimes your boyfriend looks *really* excited when he suggests it, and I mean, you know literally everything. It can't be that bad, right? Right?

T | Words: 26,140 | Chapters: 14/14

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the Teacher from the Magnus Archives by Athina_Blaine

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Hey, everyone, welcome back to my channel. My name is Maggie Abernathy and today we will be continuing our investigation of the, uh, eldritch monster slash English teacher who calls itself Jonathan Sims.”

-

Maggie is determined to catch Mr. Sims via her channel, and then everyone would see how cool and smart she was, right?

T | Words: 5,993 | Chapters: 1/1

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Please Don't Tease Me Like You Did Before by bazemayonnaise

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin is grinning at his phone when Jon comes home. This is not an unusual occurrence, but Jon can sense that the particularly smug smile being levelled at him means that whatever is entertaining the man has something to do with Jon.

“Yes?” he asks once he has dumped the day at the door. “What have I done now?”

Part 1 of Jon and Martin teach at a Scottish Catholic School

G | Words: 5,380 | Chapters: 1/1

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beloved of jon by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Oh,” says Jon, numbly. “You don’t. Remember? Um. It’s complicated. What… what do you remember?”

Martin seems to shrink in on himself a little. It hurts to watch, especially after how Jon’s seen him so painstakingly grow back into his openness over the past few weeks.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t – I don’t.”

“But you remember me?” says Jon, and he tries to keep as much feeling out of that question as he can.

---

For no reason that Jon can tell, Martin forgets.

T | Words: 12,739 | Chapters: 1/1

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every good intention (is interpretation) by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

They’re standing entirely too close to each other in front of the hotel desk when the clerk asks them whether they’d like a double, twin, or two singles, and Martin absolutely bottles it.

‘Uh,’ he says, at exactly the same time as Jon says, ‘Oh.’

———

There’s a conversation that Martin and Jon need to have after the Lonely. Unfortunately, they are - historically - fairly terrible at putting stuff into words.

G | Words: 11,227 | Chapters: 1/1

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These words that make a home in my chest by arthureameslove

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

The moment Martin leaves the Lonely is the moment he realizes that it has taken something from him. He is left with the realization that the Lonely fog had been the only thing keeping him whole, keeping him from feeling the aching hollows of his own sorrow.

Speaking makes it worse, so he doesn't. He almost expects Jon to leave, to grow tired of him, incomplete as he is. But Jon doesn't.

Or, Martin is mute after leaving the Lonely, and he and Jon learn how to be people again, together, in the comfort of the Scottish Highlands.

T | Words: 16,060 | Chapters: 7/7

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hello my old heart by firebirdsuite

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

T | Words: 15,864 | Chapters: 1/1

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i’m almost me again, you’re almost you by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

After a second Jon steps in towards him, close enough that Martin flinches, but all Jon does is put two fingers under his chin with his free hand and raise it until Martin can’t duck away. Jon has never touched him so casually before – at least, not until today, and it raises a lot of thoughts and feelings that Martin is trying very hard not to process.

Much like a lot of other things that have happened, he thinks. Not that it’s horrible or terrifying or numbing like everything else has been: it’s just another thing on the list of things he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

---

In the wake of the Lonely, there's a lot that Martin doesn't really want to think about.

G | Words: 12,928 | Chapters: 1/1

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Prenons-nous la main by luftballons99

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

T | Words: 6,027 | Chapters: 1/1

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Diary by luftballons99

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Not for the first time since they ran away together, a camera reel of all the things they don't know about one another whirs behind Martin's eyes, and he can't help but look at all the sprawling magnetic tape and wonder if they’re going to wind up a romance or a tragedy.

or: Office parties, garage bands, and the joy of being known.

Part 1 of showing your hand

T | Words: 5,178 | Chapters: 1/1

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the umbrella by Wildehack (tyleet)

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

"And to think—all of Jonah Magnus’ carefully laid plans, the centuries of scheming, the murders, the sacrifices, all of that work could have been completely undone if Martin Blackwood had gone back for an umbrella" - holdthosebees

M | Words: 4,662 | Chapters: 1/1

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ready to call this love by yewgrove

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

How is Martin supposed to tell Jon that he panicked, stupidly, when the lovely old lady down the village asked him what they were doing in this part of the world? Got the shopping! Oh, by the way, we're married now! Whole village thinks we're on our honeymoon, hope you don't mind!

Part 1 of it is what you have.

G | Words: 5,650 | Chapters: 1/1

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Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? by pantsoflobster

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Jon,” Martin said. “I have made a grave mistake.”

Jon whipped his head up, nearly tossing the elastic from his messy bun. “What? What’s wrong? What--what did you do?”

“I... might have invited guests for dinner.”

Jon stared blankly. “What, here?”

“Seeing as this is where we live at the moment, yes.”

---

In which a week in the safehouse turns into a fake-married sitcom, because they deserve to worry about social ineptitude instead of the apocalypse for a minute

Part 1 of this is not the house that pain built

T | Words: 5,391 | Chapters: 1/1

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Bergamot, Buckskin, and Lace by Qpenguin98

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Jon's never been a touchy person.

T | Words: 3,061 | Chapters: 1/1

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be kind, i beg you by gauras

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“Fine,” Jon says, and he tries to ignore the sulky tone of his voice, “fine. What do you suggest?”

Martin pauses, like he’d not expected Jon to give in so easily. Jon’s never been particularly agreeable, but he still feels vaguely offended by the blatant surprise. “W-we,” Martin stammers, clears his throat, continues on much more confidently, “we go in together.”

Or: it takes close quarters and a full 24 hours to finally get them on the same page.

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T | Words: 14,946 | Chapters: 1/1

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tides turning by gauras

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

There's more than one way to say I love you.

T | Words: 20,858 | Chapters: 1/1

Other Scottish Safehouse Period fics: see unassigned supplementals by bibliocratic in Other

Gen or Background Pairings

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a deeply annoying child by ajkal2

No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, blink-and-you-miss-it Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, BUT NO SLASH WHILE ANYONE IS A CHILD

Jon is hiding under the desk.

----

There's a child in the Archives, who shouldn't be there.

G | Words: 9,631 | Chapters: 1/1

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Head in the Lion's Mouth by renwhit

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Danny Stoker & Tim Stoker, Danny Stoker & Jonathan Sims, Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Danny Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Past Tim Stoker/Sasha James, Danny Stoker & Helen Richardson, Danny Stoker & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Danny Stoker & Melanie King, Basira Hussain & Tim Stoker, Basira Hussain & Danny Stoker

He fell into a deep bow, smiling the whole while. “I’m the ringmaster, of course.”

“Is that skin— Is it yours?” Old wood groaned as the Archivist shifted his weight. “Originally.”

“It is!” the ringmaster said as he swooped back upright. “Nikola decided I wore it well, so she let me keep it. Why do you ask?”

The Archivist gave him another once-over. “You just… you look familiar. Like someone I know.”

On relearning, reconnecting, and redefining.

Part 1 of Come What May

M | Words: 157,202 | Chapters: 17/17

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reach inside (to find your heart is beating) by ivelostmyspectacles

No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker

This is Tim, opening the door enough for his tired, careworn face to peer through the crack; Jon sees the genuine horror on his face as he takes in his boss, bloody on his doorstep, and he thinks– maybe– he thinks he might be safe here.

“Christ.”

Chapter two added January 17th!

T | Words: 5,774 | Chapters: 2/2

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Fractals Upon Fractals by cedarbranch

No Archive Warnings Apply, Michael & Helen Richardson

“There was never meant to be two of us,” said Helen.

Or: Michael and Helen play a game of chess, and work out what it means exist in duplicate.

G | Words: 1,652 | Chapters: 1/1

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Other gen fics: see Time is Hard by Serazimei in Time Travel

Time Travel

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Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, x2!, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking.

The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him.

"I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

--------

Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

T | Words: 53,319 | Chapters: 12/12

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Déjà Vu by CirrusGrey

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

Sasha remembers being unmade.

Tim remembers being Unknown.

Jon and Martin remember being unwound.

All of them think they're the only one.

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The S1 crew wakes up in the past with memories up till the moment they died.

T | Words: 37,652 | Chapters: 4/4

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Reflection by LazuliQuetzal

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Emma

Jonathan Sims, researcher at the Magnus Institute, is seeing a ghost. Of himself.

Of course, it’s not really him, no matter what secrets it knows, or how many arguments it brings up. So if it tells him to do something?

Obviously, he’ll be doing the exact opposite.

(AKA: Jon is an idiot, past and future, but somewhere along the way it all cancels out.)

(Expect general spoilers for S4 and specifically, MAG 158.)

T | Words: 51,527 | Chapters: 10/10

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Time is Hard by Serazimei

No Archive Warnings Apply, Michael | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael Shelley & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael "Mike" Crew & Michael Shelley

The Eye isn't happy with how the end of the world turned out. Neither are Jonah and Jon. There is no other option but to rewind time and go down a different path. But time is hard for The Spiral and The Web likes to meddle.

This is how Jon finds himself back in his eight year old body with all his memories, some of his powers intact and a strange bracelet around his right wrist. Saving the world, Jon realizes soon enough, is much harder when no one takes you seriously.

Part 1 of Diverging Times

M | Words: 170,443 | Chapters: 60/60

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The Cube Rule of Food Identification by bluejayblueskies

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Martin stands abruptly. His chair spins away from him, wheels squeaking on the cheap lino floor. The tension between him and Jon has reached never-before-seen levels. Tim could probably cut it with a knife. Or a particularly sharp spoon.

Then, Jon lurches forward and half-clambers atop the desk and kisses Martin, and Tim drops his sandwich.

.

Or, season one Jon and Martin receive memories from the future mid-argument, and Tim and Sasha receive emotional whiplash.

T | Words: 1,630 | Chapters: 1/1

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a map of what matters most by gruhukens

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“Is that a body,” Tim blurts before he can stop himself, rising to his feet. Martin looks, if possible, even more scared.

“He’s alive!” he hisses, almost defensively. “It’s not - it’s not Gertrude again, I didn’t kill him, he just – I don’t know what happened to him, I just found him in the stacks like this.”

“And you dragged him up here?” Tim says, and then registers several things at once – the build, the hair texture; the little round scars peppering a pair of thin hands and an awfully familiar face. “Wait, is that Jon?”

----

Jon stumbles back into an earlier Archive, looking for a way to fix the world. (Or, mom says it's my turn for the obligatory time travel au)

T | Words: 20,604 | Chapters: 6/6

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) by OllieoftheBeholder

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker

“So...you’re from the future. In the past. Why?”

“You want the short answer or the long one?”

“Short,” Martin says after a moment’s deliberation. “Until I decide if I trust you.”

The other nods, as if he expected that answer—which, well, if he really is Martin from the future, he probably did. “To stop the world from ending.”

They have one last chance to fix this - one last chance to prevent the Eyepocalypse, to save the world - to save their world. It all hinges on which is the greater force: greed...or love.

Part 1 of leaves 'verse

T | Words: 299,536 | Chapters: 60/60

Highly Alternate

Alternate universes will remain in the other categories, but this category is for alterations that are especially notable in their severity. This will also include any fics where Jon has an important alignment with a different fear entity, whether that be instead of the Eye or in tandem

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The Witch's Cat by Champagne

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

“That’s the Witch’s cat,” Tim says, and grins at Martin. “Jonathan Sims, the town’s Witch, said that he’ll marry anyone that manages to get the key from the cat’s collar.”

G | Words: 12,584 | Chapters: 1/1

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What Belongs to the Sea by TwoDrunkenCelestials, WhyNotFly

No Archive Warnings Apply, Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

“My grandmother taught me about selkies,” said the tattooed man. “Said it’s good luck for them to grace your ship. To treat ‘em right, and they’ll guide you safe.”

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to believe.

M | Words: 126,367 | Chapters: 36/36

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school's out for the summer by kiaronna

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Various Background Relationships, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas

The thing is, Jonathan Sims is someone you’d call the police on if you saw him hanging around a school, those frazzled clothes and bags under his eyes, the frantic muttering and thousand-year stare.

Yet there he sits, headteacher of The Magnus Institute for Gifted Young Minds.

The name’s a bit misleading, it is. They’re in a bad part of town. The parents are either terrible or absent, and the kids—

“They’re monsters,” his new and handsome coworker grins, when Martin’s signature on his contract is barely dry. “Absolute monsters. Get too close and you’ll lose some fingers. Or maybe your mind.”

“They’re babies,” is all Martin can feebly manage, in reply, and Tim’s eyes narrow at the fondness in his voice.

“You’ll learn.”

T | Words: 26,088 | Chapters: 2/2

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See the Line where the Sky meets the Sea by The_Floating_World

No Archive Warnings Apply, Jonathan Sims & Simon Fairchild, Jonathan Sims & Michael "Mike" Crew, Jonathan Sims & Gerard Keay, Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims/Oliver Banks

When Jon is a child he looks into the infinite abyss of space. The Vast looks back into him.

T | Words: 59,336 | Chapters: 7/7

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rituals by doomcountry

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

T | Words: 8,492 | Chapters: 1/1

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ships passing in the night by Zykaben

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Tim meets and befriends the new professor on the staff, Jonathan Sim. Tim has also been casual friends with Martin Blackwood for the past year.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Tim to realize that the two of them are married to each other.

T | Words: 5,027 | Chapters: 1/1

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all the flowers of all the tomorrows by ivelostmyspectacles

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker & Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims

Martin owns a flower shop.

He starts crushing on the guy from the Magnus Institute, but why does Jon keep needing so many flowers for workplace deaths, anyway??

T | Words: 13,745 | Chapters: 1/1

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The Good Ol' Days by SingingInTheRaiin

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

When Jon moves in with his grandmother he becomes fast (if somewhat reluctant) friends with one of the neighborhood kids, a boy named Martin.

Years later, they find each other again at the Magnus Institute, and whatever mysteries they uncover there, they will solve them together.

T | Words: 107,489 | Chapters: 40/40

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How Particular, My Fondness of You by cedarbranch

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Jon risks a glance over to Georgie, expecting sympathy, or perhaps a grave expression of solidarity. Instead, he’s met with a fond smile. “Oh, Jon,” she says patiently, reaching over to rub his back. “You poor thing. You’re lovesick.”

Jon recoils. “I am not,” he says accusingly.

-

A college AU in which the whole gang works at the library, Jon is emotionally repressed, and the anonymous Facebook page knows all.

Part 2 of Magnolia Verse

T | Words: 29,263 | Chapters: 1/1

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because light reverses, because the dead return by 1248, Tiili97

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

"Very well then, officer, take me away. And Martin?"

"Yes, Elias?"

Elias opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again with a shake of his head.

"Actually, never mind. I will see how it plays out."

Martin let out an annoyed sigh as Elias left. Always so goddamn cryptic.

Hopefully Jon and the others would be back soon to make sense of things.

-

Here's a hypothetical question: What would happen if no one noticed that Jonathan Sims survived the Unknowing?

What if they looked at his stopped heart and still lungs and decided he was dead?

What happens when you bury an Archivist?

T | Words: 9,491 | Chapters: 5/5

Gerrymichael

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Echo Chamber by orphan_account

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley

“Look, if you’re another, uh, avatar of a horrible eldritch demon god come to assassinate me in a spooky manner, could you get it over with quickly? I haven’t eaten all morning and I’m starving.”

The thing that calls itself Michael stares.

“And this sandwich cost most of my weekly salary,” Gerry adds after a belated moment.

Part 1 of Spirals and Eyes

T | Words: 21,439 | Chapters: 1/1

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Break Me Like A Pattern by TheLibraryBat

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay & Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay & Gertrude Robinson, Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley

The year is 2011. Michael Shelley is living his life in circles, blissfully unaware of the betrayal that awaits him in the summer. Gertrude Robinson has plans to enact and plans to destroy. Emma Harvey is hiding a book in the dark place at the back of a cupboard.

When Gerard Keay walks into the Magnus Institute - two years sooner than he was meant to - everything changes.

This is an (eventual) Archivist Michael AU, exploring how certain events might have played out, had one key player been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Part 1 of Archivist Michael AU

M | Words: 215,290 | Chapters: 40/40

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Choke Chain by dramatispersonae

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/The Distortion

Things Gertrude Robinson possesses: decades of experience killing, containing, and otherwise thwarting supernatural beings, an uncompromising drive to destroy the Rituals and the people who would see them completed, Gerry's loyalty. Things Gertrude Robinson apparently also possesses: a monster on a magic leash.

NR | Words: 14,814 | Chapters: 1/1

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Make Me Feel Like I'm Lost by dramatispersonae

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/MichaelGerard Keay/The Distortion

Gerry meets a door that is not a door. And a person that is not a person. Remarkably, he does not get eaten. He would probably like to keep it that way. (Or, in the process of trying to avoid death by nightmare hallway, Gerard Keay accidentally charms the nightmare hallway)

Part 1 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 11,963 | Chapters: 1/1

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Fill The Gap Between You And I by dramatispersonae

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion

Michael, like a cat, expresses affection with gifts of dead things. Gerry's trying not to be in the business of collecting strays.

Part 2 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 7,377 | Chapters: 1/1

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The Life Of Letting Go by dramatispersonae

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion

Gerry suffers a workplace injury. Michael has concerns.

Part 3 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 3,235 | Chapters: 1/1

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Fever Dreaming by dramatispersonae

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion

Gerry encounters a plot by a nascent avatar of the Corruption. It should be straightforward enough to deal with, especially considering his apparently ongoing... "alliance" with Michael. But when have things in his life actually been as simple as they appear?

Part 4 of As One Door Closes

NR | Words: 42,284 | Chapters: 5/5

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Please Don’t Eat the Flowers by Sloane

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion, Razor/Wendy, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Instead of retiring to open a book shop, Gerry ends up working at a flower shop run by American lesbians in London. This leads to a brush with the Distortion, who just wants to buy some lilies, the Magnus Institute finding out he’s still alive, and... well, a normal life was never really in the cards for the likes of Gerard Keay, was it?

Oh, and those lesbians who run the flower shop? There’s more to them than meets the eye—bad Beholding pun intended.

(No knowledge of Maniac Mansion required; I take lots of liberties to slot it into TMA’s universe. UNDER MAJOR REVISIONS. Please see last chapter if you’re a new/returning reader for details..)

M | Words: 77,314 | Chapters: 33/?

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Ode to Joy: or, michael distortion's guide to naming yourself by fromthepinnacletothepit

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley

Michael Shelley is sacrificed to the Spiral before he has the chance to come out, even to himself. Now, as an avatar of the Spiral, his identity is even MORE painful and confusing. Alone and filled with pain he doesn't even know how to name, he searches for acceptance in the one person who ever really knew him-Gerry Keay.

***

“What do you want to be called then,” Gerry says and wraps his arms around Michael’s back.

This conversation hurts. This question hurts. Everything hurts, so long as no one knows about his gender, so long as he has to go on being someone he’s not, someone he just can’t be anymore. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand it.

“I dunnooooo,” he says, grinning, but inside he knows his name isn’t Michael. It’s just not. He doesn’t have a name. He never has. And it’s absence is like a hole in his chest.

The creature that might as well be called Michael, it supposes, if you have to call it anything, thinks about this conversation while it sits on the ceiling of its hallway and slowly digs grooves into the plaster with its fingers.

Gerry, it thinks desperately. I have to find Gerry.

G | Words: 14,513 | Chapters: 1/1

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Save That Heart for Me by cedarbranch

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael

Gerry has just filled up his mug with coffee when it hits him. It’s a faint but sharp pain, zinging through his left wrist. He exhales a puff of laughter. That’s the third time this week. Whoever his soulmate is, they’re having a rough time.

T | Words: 5,577 | Chapters: 1/1

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call me your harbor by insertcleveracejoke

No Archive Warnings Apply, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Gerard Keay/Michael

There was the matter of the owner. It could not be said that most people, when asked about their mental picture of what the owner of a bookstore should look like, would answer angry-looking goth covered in burn scars from the neck down.

He also had a terrible dye job.

Or: five times Michael went to Gerry's domain for help, and one time the opposite happened.

Part 1 of the bookstore AU

NR | Words: 4,488 | tChapters: 1/1

Other

Fic types I have not read enough of to lend it its own category. If I read more fics of its type, it'll be moved to a new category

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unassigned supplementals by bibliocratic

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

Oneshot #54: home improvement: or: Jon and Martin vs. IKEA

Oneshot #55: united front: or: Martin helps Jon with his statement hunger . (Set 159/160)

Oneshot #56: evolution: or: There is an uneasy alliance at first, between Jon and the Archivist

(Short TMA JonMartin one-shots, individual warnings in chapter notes, now with a fully-functioning contents page)

G | Words: 73,687 | Chapters: 56/56

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onto a vast plain by yewgrove

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims

The world ends. They get married.

Part 2 of it is what you have.

T | Words: 10,313 | Chapters: 1/1

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Out There, Somewhere by Artyphex

No Archive Warnings Apply, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

"I'm sorry, you were found alone."

Jon survived the apocalypse and now will go to the end of this new, unfamiliar world to find Martin again.

T | Words: 54,080 | Chapters: 8/8

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enemy of my enemy by beeclaws

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker

Jon comes back from his time with the Circus a little worse for wear. Tim has some feelings about that.

M | Words: 6,263 | Chapters: 4/4

Updates

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a map of what matters most by gruhukens added to Time Travel - Mar. 8, 2024

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) by OllieoftheBeholder added to Time Travel - Mar. 8, 2024

How Particular, My Fondness of You by cedarbranch added to Highly Alternate - Mar. 18, 2024

call me your harbor by insertcleveracejoke added to Gerrymichael - Mar. 18, 2024

tides turning by gauras added to Scottish Safehouse Period - Mar. 18, 2024

a six-step process by bluejayblueskies added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024

who's there? by bubonickitten added to England Jonmartin-centic - Mar. 18, 2024

because light reverses, because the dead return by 1248, Tiili97 added to Highly Alternate - Mar. 18, 2024

Clothes Have No Gender by kristsune added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024

northwest 6 to gale 8. rain. poor, occasionally good. by chewsdaychillin added to England Jonmartin-centric - Mar. 18, 2024

[velvetyh]

⌜Ticket to Temptation⌝

꒰ PAIRING ꒱ Police Captain!Juyeon x implied fem!reader ꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ Provoking a police officer just for fun didn't end up the way you thought it would... is it bad, though? ꒰ WORD COUNT ꒱ 7.2k (I am so sorry) ꒰ TW ꒱ very poorly written, 18+, (semi?) car sex, public sex, lots of pet names, attempt at writing sexual tension, y/n calling Juyeon "Captain", ass spanking, oral (fem receiving), doggy style, degrading praising pet names ꒰ NOTE ꒱ the beginning of the fic is the same as my previous fic with eric!! I got a sweet person asking for an alternate fic in the same genre, so here it is! feedback is greatly appreciated !! <3 ꒰ REQUESTED ꒱ yes! sort of? (thank you for your ask, btw! <3)

୧ ‑‑‑‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑ ‑

“Good morning, Officer,” you greeted with a smile as you exited your vehicle parked not far from the police station to get to your work.

Honestly, working next to a police station had its benefits. Seeing handsome men in uniform was always a sight to see and knowing that they could be there in the snap of a finger in case of emergency reassured you.

“Morning, ma’am,” the officer answered after finishing talking to a colleague through a talkie-walkie, giving you a polite nod and a brief smile. You keep walking until you hear the same voice calling out for you.

“Ma’am, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” you turned around, looking in the man's eyes with a smile. He maintained eye contact briefly before clearing his throat, shoving his hand into his uniform pocket.

“You are the owner of this car, right?” he asked as he pointed at your black Audi RS3, and you nodded, staring up at him.

“Yes, why?”

“It’s not the first time that I've seen it poorly parked, you should be careful. It might disturb the traffic and cause an accident, or someone could accidentally smash it if they’re not paying enough attention,” you obediently nodded again, offering him your best smile.

“I promise to be careful next time. Have a good day, Officer!”

However, the next morning, you parked yourself the same way you did yesterday, the same police officer standing in front of the station. You got out of your car as if it were nothing, but you immediately bumped against a broad chest, recognising the same masculine fragrance as yesterday.

“Ma’am? What did I tell you yesterday? Your back tyres aren’t among the lines, and they’re almost hindering the traffic. Next time I catch you doing this I’m giving you a fine, understood?”

“Yes, Officer Sohn,” you mumbled as his name tag was almost hitting your nose at your proximity.

“Good.” You stared up at him for a few seconds and apologised again before he stepped aside, nodding again before walking away, going back to his spot in front of the police station.

You were doing this on purpose because he was hot, and the uniform didn’t help at all. You wanted to see how long you could play dumb until it went too far, but what could happen aside from a fine?

Maybe something amazing? you considered.

The next morning, you weren’t in the mood to play. You had started your day pretty badly, the waitress at the Starbucks drive-through had accidentally spilt your beverage on your brand-new blouse as she handed you your drink, not only ruining the fabric but also your mood and your good hopes of having a good day. And after being stuck in traffic for god knows how long, you finally made it to your workplace.

“Ma’am, this time-“

“Yes, Officer, I know that I’m not parked inside the lines, I know. Have you seen the side of your parking spaces and my car? It won’t fit, and I can’t take public transport from where I live, it’s way too far from my workplace to function properly the rest of the day. So just give me a fine so I can move on from this shitty day,” you snapped at the officer, whose eyes opened widely, and he took a step back, giving you space.

You sighed in annoyance and stared up at him, seeing him keeping a relaxed attitude somehow managed to calm you down a bit, which was something unexplainable.

“Rough morning?” he calmly asked, hand going to his talkie-walkie on his shoulder to quickly dismiss it as his colleague's voice buzzed from it.

“Yes, this morning's rough. I just want to go home to forget about everything,” you annoyingly said while looking at the traffic jam in front of you, the police officer looking at you with his hands on his hips.

“Okay, this is the very last time I let you run away with this. I’m being very indulgent with you today because I don’t want to worsen your day. Consider yourself lucky not to have met my superior yet. Captain Lee is not as lenient as I am, trust me. He would’ve fined you each time you wrongly parked, as well as the window tints that seem a bit darker than allowed,” Officer Sohn stated, his finger grazing against your windows, barely able to see the steering wheel and the front seats.

“Everything is up to date and in compliance with current requirements, Officer,” you spat, crossing your arms against your chest, hissing as the remaining bits of coffee went through the fabric onto your skin.

“If you say so,” Officer Sohn sighed, not convinced at all by your words, “when you arrive tomorrow, I strongly advise you park well, understood? I might not be on duty here tomorrow, so I won’t be able to let you get away with it.”

“Fine. Have a good day, Officer,” you mumbled while locking your car, leaving the police officer on the pavement and watching you angrily enter the building you worked at.

Your day didn’t get better despite praying whatever God to help you. As soon as you stepped foot in the building, the big boss saw you with your stained top and had to share his opinion in front of everyone, telling your manager that she wasn’t doing a great job at teaching her employees the company dress code.

So, of course, when the CEO was out of sight, she took all her anger on you, and it exploded in a big fight in the open space. All the precedent events had already angered you, but this was just the cherry on top. You almost said things that could have gotten you fired, and you were frustrated when she took her afternoon off for “personal issues”, leaving you to take care of all her daily assignments alone.

When you got out of work, you were mad at the world, ready to punch someone and yell out your frustration. You were thankful your intern was a hardworking person and tried to handle the work you gave him on his own, feeling bad when he walked on eggshells to ask for guidance, kind of scared of you after witnessing your row with your manager.

Car keys in hand, you walked to your parking spot, only to find it empty.

Your car was no longer there.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, looking around, as if you had become delirious throughout the day and parked it somewhere else. No, no, it was supposed to be parked in front of the police station, on the left side of the main door. Yet, your Audi was nowhere to be seen.

Stepping foot into the police station, you cleared your throat as anger rose in your chest, finding Officer Sohn at a desk, focusing on a task on his computer.

“Officer?” you asked, and he looked up, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight of your figure.

“Ma’am? How can I help?”

“I am looking for my car, a black RS3 Audi. I parked it right there this morning.”

“I remember, yeah,” he smirked, the vivid argument between you two coming back to mind.

“Well? Do you happen to know where it is?”

“I know where it is,” a voice rose from behind you, making you turn around.

A tall, muscular figure appeared from the staircase, a serious frown on his lips contrasting with the curious softness that his eyes held. The weight of the bulletproof vest he wore didn’t seem to bother him, his movements as fluid as water. Slender fingers pushed some hair away from his face as he confidently approached you.

“You’re looking for an Audi RS3? Black, tinted windows? Poorly parked?” his deep voice made you shiver, and you nodded.

“Yeah, that’s my-“

“Towed to the pound,” he proudly stated, your face falling in shock making him smirk.

“What?” you almost screamed.

This day couldn’t get any worse.

“Did you really tow my car? Just for two wheels outside the parking lot? Don’t you have other things to do, like arresting real criminals, Officer?”

You failed to notice Officer Sohn’s eyes growing wide at the title you gave the man, the latter angrily scowling at you.

“First and foremost, when someone does not respect the laws, they are, in my eyes, a criminal. You didn’t park the way your little instructor taught you during your little driving lessons, so that makes you a valid criminal.”

You scoffed, your reaction not amusing the man in front of you.

“And, ma’am, for the record, this little symbol you see here,” he patted his upper torso with a smirk, “makes me a Captain.”

You read the name on his uniform.

Captain Juyeon Lee.

Oh shit.

You briefly looked at Officer Sohn, whose eyes held some sympathy in them mixed with an “I told you” gaze.

“Respect goes both ways,” he continued, “I’d like you to address me as Captain Lee from now on.” His serious, menacing tone was meant to impress you, but you were far from it.

“Fine, Captain Lee,” you stressed the word “Captain”, earning a bitter smile from the high-ranked policeman. “Since you oh so nicely towed my car to the pound on the other side of town, how do you expect me to go home in reasonable hours, when I live in the village downtown, two hours and a half away from here ?”

“There’s a bus leaving in… now actually, to go there,” Captain Lee smirked while checking his watch, and your eyes bore into his, your pupils sending him daggers that he ignored.

He found it quite amusing the way you were looking at him. Almost…cute.

“Or you could call an Uber and then go home,” he suggested, making you scoff again.

“An Uber? To this side of town? I can’t believe you are being serious right now,” you mumbled the last sentence, shaking your head at his dumb remark. “I won’t be your next murder case to investigate just to keep you busy, since you’re so bored that you like to bother people for two tyres,” you took a step and stared at him, the Captain not budging.

“Then there’s nothing else I can do for you, ma’am,” he stated, walking around you to get to his desk, soon followed by two officers.

You huffed, exiting the station to get some fresh air. Officer Sohn was right, he really was something else. He was not as patient as him.

On the other hand, you were the one to blame, you provoked it. By wanting to see how far you could go without getting a fine, you played and got burned. Now you pay the price of being stuck in the city and not having a car to go home.

“I’m fucking dumb,” you mumbled to yourself, typing on your phone as you tried to think of a solution, a hand flying to your hair to tug on some strands.

Your manager lived down the street. Hell no, with what happened this morning, you’d rather set yourself on fire than knock at her door for help. The CEO? Super weird. The intern? Even worse.

A few droplets of water landing on your head got you out of your deep thoughts. You stepped back when the droplets intensified, and you defeatedly watched the rain abruptly pour on the streets, people running in front of you to seek shelter.

Great. Today was officially the worst day of your life.

You sighed, stuffing your phone in your bag as you mentally prepared yourself to go to the nearest coffee to quench your thirst and think of a way to go home. Your heels clicked on the pavement, your hand rising to your face to shield your eyes and brows from the rain, ready to trot to a bar or whatever building could offer you something to drink.

As you were about to step away from the police station into the rain, a strong hand seized your biceps, dragging you in the other direction. You shrieked and tried to set your arm free, but the grip was stronger than you thought. Looking up, you growled in annoyance as you recognised the same jet-black hair and bulletproof vest from a few moments earlier.

“What did I do now? Did I breathe incorrectly? Were my heels too loud on the tarmac for the neighbourhood? Did I huff too loudly?” Captain Lee shook his head from side to side with an amused smile on his face at your words, his eyes rolling as you tried to set yourself free again. This time, he didn’t fight and let go of your arm. He unlocked his police car in a swift motion and opened the passenger door.

“Get in,” he ordered.

“What for?” you questioned, and he sighed, wordlessly gesturing you to sit down. You growled but obliged, startled at the force he used to slam the door shut.

A few seconds later, he’s next to you, turning the engine on.

“You’re lucky Sohn is a nice guy. Seatbelt,” he ordered.

“What do you mean?” you side-eyed the police officer, his words making you look at him.

“You’re lucky he can read people well and has good arguments,” you stared at his hand on the steering wheel, effortlessly shifting gears as you slowly exited the city.

You remained silent for an instant. That’s when you realised where you were heading—the car pound.

“Thank you,” you mumbled and crossed your arms against your torso, shifting to the right side to slightly turn your back to him, your body suddenly seized by comfort and exhaustion as you could begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

You didn’t know if it was his cologne, his way of driving or the warmth oozing from the seat heater that got you so relaxed, but you weren’t going to complain. It was nice, almost making you forget about your terrible day.

“I’m not the one you should thank for this, I’m doing this so Sohn doesn’t throw a tantrum in the middle of the police station. You have a lot in common you two, I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up together,” his last sentence sounded like a backhanded compliment, but you took it, nonetheless.

“It’s still better than being rude and arrogant,” you mumbled, and the Captain’s brows rose to the sky, slamming on the brakes as you arrived at a stop sign. You were startled, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t make me regret listening to my colleague,” he mumbled through his gritted teeth, turning on his indicator before making a right turn.

The rest of the journey to the car pound was quiet, only the sound of the car engine filling in the silence. Despite his shitty attitude, the Captain next to you was quite handsome. Long neck, high cheekbones, slender fingers, flawless skin, and a muscular body, he was well-proportioned. The uniform added a little something to his charm. Or it was maybe just your uniform kink speaking up.

When you arrived at the car pound, the rain had stopped but it was stuffy. A storm was not far from breaching the sky, the clouds were so dark that you were expecting thunder at any moment. Not something you were looking forward to going home with.

“I hope they took good care of my car,” you mumbled as you walked next to the Captain. His boots hit the ground in a soft thud, matching your pace as you were still in your office clothes.

“Come on, it’s just a heap of metal pieces,” Captain Lee stated, and you stifled a growl of annoyance by deeply sighing.

“To you, maybe. I cherish it a lot, I worked so hard to afford it,” you retorted.

“If you say so,” he shrugged, and you huffed.

“Yes, I say so.”

You didn’t have time to argue further that the guy responsible for the car pound greeted you with a professional smile.

“Captain! You are back already?”

“Yes I am, joined by the culprit in person,” the guy laughed, and you scowled at the police officer, who briefly looked down at you with a satisfied smirk.

That fucker was enjoying playing with your nerves.

“I was not expecting such a pretty lady to own a car like this one,” he said, and you offered him a fake smile.

“Yet here I am,” you said, voice emotionless, the guy not taking the hint that you didn’t find him funny.

“Follow me, please,” the grey-haired man led the way, Captain Lee’s hand hovering in your lower back made you shiver.

The walk to your car was muddy and perilous in heels, Captain Lee had to catch your arm once to prevent you from falling face-first in a puddle of mud.

“What a good idea to come here in heels,” he sarcastically said, making you roll your eyes.

“Your fault,” you mumbled, readjusting your bag strap on your shoulder.

“My fault?”

“Yes, your fault! If you took care of burglars and thieves rather than bothering a woman that just tries to do her job, we wouldn’t be there,” you pettily retorted and the guy laughed, enjoying your bickering with the police officer, who simply scoffed.

“You remind me of my wife and me when we were younger,” your face turned into a frown that thankfully no one saw. You didn’t say anything and kept walking.

Your heart lightened a bit when you saw your car, but your face immediately fell when you saw how muddy it was.

“What the fuck happened to my car? It was clean when I arrived at work this morning!” you exclaimed, walking around it to check if there were any shocks or dents in the body of the car.

“Ahh, this,” the guy embarrassingly scratched the back of his head, looking down as he felt the Captain’s questioning eyes on him, “it’s probably my employees. They can’t resist testing them when they see cars like this.”

You were going to murder someone.

“And you’re going to let that slide, Captain?” you spat, drawing the officer’s attention on you, as he seemed quite interested in your car, despite what he had told you earlier.

“Do you have proof that they did it?” he argued back, and you resisted the urge to strangle him by breathing deeply.

“He just confessed!” you yelled, and the Captain shrugged.

“I would need stronger proof to incriminate them,” you closed your eyes, focused on your breathing pattern, and nodded. Reopening them, they were glossy with tears, the car emitting a low “click” as you unlocked it with your keys.

“Do I need to pay for something?” you asked no one in particular, the two male figures blurry because of your tears. You noticed that the car guy was slightly embarrassed by the situation, Captain Lee remaining the same stoic man as before.

“225 000,00 Won for the journey and parking here,” the car guy mumbled, and you got your wallet and got the bank notes that he requested.

“Here you go. Captain, feel free to send me a fine for my parking by post, I’ll pay it as soon as I receive it. Have a good evening,” you mumbled as you entered your car, carefully driving on the road, the police car soon a memory.

“Fucking assholes,” you mumbled through gritted teeth as you reached the main road, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

Maybe your reaction was a bit too much, but it left the two men too stunned to speak. The car guy was embarrassed by his employees’ behaviour, and Captain Lee was silent.

He had pushed your buttons for hours when you were already on the edge and eventually, you broke down. He had done that in the past with witnesses to check if they were telling the truth or not. Normally, he enjoyed watching the culprit break down in tears and confess their crime, yet here he wasn’t as satisfied as usual.

He felt bad. Guilty, per se.

He bid farewell to the car guy and paced back to his car, starting the engine as he followed your path. The thunder was raging in the middle of the town, he could see the lightning bolts illuminating the sky as he drove back to the civilisation.

Captain Lee paused at the same stop sign, yet not abruptly this time. He took a quick second to think logically. He had two chances: either you drove straight back home, or you went to the closest car wash station from here.

Turning on his blue and red lights, he floored the gas pedal and drove to the nearest car wash station he knew.

The distant sound of a siren drew your attention as you finished inspecting your car, relieved that, after a good wash, your vehicle was intact as before. You got back into your car as the siren got closer. Soon blue, and red lights were illuminating your face as you watched in your rearview mirror. With a sigh, you noticed Captain Lee approaching your window. Anger washed over you and you got out of your car, startling the Captain. You noticed that his hand was quick to go to his holster – probably a force of habit – before going back to his pocket.

You wordlessly side-eyed him as you tore the dark tint on each of your windows, crumpling up the pieces in a big, black plastic ball before handing it to him.

“Here you go, Captain. My car is now 100% in compliance with your current requirements. Happy?” you questioned and forced the ball of waste to his chest for him to take.

His hand seized your wrist, much gentler this time. His softness startled you, making you look at him with furious eyes to make your confusion.

“Things went too far, ma’am. I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m sorry,” his baritone voice was calm and low, sending vibrations in your heart.

You sighed, swallowing the lump in the throat that was threatening to rise, again. Captain Lee had to resist the urge to wipe the streaks of dry mascara under your eyes, forcing his hands back in his pockets as he let go of your forearm.

“It’s not entirely your fault. I had a really shitty day, all of this just made me exhausted and– .”

“I didn’t help to ease the situation. I wanted to apologise, it went too far,” he cut you.

“I appreciate your apology, Captain,” your mouth stretched in a small, tired smile, which the officer replicated almost immediately.

A few seconds passed as you kept staring at each other, Captain Lee carefully stepping closer to you as he saw you didn’t budge the first time.

The wind softly blew a few pieces of hair in your face. Juyeon’s fingers were quick to place them back behind your ear, much to your surprise. His body worked quicker than his brain, realising way too late what he had done.

“You do this to every woman that cries out of frustration in front of you?” you teased.

The police officer smirked, studying your facial features.

You were beautiful.

“Only to the pretty ones that throw tantrums like a child and drive a black Audi RS3,” he mumbled. You rolled your eyes, Juyeon’s hand quick to seize your jaw to make you look at him, his actions surprising you.

“You drive me nuts with those eye rolls,” he mumbled, his lips ghosting over yours, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“Yet you’re the one causing them,” you retorted in a mumble, now stuck between the side of your car and the bulletproof vest Juyeon was wearing, his knee slotting itself between your legs.

“But not for the good reasons,” your eyes studied his and you thickly swallowed when you saw his eyes briefly drop to your lips.

His free hand joined the other that was holding your jaw to cradle your face between them. Another pang of guilt hit his heart as his thumbs were stroking the salted, dry skin under your eyes because of the tears he caused.

“May I?” he whispered in a hushed voice. Immediately knowing what he wanted, you nodded, and his lips were on yours the following second.

The kiss was passionate and vivid. It held so many emotions that your head spun. You felt how sorry he was but soon after, how much he needed that. Your lips moved in sync, his tongue begging for entrance. When you granted him his wish, he was quick to fight for dominance and you gave in, a hand fisting his hair while your other arm was around his neck, trying to keep yourself grounded and steady in this kiss.

When you pulled away from his lips, you were breathless, heart rummaging in your chest. You had never been kissed like that by anyone, yet you adored it. You wanted more. Juyeon wasted no time and peppered your jaw and neck with hungry kisses, nipping and licking at the skin to rile you up.

“Officer,” you said in a moan, choking on a squeal when Juyeon’s hand harshly collided with your ass.

“You know you’re not supposed to call me that,” he grunted, pulling away from you. You whined from the lack of warmth his body provided you.

“Captain,” you corrected yourself, and he smirked, his hand spanking you again, softer this time, before whispering you to jump.

Wrapping your arms around his neck and linking your legs at the small of his back, Juyeon effortlessly walked you back to his cruiser, opening the passenger door and gently settling you down on. Finding the handle underneath the seat, he rolled it away from the dashboard and inclined it down. You were in such a comfortable position that you could almost take a nap, yet Juyeon had other plans for you that sounded more exciting.

“You okay, darling?” he asked, and you nodded, smiling as he removed his bulletproof vest from his chest to take off his shirt. The sight almost made you drool, his muscular body begging to be touched. You couldn’t resist and felt his abs with your hand, the gesture making him smirk.

“Like what you see?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” you shamelessly answered, and he smirked, diving back to your mouth to kiss you before settling on his knees in the small space between your seat and the dashboard.

“Pretty girl got her heels so dirty,” he said as he seized your calf and removed your shoes one after the other, carelessly tossing them in the backseat.

Goosebumps rose in your body as his mouth started to kiss your skin from your calf up to your knees, his hands bunching up your pencil skirt in the process to get access to the skin of your thighs. His mouth was hot against your shivering skin, your breath catching in your throat as he was at eye-level with your core. Looking up, he kissed the inner parts of your thigh, earning a low moan from you as he progressively got closer to your core.

“More, Captain. I need more,” you whined, and he smirked, his hands caressing your calves up and down.

“More of what?” he teased, and you wiggled like a maggot, attempting to get your core closer to his mouth.

“Of you,” you breathily mumbled, “I need your mouth on me.”

A high-pitched groan escaped your lips when he pressed his lips against your clothed core, his tongue poking your entrance in a teasing manner. You were already withering under his touch, and he had barely done anything. He could feel how wet you were through the fabric, his ego flying through the roof that he was the one leaving you in such a putty state.

“I promise I’ll be a good girl,” you seemed to have found the right words to get under his skin, your begging awakening something inside him that blood rushed straight to his cock.

“Yeah? You promise you’ll park well tomorrow?”

“I promise, Captain.”

“Good girl,” he kissed your hip bone, and you whined, your core clenching around nothing when he pulled your panties down in a swift motion, the air welcoming your folds in a fresh embrace that made you audibly gasp.

“Such a pretty cunt, so wet, just for me,” he stated as he trailed his fingers down to your glistening slit, earning a back arch from you.

Your hand fisted his hair when he dragged his tongue from your slit to your clit, giving it special attention as your lustful moans spurred him on. His tongue rolled and licked around your clit, his fingers teasing your entrance as your legs wrapped themselves around his head.

“Oh my god, fuck!” you moaned as Juyeon inserted two fingers inside your warmth, humming at how wet you were thanks to him. Turning his palm to the sky and hooking up his fingers, he started licking your clit harder and pounding his fingers inside you at such a rapid pace that you were barely controlling your moans.

“You sound so pretty for me, darling,” he praised you, smirking as his words made you clench around his fingers, making a mental note of it, “do you like how I make you feel?” he asked, his free hand playing with one of your breasts over your shirt.

You hummed in agreement as your shaky hands tried to undo the first few buttons of your shirt, passing it over your head to reveal your bra. Juyeon hummed as he saw the black lingerie decorating your chest and caressed it, feeling the warm, bouncy flesh against his palm while his other hand was still buried inside your pussy.

“Put your feet on the dashboard for me, love,” he ordered in a whisper, and you immediately obliged, allowing his fingers to reach deeper inside you, making you groan in pleasure.

“Oh my god, Captain, please keep going, that feels so good,” your voice was getting weaker as your orgasm was approaching thanks to his fingers and tongue skills, the public situation of your dirty little business only increasing your sensitivity and pleasure.

“Does it?” he questioned, and you moaned as an answer, urging Juyeon to pick up the pace by seizing his forearm and pushing his fingers harder and quicker inside you.

The message was loud and clear for Juyeon, who immediately removed your hand and latched his mouth around your clit, loudly suckling on it. His moans against your sensitive skin sent jolts of electricity in your body, the knot in your stomach close to snapping. You wanted to last a bit more, but the feeling was becoming overwhelming when Juyeon added a third finger, stretching you out like no one had done before.

You cried in pleasure, Juyeon smirking against your pussy as your moans were making him as hard as a branch.

“C-Can I cum?” you begged between staggered breaths, your fingers playing with your breasts.

You were being a good girl to him, asking in such a pretty, begging voice if you could finish. He really had to resist the urge to just remove his fingers and instead stick his cock deep into your core.

“Cum for me, pretty girl, you deserve it. You had a long day today,” he mumbled, his fingers still entering you at a rapid pace as his other hand left your breast to play with your clit.

His attentive words pushed you over the edge. Juyeon felt the force of your orgasm by how strong your core was clenching around his fingers, almost preventing him from moving. Your voice was strained as you loudly moaned, a mix of “Captain” and “Juyeon”, as well as profanities shamelessly leaving your pretty, bruised lips from biting them too much.

What a pretty sight that was for Juyeon. He had made his ex-girlfriends cum before, but not this hard and not with just his fingers and tongue. His dick was rock hard as you slowly came back to your senses, chest heavily heaving up and down, eyes glazed with lust and tiredness. You whimpered when Juyeon removed his fingers glistening with your release, sucking them clean. A lazy smile decorated your mouth at his action, grabbing Juyeon by the back of the neck to taste yourself on his lips.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered against your mouth, your shaky hands caressing his warm torso. You wanted more of him, your hand unbuckling his belt as you pressed your mouth against his.

Your curious fingers eventually found the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down to reveal his hard cock. It was girthy but mostly long, leaking with precum, his balls feeling heavy in your hand. It jolted when you wrapped your digits around it, giving a few sharp strokes, earning a deep groan from the police officer on top of you.

“Easy, pretty girl, I wanna last,” you giggled at his words and kissed his lips, Juyeon blindly searching for something in the compartment of the centre console armrest.

“What are you doing?” you asked while kissing his neck, your hand still lustfully stroking him.

“I’m looking for a condom,” he grunted and softly moaned in your ear when you teased his slit.

“Awn…. Scared your pull-out game isn’t strong enough?” you teased, and he grabbed your throat, pinching your nipple as he planted his gaze in yours.

“Would you prefer getting knocked up by a total stranger?” he retorted.

“If it’s a hot, dark-haired Captain named Juyeon Lee, I wouldn’t mind,” you joked with a bright smile, the man in front of you capturing your lips in a swift kiss to shush you.

You giggled when he flipped you around and spanked your cheeks with a grunt, your laugh turning into a moan as the pain increased the wetness pooling down your leg.

“I take what I said earlier back, you’re such a dirty, bad girl,” he punctuated the downgrading nickname with a harsh spank, making you moan.

“See, your moaning confirms that I’m right,” he snorted, and you pushed your bum backwards to get him to keep going.

“Fuck me please, Captain?” you looked behind and feigned innocence, offering big doe eyes to Juyeon.

After eventually finding a condom and rolling it on his hard shaft, Juyeon neared his tip to your entrance, easily sliding it in thanks to your wet cunt. You loudly moaned his name and earned a spank from the police officer, his hands holding your hips as he pushed himself further inside you. He was so long, you felt like his tip was poking your stomach when he bottomed out.

“You feel so tight,” he grunted through gritted teeth as you clenched around him.

“You’re so long, gosh. You fill me up so well,” you closed your eyes as you laid the side of your head against the headrest, enjoying how good his dick was filling you, Juyeon’s chest resting against your back as he was moaning in your ear, his fingers teasing your clit just to rile you up and get you even wetter.

“As if we were meant to be, mh?” he mumbled in the shell of your ear and you nodded, his hips rolling against yours in slow thrusts, letting you adjust to his length. He didn’t want to go all in at the beginning because he knew that he wouldn’t last two minutes, especially with the way you were moaning his ranking.

Plus, backshots were always one of his favourite positions to use during sex. With you, it was even better than the times with other girls. He loved to see his cock going in and out of your cunt, how your wetness was coating his shaft, the excess pooling at the rim of it and slowly drooling down to his balls. Your back was arching like a cat stretching, allowing him to caress the soft skin and decorate it with kisses or bites. Your ass colliding with his hips was also a sight to see, the red imprints of his hands slowly forming on the soft flesh from all the spanking.

Juyeon’s hand came to grab your neck and push you deeper into the seat, granting his cock better access to the depth of your core. He reached further inside you, triggering your g-spot and making you scream in pleasure, your thighs slowly starting to shake. You had to fight the urge to let your eyes roll at the back of your head at how good Juyeon’s cock was making you feel. It reached places you never thought existed, that was at least never found by your exes.

“The beautiful sight that you are,” the officer mumbled, his hands caressing your back down to your ass, down your hips to your pussy. His mouth rested against the shell of your ear, gently nibbling on your lobe, whispering soft words of praise at how well you were taking his cock.

He smirked at how you clenched around him, the hand that was still between your legs coming up to your mouth, forcing it open. You welcomed his fingers with a hum, your tongue rolling around them to taste yourself.

“You’re such a pretty, obedient slut, you know that?” he kissed your cheek as he picked up the pace, your moans muffled by his slender fingers still pressing down your tongue. You looked over your shoulder with pleading eyes, the slight gloss over them warning the officer that you were close, again.

“Don’t worry, darling,” the officer whispered, his hips colliding with your ass at a steady pace, “I’m going to make you cum again soon, just be patient, okay? I’m almost there,” his breath was heavy, his thumb caressing your cheek as you docilely nodded at his words.

Eventually removing his fingers from your mouth, you yelped in pleasure as his wet fingers pinched your nipples, sending jolts of electricity down your body to your core.

“Please, Captain, I’m so close, I need it. So badly,” you begged, getting tired and so sensitive that one sharp movement could make you topple over the edge.

Juyeon stilled inside you, taking the time to gather your hair in one of his hands and kiss you on the lips. Your head dropped and you moaned as you felt him push himself desperately deeper inside you, your ass and his hip bone forming one, his cock thickening with lust.

Without a warning, the hand in your hair tightened, making your head tilt back up and groan, his hips colliding hard and fast with your ass, the flesh giggling at every movement.

Drunk in pleasure, Juyeon’s chest was pressed against your back, primal movements not faltering a second. His moans were erratic, grunts all over the place as the sound of skin slapping filled the police car.

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna- Oh fuck!” that’s all you managed to say before your body went totally limp, legs shaking as your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, a hand wrapped around his wrist as your core was almost pushing him out of you.

“That’s it, pretty girl, that’s it. Come around my cock,” he helped you ride your orgasm by toying with your clit, mouth praising you between covering your shoulder blades with hot kisses.

Your pussy tightening made Juyeon’s cock super sensitive, precum slowly filling the condom. He was not going to last long, he just needed a bit more of you to get there.

“Can you handle a bit more, baby? I’m almost there,” he whispered, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as if he hadn’t just given you the best orgasm you’ve had in ages. Turning around to face him, you spread your trembling legs wide open for him, taking his cock in your hand to stuff it back inside you.

“I take that as a yes,” Juyeon smirked and you hummed, barely catching your breath as his hips were already ramming back inside you.

Resting his forehead against yours, Juyeon’s movements started to falter, his brown eyes blown out with lust. The way your face contorted in pleasure and your legs shaking in sensitivity were helping him get closer to his peak, loving that you were drowning in lust thanks to him.

Your hand flew to his hair and started tugging on some strands as he picked up the pace. Legs crossing in his lower back, caging him in an embrace, a low grunt of your name erupted from the police officer’s mouth, his hips stilling a second later.

“Oh my god, Y/N, fuck!” You gasped as his cum filled the condom, Juyeon rutting his hips against yours as he rode his orgasm, low groans escaping from his lips.

Your moans and your nails digging into his shoulders made him groan in lust and ride his high, soon resting his weight on you, your sweaty bodies heaving up and down in sync.

Slowly coming back to your senses, Juyeon partially removed himself from you, pulling away from your core. He smiled at you, softly kissing your lips before quickly sucking on your breast. You shivered, almost getting turned on again at the sight of the filled-up condom.

Helping each other to get dressed, it was hard for you to stand on your heels. Juyeon had turned your legs into jelly, and you could barely walk the distance that separated your car from the police cruiser.

“Are you going to be okay to get home safely?” Juyeon looked at you with a veil of worry in his eyes. You smiled, carefully walking up to him to press your lips against his.

“I will,” you smirked, your hand removing non-existent dust on his uniform just for the physical contact to linger one more second. You were already exhausted because of your day at work, those moments with him didn’t help you feel energized at all.

“Be careful on the road. I wouldn’t want the next time I see you be at the hospital,” you smiled as his hands were gently stroking your sore hips.

“That wouldn’t be a great idea, indeed,” you teased, your mouth kissing his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, getting lost again in the sensation of your mouth on him.

“What about a date, instead?” he suggested, changing the subject as he was close to ripping your clothes from your body, just to feel your core squeeze around his cock one more time.

You smirked at his words, making you take a step back at him.

“I’d love that, Captain.” you teased as you stuffed something inside the back pocket of his pants before carefully walking to your car.

Frowning, he reached for his pants and scoffed at the lacey lingerie between his fingers, his boxers feeling restrictive, again.

As you drove off back home, Juyeon did the same, your panties in his hand. He smirked as he noticed the dry stains of your wetness he caused by kissing you.

He couldn’t wait to make you scream his name again. For now, he’d have to use his imagination.

And your panties.

[kittenshift-17]

Omg I feel like any teen wolf fic (sterek fic) you write would be amazing, on that topic ur an amazing writer and I’m glad that one day I stumbled upon one of your fics. And also speaking of sterek fics (or any teen wolf fic) do u have and recommendations on what to read for that fandom???

Okay, so I took my time with this one because I had read some, but not a lot... but oh boy, did I deep dive into the research to bring you some top tier Sterek Fic Recs.

TOP 20 STEREK RECS

Play It Again by metisket ***I LOVED THIS ONE***

In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself.

“Laura wants to lure the kid in with food and kindness and make a pet of him, like a feral cat. Derek wants to have him arrested for stalking. They’re at an impasse. (And the rest of the family is staying emphatically out of it in a way that suggests bets have been placed.)”

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

Don't Feed the Wolves by Amazonia_8

Stiles took the dare, because what else was he supposed to do when the whole lacrosse team was chanting his name? Even though the werewolf pack had left Beacon Hills years ago, nobody was stupid enough to set foot on the Hale property.

Except, apparently, Stiles.

Now he's got a feral werewolf following him around town with the sole purpose of claiming Stiles as his own.

so now you've got the best of me (come on and take the rest of me) by mangotangos

"It doesn't matter how hot Derek is, how Stiles barely comes up to his shoulders or how Derek's hands could probably fit really snugly around his waist. None of it matters, because he's basically a glorified babysitter for the foreseeable future and Stiles wants him out. Operation annoy Deputy Derek Hale into leaving begins now."

~or, the one where Stiles' dad hires Deputy Derek to be Stiles' bodyguard, Stiles hates him on principle and then 2 seconds later falls in lust (and love) and tries to seduce him into bed with his sexual prowess.

There Are No Wolves In California by kitsunequeen

Hunter!Stiles accidentally hits a wolf with his car and can't bear to leave him in the road to die. It's not till he gets the wolf home that he sees its eyes glow red... ------- Even everyday roadkill is upsetting, but this thing… Moments ago it was probably a majestic beast, and now it’s a mangled pile of soon-to-be rotting flesh. He presses a shaking hand to the only part of its chest left intact, not even thinking about whether it'll give him rabies or some other awful disease.

He’s about to pull back when something even crazier happens.

He realizes the wolf is breathing.

(not so) Pure Imagination by theroguesgambit

"There is a world where whenever someone fantasizes about you, you can physically feel it, but you have no idea who is thinking it about you."

Stiles knows it's wrong, but he's been Fantasizing about Derek and he can't bring himself to stop. Derek doesn't know who's taken an interest in him, but he's enjoying it way more than he probably should.

Little Wild Animal by DiscontentedWinter

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property. Humans are supposed to be extinct. But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

The Darkness Inside by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.

He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted.

He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.

Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him.

“Who is that?” he asked quietly.

“That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm for missingsun

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life.

There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Patterns of Intention by drunktuesdays

Derek looked like the stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had his hands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—his eyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had—

“No,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to be wrenched out of his chest. “God, no.”

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles.

But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

I don't know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunaCanisLupus_22 for xXxClassifiedxXx 

“You smell like me,” the guy says, scowling as he crowds in and Stiles staggers back between the coats and finally hits the wall. “Why do you smell like me?”

He barely lets out a garbled sound as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “No reason,” Stiles yelps, struggling to get his footing and grasping at a whirlwind of puffy fur.

Or the one where Stiles goes thrift shopping and steals an alpha's shirt. And gets a lot more than he bargains for.

Sleeping Dogs by starsystems

Let sleeping dogs lie. Prov. Do not instigate trouble.;Leave something alone if it might cause trouble.

Derek Hale is asleep in Stiles's bed. And it just escalates from there.

Because of course it does.

We've Written Volumes (in Blood and Scars and Ink) by notthequiettype

Stiles is on his back on hard-packed dirt. He's cold and there are leaves stuck to his neck and there's a four inch gash in his side that he thinks he can feel his ribs through. There's so much blood around him he feels like he's floating on a pond and everything is so much dimmer above him than it was a minute ago, which is saying something because he's in the dark center of the forest in the middle of the night. And the worst of it is that he's alone, totally alone with the smell of his own blood drowning him and the soft side of him run through by a tree.

As his eyes slip shut, the last thing he thinks is, "This is going to kill my dad."

In Case You Didn't Know by Blu_Crowe

Stiles moves into the lofts, and he and Derek start to get closer. Unfortunately Stiles is a moron, and Derek is bad at feelings. They figure it out... Eventually.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.” 



“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly. 



Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: 



DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Lock All The Doors Behind You by entanglednow

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.

Feral Formalities by Aleandri

"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table.

Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food.

Right in front of another Alpha.

Who he was on a date with.

To discuss being heat partners...."

*In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!*

for a good time, call... by EvanesDust for kalika_999

Stiles unlocks his phone to send out a quick text asking his father what he wants to eat, even though he’ll get salad regardless, and notices a strange number on his recent call log.

His face scrunches in confusion before realization dawns on him.

Oh shit.

Events from the night before peek through the hazy fog of his mind. Stiles thought, or he was hoping, that the phone call was a dream. But there it is, staring at him in the face—a one minute and 57-second call to an unfamiliar number.

Oh God.

Did he seriously call someone—possibly an alpha werewolf!—for phone sex?

...Or the one where Stiles drunk dials a very grumpy alpha werewolf and propositions him for phone sex. Hilarity, misunderstandings, and feelings ensue.

Golden Boy by trilliath 

Apparently it still amuses his uncle to buy sex slaves for him, no matter how steadfastly he refuses to use them. Derek ducks into his tent with a resigned sigh, prepared to dress and reassign whatever new beauty Peter has bought him. They do make for loyal servants, so he can't really complain about Peter's 'gifts'. But it is annoying to deal with, to have to spend his evening sorting out a slave instead of being able to go right to bed. It's just something he has to learn to accept as a byproduct of serving alongside his uncle.

But when he lays eyes on the boy laying amid his furs, he finds his breath catching in his throat. His skin is golden with the candle-light glimmering against the sheen of oil that has been slathered on his bared body. His lips are parted, and they work over inaudible words or sounds. His skin is flushed, nipples peaked and pierced with simple but unexpected golden rings. He's spectacularly beautiful in the candlelight. The many glowing candles that have been added to his usual lighting cast glittering edges and shadows, imbuing an almost unearthly golden color to his skin.

It's enough that Derek hesitates.

[auspicioustidings]

https://www.tumblr.com/auspicioustidings/734619885087375360/i-cannot-write-for-shit-right-now-so-any-little

Hmmmm I’m seeing so many x single mom readers and not sure if this is something you’re even interested in BUT

Simon meeting his pretty new neighbor while she’s moving I and realizes she is either a.) heavily pregnant or b.) has a very young baby so Simon goes “hmmmm mine now :)” and helps her out a little? (Alternatively, if you don’t wanna do Simon for this, then maybe Price?)

(Also if you haven’t read @peachesofteal’s Light On fic, Simon x single mom reader, I implore if you to do so!!! It’s so good)

Peaches Light On fics, and I am being so deadass serious, give me such a flood of serotonin any time I see a new one. Everyone get your butt over there because they are the standard for single mother content as far as I am concerned!

That being said, I've put a bit of a twist on this so it's not really what you requested at all, sorry :') I could not do a similar idea to Peaches because there is nothing I can do to improve perfection!

Tactical Action

Words: 1.1k

CWs: mentions of death

“It's not a shame Price, it's fucking ridiculous.”

Simon Riley was furious looking at the paperwork. It wasn't often that TF141 kept tabs on a promising rookie so when they did he expected nothing but excellence. What he did not expect was a large ‘Early Service Leaver’ stamp over an otherwise exemplary record.

“Their brother died in that warship collision, can't blame them for wanting out.”

“My brother was murdered, I kept fucking going.”

He had met you once when Johnny had dragged him. His Sergeant was both excited and annoyed that someone had gotten the new record for the 3rd selection phase. It made sense to get some feel for you then, if you were as good at escape, evasion and tactical questioning as the test scores suggested then the 141 needed to have you on their radar because the PMCs certainly would. 

You were a determined thing, shoulders back and addressing them with just the right amount of respect. Not arrogant, but not a pushover. Soap had been talking about how much he wanted to get his hands on you the whole drive back to base because he was a horny idiot and you were a challenge he found intriguing. Simon had just rolled his eyes and added your record to the small pile in Price's office. 

He knew a little of your background. Both parents gone, one sibling in the navy. Well one sibling now KIA. He could have understood taking leave, but to quit entirely? It made him angry, he thought it was a waste of potential. Price could see how it affected him and he sighed. 

“Go talk to them then. But do not get yourself reported for harassment and intimidation Simon, if they don't want back in then we make our peace with that.”

That was all the permission he needed. He probably should have taken Soap really, someone who could be comforting and coax you back. But fuck it, you were supposed to be good under pressure so he was going to give you some hard damn advice on not bloody giving up.

–

Exhausted didn't even begin to describe how you felt. This was the hardest thing you had ever done, but you were not going to just give up. You couldn't, not with this tiny thing relying on you. 

She had never even got to meet her parents. Your brother died just before the due date in that accident and then his girlfriend had died from complications in childbirth. You had promised her you would look after their baby if anything happened, made an oath that you'd not let her parents anywhere near such an innocent little thing. 

So you were on your own with nothing but grief and exhaustion and an ever dwindling death in service payment. They would pay part of your brother's pension out each month at least for the baby, but you were terrified that it wouldn't be enough to give her a life she deserved. She certainly deserved her parents and not her fathers ill equipped sibling, but you could only do your best even with the knowledge it would never be enough. 

You flinched when there was a hard knock at the door of your flat, freezing but taking a breath when the baby remained sleeping in your arms. You needed to move at one point you knew, a flat in a bit of a rough area was fine for a soldier (ex-soldier you reminded yourself) but not so much for a baby. 

The security you had upgraded as best you could at the moment and you checked the door camera to see Lieutenant Riley. Ghost. You had met him briefly once, but what was a legend like him doing here? Shit. You knew you looked a wreck but it wasn't like you could ignore him so you opened the door, bouncing baby girl gently to keep her sleeping. 

Simon's planned tirade died the moment he saw the situation. You had a baby. Oh that changed his tirade significantly. Your marital status had listed single, so he could only assume you had gotten yourself knocked up by some casual hookup. That was unacceptable in a soldier, so bloody stupid. 

“Shit” you cursed when she woke up, heading back inside and giving him a nod of invite.

You bounced her and tried to coo at her to go back to sleep. To please God go back to sleep. You never knew what she wanted, it felt like whatever you did was always wrong. And of course then she started wailing and the Lieutenant was in your flat closing the door behind him witnessing your absolute failure to take care of a baby. 

“Oh for Christ sake, give her here.”

Simon took the baby and hoisted the little thing up onto his shoulder, rubbing hard at her back. 

“When was the last time you fed her?”

“I- well, just before you got here. 10 minutes ago maybe? Just got her to sleep.”

“Did you burp her?”

“Oh. I…” you replied, straining yourself in an attempt not to cry. “No. I forgot.”

While his eyes were sharp on you his hands and voice were gentle and soothing for the baby. He was good at this. Did he have kids? Fuck was everyone just innately good at caring for babies but you? 

“Didn't stop to think if you could take care of her before having her?” 

“She's not mine. Well I suppose she is. I'm her only living relative, or only decent one at least. I, um… that warship accident from a few months back. My brother died during it and her mum passed during the birth. I'm her legal guardian now. I'm what she has sir, it was the best tactical action given the circumstance” you said, straightening up despite your exhaustion and prolonged terror at being responsible for such an innocent little thing. 

Simon cocked his head to the side as the baby on his shoulder burped and gurgled, now trying to get back to sleep. You were still a soldier he saw then, you were fighting back your emotions to give him a report on the situation. He reevaluated after the sitrep and took a moment to find the best course of action.

“Marry me then.”

“Sir?”

“We can get it done tomorrow. Might take a bit of time to get a decent house but we'll stay in my flat until then, better area. Still going to be out on assignment a lot but any death benefit would go to you and the widows pension would set you up for life. I'm what you have rookie, it's the best tactical action.”

“Yes sir.”

[mononijikayu]

lay your love on me — nanami kento.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as you prepared to drop your bombshell. “You know how I’m always worried about you being a sorcerer and putting yourself in danger?” He nodded, clearly not seeing where you were going with this. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that a few times.” “Well,” you continued, struggling to keep a straight face, “I’ve come up with the perfect solution to that problem.” “And what’s that?” Kento asked, raising an eyebrow. “I think you should quit being a sorcerer and become my house–husband instead,” you announced with a grin.

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: romance, marriage, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, fingering, p to v sex, orgasm, humor, possessive behaviour, protectiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, nanami kento is that MAN, reader petitions for nanami to be her house husband;

WORD COUNT: 5.4k words.

NOTE: i hope this makes up for the fact that i've been writing a lot of angsty fics. this was supposd to be a baywatch thing. but i changed my mind. anyway, i'll be doing the side - 900 works in advance. i hope you enjoy this!!! from this point, i might be slower in updating because i'll be back to uni again and probably will be a little bit more busy. thank you for reading and always enjoy this one too!!! i love you <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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HE’S NOT PROUD OF THE MAN HE’S BECOME. But it’s hard for him, when it comes to you, his precious wife. Nanami Kento had always considered himself above petty emotions like jealousy. He was calm, rational, the kind of man who could look at the world with a level head.

Yet, ever since he met you, ever since he’s fallen for you, built his life, his universe about you — his life had taken a turn he hadn't anticipated. You brought out something in him that was unfamiliar and unsettling—a possessiveness, an insecurity that gnawed at him whenever he saw the way others looked at you. 

As he sat next to you on the sun-kissed beach, the warm Malaysian sunbathing you both in a golden glow, Nanami Kento found it difficult to fully relax. This was supposed to be your quality time, the belated honeymoon you both had both worked so hard to carve out from your hard and demanding schedules. For once, he had managed to take time off from his life as a sorcerer, a rare break that was meant to be a celebration of your love, their commitment to each other. 

You were just as busy as he was, if not more. As a lawyer, you were brilliant, successful, and independent. You made more than he did, something that had never bothered him—until now. Not because of pride, but because it made him realize just how much you had to offer. You could have anyone, and yet you had chosen him. The thought should have been reassuring, but instead, it only added to his insecurity.

Instead of peace, he found himself caught up in a swirl of emotions he couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t just his possessiveness—it was the realization that, for the first time in his life, he was vulnerable. He was vulnerable because he loved you so deeply, because the thought of losing you, or of someone else taking your attention, filled him with a fear he didn’t know how to handle. 

Kento couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as you lay on the sunbed, basking in the warm Malaysian sun. The way the golden rays kissed your skin, making it glow, had him utterly captivated. You were wearing the tightest two-piece bikini, a vibrant floral design that contrasted beautifully against your sun-kissed skin. The colors brought out the vibrancy of your figure, accentuating every curve in a way that made his heart race.

He watched as you stretched languidly, your body moving with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly to him. The sunlight danced across your skin, highlighting the delicate contours of your body, the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the curve of your waist, the length of your legs.

Every inch of you was perfection in his eyes, and it drove him mad how stunning you were. But it wasn’t just your physical beauty that had him so entranced; it was the knowledge that you were his, that this incredible, breathtaking person had chosen him.

His gaze lingered on your face, where a peaceful smile played on your lips, your eyes closed as you enjoyed the warmth of the sun. The gentle breeze teased a few strands of your hair, brushing them across your forehead, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and tuck them behind your ear. He loved these quiet moments, where he could just watch you, memorize the way you looked in the golden light, the way the sun turned your hair into a halo of warmth.

You were the most beautiful being to ever exist to him, and the thought made his chest tighten with a mix of pride and disbelief. How had he been so fortunate? What had he done to deserve someone like you in his life?

The longer he watched you, the more he felt that familiar, possessive edge creeping in. It was a feeling he wasn’t entirely comfortable with, one that he had never experienced before you came into his life. He had never thought of himself as the jealous type, but when it came to you, something primal and protective stirred within him. He didn’t want anyone else to look at you the way he did, to see what he saw, to appreciate the way you made the world a brighter, more beautiful place just by existing.

And yet, as he sat there, he knew that others couldn’t help but notice you too. It was impossible not to. You were radiant, magnetic, and he could see the way people’s gazes lingered on you, the appreciative looks that followed you whenever you walked by. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to do something irrational, to pull you close and stake his claim in front of everyone.

Kento could see the way men’s eyes lingered on you, the admiration in their gazes as they took in your beauty. It made his blood boil in a way he wasn’t proud of. He wanted to stand up, to make it clear that you were his, that no one else had the right to look at you like that. But he stayed silent, gripping your hand a little tighter, hoping the feeling would pass.

You opened your eyes, and your gaze met his. The smile that spread across your face was one of pure love, your eyes softening as you looked at him. In that moment, all his insecurities melted away. You were his, and he was yours. It was as simple as that.

Kento leaned back in his chair, his own smile tugging at his lips as he continued to watch you. You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow, your expression playful as you caught him staring.

“See something you like?” you teased, your voice light and full of affection.

“Always, my love.” he replied, his voice deep and sincere. His gaze never left yours as he spoke, and you could see the intensity of his feelings reflected in his eyes. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You chuckled, a soft, melodic sound that made his heart skip a beat. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

Kento couldn’t help but grin at that, though his expression quickly turned serious again. “It drives me mad, you know,” he admitted, his voice low. “How beautiful you are. How you’re mine.”

The way he said it, with such raw emotion, made your heart flutter. There was something in his tone, something almost possessive, that sent a shiver down your spine. But it wasn’t a bad feeling. If anything, it made you feel even closer to him, knowing that he felt so deeply for you.

“And you’re mine.” you replied softly, reaching out to take his hand in yours. The simple touch seemed to calm him, his fingers threading through yours as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Your eyes narrowed on him. “Only mine.”

And then there was your possessiveness. You couldn’t deny it—you were just as bad as he was when it came to jealousy. You tried to play it cool, but the truth was, you were no better at hiding it than he was. The moment you noticed the women stealing glances at him, their eyes lingering on his broad shoulders, his chiseled features, you felt a wave of irritation wash over you.

It was subtle, but Kento could sense the tension in you, the way your posture stiffened, the way you shifted closer to him, almost instinctively, as if to stake your claim. You wanted the world to know that this man was yours and yours alone.

Just as it does now.

Because if you were being honest, your husband was the most beautiful man in the world. With his muscular build and tall six-foot frame, he was the epitome of masculine perfection. The way his long, muscular arms held that beer bottle in his massive palm, the casual strength in his grip, made your heart flutter. His chiseled jaw tightened as he glanced in the direction of the men who had dared to look your way, his bright brown eyes narrowing in a clear, unmistakable warning. He didn’t have to say a word—the message was loud and clear: stay away.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to break through. This man belonged to you, and he wanted everyone to be sure that they knew it. There was something undeniably satisfying about the way he made it so obvious, so deliberate. And you knew that he felt the same way about you. 

His gaze flicked back to you, softening when he saw the look in your eyes. It was a look that said, “I’m yours.” and it made your heart swell with love and possessiveness all over again.

You didn’t care if it was irrational, if it was a little bit crazy—this man was yours, and you were his. And you wanted everyone to know that you belonged to each other, that nothing and no one could come between you.

Kento must have sensed your thoughts, because he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “You know you’re the only one I see, right?”

His voice was deep, reassuring, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I know, babe." you whispered back, your fingers curling around his arm, feeling the solid muscle beneath his skin. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make sure everyone else knows it too.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes sparkling with amusement and something deeper, something more primal. “Good.” he said, his tone possessive and full of promise. “Because I’m not about to let anyone forget that you’re mine either.”

You grinned at that, the fiery possessiveness in his words matching your own. It was an unspoken agreement, a mutual understanding that neither of you would ever let anyone come between what you had. Because you both knew that what you had was rare, precious, and worth protecting at all costs.

As you stood there, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, you couldn’t help but marvel at how lucky you were. This beautiful, strong, and fiercely loyal man was yours. And you were his.

You pressed a kiss to his jaw, savoring the way he responded, the way his arm tightened around you just a little bit more. It was a simple gesture, but it carried the weight of everything you felt for him, everything you both felt for each other. This man belonged to you, and you belonged to him. And nothing in the world could change that.

It was a strange sort of dance, the two of you caught in a loop of possessiveness that neither could quite break free from. And yet, there was something oddly reassuring about it. In a world where you both faced so many uncertainties, where danger lurked around every corner, this shared jealousy was a reminder that you were both fiercely committed to each other. It wasn’t healthy, Kento knew that, but it was real. Even if you weren’t proud of it, even if Kento wasn’t proud of it — it was real. Between the two of you. It was love for you.

Still, the women’s gazes hadn’t wavered, you noticed. Their eyes still linger on your husband as if they had every right to admire him. The sight made your blood simmer, a protective, possessive streak flaring to life within you. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Kento—he was as loyal as they came—but you didn’t appreciate the way they were looking at him, as if he were something to be desired, something they could claim if they tried hard enough.

Your grip on his hand tightened as you leaned closer and you cast a glance in his direction. Kento, ever composed, was doing his best to ignore the attention, but you could see the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flickered to you as if seeking reassurance. He puts away the beer bottle on the side and looks to you again. 

A grin slowly spread across your lips as an idea formed. If those women wanted to look at your husband, you’d give them something to see—a clear, undeniable reminder that he was yours. You leaned in, your hand resting on his chest as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze.

Kento looked down at you, a question in his eyes, but before he could ask, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a hot, passionate kiss. The world around you faded as you poured all your love, your possessiveness, your desire into that kiss. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a statement. A declaration that this man, this incredible, strong, loyal man, was yours. And no one else had any right to him. He only belongs to you. Only you.

Kento’s initial surprise melted away as he responded in kind, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, pulling you even closer. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that matched your own, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body relaxed into yours as if nothing else mattered. Kento’s arms slowly wrap around the small of your back, kissing you even deeper. 

When you finally pulled back, you were breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. You could see the effect it had on him, the way his eyes had darkened with desire, the small, satisfied smile that tugged at his lips. You glanced over at the women who had been ogling him earlier. Their expressions had shifted—some were embarrassed, others annoyed, but all of them had gotten the message loud and clear.

Triumph surged through you as you turned back to Kento, your grin widening. “I think they got the point, babe.” you whispered, your voice teasing.

Kento chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over your lips as if to savor the moment. “I believe they did.” he murmured, his tone filled with warmth and a hint of amusement. “Though I must admit, I didn’t mind that at all.”

“Then…..can we continue this upstairs?”

Your husband’s eyes narrow, almost awakening something in him. “What do you have in mind?”

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

YOU DON’T THINK YOU WOULD EVER GET TIRED OF HIM. Nanami Kento always made you feel so many things—desire, love, passion—and you loved every bit of it. The tension between you had been building ever since that heated kiss on the beach, and as you made your way back to your hotel room, it only grew stronger.

Each step, each shared glance, every subtle touch added fuel to the fire burning between you. The anticipation was electric, and by the time you reached the door, it was like a dam waiting to burst.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the restraint you’d both been holding onto snapped. You pressed yourself against him, your lips crashing into his with a fervor that had your head spinning. It was as if you couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t close the gap between you fast enough. His hands roamed your body with a hunger that matched your own, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate, as you both succumbed to the need that had been simmering beneath the surface all day. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you back toward the bed as he claimed your mouth over and over again, each kiss more intense than the last.

You could feel his desire, the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch, the low growl that rumbled in his chest as you tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head. The moment the fabric hit the floor, his lips were back on yours, his hands working to free you from your bikini. The way he touched you, with a mix of reverence and raw need, sent shivers down your spine. He breaks the kiss.

“Kento, Kento….” you breathed finally, your voice trembling with anticipation as you felt his lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His hands moved with purpose, untying the strings of your bikini, and the sensation of the cool air against your bare skin only heightened the intensity of the moment.

He leaned back for just a moment, his gaze sweeping over you with a look of pure, unfiltered desire. “You’re perfect, my love.” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, before his lips were back on yours, more insistent this time, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a second.

Your hands found their way to the waistband of his beach shorts, your fingers trembling slightly as you pushed them down, the fabric pooling at his feet. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the way his hard, muscular frame pressed against you, and it sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

The bed hit the back of your knees, and before you knew it, you were tumbling onto the soft sheets, Kento following you down, his body covering yours in an instant. The weight of him, the feel of his skin against yours, was intoxicating. He presses his lips against yours again, the heat between your bodies burning you even more.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled as he deepened the kiss, his hands exploring every inch of your body as if he was trying to memorize you all over again. You could feel his arousal pressing against you, the heat of him throbbing against your thigh, and it sent a jolt of electricity through your body.

His lips left yours, trailing down your neck once again and across your collarbone, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched. The feeling of his mouth on your skin, combined with the way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, was almost too much to bear.

“Kento, babe.” you gasped, your voice breaking as he found that sensitive spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing the skin there in a way that made you arch against him, desperate for more. “It’s so….it’s so hot.”

“Tell me what you want, my love.” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and filled with need.

“You.” you breathed, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer, needing to feel every part of him against you. “I want you, Kento.”

The way he responded, with a deep, guttural groan, sent shivers down your spine. His hands moved to your thighs, spreading them apart as he settled between them. It was as though he found home again. You groaned as you felt his hands explore the exposed skin. He was enjoying this, you knew. He enjoyed teasing you.

“God, Kento.” you breathed out, your voice trembling with need. He was driving you wild, his touch lighting you up in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You needed more, needed him closer, needed to feel him in every possible way..

You could feel him pressing against you, his lips returning to yours in a kiss that was just as intense as before. It was almost too much, the way his body fit so perfectly against yours, the way his hands moved with such skill and tenderness, the way every inch of him seemed to be in tune with your needs.

The anticipation was building, the need for him becoming overwhelming as you felt his fingers deftly undo the last of your bikini top. The cool air of the room brushed against your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating between the two of you. You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, the desperate longing for him growing with each passing second.

Kento’s touch was everything—gentle and firm, demanding and patient all at once. The way he handled you, the way he made you feel, it was almost too much to bear, and yet you couldn’t get enough. You wanted more, needed more, and he seemed more than willing to give it to you. He liked to give you more and more, to satiate your greed.

Your bodies moved together with a rhythm that felt both familiar and electrifyingly new. The room was filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the soft rustle of sheets, and the occasional, intoxicating moans that slipped from your lips as Kento's hands roamed over your bare skin.

His touch was a maddening mix of tenderness and raw desire, each caress lighting a fire inside you that grew with every passing moment. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist, and the softness of thighs, lingering just long enough to make you gasp before moving on. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as his lips followed the path of his hands, kissing and nipping at every sensitive spot he could find.

You arched your back as his mouth moved lower, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone before trailing down to your chest. He took his time, savoring every inch of you as if he wanted to memorize the way you tasted, the way you felt beneath him. His tongue flicked over your nipple, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you that made your toes curl. You moaned his name, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, urging him on.

Kento responded with a low growl, the sound vibrating against your skin as he took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before letting his teeth graze the sensitive flesh. The sensation was almost too much to bear, your body reacting with a surge of heat that pooled between your thighs. You could feel the wetness there, the way your body was aching for him, and you knew that he could feel it too.

His hands slid down your sides, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips before dipping between your thighs. The first touch of his fingers against your slick heat made you cry out, your hips bucking involuntarily as you pressed yourself against his hand. He moved with agonizing slowness, teasing you with light, feathery touches that only made your desire grow stronger.

You could feel the tension building inside you, the need for release becoming almost unbearable as he continued to tease you. His fingers slipped between your folds, stroking you with a skill that had your head spinning. Each touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body trembling with anticipation as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. One after another, it was a pandemonium of pleasure. When you came, you sobbed as you felt his fingers tighten against your crevices.

“Kento, babe. Please.” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “Please, I need you.”

He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at you. There was something primal in his gaze, something that made your heart skip a beat. He wanted you just as badly as you wanted him, and that knowledge sent a thrill of excitement through you.He removed his fingers, licking them clean one after another, enjoying the taste of you. The sight of him made you even more wet.

“What do you want, my love?” He cooed at you. “Where do you want me?”

“Inside, Kento.” You muttered, your eyes beaming with pleasure. “Please, babe. Please.”

He didn’t make you wait any longer, his dear love. With a practiced ease, he positioned himself between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he guided himself to your entrance. The tip of his cock brushed against your swollen folds, and you could feel the heat of him, the way his length stretched you as he slowly pushed inside.

The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of him filling you completely making you gasp for air. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to anchor yourself in the whirlwind of pleasure that threatened to consume you.

Kento moved with deliberate, measured thrusts, each one sending a wave of ecstasy through your body that made your vision blur. He was gentle but firm, his pace steady as he worked to bring you both to the peak of pleasure. You could feel every inch of him inside you, the way he stretched you, filled you, in a way that made you feel utterly complete.

Your moans filled the room, each one growing louder as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with a growing urgency. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound almost drowned out by the symphony of your lovemaking. You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, the familiar pressure building as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

“Kento, I’m… I’m so close, babeeeeee!” you breathed out, your voice trembling with anticipation. You were right on the edge, teetering on the brink of a powerful release that you could feel building inside you like a storm.

“Let go, love.” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough with desire. “I’ve got you. Let go for me.”

His words were all you needed. With a final, powerful thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your body shattering into a million pieces as your orgasm ripped through you. You cried out his name, your voice breaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you, each one more intense than the last.

Kento followed you into bliss, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, his own release overtaking him. You could feel the warmth of him spilling into you, the way his body trembled against yours as he groaned your name, his voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, the world stood still. All you could feel was him, all you could hear was the sound of your racing hearts and the ragged breaths you both struggled to catch. He stayed inside you, his body pressed against yours as you both came down from the high, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through you.

Slowly, he pulled out, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness that was quickly replaced by the warmth of his arms wrapping around you. He pulled you close, holding you against his chest as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, love.” he whispered, his voice soft and full of sincerity. “So much.”

“I love you too, babe.” you murmured back, your voice barely above a whisper. Your body was spent, completely exhausted from the intensity of your lovemaking, but you felt content, safe, and utterly cherished in his arms.

As you lay there together, his arms tighten around you as if he never wanted to let you go. And in that moment, with the warmth of his body against yours and the sound of the waves crashing outside, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be—right here, in his arms, for as long as you both lived.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

epilogue

Later that evening, after the intensity of your earlier moments had faded into a comfortable, blissful haze, you found yourself curled up against Kento’s chest, his arm wrapped securely around you. You sighed, almost as though you were the most content in your entire life.

He’d already made sure to take care of you and clean you up, even making you some tea so that you could relax on your shared bed. And you love him for it. He always spoils you to no end. The sound of the waves outside your window was a soothing backdrop, lulling you into a state of utter contentment. 

As you lay there, a thought popped into your mind, one that made you grin mischievously. You tilted your head up to look at him, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on his chest.

“Kento, babe.” you began, your tone teasing, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Hm?” He glanced down at you, his expression warm and relaxed, though there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

You bit your lip to keep from grinning as you prepared to drop your bombshell. “You know how I’m always worried about you being a sorcerer and putting yourself in danger?”

He nodded, clearly not seeing where you were going with this. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that a few times.”

“Well, babe.” you continued, struggling to keep a straight face. “I’ve come up with the perfect solution to that problem.”

“And what’s that?” Kento asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think you should quit being a sorcerer and become my house–husband instead.” you announced with a grin.

There was a moment of silence as Kento processed what you’d just said. His usually stoic expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to determine whether or not you were serious. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and it only made it harder for you to hold back your laughter. He looked cute, when he's thinking, you like to believe.

“A… house–husband?” he repeated slowly, as if testing the word out on his tongue.

“Yes! A house–husband, babe.” you confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “You’d be amazing at it! You could cook, clean, and take care of everything at home while I go to work. And you’d never have to worry about exorcisms or curses or any of that dangerous stuff ever again.”

Kento blinked at you, his mouth opening as if to say something, then closing again as he reconsidered. Finally, a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “And what would I do all day at your house–husband?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d find plenty to do, babe.” you replied, barely able to keep a straight face. “You could perfect your cooking skills, learn how to fold the perfect fitted sheet, maybe even take up knitting! Plus, you’d have plenty of time to dote on me when I come home from work. Maybe even meet the old ladies at the corner store! They really like zumba, just as much as you do.”

At that, Kento let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Knitting, huh? I didn’t realize that was part of the job description.”

“Well, it’s optional.” you conceded with a giggle. “But I think you’d be really good at it.”

Kento shook his head, clearly amused by your antics. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious.” you replied, though the twinkle in your eyes betrayed your true intentions. “I mean, think about it. No more dangerous missions, no more fighting curses. Just a quiet, peaceful life at home with me. Grow old together and me spoiling my husband with bringing in the dough and you spoiling me with all your love. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

He considered it for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “It does sound nice.” he admitted, his tone still teasing. “But I’m not sure how I’d feel about giving up my job to become a… house–husband.”

“Oh, come on.” you coaxed, poking him playfully in the ribs. “You’d love it. And I’d love coming home to you every day. Plus, you’d look really cute in an apron.”

That finally did it. Your husband Kento burst out laughing, the sound rich and warm as it filled the room. You couldn’t help but join in, your own laughter mingling with his as you both imagined the ridiculousness of the idea. But you suppose the ridiculousness of it is what made it so touching. Life is always strange anyway, you think. And he knows that too. 

When the laughter finally subsided, Kento leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I appreciate the thought.” he said, his voice full of affection. “But for now,  I think I’ll stick to being a sorcerer for now. Though I have to admit, the idea of being your house–husband is tempting.”

“Tempting enough to reconsider?” you asked with a grin, though you knew his answer.

“Not quite, love.” he replied, chuckling. “But I’ll keep it in mind as a backup plan.”

“Deal.” you agreed, snuggling closer to him. “But just so you know, I’m not giving up on the idea entirely. You’d make an excellent house–husband. Mine only, of course.”

Kento smiled down at you, his eyes soft and filled with love. “And you’d make an excellent lawyer who brings home the bacon.”

“Then it’s settled.” you said, laughing. “We’ll just have to make sure you stay safe so I don’t have to resort to plan B.”

“With you by my side, love?  I have no doubt I will.” he murmured, kissing you softly as you both settled back into the peaceful, contented silence of the evening.