#and their specific dynamic is brilliant

[transmascxielian]

save me huaqing. really really good dynamic they should both be able to indulge their mutual urge to be a complete dick and also make out

[lesbiradshaw]

Olympic AUs are so underrated. lets discuss

[kiwriteswords]

Hello could I please request a fic where maybe the team doesnt like reader at first?

Winning Over the Kids [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 4.5k|| AN: Thank you for the request; I love seeing all of them come in <3 Feedback is also always welcomed! xx

Tags/Warnings: implied age-gap, reader is a forensic psychologist, no use of y/n, secret relationship, team dislikes reader at first, protective Hotch, no mention of Jack--so up to you if he exists or not lol, mirroring the Lo-Fi vibes with Kate Joyner/Hotch/Team, canon-typical themes, some fluff, team dynamics, established relationship

Sypnosis: When Erin Strauss contracts a forensic psychologist to work with the BAU Team, Aaron Hotchner isn't sure if he is more frustrated with the fact that they dislike you as their newest team member or as his secret girlfriend.

Aaron Hotchner had spent years mastering the art of control. His team relied on him to remain composed under pressure, a steady anchor in chaos. But when Erin Strauss informed him that she was contracting a forensic psychologist to assist the BAU, he felt his resolve stretch thin. Not because he doubted the decision—he knew you were exceptional—but because the team didn’t know the full story.

You were brilliant, sharp, and confident. You had risen through the ranks faster than most, your reputation built on precision and expertise. Yet, whispers of you being a “workaholic” and “cutthroat” followed you, a product of stereotypes surrounding young, successful women in high-stakes fields. Aaron had seen it before, but it infuriated him nonetheless, especially now that you were his… well, not officially, but close enough to feel the sting of those judgments on your behalf.

At the morning briefing, he broke the news. “The Bureau has decided to bring in a forensic psychologist to collaborate with us on our cases. She’ll be joining us starting tomorrow.”

Predictably, the room bristled.

“A shrink? Really?” Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “No offense, Hotch, but we kind of know how to read people.”

Emily Prentiss folded her arms. “Isn’t that the point of profiling? What does Strauss think we’ve been doing all this time?”

JJ added carefully, “Is this about our mental health? Are we supposed to… talk to her?”

Spencer Reid, ever the analyst, frowned. “I’ve read that forensic psychologists in consulting roles often critique operational dynamics. Could this be Strauss trying to monitor us?”

Aaron kept his face neutral, though he wanted to correct them all. You were nothing like what they imagined. “This isn’t about our capabilities. The psychologist has specific expertise in complex cases involving psychological manipulation. Her role is to supplement our efforts, not replace them.”

“Yeah, until she starts picking apart everything we do,” Derek muttered.

Aaron resisted the urge to snap. They didn’t know you yet. They didn’t see the meticulous care you put into every decision, or the softer moments when you let your guard down with him.

The next day, you arrived at Quantico with a polished confidence that turned heads. Ready to take on the next case, which was local to the BAU. 

You greeted the team with a professional demeanor, offering a firm handshake and an easy smile. But the tension was palpable. The team’s skepticism hung in the air like a storm cloud, and Aaron felt his jaw tighten as he observed their guarded reactions.

Derek kept his distance, observing you with a critical eye. Emily was polite but cool, and even JJ seemed uncertain about how to approach you. Spencer avoided eye contact altogether. Rossi…well, Rossi seemed to sit back and take it all in. 

“Let’s get to work,” Aaron said, more curtly than he intended, leading the group into the roundtable room.

You took a seat beside him, your notebook open and pen poised. “I’ve reviewed the case files,” you began, your voice steady and self-assured. “The unsub’s behavior suggests a deep-seated fear of abandonment, likely rooted in childhood trauma. But the escalation pattern indicates recent stressors. Have you explored potential triggers within the last six months?”

Reid blinked, clearly taken aback. “We—uh, we considered family dynamics, but we didn’t narrow the timeline that specifically.”

Your sharp gaze turned to him, not unkindly. “It’s worth revisiting. The timeline could give us a better idea of who influenced him most recently.”

Aaron noticed the way Reid shifted uncomfortably, and it grated on him. You were offering valuable insights, yet the team’s resistance was evident.

After the briefing, Derek muttered to Emily, loud enough for Aaron to hear, “Well, she doesn’t waste time, does she?”

Aaron’s patience wore thin. “Morgan, a word,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

In his office, Aaron shut the door and faced Derek. “What’s your problem with her?”

Derek raised his hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t say anything she didn’t earn. She walks in here acting like she knows everything. What do you expect us to do—roll out the red carpet?”

“I expect you to treat her with the same respect you’d give any other professional,” Aaron snapped. “She’s here because she’s the best at what she does, and we need her expertise. Whatever preconceived notions you have, leave them at the door.”

Derek frowned but nodded. “Got it, Hotch.”

Aaron exhaled slowly after Derek left. He knew he couldn’t shield you completely, but it infuriated him that he had to watch you navigate the team’s cold reception.

That evening, after everyone had gone home, you found Aaron in his office. You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, crossing your arms. “So, how bad was it?”

He looked up from his desk, his expression softening. “They’ll come around.”

You smirked, though your eyes held a flicker of vulnerability. “I’m not holding my breath.”

Aaron stood and walked over to you, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to prove yourself to them. I know who you are, and eventually, they will too.”

You tilted your head, a teasing smile breaking through. “Is that your way of saying you’re proud of me, Agent Hotchner?”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Always.”

For a moment, the weight of the day lifted. Here, behind closed doors, you didn’t have to be the prodigy or the psychologist with a reputation. You were just you, and Aaron was fiercely determined to make sure the team saw that too—someday.

The next morning, as Aaron walked into Quantico, he noticed a huddle forming near Penelope’s desk. Derek, Emily, Spencer, JJ, and Penelope stood together, their voices low but animated. He had planned to keep walking, but a snippet of their conversation caught his attention.

“I’m telling you, I heard she’s impossible to work with,” Penelope whispered, her usual warmth absent.

“Yeah, and she’s already showing it,” Derek added. “Control issues, first day on the job.”

“So far, It’s just one case,” Emily said, though her tone was skeptical. “But she’s definitely… intense.”

“We don’t need someone analyzing us while we’re trying to profile an unsub,” JJ muttered.

“I don’t think she’s here for that,” Reid said hesitantly. “But… yeah, I’ve heard the whispers too.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened as he listened. He wanted to intervene, to defend you, but he bit his tongue. This wasn’t the time. Instead, he walked away, the sting of their words lingering. He felt almost betrayed. His team was usually better than this. They prided themselves on fairness, on seeing beyond the surface. But in this case, they were clinging to gossip and prejudice, and it hurt more than he wanted to admit.

When you arrived, you carried yourself with the same poise and determination Aaron admired. You greeted the team briefly, your no-nonsense demeanor firmly in place. “Let’s get to work,” you said, spreading the case files across the conference table.

Your approach was methodical and efficient, and though Aaron knew it was how you operated, he could see how it rubbed the team the wrong way. They weren’t used to outsiders, especially not ones who came in with your level of authority and expertise. But they were professionals, and they pushed their reservations aside as the case progressed.

Aaron watched you closely throughout the day. You were unflinching in your analysis, your insights sharp and accurate. When you spoke, your voice carried confidence, but he could sense the subtle edge in your tone—a shield you had learned to wield over years of proving yourself.

After the case briefing wrapped up, Aaron found you in one of the quieter corners of the office. You were reviewing your notes, your expression focused but unreadable.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his voice low.

You glanced up, a small smile playing at your lips. “I’m fine, Aaron. It’s not my first rodeo.”

He stepped closer, his brows furrowing. “I’ve heard some of the things they’ve said,” he admitted. “They don’t know you, and they’re wrong. I’m sorry for how unwelcoming they’ve been.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “You don’t have to apologize for them. I get it. They’re protective of their team, and I’m an outsider. It’ll take time.”

“It shouldn’t have to,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. He softened, adding, “You shouldn’t have to prove yourself to them.”

Your smile widened, though there was a flicker of something softer in your eyes. “I’ve been proving myself my whole life, Aaron. This is nothing new. Besides, I’ve got you in my corner, right?”

“Always,” he said without hesitation.

For a moment, the weight of the day lifted, and he allowed himself to take comfort in your resilience. But as he returned to the team, he resolved to address their behavior. They needed to see you for who you truly were—and he wouldn’t rest until they did.

During the next case you assisted on, the tension had been simmering all day, and Aaron could feel it building like a storm. You had just delivered a sharp, insightful breakdown of the unsub’s likely behavior patterns, pointing out inconsistencies in the case file that had gone unnoticed. It was the kind of analysis that would have earned respect from anyone else, but not today. Not from this team, not yet.

The briefing room was quiet for a moment after you finished speaking. Emily exchanged a glance with Derek, and JJ tapped her pen against the table, her lips pressed into a thin line. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating.

“That’s… an interesting perspective,” Derek said, leaning back in his chair. His tone was polite, but Aaron caught the subtle edge, the unspoken doubt.

You didn’t falter. “It’s not just a perspective,” you replied, your voice calm and measured. “The data supports it. If you cross-reference the victimology with the geographic profile—”

“We get it,” Emily interrupted, her tone sharper than usual. “But we’ve been doing this a long time. We know how to read behavior.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened. He glanced at you, but your expression remained composed, even as he could see the faint tension in your posture. You nodded slightly, as if conceding the point, and continued reviewing the case files without another word.

The meeting wrapped soon after, but Aaron lingered behind, pretending to organize his notes. That’s when he heard it.

“I don’t know how much longer I can deal with her,” Emily muttered as the others gathered near the coffee station. “She’s so… clinical. It’s like she doesn’t even care about the victims, just the data.”

“She’s got control issues, for sure,” Derek added. “Like she’s got something to prove.”

JJ sighed. “Maybe Strauss sent her to micromanage us. I mean, why else would she be here? We’re already the best at what we do.”

Aaron slammed his folder shut, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. The team froze, turning to see him standing there, his expression dark and unreadable.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low but laced with unmistakable anger. He stepped toward them, his gaze sweeping over each of them. “I don’t know what’s more disappointing--your lack of professionalism or your willingness to tear someone down based on assumptions and gossip.”

The team exchanged uneasy glances, but no one spoke.

“You think she’s here to micromanage you? She’s here to help. And the fact that you can’t see the value in her insights says more about your egos than it does about her methods.”

“Hotch, we didn’t mean—” JJ started, but he cut her off.

“No,” he said firmly. “You did mean it. And if you spent half as much energy working with her as you do undermining her, we’d be a hell of a lot closer to catching this unsub.”

The room fell silent. Aaron rarely raised his voice, and when he did, it carried the weight of finality. He let the silence hang for a moment before he continued.

“She’s not here to prove herself to you. She’s already proven herself, time and time again. It’s time for you to rise to her level, not drag her down to yours.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he’d have to address this further later, but for now, he needed to find you. He wanted to make sure you were okay to remind you, in whatever small way he could, that he was still in your corner. Always.

Aaron Hotchner found you where he expected to: in one of the unused offices, deep in thought over the case files. You were perched on the edge of the desk, flipping through pages with a sharp focus that never failed to impress him. The tension he’d carried since leaving the briefing room eased slightly when he saw how calm you were.

You didn’t even look up when he stepped inside. “Didn’t expect you to find me so quickly,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Aaron leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I needed to check in. The team…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “They were out of line.”

That made you pause. You glanced up at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Aaron, it’s fine,” you said, setting the file down. “I’ve been in this position before. People don’t like change, and they don’t like outsiders. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be,” he replied, his voice firmer than he intended. “It’s not fair, and it’s not professional.”

You tilted your head, studying him in that way you always did when you were about to cut through the noise. “They don’t know, Aaron. About us.” Your tone was even, but there was a hint of something deeper there--not accusation, just acknowledgment.

He stiffened slightly, but nodded. “They don’t. And I’d prefer to keep it that way. For now.”

You let out a quiet hum, leaning back on your hands. “For now, sure. But you should think about it. They’re already questioning why you’re defending me. If they find out later that it’s because we’re involved, it won’t sit well with them. They’ll feel like you’ve been hiding something important.”

“They’ll feel betrayed,” Aaron said, the weight of the truth settling over him.

You nodded, a small, knowing smile on your face. “Exactly. Look, I can handle their doubts, their gossip, whatever they want to throw at me. But you need to decide how long you want to keep this a secret. They’re your team. They’re loyal to you. But they also need to trust you.”

Aaron stepped further into the room, his expression softening as he regarded you. “You don’t care what they think of you, do you?”

“Not even a little,” you said with a shrug, your confidence steady. “I’ve spent years dealing with this kind of thing. It’s not new, and it doesn’t bother me. What does bother me,” you added, meeting his eyes, “is the idea of this coming out later and making things harder for you. Or for us.”

Aaron let out a slow breath, running a hand over the back of his neck. You were right, of course. You always were. He couldn’t keep this from his team forever, and things with you had grown too serious for him to pretend otherwise. He had never been one to let his personal life interfere with his work, but this was different. You were different.

“This is serious,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You arched a brow, a teasing smile breaking through. “Wow, Aaron. Way to make a girl feel special.”

He stepped closer, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “You know what I mean. Things are serious between us. You’re not going anywhere, and neither is the team. I need to find a way to make this work.”

You softened, your hand brushing against his as he stood next to you. “You will. They’ll come around, Aaron. And if they don’t, well…” You shrugged, the corner of your mouth lifting in a smirk. “I’m not going anywhere either.”

Aaron felt a warmth spread through him, a rare sense of peace in the midst of the chaos. You were right, as always. He would figure it out--not just because he had to, but because you were worth it.

And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that it would all work out.

Aaron Hotchner had always believed in leading by example. Transparency, fairness, and honesty were core tenets of how he ran his team, and they had rewarded him with loyalty and mutual respect. But as he stood in the conference room, waiting for his team to gather for an unscheduled meeting, he knew he had failed to uphold one of those principles.

The team filtered in, curiosity and unease written across their faces. JJ and Emily exchanged glances, Reid clutched his ever-present notebook, and Derek leaned against the edge of the table with his arms crossed. Penelope, usually lighthearted, looked slightly nervous. Rossi lingered at the back, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in thought.

When the door closed, Aaron cleared his throat and took a steadying breath. “I asked you all here because there’s something I need to address—something I should have told you from the beginning.”

The team straightened, their collective focus sharpening. Aaron had their attention.

“You’ve all expressed concerns about having a forensic psychologist embedded in the team,” he began, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve questioned her presence, her methods, and, frankly, her character. Some of those comments have been professional disagreements, but others have crossed the line. I’ve let it continue longer than I should have, and for that, I take responsibility.”

Emily shifted uncomfortably while Morgan frowned. Reid’s brow furrowed in confusion, his pen tapping lightly against his notebook. Rossi, though silent, tilted his head slightly, a knowing look flickering across his face.

Aaron met each of their gazes in turn, his tone unwavering. “The reason I know she’s good at her job—why I trust her, and why I know she’s not here to spy on us or undermine our work—is because I’ve been seeing her outside of work. For a while now.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Reid blinked rapidly, his pen freezing mid-air. JJ’s mouth opened slightly as if to speak, and Penelope let out a small, involuntary gasp. Derek sat up straighter, his brows furrowed in disbelief. Emily’s eyes widened, but she quickly masked her surprise. Rossi, however, didn’t look shocked at all. Instead, his lips quirked into the faintest of smirks, as though confirming a suspicion.

“I had no say in her placement on this team,” Aaron continued, his voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Strauss made the decision, and she made it clear that the reason is simple: she’s the best. You’ve seen it for yourselves, even if you haven’t wanted to admit it. Her insights have already helped move this case forward. She is not your enemy, nor is she here to judge you.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. “I didn’t disclose our relationship because I wanted to keep our personal lives separate from our professional ones. But as your Unit Chief and as her partner, I will not tolerate disrespect toward her—whether it’s behind her back or to her face.”

Reid, finally finding his voice, asked hesitantly, “Does she…know about us? I mean, our dynamics, our methods? Or does she see us as part of the problem?”

Aaron’s expression softened slightly as he addressed the question. “She knows exactly who you are and how good you are at what you do. She’s here to help you do your jobs better, not to interfere. But she also deserves the same respect you’d give any other member of this team.”

Rossi finally spoke, his tone measured. “And you think telling us this now is going to smooth things over?” His words weren’t accusatory, but they carried weight.

“I think,” Aaron replied, meeting Rossi’s gaze, “that you deserved to know the truth. And I think it’s time we focus on the job at hand rather than creating divisions that don’t need to exist.”

The silence lingered until Derek broke it. “Hotch, we didn’t mean to—”

Aaron held up a hand. “I know you didn’t mean harm, but intentions don’t erase the impact. This team works because we trust each other. That trust goes both ways. If there’s something you need to say, say it to me or to her directly. Gossip and disrespect have no place here.”

JJ nodded, her expression softening. “You’re right. We were out of line. I think…I think we just felt blindsided.”

Aaron’s tone eased, though it remained firm. “I understand. Change isn’t easy, but it’s necessary. You’ll see soon enough why she’s here. Until then, I need your cooperation.”

Emily exchanged a glance with Morgan, then nodded. “We’ll work on it. I promise.”

Rossi gave a small nod of approval, his smirk gone but his understanding clear. “She’s good, Aaron. I’ve seen it. Let’s make sure the rest of the team sees it too.”

Reid looked thoughtful, his pen tapping rhythmically again. “I think we can…adjust. If she’s here to make us better, that’s not a bad thing.”

Aaron gave a single nod, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Good. That’s all I wanted to say. Dismissed.”

As the team filed out, murmuring quietly among themselves, Rossi lingered behind. “You know,” he said, crossing his arms, “you could’ve just told me this a week ago.”

Aaron allowed himself the faintest smile. “Would it have made a difference?”

“Probably not,” Rossi said with a shrug, “but it would’ve saved you the speech.” With that, he left, leaving Aaron alone to gather his thoughts.

For now, he had taken the first step. And he could only hope it was enough.

Over the next few days, Aaron began to notice subtle shifts in his team’s behavior toward you. It wasn’t immediate, nor was it dramatic, but the signs were there. During case briefings, they no longer exchanged skeptical glances when you spoke. Instead, they began nodding along or even asking follow-up questions. Derek, who had been one of the most vocal skeptics, offered a rare compliment about your interrogation technique after a successful suspect interview.

“She’s got a way of getting under people’s skin,” Morgan admitted to Rossi when he thought Aaron wasn’t listening. “In a good way, I guess.”

Aaron didn’t respond, but he tucked the comment away, feeling an unspoken sense of satisfaction.

Even Reid, who had initially kept his distance, began peppering you with questions about your graduate work. You seemed to enjoy indulging him, discussing obscure psychological theories with the same enthusiasm he brought to the conversation. JJ and Emily followed suit, no longer as guarded, and Penelope—while still wary—had gone out of her way to show you how to use the BAU’s internal systems.

Aaron observed it all with quiet pride. His team was warming up to you, just as he had hoped, and it wasn’t because he’d told them to—it was because of you. Your intelligence, your confidence, and your ability to adapt were slowly breaking down the barriers they’d put up.

That evening, as the two of you wrapped up some paperwork in his office, you leaned back in your chair and smirked at him. “You know,” you said, your voice light with amusement, “you’re enjoying this way too much.”

Aaron looked up from his file, one brow raised. “Enjoying what?”

“You’re like the team dad,” you teased, crossing your arms. “All broody and protective, wanting the stepmom to be liked by the kids.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, low and rich. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” you shot back, grinning. “Because I think you’ve been paying more attention to their approval ratings for me than I have.”

He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head but still smiling. “Maybe. But only because I know how much they mean to you—and how much you mean to me. I want this to work.”

Your expression softened, and for a moment, the teasing dropped. “It already is, Aaron. You don’t have to worry.”

His smile lingered as he looked at you, the tension that had been weighing on him for weeks finally starting to lift.

The real sign of progress came at the end of the week. The team had just wrapped up a grueling case, and as everyone packed up their things, Derek clapped his hands together.

“Alright, we’re going out. Drinks, food, and maybe a little dancing. Who’s in?”

JJ and Emily immediately agreed, and Reid nodded hesitantly, though he muttered something about “just one drink.” Rossi chuckled but offered a quick “Count me in.” Penelope looked around, her bright demeanor back in full force. “Where are we going? And more importantly, is there karaoke?”

Derek laughed. “No promises, Garcia.”

Then, almost casually, JJ turned to you. “You should come,” she said, her tone friendly and genuine. “You’ve had a long week too. You deserve to relax a little.”

Aaron didn’t miss the slight hesitation in your posture before you smiled. “I might take you up on that.”

“Good,” JJ said, already texting someone. “It’ll be fun.”

Aaron stayed silent, watching the moment unfold. The invitation wasn’t forced or reluctant—it was sincere. It was an olive branch, extended without fanfare, and he could tell by the look on your face that you recognized it for what it was.

As the team began filing out, chatting about where to go, you lingered by his desk. “That was unexpected,” you said quietly, glancing at him with a small smile.

“They’re coming around,” Aaron replied, his voice equally soft. “I told you they would.”

You smirked. “Well, Dad, looks like the kids like the stepmom after all.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stood. “Let’s just hope I can keep them from embarrassing us tonight.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” you teased, grabbing your bag. “Now, come on. You’ve got to show me if Unit Chief Hotchner can actually let loose.”

As you both headed out to join the others, Aaron felt a rare lightness in his chest. Things were falling into place—his team, you, everything. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to enjoy it. 

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

[lenalvthor]

hey i have a fucking bone to pick with sapphic fandoms

like, i get it okay. i've been on tumblr since 2011, i was in the trenches during the bury your gays nightmare, i grew up on buffy, i watched the 100, i've been through the furious and devastating queerbaits, and i've watched helplessly as the boom of proper progress with sapphic rep has burned and disappeared with the faults of the industry as it is rn and the resurgence of bury your gays in the form of tv cancellations

i even did a fucking guest lecture for a film & tv university course a couple years ago on all of this

we joke about the fact that queer (specifically sapphic) fans flock to any show with the barest hint of rep in it because we're so starved for it, and we talk about the fact that if nothing else, that proves that there's a market and an audience and it usually creates a huge wave of viewership and attention for the show

but i need to fucking point out: acting as though a show exists for the sole purpose of the sapphic relationship you've started watching it for is fucking detrimental to how you'll perceive the show, how it'll get talked about in fandom spaces and then beyond that (bc the line between fandom spaces and wider online discussion of media is a lot thinner than it was ten years ago) and isn't actually going to do any good for sapphic rep! like, at all! because guess what! unless you're watching a show where the entire storyline revolves around romance, this couple you're watching for ISN'T going to be the centre of the story! it's a part of it! and there's such a weird fucking entitled toxicity to how fans act around brilliant storytelling and worldbuilding and writing and characters throwing tantrums about not getting more screentime for the relationship they like because they don't actually care about any other part of the story. and the thing about people who watch something solely for a ship rather than the wider story it exists in, is that a lot of the time, you'll fundamentally misinterpret the characters and their dynamic because you're not taking any of the wider context of the world and story into account at all.

and yes, of course i'm talking about agatha all along in the immediacy. because we knew a long, long time ago that billy maximoff was gonna be an integral part of this story, long before we knew anything about what the vibe of this show was gonna be, long before anyone even had the tiniest whisper of rio's existence. the same way wandavision was monica rambeau's origin story even though the show was wanda's, we suspected that agatha all along would be billy's/wiccan's origin story even if the show focused on agatha. and you know fucking what. that's good fucking storytelling. this show is smart, it's funny, it's curious, it's campy, it's queer, and it's ensemble. that's always been the point. agatha and rio were a delightfully unexpected part of it that added such delicious tension and phenomenal sapphic rep, but you know what else! the point of that dynamic is to flesh out agatha's character! this show isn't about agatha and rio! it's about agatha and billy, who they are, how their pasts and their magic are connected, their traumas and their power and how the road shapes their futures! rio is a part of exploring agatha's past, and it's phenomenal, but i am so fucking bewildered by the ridiculousness of people's reactions to billy now having a bigger part in the story and there being less focus on agatha and rio. you do know that you write scenes and characters and stories in a way that makes sense right? that because of the nature of this show, even if we don't get more than a handful agatha and rio scenes for the rest of the episodes, they're both still sapphic characters, this is still wonderful sapphic rep, and this show is still very, very queer?

like, it's obviously not fair that we have to beg for scraps to have queer shows to watch. but that doesn't mean that any of us get to do such a fucking disservice to the people who make amazing shows and fight to put sapphic rep in them within the contexts of the stories they're telling by whining that it's not enough. what we're getting with agatha all along, what kathryn han and aubrey plaza and jac schaeffer have said with such grace and nuance and intrigue and depth about agatha and rio's relationship, is so fucking rare! and it's nestled within a story that's got so much other intricate storytelling that makes agatha and rio richer characters when you actually pay some fucking attention and care about who they are outside of their sexual tension!

and i'm saying this because this is an issue i see with So many other shows, where the worth of a show gets boiled down to fandoms wanting content of their ship and nothing else and then poisoning the conversation and reception around what else it is that show is doing with its story. idk get some fucking media literacy, grow up and respect artists and creatives.

[cbeargyu]

what if a professor yeonjun, like your tryingnto pass his subject but things took a turn for the worse(?)

TEACHER'S PET

summary: you're halfway through your sixth semester of korean literature when professor yeonjun becomes something you never expected. strict, disciplined, and impossibly attractive, he always keeps his distance — until you start finding ways to get his attention. your chemistry is undeniable, and one night, the tension between you finally breaks. now, you're caught in a dangerous game where his praise and control are all you crave.

pairing: teacher!yeonjun x student!reader

genre: smut, dom/sub, teacher/student, praise, worship, slow burn, dark romance.

warnings: explicit content, power dynamics, age gap, manipulation, consent issues, rough sex, dirty talk, possessiveness, adult themes, dominance, and submission.

wc: 6,4k

notes: i’ll just say one word: HORNY

you’re halfway through your sixth semester of korean literature when professor choi starts becoming something else.

not that he wasn’t already magnetic in his own cold, untouchable way — no one misses his entrance when he steps into the lecture hall. tall, composed, his posture always impossibly straight, sharp jaw clean-shaven, hair perfectly styled. he doesn’t rush, doesn’t stumble, never second-guesses his words. and he’s always in those immaculate suits, dark and crisp, tailored within an inch of their life, like they were cut specifically for his body. the kind of man who doesn’t need to raise his voice to be heard.

a single glance from him carries more weight than a paragraph of scolding from any other professor. he rarely smiles. never laughs.

his voice is low, deliberate, and terrifyingly calm — the sort of calm that unsettles, that keeps people on edge. everything about him radiates discipline, control, a restrained sort of dominance that makes students sit straighter in their chairs without realizing, makes them go silent before he’s even said a word.

he’s always been that way — precise, unapproachable — but lately, something’s changed. maybe it’s the heat creeping into the city, the way spring’s begun to press against the windows and sneak into the folds of everyday routine. or maybe it’s the way he’s adjusted to it: losing the jacket sometime between office hours and lecture, rolling up the sleeves of his pristine white shirt as if it’s nothing, revealing strong forearms, veins barely visible beneath smooth skin, the subtle flex of muscle as he writes across the board. his watch — black leather band, silver face — rests snugly against his wrist, catching the light.

it’s a small change, but it wrecks the room. girls who used to barely make it to class on time now arrive early, hair done, lip gloss shining, pretending to read while stealing glances every time he turns.

and still, he never gives them anything. he doesn’t flirt. he doesn’t linger. he doesn’t even make eye contact unless he hasto. he finishes his lectures right on time, closes his laptop, gathers his things, and vanishes down the hallway like a shadow that doesn’t belong to this world. some students have joked that he sleeps in the faculty office. others say he doesn’t sleep at all.

but for some reason — you’re different.

you’re not sure when it started, but it’s clear. he knows your name, your handwriting, the way you think. he returns your essays with his signature red annotations, always concise, always insightful — and once, once, he underlined a sentence and wrote just one word beside it: brilliant. and that one word sat in your chest for days. he asks you to help him distribute materials, to collect papers, to make extra copies when needed. he trusts you. you’re always the one he calls to the front when there’s something more technical to handle. nothing inappropriate. never even borderline. but it’s always you.

you’re the top of the class, and he treats you like it — but sometimes, you wonder if it’s more than just academic. sometimes, you want it to be.

that afternoon, the air is unusually heavy, the kind of warm that sticks to your skin and makes everyone slightly irritable, slightly sluggish. the windows are open, but they do nothing. the fans click lazily overhead. you’re wearing one of your usual skirts — neat, within code, but undeniably short — and he’s in his shirtsleeves again, collar open just enough to make your eyes catch there. he’s halfway through a lecture on mid-century poetry, voice smooth as ink over paper, when he gestures for you without breaking his rhythm.

“copies for the next class,” he murmurs, pen still sliding across the attendance sheet, head down.

you nod, standing from your seat with the casual ease of someone used to being called. the rest of the class barely glances up. you walk to his desk, hips swaying slightly, fingers brushing the edge as you reach for the stack of printed pages.

and that’s when it happens.

he looks.

not in passing — not the impersonal sweep of a professor monitoring a student’s approach — but really looks. his gaze drops, and it doesn’t move. it lands just above your knee, where your skirt lifts slightly as you lean forward. you can feel the heat of his stare like sunlight against bare skin. there’s a flicker of something raw and real in that second — not restrained, not filtered through professionalism, but human. male.

you don’t say anything. you don’t have to.

his breath catches, ever so faintly. his adam’s apple moves.

and then, like he’s realized too late that he’s given himself away, his eyes shoot up — fast, sharp — locking with yours.

for a split second, there’s nothing between you but tension. not the kind that can be laughed off or misread. it’s the kind that coils low in your stomach, that makes your fingers twitch and your heart pound and your thighs press together on instinct.

his expression doesn’t change. he doesn’t speak. but something in the set of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes, tells you everything.

you straighten slowly, the papers clutched in your hand, and your fingertips brush the wood of his desk — a silent connection, brief and electric. he doesn’t move. neither do you.

then he clears his throat, a quiet sound, but rough — hoarse in a way you’ve never heard before.

“thank you.”

the words are simple. but the way he says them... you feel them. low in your belly.

and as you return to your seat, every step feels heavier. like something has shifted. like a line has been crossed — not fully, not yet, but enough that it’s there, smoldering just beneath the surface.

and you know — so does he — that it’s only a matter of time.

you leave the lecture hall with the rest of the students, but your steps are slower, deliberate, your mind replaying that single second — the way his gaze lingered, the flicker of tension, the sound of his voice when he said thank you like it wasn’t just about the papers. outside, the air is sticky with spring, warm enough that your thighs cling faintly with each step. you can feel your pulse where it shouldn’t be, in places no professor should ever reach — and he hasn’t, not yet, not even with his hands or his mouth, but his eyes touched you today. and it’s not something you can forget.

you don’t get far before you hear your name behind you. calm. commanding.

“can you stay for a moment?”

your body answers before your mouth does. you turn back around, nodding, eyes wide, heart stammering like you didn’t spend the entire walk out hoping he’d stop you. he holds the door open, just slightly, enough to let you pass back into the lecture hall once the corridor clears.

inside, the room is quieter now. emptier. there’s still heat, clinging to the walls, to the seats, to your skin. he doesn’t say anything at first, just gathers the remaining papers from his desk and gestures toward the back door — the one that leads to the inner corridor, the private hallway professors use to access their offices.

he doesn’t wait for you to follow. he knows you will.

you walk behind him, eyes drawn to the curve of his back, the strong, clean lines of his body even beneath something as simple as a white dress shirt. he moves with a purpose that makes you nervous. when he unlocks his office, the sound of the key turning echoes too loud in your ears.

it’s cooler inside. the light softer. the door closes behind you with a dull, final click, and suddenly it’s just the two of you, the air between you charged and private and wrong in all the ways that make your skin tingle.

he doesn’t sit behind his desk this time. he leans against it, arms crossed, sleeves still rolled, watch still gleaming on his wrist. he watches you. quietly. intently.

“i wanted to talk about your last essay,” he starts, and his voice is back to that measured, even tone you’ve come to crave. “it was... different.”

you stand a few feet from him, bag still slung over your shoulder, fingers curled tight around the strap.

“different?” you echo, your voice softer than you mean it to be.

he nods. “you went beyond the assigned reading. contextualized the text through secondary sources, philosophical frameworks. you didn’t have to.”

you shrug a little, trying to sound casual. “i thought it would... strengthen my argument.”

he looks at you, his gaze steady, unreadable. “did you?”

you hesitate.

and then, you say the thing you’ve been swallowing for weeks. maybe longer.

“i did it so you’d notice.”

his posture doesn’t shift, but something in the air does — a sharp crackle, invisible but unmistakable. you breathe out slowly, your chest tight, like you’ve crossed some threshold you can’t walk back from.

“i do everything right,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper, “i hand in everything early. i study more than i have to. i volunteer. i do the extra work. i — i watch you. i listen so carefully. and you never...” your throat tightens. “you never give anything away.”

he’s quiet for a moment. then he straightens.

walks around his desk slowly.

each step feels deliberate, measured, heavy in a way that makes your spine tingle.

he stops in front of you.

too close.

close enough that you can smell him — the faint scent of something clean and warm, like cedar and laundry soap and static heat.

“you think i haven’t noticed?” he says softly.

you look up at him, your breath caught between your ribs. his eyes burn into yours — not angry, not cold, but sharp with something else. something older. deeper. restrained.

“every essay,” he murmurs. “every time you raise your hand. the way you sit at the front, the way you’re always two steps ahead. you’re not just good. you’re brilliant. and you know what that does to a man who’s used to mediocrity.”

your breath shudders out of you. your knees feel a little weak.

he takes one step closer.

his voice dips lower. more dangerous.

“you crave praise,” he says. “don’t you?”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“you want more than a grade,” he says, and this time, there’s something else in his voice — reverence, almost. something like awe. “you want to be seen. worshipped.”

you nod before you realize you’ve moved. “yes.”

his eyes darken.

“you don’t just want approval,” he murmurs. “you want to be mine.”

the words hang there, suspended in the space between you, electric and terrifying and perfect.

you feel your thighs press together, your fingers twitch at your sides. your breathing is shallow. it feels like the world has narrowed down to this exact moment — this man, this room, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most dangerous thing he’s ever let get this close.

and then his eyes drop.

slow.

scorching.

they rake down your body — over your lips, your throat, the swell of your chest, the hem of your skirt — until they settle on your legs. bare. still slightly flushed from the heat.

“you wear these,” he says, voice low and tight, “and you act like it’s nothing. like you’re innocent. but you want me to look. you’ve wanted it every time.”

you can’t speak. you’re trembling — not with fear, but with the unbearable ache of being understood.

his fingers move — just slightly — brushing a paper off his desk, his knuckles grazing the edge, so close to your waist you stop breathing.

“you don’t want discipline,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “you want devotion.”

his eyes meet yours again, and this time, the mask is gone.

and what’s beneath it is dangerous. hungry.

but he hasn’t touched you. not yet.

and somehow, that’s worse than if he had.

his gaze doesn’t move from yours — heavy, reverent, consuming — but his hand lifts, slow and sure, brushing the air like it’s just discovered the right to touch.

“look at you,” he murmurs, like a confession. “so fucking perfect.”

your breath catches, and he sees it. sees the way your thighs shift just slightly, your lips part like you’re about to speak but can’t quite find the shape of the words. his hand lowers, lands gently on your hip, firm but not rough. fingers spreading, slow as sin, as if to measure how much of you he can claim with one palm.

“do you even realize,” he whispers, leaning in just enough that his breath grazes your ear, “what you do to me?”

you shiver.

he lets the silence stretch, deliberate, letting the weight of his touch anchor you in the heat building between your skin and his. his hand slides down over the curve of your ass — nothing rushed, just exploring, mapping it like it’s sacred. he squeezes softly, almost experimentally, and hums.

“god,” he mutters. “you feel even better than i imagined.”

you whimper at that — softly, involuntarily — and the sound makes something shift in him.

both hands are on you now, large and warm, kneading your ass in slow, indulgent motions, as if he’s been waiting a lifetime just to touch you like this. he groans under his breath, the sound rough, low in his chest.

“you like this,” he says, not asking. stating. owning it. “you like being touched. praised. adored.”

you nod, breathless. “yes—”

the sound barely escapes before it’s ripped apart by the crack that fills the room.

his palms land hard — both hands slapping the flesh of your ass with a force that makes your body jolt forward, eyes wide, mouth falling open in a sharp gasp that turns into a helpless moan.

“ah—!”

his hands immediately return to you, rougher now, gripping hard, dragging you back into his hold like he dares the air to take you from him.

“that’s it,” he growls, voice tight, burning. “so fucking good for me. i’ve been watching you — every little skirt, every smart little answer, the way you look at me like you know i’d ruin you if i ever touched you.”

his fingers dig into the flesh, thumbs pressing deep, kneading you with a hunger that borders on reverence.

“and you want it, don’t you?” he whispers, voice thick, sinful. “you want to be handled. worshipped. broken the right way.”

your head nods before your mouth even catches up. “yes— please—”

his fingers find the hem of your skirt then — finally — and push it up. not fast. not impatient.

he does it slow, like he’s unwrapping a gift he’s waited too long to open. like your skin is something sacred he’s waited to uncover.

the fabric lifts inch by inch, and you feel the air hit the backs of your thighs, feel the way his breath stutters the moment he sees the curve of your ass fully revealed beneath the soft fabric of your panties.

“fuck,” he breathes, low and reverent. “look at you.”

he palms your ass again, skin to skin now, the heat of him burning into you. he slides his hand between your thighs — not yet touching where you ache, but close enough that your knees threaten to buckle. he pulls you back against him, slow and hard, until you can feel the thick press of him behind his slacks, hot and heavy and so fucking there.

“do you feel that?” he growls into your ear. “that’s what you do to me. every class. every time you walk in like you don’t know how fucking perfect you are.”

his hand glides up your back, smooth, then down again — slower this time, more deliberate. he caresses, explores, worships.

“and you want more,” he murmurs, kissing the words into the space just behind your ear. “don’t you?”

you moan — softly, needily — and nod again.

“say it.”

“i want more,” you breathe, barely able to stand. “i want everything.”

he groans, deep and guttural, and his fingers curl into the waistband of your panties.

but he doesn’t pull them down. not yet.

instead, he presses a kiss just beneath your jaw, slow and firm.

“then beg for it.”

his words are low, steady, edged with something feral — but laced with so much control it makes your knees weak. you’re already trembling, your thighs pressing together, trying to find friction where there is none, but he waits. unmoving. unreadable. his hands rest heavy on your hips, grounding you.

you turn your head slightly, enough to look over your shoulder. your voice comes out breathy, desperate, soft like silk but soaked in need.

“please... please, i need your mouth—”

his grip tightens.

you gasp.

“look at you,” he murmurs, like he’s marveling at something rare, precious. “already begging. already soaking through these little panties.”

his fingers trace along the edge of them, teasing, brushing the damp fabric between your thighs.

“you’re so good for me,” he breathes. “so ready. so perfect.”

then, slowly — achingly slow — he sinks to his knees behind you.

you feel the heat of his breath before you feel his mouth. his hands push your cheeks apart gently, reverently, spreading you open just enough, and he kisses the curve of your ass first, soft, trailing, worshipful kisses that make you moan already. then lower. the tip of his nose brushes against the back of your thigh as he inhales.

“you smell like heaven,” he groans.

and then — finally — his mouth meets the damp cotton of your panties. not even skin yet, and still, your body jolts.

he presses his lips right where you need him most, and kisses, slow and deep, like he’s tasting something sacred through the fabric.

“so sweet,” he murmurs against you. “so good for me, baby.”

you whimper, fingers clutching the edge of his desk, hips rolling back instinctively.

he chuckles low, a dark sound that vibrates straight into you.

“needy little thing,” he purrs. “you want my mouth? you want to come on my tongue?”

“yes— fuck, yes, please—”

“then ask again.”

your breath hitches. “please... use your mouth on me, professor. i want it— i want you.”

there’s a beat of silence.

and then he pulls your panties to the side.

you gasp as cool air hits your wet heat — and then his mouth is there.

no teasing this time.

just tongue, lips, heat.

he licks you slowly — a long, torturous stroke from bottom to top — before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking gently.

you cry out, legs nearly giving in.

“oh my god—”

his grip holds you steady, and he hums in approval, tongue circling, flicking, devouring like he’s starving. he praises you between licks, voice muffled and wrecked.

“so perfect.”

kiss.

“so fucking good.”

lick.

“you taste like a dream, baby.”

you whine, hips rocking, chasing every flick of his tongue, every stroke, every moan he breathes against you. he knows exactly what he’s doing — keeps it slow, keeps you on the edge, keeps whispering filthy praise between each wet, reverent kiss.

“that’s it,” he groans, “grind on my mouth. take what you need. come for me, smart girl.”

your fingers dig into the wood. your thighs tremble. and when his tongue flicks just right — slow, firm, curling — the pleasure crashes through you like a wave. your cry echoes off the walls, broken and raw.

“professor—!”

he groans, gripping your ass tighter as you fall apart, licking you through it, tongue relentless, hungry, tender. he doesn’t stop until your legs are shaking and your breathing turns to whimpers.

he pulls back slowly, breath warm against your skin. and then, he presses a kiss — soft, reverent — to your soaked, sensitive cunt.

“that’s my good girl.”

you whimper.

still trembling, you turn slowly to face him. he stands again, tall and dark-eyed, lips glistening with your arousal, chest rising and falling beneath his shirt.

your voice comes out hoarse.

“please... don’t stop. keep praising me. keep touching me.”

his gaze deepens.

and then, without a word, he reaches for the leather belt around his waist.

the clink of the buckle sliding open feels like thunder.

his eyes never leave yours.

he pulls it off — slow, practiced — then moves to unbutton his slacks.

you watch, spellbound, as he lowers the zipper and slides them down just enough to free himself.

and when he does — you see it.

long, thick, flushed with need, his cock stands hard and heavy in his hand, the head glistening with precum, veins prominent, and so big it makes your breath stutter.

he strokes it once — slowly — and groans deep.

“you did this,” he growls. “with your voice. with your body. with that perfect, needy little mind of yours.”

he steps closer, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

“now tell me how much you want it.”

“i need it— i need you, professor,” you gasp, body still trembling from your last orgasm, your thighs sticky, weak, mind already unraveling. “please, i want to feel you inside— please—”

he growls, a dark, low sound that rips from his throat as he steps behind you again. you feel the heat of him press against your ass, thick and heavy, his cock sliding slowly between your cheeks, teasing you, smearing precum against your skin.

“fuck, listen to yourself,” he rasps, one hand gripping your hip while the other slides around to your front, up your stomach, until it cups your breast over your blouse. “so fucking desperate. begging your professor like a filthy little slut.”

his thumb rolls over your nipple through the fabric, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him, moaning when his mouth finds the side of your neck. he sucks softly, then bites, then soothes with his tongue, all while kneading your breast harder now, fingers gripping the soft flesh like he owns it.

“you wear these little skirts for me, don’t you?” he growls, his cock rutting slowly between your ass cheeks. “sit in the front. raise your hand. act like a good girl, but all you want is this cock in your pussy.”

you whimper, nodding helplessly, eyes fluttering.

“say it.”

“yes, professor,” you cry, breath hitched. “i wear them for you. i want to be your good girl. i want your cock inside— please—”

his hand slides under your blouse now, yanking down your bra with no hesitation. he groans when his palm meets bare skin, fingers pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out, the sting sharp and electric.

“fuck, these tits— soft little things made for my hands,” he grunts, massaging both now, his body flush to yours, breath hot against your ear. “you’re made for me, aren’t you? this body... this pussy... all mine.”

you nod again, panting. “yes— yes, all yours, professor—”

“good girl.”

his hand drops suddenly, dragging between your thighs again. two fingers find your soaked folds and slip inside without resistance.

“jesus— you’re dripping,” he groans, pushing deep, curling. “already stretched for me. i haven’t even fucked you yet.”

you cry out, body rocking back on his fingers, chasing the pressure. he scissors you open slowly, fingers fucking you at a steady rhythm, your slick sounds obscene in the quiet room.

schlick, schlick, schlick.

“listen to that,” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw. “you hear how wet you are for your professor? so fucking needy. so ready.”

and then— he pulls out.

you whine at the loss, but he’s already moving— grabbing your waist, spinning you around to face him. his mouth crashes against yours, deep and filthy, tongue claiming yours as his cock presses against your core. you moan into his mouth, grinding against him shamelessly.

he breaks the kiss with a growl, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.

“turn around,” he orders, voice sharp. “against the wall. now.”

you scramble to obey, heart racing. the cold surface of the wall meets your palms, your cheek pressed to the plaster, back arched, skirt still hiked over your ass.

he steps in close — impossibly close — and grabs one of your legs, lifting it and bracing it on the edge of the wall ledge, opening you further.

you gasp at the stretch, at the exposure, but then you feel it — the blunt head of his cock, hot and heavy, nudging your entrance.

“this pussy,” he murmurs, dragging the head through your folds. “mine now.”

and then — slowly, so fucking slow — he pushes in.

inch by inch, your body stretches around him. your moan breaks into something wrecked and needy as he fills you, thick and perfect and so deep.

“fuck— professor—”

“that’s it,” he grits, bottoming out with a groan, his forehead resting against the back of your shoulder. “take it. take all of me. just like that, smart girl.”

he doesn’t move yet.

just stays, buried inside, letting your walls flutter around him, letting you feel just how deep he reaches.

his hand slides around your ribs again, back to your breasts, massaging them slowly as he begins to thrust — shallow, grinding strokes that drag against every nerve ending.

“feel that?” he whispers, voice thick. “that’s how much i wanted you. how long i’ve needed this. your tight little cunt wrapped around my cock. moaning my name.”

his pace picks up, fucking you slow and deep, filthy wet sounds echoing with each thrust, your slick coating him with every roll of his hips.

your body melts into the wall, your hands flat against the surface, your cries muffled until you turn your head and gasp, “harder, professor— please—”

his grip tightens.

“you want more?”

“yes— please— ruin me—”

he slams into you, once, hard.

your scream echoes off the walls.

and he starts fucking you.

he slams into you again — rough, deep, precise — and your whole body jolts against the wall, fingers scrambling for something to hold on to as the air punches out of your lungs.

“fuck, professor—!”

“that’s it,” he growls behind you, voice ragged, his cock dragging out and slamming back in, relentless now. “take it. take every fucking inch.”

the sound of skin on skin echoes through the room — wet, brutal, merciless. your cunt is soaked, slick squelching every time he buries himself to the hilt. the position only makes it filthier — one leg raised, your skirt bunched up around your waist, his cock slamming up into you at the perfect angle.

slap, slap, slap.

his hands roam everywhere — gripping your waist, then sliding up to your breasts, squeezing them roughly, thumbs circling your nipples until they ache. you sob, overwhelmed by how full you feel, how worshipped and ruined you are at once.

“you love this, don’t you?” he pants, teeth grazing your ear. “my cock fucking you stupid. your tits bouncing in my hands. you’re so fucking perfect.”

“yes— yes, i love it— please don’t stop—”

“you wanna come again?”

“please, professor, please—!”

he growls, one hand snaking down between your thighs again, finding your clit and rubbing tight circles, fast, cruel, while he fucks you through it.

“then come for me, smart girl,” he hisses. “make a mess all over my cock. now.”

your scream breaks, ragged and desperate, as your orgasm hits — violent and raw, your body clenching down around him so tight he nearly chokes on his next breath.

“oh fuck— yes, that’s it— fuck, look at you,” he groans, hips stuttering as your walls spasm around him, milking him. “cumming so hard, just from my cock, my voice. my praise.”

tears sting your eyes, your body trembling uncontrollably, and you sob against the wall, still pinned by him, your leg burning with the stretch, cunt throbbing from the force of it.

“please— don’t stop— i can take it, i swear— professor—!”

he doesn’t stop.

he grabs your hips harder, slamming into you faster, his thrusts brutal now, chasing his own release. his breath is hot and filthy in your ear.

“you’re fucking perfect,” he groans. “tightest, wettest little pussy i’ve ever felt. my good girl. my fuckin’ favorite.”

you cry out again, overstimulated and shaking, but it only makes you wetter. the filthy sound of your cunt being wrecked echoes louder, and he loves it.

“you were made for this,” he grits. “made for me. you feel that, baby? how deep i am? how your body takes it?”

you whimper, barely able to form words. “yes—yes, professor—”

“open your mouth.”

you obey without question, tongue out, eyes dazed, tears on your cheeks.

he leans forward, thumb dragging across your bottom lip.

“that’s it,” he whispers. “so fucking pretty when you’re ruined.”

then he spits into your mouth.

and you moan — filthy, wrecked, submissive — swallowing without hesitation.

“good girl.”

he fucks you harder now, both hands on your waist, lifting your body slightly to angle you just right. every thrust punches a moan out of you. every drag of his cock has you seeing stars.

then he groans loud, teeth gritted.

“fuck— i’m gonna cum—”

you nod frantically. “inside— please— fill me up— i want it, professor, i want it so bad—”

he slams into you one last time, hips locking, cock throbbing as hot, thick cum spills deep inside you. he holds you there, buried, groaning against your shoulder, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

you’re both panting, soaked in sweat and sex, bodies trembling against each other.

his hands stroke down your sides now — slow again, tender. reverent.

“you’re so fucking good,” he whispers. “the best. my best girl. took me so perfectly.”

you hum softly, still twitching, body limp, held up only by his arms.

you turn your head to him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted.

“again,” you whisper.

he smirks.

“on the desk this time.”

after he fucks you against the wall, leaving you trembling and gasping for air, he doesn’t give you a moment to rest. his hands are on you immediately, lifting you effortlessly, like you weigh nothing, and pulling you toward the desk. you’re barely able to catch your breath before he’s bending you over it, your palms flat against the cold wood, your ass raised for him.

you whimper as his hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as he positions himself behind you again. but this time — this time it’s different. he doesn’t immediately dive into you. instead, he’s teasing, pressing his hard cock against your folds, dragging it through your slickness, making you shiver with every slow pass.

“still so fucking wet for me,” he mutters, voice dark, low, full of satisfaction. “can’t get enough, huh? need me to fuck you again?”

“yes,” you whisper, voice broken, body still trembling from the aftermath of your last orgasm. “please… don’t stop, professor… fuck me.”

he chuckles darkly, hands trailing up your spine, then gripping your neck with a firm, possessive hold. “you’re mine now. you’ve always been mine, haven’t you?”

you nod, swallowing hard as his fingers tighten around your neck, just enough to make you dizzy, to make your head spin with the overwhelming dominance he exudes. “yes, professor… only yours.”

he pulls you up, your back against his chest, his breath hot against your ear. then, with a swift motion, he spins you around, making you face him. your legs are still shaky, but he holds you steady, one arm around your waist, the other trailing down to unzip his pants. you can already feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his cock pressing against your stomach.

he grins down at you, eyes dark with lust. “you’re gonna ride me now,” he says, voice commanding. “show me how much you need me.”

you don’t hesitate. your body moves on its own, like it’s been trained to follow his commands. your hands slide down his chest as you straddle him, guiding his cock to your entrance. he watches, eyes locked on you, his grip tightening on your waist as you slowly sink down onto him, inch by inch.

you gasp as he fills you completely, stretching you, your walls clenching around him as you take all of him in. you can’t help but moan, the sensation of being filled so completely, so thoroughly, making your head spin.

“god, professor— you’re so big,” you whisper, voice shaky.

he chuckles, a low, dark sound. “you love it. you love every fucking inch of me inside you.”

he’s right. you do. you love the way he fills you, the way his cock hits the deepest part of you with every slow roll of your hips. but it’s not enough. you need more.

you begin to move, slowly at first, lifting yourself up, then sinking back down, over and over, your body trembling with every thrust. his hands grip your waist, guiding you, his thumb brushing against your clit, making you moan louder.

“that’s it,” he breathes, watching you carefully. “ride me like you mean it.”

you pick up the pace, hips grinding against his, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. you’re so wet, so desperate for him, the pleasure building inside of you, tight and unrelenting.

and then he stops you, his hands gripping your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. his eyes are dark, filled with desire, but there’s something else there too — something possessive, hungry, as he stares into your eyes.

“don’t forget,” he says, his voice low, commanding. “you’re nothing but my toy. my good girl. don’t you forget that.”

you nod quickly, breathless. “yes, professor— I’m your toy. only yours.”

“good girl,” he whispers, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer to him, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s just as desperate as the rest of it. “now, look at me. I want to see your eyes when you come for me.”

you can barely hold onto your composure as you ride him harder, faster, the pressure building inside you until it feels like you’re about to explode. his hands move to your neck again, gripping gently, controlling your every movement, his eyes never leaving yours, locking you in a gaze that feels like ownership.

“come for me,” he commands, his voice rough, the praise dripping from his words. “now.”

the orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing over you, your body shaking uncontrollably as you cry out, “professor— fuck— i’m coming—!”

he growls, his hips slamming up into you, taking you through the orgasm, the feeling of him buried deep inside you making everything more intense, more overwhelming.

when you finally come down, he doesn’t let you rest. instead, he spins you around, pushing you up against the chair beside the desk, lifting your leg and guiding you back down onto him, your eyes locked on his the entire time.

he places his hands on your neck, fingers trailing down your spine, pulling you closer, guiding your movements.

“look at me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice thick with lust. “I want you to remember this. you belong to me. now and forever.”

you nod, barely able to breathe, as your body moves in time with his, desperate for more, addicted to the feel of him inside you.

the next day, the classroom feels different — suffocating, heavy with an unspoken promise. the air is thick with the memory of what happened last night, but neither of you speaks a word of it. you sit in your usual spot, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of your notebook, a burning heat in your stomach, your thoughts still spinning.

and then, he walks in. professor choi. tall, composed, his sharp eyes sweeping over the room, but they linger for a split second longer on you. a moment — just a moment — but it’s enough. the intensity in his gaze is unmistakable. he knows, you know he does. and it makes your pulse quicken, your breath catch in your throat.

you lower your gaze, trying to hide the smirk pulling at your lips, the heat rising to your cheeks as you remember every single thing he did to you, the way his hands, his lips, his body controlled you, made you his.

but you can’t escape it. every look, every glance he sends your way, makes you feel exposed, like he’s taking you all over again with just his eyes. his usual stern demeanor cracks every time his gaze slides back to you. it's as if he's savoring the moment, the memory, the power.

“please take out your notes,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence, but there's something different about it. a rasp, a barely contained tension that makes you shiver in your seat.

you do as he says, but you can feel his eyes on you as you reach for your things. his eyes, watching you closely, and when your hand brushes against the edge of your desk, you hear a small, approving hum from his direction. you can almost feelthe weight of his gaze on your skin, the heat crawling over you, making your heart race.

your body is still aching from last night — sore in all the right places, a constant reminder of everything you gave him, everything he made you feel. and now, in front of the class, it’s like a secret, a dangerous game you’re both playing.

the lecture goes on, but you can’t focus. not when every time you glance at him, you see the way his eyes flicker down to your legs, to your chest, to the way your fingers tap against the desk. you wonder if he remembers the exact moment he pushed you against that wall, if he can still taste the sweetness of your mouth on his, the way you felt when you begged for more.

it’s maddening, knowing he’s holding back just as much as you are. but then, as if he can’t resist any longer, he lets his gaze linger just a little too long. you catch it, his pupils dilated, his lips pressed together in a barely contained smirk. he’s remembering too.

and that’s when he says it — softly, just for you to hear, barely above a whisper, but the words sink into you like fire.

“you did well last night. so well.”

your breath hitches, and you glance at him, locking eyes for just a moment. there’s no one else around you, no one who can see what’s happening between you two. but you feel the charge in the air — the silent agreement, the unspoken promise that this isn’t over. that it’s just begun.

you can’t help but smile, just a little. you know he sees it. and you know he’s already thinking of the next time

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 19!

slightly shorter list than usual, sorry about that - i had a major thesis deadline last week, so i've both been reading less and haven't been keeping track as diligently as i normally do, whoops. still, i hope you enjoy these!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

a man in finance | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 13.9k | M

The one where Chimney finds Eddie a man in finance. Trust Fund. 6'2". Blue eyes. And he's an asshole, but only for like...five seconds (until he finds out about Chris). Eddie falls hard and fast, but it's ok because Buck does too. this is such a wonderful one!! i love how this author incorporates side characters into these alternate universes (loved lucy's appearances here, and chimney is always so fun) and the buddie dynamic is just lovely <3

cool and chill things to say to your best friend who you've accidentally been having phone sex with when you pick him up at the airport | hwaelweg/@the-hwaelweg | 6k | M

in which we explore the intimacy of having someone's voice in your ear, accidentally falling into phone sex, and edging Eddie Diaz until he can admit he's a good person. i love the distinction between facetimes and phone calls here and the intimacy of it all is just <3 also very hot!!

good things come to those who wait | ithilien22/@ithilien-writes | 2.6k | E

Turns out, Buck likes when Eddie makes him wait for it. (And they're embarrassingly in love about it.) this has such lovely buddie characterisation!! the best combination of domestic fluff and smut <3

i looked at your face & i knew that i'd found it | fleetinghearts/@shitouttabuck | 3.3k | GA

it might be just slightly obvious that buck really, really likes to talk about eddie. such great firefam feels!! buck constantly yapping about eddie is one of my favourite things ever and i love how this fic captures it <3

if i have your heart forever | ipretendtobesane/@usercowboy | 9.2k | M

The day Eddie returns to Los Angeles for good and the day he realizes he’s in love with Evan Buckley happen to be the same twenty-four hours, which makes sense, really, if you think about it. He was coming home. To Los Angeles, to the 118. To Buck. this is the loveliest gentlest fic <3 i love both buck and eddie here, but eddie's realisation felt especially natural and in character!!

sobriquet | rainbowninja167/@rainbowtitania | 18.4k | T

5 Times Buck Called Eddie by a Nickname + 1 Time He Didn’t. this is just so, so, SO much fun!! such a fantastic writing style, and i love how it incorporates humour specifically <3 so good!!

something so lonesome about you | serenelystrange/@serenelystrange | 7.9k | E

Buck signs up for a Christian Dating site, and accidentally stumbles into the man of his dreams. i loved watching buddie's relationship grow in this one! and what a hilariously wonderful fic premise <3 brilliant!!

the way that you hold me tight (there's no other place in the world where i rather would be | The_Lonely_Wolf_Needs_A_Star | 4.2k | M

10 hugs throughout Buck and Eddie's relationship. this was a reread! i'm such a sucker for buddie fics focused on physical intimacy and this hits the spot every time <3

u/minutetomidnightenthusiast's reddit post history. | dylaesthetics | 6.7k | M

the emotional rollercoaster of Eddie's Reddit posts throughout the history of knowing Buck. this author's reddit fics are the gift that keeps on giving <3 i love how this one and the previous one compliment each other, i highly recommend reading them both!!

[theodorenmyth]

this might be lowk dumb but academic rival reader w theo where she outsmarted him in class or scored better than him on a test and he basically fucked her dumb to mend his bruised ego? lots of degradation +++ WHATIF somebody walked in (*ahem* mattheo)

idk im high dont judge me 😭🙏🙏

Outsmarted.

Pairings ; Theodore Nott x GN!Reader

Summary ; In a tense rivalry with Theodore Nott, you outsmart him in class and score higher on a test, only to find yourself at the mercy of his ego. What starts as a battle of wits quickly spirals into an intense, degrading game of power and control, where Theodore pushes you to your limits.

A/N ; OMFG this is the first full smut fic I've wrote in MONTHS. Please bear with me 😓🥹 oh and I also changed it into gender-neutral y/n because I saw that you put she and her, and since I don't write for f!reader, I'm so sorry 🥹 still, enjoy! :D (there's still slight aftercare in the end, dw)

Warnings ; NSFW, degradation, overstimulation, rough sex, power dynamics, accidental exposure, oral sex, anal sex

word count ; 5k+

The moment Slughorn said your name, you knew the entire classroom had shifted.

A few heads turned your way, some surprised, some not. You didn’t look up immediately—no, that would ruin the effect. You waited, just a moment, pen paused at the edge of your parchment, letting the attention simmer in the air. Then, with perfect calm, you lifted your eyes, looked the professor square in the face, and smiled.

“The highest mark in the class,” Slughorn boomed, holding up your parchment as though it were a sacred scroll. “Y/N has once again impressed me. Their essay on Veela charm magic was truly outstanding. The way you connected the emotional manipulation to Occlumency theory… Brilliant. Simply brilliant.”

Your smile widened as a very specific pair of eyes practically drilled into the side of your head. You didn’t need to look to know who it was. Theodore Nott had been sitting in the same bloody seat for the past year—third row from the front, one seat left of center. And right now, you could practically hear his teeth grinding.

You turned your head just enough to catch him in your peripheral vision. His quill was stilled. His jaw was locked tight. He was staring straight ahead, but his gaze was ice.

The smugness bubbling in your chest was almost criminal.

Because this was a rare moment—a very rare moment. Theodore Nott was the golden boy. Always top of the class, always confident, always with just enough charm to get away with being insufferably smug. You’d spent years trading barbed words and subtle jabs with him across shared subjects. But he never lost. Not in Slughorn’s class.

Until now.

And you had done it.

The rest of the class buzzed with chatter as students began packing up, chairs scraping, parchment rustling. Slughorn dismissed everyone with a cheerful wave, but you stayed seated, fingers tapping slowly against the desk, taking your time.

You knew he’d come to you.

You were counting on it.

Sure enough, his voice came just as the last student filed out of the dungeon.

“You really think this means something?”

You looked up slowly, turning to face him. Theodore stood at the edge of your desk, arms crossed, expression tight and unreadable. He looked calm, but there was a tension in his shoulders. A subtle twitch in his fingers.

“I think it means I’m smarter than you,” you replied coolly.

His eyes narrowed. “By one point.”

“Still higher,” you said, blinking innocently. “That’s how numbers work, Nott.”

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and irritated. “Slughorn’s biased. He always has been. You flirt with him like it’s a hobby.”

You raised your brows, fighting the grin tugging at your lips. “Oh? Jealous?”

Theodore’s jaw ticked. “Hardly. I just think you’ve got a talent for being manipulative.”

You stood, slowly gathering your things. “And you don’t? Please, Theo, I’ve seen the way you flash that little smirk when you know you’re ahead. Don't get salty just because I gave you a taste of your own game.”

“I didn’t lose,” he said, voice low.

You stepped closer, slinging your bag over one shoulder, chin tilted just slightly. “You did. You just can’t admit it. Poor Theo. All that pride… fragile, isn’t it?”

His eyes flared. “Watch it.”

You leaned in just slightly, dropping your voice to a whisper as you brushed past him. “Why? Worried I’ll bruise your ego again?”

He stepped closer, a bit too close, really. You could smell the faint whiff of expensive cologne and mint tea on his breath. His pale eyes burned into yours, but your expression didn’t falter.

He looked like he wanted to strangle you.

Or kiss you.

Or both.

“You’re awfully smug for someone who scraped ahead by one point,” he snapped.

You gave a mock gasp. “Oh no, not one point!” You clutched your chest theatrically. “Guess that means I still beat you.”

He let out a low exhale through his nose, jaw flexing. “You’re asking for it.”

You stepped into him now, narrowing the space even more, just to get under his skin. You made sure your voice was low, teasing, each word dipped in honey. “You gonna punish me, Nott? For being smarter than you?”

His eyes darkened in a way that made your breath catch, but you didn’t back down. You leaned in closer until your lips barely brushed the shell of his ear.

“Go on then. Show me how much it bruised your pretty little ego.”

You pulled away slowly, letting your fingers graze his as you moved past. Your shoulder brushed his chest and you swore you heard the faintest hitch in his breath.

Then you paused in the doorway.

“Oh,” you said over your shoulder, tone deliberately sweet, “if you need help understanding the theory I wrote about, I’d be more than happy to tutor you.”

That got him.

His expression darkened as he took a single step toward you, and you swore there was a flicker of something wicked in his eyes—anger, yes, but something else, too. Something darker. Rougher.

Possessive.

“I don’t need help,” he said tightly.

“Hmm,” you hummed, looking him up and down with a smirk. “Could’ve fooled me.”

And with that, you turned and disappeared into the corridor, heart pounding in your chest—not from fear, but from the anticipation coiling hot and tight in your stomach.

You’d poked the beast.

No, provoked it.

You wanted to see him crack.

You wanted to see that perfect, composed mask of his shatter.

And something told you Theodore Nott wasn’t going to let this one go.

Not quietly.

Not gently.

Not at all.

You didn’t expect him to catch you so soon.

One minute you were strolling down the corridor toward the dungeons, minding your business, savoring the echo of your earlier win like the last bite of something sinfully sweet—and the next, a hand curled around your upper arm and yanked.

You gasped, stumbling forward before you recognized the familiar grip. Long fingers, knuckles pale with tension. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Oh,” you said lightly, letting him drag you without resistance, “so you do handle rejection poorly. Thought so.”

Theodore didn’t even glance at you. His grip tightened like a vice around your arm.

“Back to the common room?” you drawled. “You gonna cry about your test score or beg me to tutor you—?”

“Keep talking,” he interrupted, voice so low it vibrated through your spine. “And you won’t even make it through the door before I’m shoving my cock down your throat.”

Your heart stopped.

The smugness drained from your face so fast it was dizzying. Your lips parted, a retort on the tip of your tongue—but nothing came out.

You weren’t scared, not exactly—but the intensity in his voice, that cold fury barely restrained, struck something primal. You swallowed hard and glanced up at him, pulse skittering.

The side of his mouth twitched, like he’d noticed the shift in your expression and liked it.

“Thought so,” he muttered, dragging you faster now.

Through the Slytherin entrance. Past a handful of students who barely spared you two a glance. You moved quietly now, your earlier cockiness hollowed out, replaced by something hot and anxious low in your belly.

By the time he shoved open the door to the boys’ dorm, you were breathless.

He pulled you inside and kicked the door shut behind you with a loud thud. Before you could speak, he spun you around, slammed you against it, and braced a hand on either side of your head, caging you in.

His voice was gravel. “You want to act like you’ve got the upper hand?”

You blinked at him, trying to recover your tone. “I—I’m just naturally—”

He cut you off by grabbing your jaw, thumb swiping over your lips with a possessive drag. “Go ahead. Act like you’re in control.”

“I…” you breathed, but even you heard how weak it sounded. You tried again, softer this time. “I am.”

His expression sharpened into something hungry.

“No,” he said, almost pitying. “You’re just mouthy. And I’m going to ruin that mouth first.”

He shoved your shoulders, guiding you down fast—too fast to resist—and your knees hit the floor with a quiet thump. The carpet dug into your skin, but you barely noticed. Your breath hitched as you looked up at him, his hand still gripping your hair.

“Open.”

You hesitated. Just a flicker. But that was all he needed.

“Oh, now you’re shy?” he mocked. “Figures. Smart little brat until there’s a cock in front of them.”

The heat of humiliation—and arousal—rushed through you. Slowly, shakily, you parted your lips.

Theodore’s eyes darkened. “Good.”

He undid his belt slowly, letting the clink of metal and drag of leather build anticipation. His cock was already hard when he pulled it free, tip flushed and glistening. Your mouth watered, and you didn’t even try to hide it.

“You gonna do this properly,” he murmured, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip, “or do I have to teach you how to suck cock too?”

You didn’t dare answer—not with your tongue darting out to taste him, warm and soft against the tip. His breath caught, his fingers tightening in your hair.

And then he was shoving into your mouth.

No warning. No gentle build-up.

Just Theodore’s cock stretching your lips, pushing past your tongue, pressing deep.

You gagged instantly, throat clenching around him, hands scrambling for purchase on his thighs. He didn’t stop—his hips rocked forward, slow but firm, dragging a strangled sound from your chest.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Take it. Fucking take it.”

You whimpered, throat burning, tears stinging your eyes—but you adjusted. You had to. Your hands steadied, lips stretching, jaw aching as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked.

Theodore’s head tipped back slightly, a quiet curse escaping him.

“Merlin, you’re filthy,” he muttered. “Drooling all over me like a little whore.”

Your spit slicked his length, dripping down your chin as you took him deeper. The rhythm built quickly—his hand in your hair controlling the pace, your mouth hot and wet around him.

You looked up, eyes watery, and that broke him.

“Fuck, you’re pretty like this,” he rasped. “All that cleverness, gone the second I put my cock in your mouth.”

You moaned around him, deliberately loud. He hissed.

“You like this, don’t you?” he said through gritted teeth. “Getting face-fucked like a toy. You act so fucking smug, but this—this is all you’re good for.”

He thrust harder now, rougher, fucking your mouth like he meant to brand you from the inside out. You coughed around him, spit bubbling, hands trembling as he used you.

“Fucking pathetic,” he grunted. “Letting me use your mouth just ‘cause I said a few filthy words.”

You tried to keep eye contact. You really tried. But your lashes fluttered, head swimming.

And then—

“Shit. Gonna cum.”

You braced yourself, breath stuck in your throat as he shoved in deep, holding you there with his cock pressing past your tonsils.

Hot, bitter warmth flooded your mouth. You gagged once, eyes wide, but he held you still as he twitched against your tongue.

“Swallow,” he growled, breath ragged.

You did.

And then he slowly pulled out, watching a line of spit and cum trail from your lip to his cock. He cupped your cheek and forced your gaze up.

“Still feeling smart, sweetheart?”

You panted, lips red and swollen, face flushed and slick.

And despite everything, you managed a tiny smirk.

“Define smart.”

He laughed once—low and dangerous—then grabbed your arm and dragged you up.

The second he pulled you off the floor, your knees wobbled like they couldn’t support you anymore. But Theodore didn’t give you time to recover. He pushed you back, walking you until the backs of your legs hit his bed—and then he shoved you down.

“You’re not gonna be able to walk by the time I’m done with you,” he growled, standing between your legs, eyes dark with that same fury-laced lust that had burned behind them in class.

You opened your mouth, maybe to say something smug—something to keep your upper hand—but your breath caught as he suddenly grabbed the front of your shirt and ripped.

Buttons flew. The fabric tore straight down the middle.

You gasped, staring at him wide-eyed as he dropped the ruined cloth onto the floor like it meant nothing.

“Oh,” you breathed, your pulse thundering in your ears, “so you’re—mmf—that angry.”

He didn’t answer. Just pushed you flat against the bed and leaned down, growling against your neck, “Shut the fuck up.”

His hands were on your waistband next—hooking into your trousers and tearing them down with a swift, brutal yank that made your body jolt. You barely got a gasp out before he tossed them aside too, leaving you exposed and breathless, sprawled across his bed like a prize he was about to claim.

“You like making me lose,” he muttered, crawling over you, dragging the length of his body against yours. “But you’re gonna learn what happens when you push me.”

You tried to smirk, but it wavered when you felt his cock again—hot and heavy, smearing against your thigh as he settled between your legs. Your thighs twitched, instinctively parting for him even as your brain scrambled for control.

“Don’t worry,” you managed, voice already shaking. “You’re… good at making your point.”

Theodore’s eyes snapped to yours.

“You’re not funny.”

And then—he was inside you.

You gasped, a full-body jolt seizing through you as he buried himself to the hilt in one unrelenting thrust. You cried out, back arching, fingers clawing at the sheets beneath you as he bottomed out, grinding deep.

“Fuck,” he hissed, bracing his hands on either side of your head. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Your legs twitched around his hips. You bit your lip, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your body struggled to take him, stretch for him—but the burn melted into a high, hot ache that made your mind go blank.

And then he moved.

Not gently.

Not slowly.

He pulled out halfway and slammed back in with a sharp snap of his hips, making you cry out again, louder this time. Your head tipped back against the pillow, voice already falling apart.

“This what you wanted?” he growled, fucking you harder now, setting a pace that was punishing from the start. “Wanted to act clever? Act smug?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. You just grabbed at his arms, your body bouncing with each thrust as he filled you again and again and again.

“Where’s that smart mouth now?” he snarled.

Your lips parted, a moan escaping instead of a word. Your brain was white noise.

He laughed—dark, breathless. “That’s what I thought.”

He shifted his grip, grabbing under your knees, pushing them back until your thighs pressed against your chest. The new angle made you sob, your whole body shaking as he pounded into you harder, deeper.

“You’re just a fucking hole now,” he breathed, voice like thunder in your ears. “Not so clever when you’re getting split open.”

Your eyes fluttered. You were seeing stars. Your whole body trembled with every thrust, every filthy word that poured from his mouth.

“You feel that?” he whispered, dragging his cock out slow, only to slam back in and knock the breath from your lungs. “That’s mine. All of this is mine.”

You moaned, your hands gripping his wrists now, holding on for dear life as your stomach tensed and heat coiled dangerously low.

He leaned in, forehead pressed to yours, hips still snapping in a ruthless rhythm.

“Say it.”

“Wh-What—”

“Say you’re mine.”

You choked out a whimper. “Y-Yours—fuck, I’m yours—”

“That’s right.” His voice cracked with hunger. “Fucking. Mine.”

You barely registered the way your body started to lock up—tightening, trembling—as you crashed straight into orgasm, legs shaking violently as you sobbed through it, overwhelmed and overstimulated.

Theodore grunted above you. His hips stuttered.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled. “Make you walk around dripping with me. Show you who fucking owns you.”

You were too far gone to answer. You nodded helplessly, eyes wet, mouth open in a silent gasp.

Then he slammed in one last time—and came.

Hot and deep and thick, his cock twitching inside you as he spilled everything into you, groaning your name like a curse and a prayer all at once.

He stayed there for a moment, buried inside you, panting against your neck.

Then he pulled out slow—too slow—and you whimpered, body wrecked and twitching beneath him.

Your body was still trembling when Theodore dragged you up by the hips, flipping you over with zero care for how boneless you felt beneath him. Your legs barely held under you, arms shaky where your elbows sank into the mattress. Your face pressed into the sheets, still flushed, still sticky with sweat and spit and his cum.

“Get up,” he snapped, swatting your ass hard enough to make you jolt. “Hands and knees, now.”

You whimpered but obeyed, limbs folding into place automatically as he manhandled you into position. Your heart was still pounding—faster now. Louder. Because you weren’t sure if your body could take more, but god—you wanted it.

The moment your ass was up, Theodore grabbed your hips again, rough and greedy, spreading you open with both hands.

“Look at this,” he said, voice low, hungry. “Still dripping.”

You gasped as he shoved two fingers into you, fucking his cum back in without warning. You squirmed, hips twitching, a soft whimper catching in your throat.

“You’re gonna take it again,” he growled, curling his fingers. “Like a good little toy.”

You bit down on the sheets, heat rising in your chest again—shame and arousal twisting together until you couldn’t tell them apart. Your body rocked with every motion of his hand, slick and sensitive, your thighs already shaking again.

Then you felt his cock again—pressing against your hole, thick and hard and ready.

“Still so fucking tight,” he hissed, dragging the head up and down, teasing. “You should thank me. I’m gonna ruin you properly this time.”

He pushed in without warning.

You screamed into the sheets—legs nearly giving out—his cock splitting you open again, slower this time, making you feel every inch. Your arms trembled as he bottomed out and stayed there, grinding deep.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re clenching so hard. You want me this bad already?”

You nodded frantically, unable to form words.

“Then beg.”

You sobbed. “P-Please, Theo—”

“Please what?” His hand came down hard across your ass again, the sound cracking through the air. “Use your words.”

“Please… please fuck me,” you breathed, desperate and shaking. “Fuck me stupid—use me—please—”

He chuckled darkly. “That’s more like it.”

Then he pulled out and slammed back in—harder than before. You cried out, face buried in the blankets as he began to fuck you like an animal, his pace brutal, punishing. His hands gripped your hips like he owned them, dragging you back on his cock again and again, each thrust hitting you so deep it knocked the breath from your lungs.

You were a mess. Moaning, shaking, soaked. Your body was wrecked, already overstimulated, but you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t ask him to stop.

“Fucking filthy,” he spat, thrusts getting rougher. “You act so cocky in class, and now look at you.”

He leaned forward suddenly, one hand wrapping around your throat, forcing your head up as he fucked into you from behind.

“Nothing but a fucktoy,” he growled against your ear. “Just something for me to use.”

Your mouth fell open, eyes glazed and watering.

You didn’t even hear the door open.

Didn’t hear the footsteps.

But Theodore did.

He froze mid-thrust, eyes snapping toward the dorm entrance—and you barely had time to turn your head, body still fully impaled on his cock, when the door swung open—and Mattheo FUCKING Riddle stepped in.

The scene he walked in on was nothing short of obscene: you on your stomach with your ass up, trembling violently, drooling into Theodore’s sheets, eyes fluttering and rolling back with every deep, punishing thrust. Theodore was balls deep inside you, pelvis flushed tight to your ass, one hand gripping your hips while the other pressed between your shoulder blades, holding you in place like you were nothing more than a toy he’d been wrecking for hours.

The room was filled with slick, wet sounds. Skin against skin. Your broken moans echoing off the walls. The heavy scent of sweat, cum, and sex hanging in the air like a fog.

Mattheo stopped.

Froze.

His jaw dropped.

You barely registered him through the haze in your brain—just a blur of dark curls, wide eyes, and a gaping mouth as your body spasmed again, Theodore’s cock twitching inside you.

The room went silent for a beat.

Then—

“OH FUCKING HELL—”

Mattheo shrieked—actually shrieked—spun on his heel, and slammed the door shut so hard it rattled the walls.

You thought he might’ve said something else—something like “I’m telling everyone”—but it was hard to tell over the rush of blood in your ears and the sound of your own whimper when Theodore thrust in deeper, still fully inside you.

You could feel yourself clench helplessly around him.

Your body twitched.

Your mouth hung open.

“The fuck,” you mumbled, completely dazed. “Did—was that Mattheo?”

Theodore groaned darkly behind you. “Don’t care.”

And then he started moving again.

Rougher. Meaner. Like the interruption had only made him more determined to fuck you stupid.

“Let him run his mouth,” he growled, hips snapping into yours. “Let him tell everyone. They should all know who you belong to.”

You cried out, hands gripping the sheets as your legs shook violently, brain melting into static as Theodore pounded you through it, deeper and deeper.

“Listen to you,” he hissed through his teeth, leaning over your back, one hand gripping your ass like he was molding it. “All that smugness gone. Just a whimpering little cocksleeve now, yeah?”

You sobbed, choking on your own moan as his hips slammed into you harder—meaner—his hand sliding around to squeeze and knead your ass with brutal, possessive fingers.

“Bet you like being fucked dumb,” he whispered against your neck, his pace losing rhythm. “Bet your needy little hole was made to be filled.”

One more thrust.

Two.

Then he slammed into you with a guttural moan, cock twitching deep inside as he spilled inside you, filling you again with hot ropes of cum. You could feel it pulse inside, hot and thick, and the sensation sent you over the edge all over again.

Your body jerked violently, trembling as your orgasm crashed through you a second time—strung out and raw, pleasure mixing with the overstimulation until your vision blurred.

“Fuck yes,” he muttered into your skin, still grinding into you, still squeezing your ass like he owned it. “Such a good little cumdump. Always so eager to be used.”

You couldn’t even answer. Just moaned weakly into the mattress, body limp and leaking, mind completely wrecked.

Your body felt like it was made of static.

Nerves buzzing, thighs quaking, mouth barely able to form words—just soft, broken little moans, every inhale catching in your throat. You were spent, wrung out and stuffed full, Theo’s cum still dripping from your used hole down your thighs in a hot, sticky mess.

But Theodore wasn’t done.

He didn’t say anything at first—just shifted you like you weighed nothing, dragging your trembling body upright, your chest pressed against his as he sat back against the headboard and pulled you onto his lap.

“Theo…” you whimpered, voice a desperate whine. “Please—can’t—can’t anymore, I can’t—”

“Shh,” he murmured, not unkindly. “You can.”

Your knees pressed into the bed on either side of his hips, shaking like leaves, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you steady. His cock nudged against your still-leaking hole, already half-hard again from just the feel of you squirming in his lap.

“You’ve taken me so well tonight,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “I want to see you ride me. Just once. Just one more.”

“Just one?” you sniffled, already pouting.

He chuckled lowly. “For now.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering as he guided your hips—lining you up, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, pushing back into your sore, stretched hole with agonizing slowness.

You choked on a moan, eyes tearing up as your walls fluttered helplessly around him.

“Theo—ah, f-fuck—it’s too much—”

“You’ll take it,” he murmured into your neck, holding you down as inch by inch, his cock disappeared inside you again. “Because you can. You were made for this.”

You clung to his shoulders, face flushed and streaked with sweat and tears. “Y-You’re so mean,” you whimpered. “S’not fair..”

His fingers dug into your thighs, nails leaving little crescent-shaped dents.

“Then stop being so fucking cute when you cry,” he muttered darkly.

He held you still for a moment, letting you shake and clench around him, lips ghosting over your skin as you panted like you’d just run a marathon.

And then he moved you.

Slowly.

Up.

Down.

Your breath hitched as your body slid down onto him again, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, the wet sounds echoing obscenely through the room. Your moans were high-pitched now—desperate, broken. Every bounce made your thighs tremble harder, your arms tightening around his neck as you rode him with trembling, clumsy motions.

“Theo—please—f-feels weird, it’s too much—gonna—”

“You’re already so cockdrunk,” he muttered, voice thick. “Look at you. Whimpering like you’re not loving every second of it.”

You were. And you hated it.

Your face crumpled as your body clenched again, his cock kissing that spot deep inside you with every bounce. The overstimulation was unbearable—every thrust like fire and lightning all at once.

He helped you move, holding your hips and lifting you just to slam you back down on him. Your cries turned into gasps, then sobs, your legs barely holding you up.

“T-Theo, Theo—please, I can’t—gonna—gonna—again—”

You came with a strangled cry, your nails clawing down his back, body going stiff before collapsing into him. Your walls clamped down around him like a vice, trembling and pulsing around his cock, squeezing him so tightly he groaned against your throat.

He cursed under his breath, jerking his hips up once—twice—then stilled with a growl as he spilled inside you, hot and heavy, filling you to the brim again. His arms held you tight to his chest, one hand in your hair, the other cradling your lower back as your whole body went limp.

You were shaking like a leaf in his arms, and this time, Theodore didn’t make you move.

He just held you.

Whispered something into your hair, too soft to catch. Pressed his lips to your temple like he hadn’t just ruined you three times over. His hand slid up and down your spine, slow, gentle, soothing your trembling muscles with soft circles.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, breath tickling your skin.

You nodded against his neck with a small, pitiful hiccup. “Y-Yeah…”

“Too much?”

You whined. “Mhm.”

He chuckled softly, brushing your damp hair back from your face.

“You did so good, baby. So, so good.”

Your pout returned. “You’re being nice now.”

His lips curled against your skin. “I can be nice. Sometimes.”

You huffed softly, nose buried in his shoulder, still aching and dripping and completely, utterly ruined.

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

The room was still thick with the heat of your final moments together. You felt drained, like every muscle had been sapped of its strength, but there was a strange warmth to the way Theodore held you close, his body still flush against yours, his cock still buried deep inside you. His grip on you softened as he adjusted you, gently shifting you so you were cradled in his arms, face resting against his chest.

“Shh, relax,” he murmured softly, smoothing your hair back, his fingers warm against your damp skin. “I’ve got you.”

You let out a shaky breath, too tired to protest, your body aching but not in a way that was uncomfortable. His hands slid down your back, soothing you, rubbing your skin as his lips pressed soft kisses against your forehead.

“Good job,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to the tip of your nose. “You did so good, baby.”

You melted into him, too tired to even respond, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t need words right now. His lips kept brushing over your face—your cheeks, your lips, your eyes—each kiss a soft reminder of how he had pushed you and then taken care of you afterward.

“Still feeling good?” he asked, voice low and warm.

You nodded softly, your body still trembling, but there was a new comfort in his presence. His gentle kisses, the warmth of his body, the way he softly ran his fingers along your spine—it was like the chaotic energy of everything before was being replaced by this slow, tender care.

He shifted beneath you, adjusting his position so you were more comfortably on top of him, not needing to move but cradled close in his arms. His cock was still inside you, softening slightly, but he didn’t rush to pull away. He just let you rest, letting you feel his warmth, as if nothing else mattered but making sure you were okay.

“Let’s just stay like this,” he said quietly, kissing your forehead once more. “No rush. You deserve to rest.”

You let your eyes flutter closed, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his presence grounding you, wrapping you in a sense of safety and care.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

You smiled faintly against his skin, finally letting yourself feel the warmth of his affection.

[madefortherain]

february fic recs ⋆ ༘⁀➷

the end of february means it’s, once again, time to shout about my favourite reads of the month! (same as last month, tagging authors i know the blogs of, but feel free to lmk if you want anything changed/removed) <3

multichapter:

Astronomia Nova by sreka (@smodernlife) - T, 35k. sirius raising harry, meets beautiful librarian remus and subsequently ruins a priceless book (meet-ugly everybody cheer!!). absolutely adored this!!

Be My Baby by pixelated (prettyremus) - M, 21k. dirty dancing au!! enough said just with that, really, but also the way queer themes are woven into the original story is so cool!

The Proctor House by @eyra - M, 5.2k, MCD. i honestly think it’s best to go into this one fairly blind. just let the beautiful writing take you where it wants to, it’s so so worth it. this one has stayed with me since i read it.

you don’t have to be alone (when you’re the place i wanna go) by @quiethauntings - E, 37k. remus reunites with his friends on a trip to the scottish highlands. nostalgia bottled into a fic! a very lovely depiction of loneliness and rekindling friendships. really beautiful!

Of Prefects, Pretence, and Precedent by Whoops_E - M, 121k. shouting this one out again because it’s now complete!!! i’m immediately diving in for a full reread. i go insane for this fic and specifically think about the grape jam chapter approximately 30 times a week.

oneshots:

nightlights by sadgeminimoon - T, 9.2k. single parent remus raising teddy, & sirius who helps out far too well. the pining!! adored this. i, too, would lose it if i came home to find sirius black doing a load of my laundry.

The Best By Far Is You by orphan_account - T, 13k. padfoot and moony are tumblr mutuals, while blind remus hires sirius as a reader for his classes. i believe this one is fairly well-known, but i only just got to it and it’s so so wonderful! there are also 7 more shorter oneshots (ratings vary) following this, all of which i subsequently inhaled. really recommend the entire Tumblr Trash series! (E, 35k total)

Perfect by wanderingdonut - T, 3.7k. ace4ace wolfstar learning to love each other :’) such a wonderful acespec story, i adored this <3

A Cup of Sugar by MsAlexWP (@languagelessonswolfstar) - T, 5.3k. harry pov feat. disabled harry and disabled remus (bonding!!). so sweet, such great disability rep, and adorable little peeks of wolfstar! loooved this!!

WIPs:

Let me Believe (Ever After) by @brigid-faye - M, 6/12, 47k. ever after: a cinderella story (1998) au! sad-eyed prince remus, riches to rags sirius. such great characterisations, relationships, and storytelling. i devoured these chapters so quickly!

Brave Face by @zoemillinwrites - M, 28/?, 252k, MCD. a canon-divergent, sirius-centric fic starting in hogwarts first year. such real and raw characters, being a little in love with your friends, and some of the cleverest, most unique magic explanations i’ve ever read. seriously, can’t emphasise enough how SO insanely cool the magic is!! (also shouting out the accompanying Story Shards WIP (E, 1/?, 4.3k) for some brilliant extra character studies!)

four thousand holes by aeridi0nis (@steelycunt) - E, 2/5, 41k. pride (2014) au. lesbians and gays support the miners; sirius is part of the organisation, remus is the son of a miner. truly so so obsessed with this premise. and the writing!! incredible, incredible prose.

As You Walk On By (Will You Call My Name?) by @imsiriuslyreading - M, 6/15, 23k, jily!!!! royalty au AND university au in one! royal james and eat-the-rich lily, creating such a fun jily dynamic. + a lovely dose of background wolfstar, too :)

[asidian]

One thing I haven't seen talked about is Crystal's character arc, and specifically the way the timing of it interacts with Charles' arc. They stumble over each other in the worst possible way en route to their respective character growth, and from a narrative perspective, it's absolutely genius.

I'm going to preface all this by saying: none of this is a criticism of Crystal. Part of what makes her such a dynamic, refreshing character is that you don't get to see women in fiction written the way she's been written. You don't get to see women with her flaws that aren't throw-away mean girls or villains. You especially don't get to see women with her traits who learn and grow and become better people. So yeah, I'm going to talk about Crystal's character flaws. No, this isn't Crystal hate. We love our girl in this house. Okay? Okay. Let's start.

Crystal's character arc, at its heart, is all about her learning to be a better person because she has good influences that love and support her for the first time.

When the show starts, Crystal is not a nice person. She's abrasive in a way that's specifically designed to push people away. She's used to getting her own way, and it shows. She's used to having no meaningful connections with anyone, and it shows. She's breathtakingly selfish, in the very literal sense of the definition. She is focused on her self. Her problems are front and center to her; everything is about what she needs, and what she wants, and how she's struggling.

Jenny calls her out very early on. In episode one, Crystal is complaining about the boys, and Jenny, for all her cynicism, strikes right at the heart of the problem. She tells Crystal, "Everybody is always thinking about themselves, all the time." People only care about their own problems. And she says, correctly, that that's what Crystal is doing, too.

This moment is a revelation for Crystal. For the first time, she considers what her behavior looks like from another person's perspective. As she says, she gets mad at herself over it, and that awareness allows her to do something selfless for the first time in the series. She takes a step back and insists that instead of focusing on her problems, they go to help a little girl. It's a big moment for her.

But importantly, she's not done growing as a character here. She's only just getting started.

On my first watch through, I didn't realize how often, over the next few episodes, Crystal redirects things to her problems during conversation, but it's quite a lot. She's still focused on herself – selfish, in that most literal definition of the word. The issues most important to her are her issues. She's starting to learn to think about other people, but she's not there yet. The process is still underway.

Which brings us to Charles.

Charles' arc is a different sort of self-reflection. He's terrified that he's a bad person the way his father was and the way the boys that killed him were.

During the course of the show, he gets systematically stripped of his confidence and made to feel helpless, and just like Crystal needs outside influences to help her reach a more stable place, Charles does, too. He desperately needs reassurance that he isn't everything he's afraid he is.

But my goodness, the timing in their arcs is such a trainwreck when you put them together, and it is brilliant.

Let's start with the Devlin House.

Crystal has some amazing character growth here. She displays genuine concern about Charles, makes an attempt at comforting him, and learns to work with Edwin even though she still doesn't particularly like him at this point.

Charles, meanwhile, is beginning to fall apart. He's just had the worst night of his afterlife. He's been viscerally reminded of how helpless he is. He couldn't stop the Devlins from being killed over and over, just like he couldn't stop his own father's abuse. He messed up his attempted rescue so badly that he was completely out of commission until the case was finished. He managed to help not one single thing. He made no impact at all. He couldn't help those girls any more than he was able to help himself, while he was still alive.

So they get back to the butcher shop, and what do we see? Monty immediately coopts Edwin. Niko doesn't know what's happened because she wasn't there and Charles has been all fake smiles with her. And Crystal goes off with Niko, leaving Charles to flounder on his own in the wake of everything. She's still learning how to support other people. She isn't there yet, and it's extremely on display in this moment.

Then we get the lighthouse episode, and they both get put through the wringer here. Crystal gets her hopes and expectations jerked around by the Night Nurse in the very worst way, and Charles gets hit with a whole pile full of trauma. All that helplessness wells to the forefront again. Combined with being forced to relive some of his worst memories and the desperation to keep Edwin safe from hell, Charles lets himself act on his anger for once.

And what does he get in the aftermath? Horror.

Everyone who cares about him is horrified by what he's done. Edwin goes so far as to call it extreme. They don't know the half of it, of course; they haven't seen what the Night Nurse just put him through. But in this moment Charles is at his absolute lowest, and all he sees is confirmation that he's exactly as terrible as he thinks he is.

That's why Charles shrugs off Edwin's attempt at comfort, here. When he needed to be able to do something to protect Edwin and also himself – when he needed to believe that he could be better than what his father always was – all he sees is the confirmation from the people he cares about most that when push came to shove, he really is a bad guy.

Then comes the aftermath. And this moment is such a brilliant, awful clash of both of their character arcs. It is so delightfully messy.

Because Charles starts to open up to Crystal here. He starts to lay himself bare, the way he ends up doing with Edwin in episode 5. He's on the verge of admitting something that he's been worried about for literal decades. He tells her, "I've been angry for such a long time."

And what does Crystal do? She's still in the midst of her own character growth. She's still struggling to support other people. She's still learning how to. In a lot of ways, though she's made progress already, she's still that selfish girl that Jenny called out in the very first episode.

And she shows it here it with the absolute worst possible timing. No sooner has Charles started to talk about what's bothering him than she cuts in with her own problems. She's tired of riddles and spirits and demons and not knowing who she is. And the look on Charles' face. The moment when he visibly sets aside his own problems, because Crystal doesn't need any more disasters on her plate? It's heartbreaking. You can actually track the subtle change in his expression there. The actor does a phenomenal job.

And then comes the kiss. And what spurs it? Crystal saying she needs something real.

This moment isn't about light-hearted attraction, the way the earlier flirting is. It's Charles setting aside what he needs – comfort and reassurance and a moment to talk through the things that have been tearing him apart – to give her what she says she wants. He can't even feel it. And Crystal isn't far enough along in her character growth here to realize how selfish she's being. Like Jenny said way back in episode one, she's only thinking about herself.

And then comes the absolute unmitigated disaster of episode 5.

Straight out the gate, Charles leans in for a kiss. From his perspective, they have something together; there's affection there. Charles "I think I'd miss kissing" Rowland, who has been starved for meaningful physical contact for thirty years, is not in a hurry to give this up.

But Crystal is fresh out of a nightmare where she conflates Charles with her abusive ex. She withdraws; she calls what they had a distraction. She cuts it off almost as soon as it's started, so focused on her own worries here that she misses how damn fake Charles' smile is, to cover up that he's coming to pieces.

To be clear, she's absolutely not in the wrong here. It is 1000% her prerogative not to jump into a relationship again while she's still struggling to work through what happened with David. But the arc of her narrative is still early enough that she does it all without so much as the awareness that her focus on her own issues has hurt Charles terribly.

And then the episode really kicks off, and both of them are in shambles in very different ways.

Crystal is projecting her issues with David onto Charles. She has a lot of history, and David seems as though he's exactly the right sort of toxic to leave lasting a lasting impact. But Charles hasn't done anything to deserve her assumptions, and he takes the brunt of her temper here and throughout the episode.

Charles is desperately projecting onto the dead jocks. He very badly wants them to be good guys, because he sees himself in them and he needs himself to be a good guy. He snipes back at Crystal for the very first time in this episode, and he does it in the worst way possible, accidentally prodding her where it will do the most damage.

They're both hurting. They both say some truly painful things to one another.

She does not need to hear that she has unsorted hangups about David still plaguing her while she's unable to move past them. He desperately does not need anyone to tell him that he has rage issues while he's still struggling to think of himself as a decent person.

They apologize, in the end. They start to move past it.

But it's telling that Charles doesn't try to open up to Crystal again. He goes to Edwin instead, even though Edwin is the one who called his actions regarding the Night Nurse extreme. He gets the reassurance he needs so badly; he gets the connection he was looking for with Crystal from Edwin, instead. (I have a lot of thoughts on why Charles initially tries to open up to Crystal so quickly, but it is very much an aside, and this is already extremely long, so it will have to wait for another write-up.)

But the important thing here is, Edwin is the one to offer Charles what he needs to overcome the self-doubt eating him alive. Edwin provides the physical affection Charles was seeking in the form of that long-overdue hug. Edwin is the one who's able to reaffirm for him that he's not just a good guy, he's the best person Edwin knows.

And for all intents and purposes, Charles' major character arc ends here.

Charles has a few last little moments to go on the path to rebuilding his own self-image, after this, but for the most part his concerns have been resolved. He saves Crystal in episode 6 and Edwin in episode 7, proving to himself that he's able to make a difference in the face of overwhelming odds. He's not helpless, no matter what the Night Nurse told him; he can be a force for good in the world. By the end of the series, his crisis of self-doubt seems to have been largely overcome.

But it's the conversation with Edwin at the end of episode 5 that really allows him to work through his most pressing issues. Edwin is there to help support him when he stumbles. Edwin provides him the comfort he was looking for while Crystal was too worried about her own problems to notice how badly he needed the help.

Crystal, meanwhile, still has a ways to go after episode 5. The last three episodes are where she does her most important character growth.

In episode 6, she learns some hard lessons about keeping secrets and letting people help and appreciate you even when you can't offer them anything in return. And Charles, importantly, is there for her every step of the way. He consistently offers her physical and emotional support. He models for her, in a very real way, what it looks like to have someone prop you up when you need the help.

And in turn, Crystal steps in to save the boys. She's the big damn hero at the end of this episode.

The breakthrough continues into episode 7. She's so intent on helping to get Edwin out of hell that she literally goes to face her own demons, not for herself for once – not for her own purposes or needs or wants – but because she wants to help someone else.

And episode 8, at long last, brings her to the culmination of her character arc.

Crystal is at her absolute lowest here. Her family, the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally, didn't even realize she was gone. Her precious memories, that she's spent the entire series trying to regain, have showed her that she's not the person she hoped she would be. She's overwhelmed enough that she means to flee, to cut herself off from her new friends entirely.

Then the boys get kidnapped. And just like that, she makes up her mind.

For the first time since the start of the series, she sets aside her most important issues in order to let what other people need take precedence. She disregards all of her own personal concerns and focuses instead on others. She's finally stepped out of those selfish impulses that Jenny calls her out on, all the way back in the first episode. She's finally learned how to support other people when they need it.

Crystal has finally figured out how to be there for others, despite having troubles of her own.

It's a lovely arc, and it's beautifully done.

Charles' is just as touching.

And god damn, but it was a brilliant narrative choice to have their character arcs line up in exactly the wrong way.

[wisteria-lodge]

What do you think of Bellatrix? Would you have liked to explore more dynamics about her?

I *love* unpacking sibling dynamics and toxic relationships, so of course I find Bellatrix fascinating. (Also "Bellatrix Lestrange" might be my favorite name in a series full of very good names. 10/10.)

To me, what's key about Bellatrix is that she's the oldest of the three Black sisters. She could have been written as the indulged, attention-seeking bratty baby... but that would be a less interesting character.

Growing up, I think Narcissa was probably the quiet, passive child. That's her strategy when Voldemort shows up and she's once again living with a powerful, unstable authority figure. (I mean we have no info about what Cygnus Black was like, but he's Walburga Black's younger brother, and I imagine they probably enforced each other's extremism and intensity after their brother got blasted off the tapestry.) Narcissa's strategy is fade to the background, don't react, don't let them see what you're thinking, let them ignore you.

(I also think it's very believable that she went subtly went low contact with the Blacks after she married Lucius. The Malfoys have *always* been much more squeamish about violence, and much more politically moderate. I think Narcissa likes that.)

Andromeda you can take in a couple of different directions, but she was probably the problem child/scapegoat. And if she wasn't before she married Ted, she DEFINITELY was after. She also looks so much like Bellatrix that Harry does a double take, which I think... would have really bugged Bellatrix growing up, and informed their dynamic. Bellatrix sees herself as SO exceptional that she wouldn't want to be compared to anyone... but if she were, then it would be important that any casual comparisons come out in HER favor. (Which can't have been fun for Andromeda.) It's interesting that Voldemort underlines the connection between the two sisters as a way to get under Bellatrix's skin, and it works *really* well. She's got a competitive streak.

Because Bellatrix would have 100% grown up the *Golden Child.* Powerful, driven, beautiful in a striking way. The Daddy's Girl energy is off the charts (and she was probably Aunt Walburga's favorite too.) Bellatrix is described as acting like a queen, which is exactly how she sees herself. She grew up in an echo chamber not only telling her that people like her were special and better... but that she was the most Special one within the Special group.

So she meets Lord Voldemort. He's beautiful, driven, brilliant, power levels off the charts. He's Grindelwald born again (but straight) (probably.) He's not just the Dark Lord, he's a King. He wants to rule the world as an immortal god-king. He tells Bellatrix that this is going to happen, and she believes him.

And like - of course she's into that. But also, seeing yourself as a temporarily embarrassed Immortal Goddess Empress requires such a specific self-concept. You are going to need a delusionally high opinion of yourself... but also enough talent/power/beauty/external validation to carry that idea into adulthood.

(also Rodolphus... he doesn't count. Good Marriage was just another box to check as a young woman so Bellatrix could remain Perfect. The rules are different if you're a Immortal Goddess Empress anyway. Any consort she had would be so far below her own power level, or the power level of her King, that he literally would not matter. But she's not going to have a *kid* with Rodolphus. She's Voldemort's favorite, Rodolphus is not good enough. You sire PRINCES with the KING.)

Voldemort of course would know all this. And we see him have so much fun finding ways to creatively torture Lucius. He's a sadist in general sure, but there's something specifically about bringing pureblood royalty low that he gets REALLY into. He *likes* bringing up the werewolf nephew-in-law and and watching Bellatrix scramble desperately for ground, crying, while the rest of the Death Eaters point and laugh. Until he tells them to cut it out, because he's the only one with enough power to do that.

And then Bellatrix goes back to her room and probably constructs a whole narrative about how that was actually Voldemort protecting her, because she's the most Special, and it's all in good fun really. Because the alternative is having to admit that she's not extraordinary, she's just a punching bag (like Lucius Malfoy.) This is where a lot of her anger and instability come from. Every time she's in a situation where someone else is doing something *more* or *better* ... she lashes out.

In the main timeline of the books this mainly shows up in her dynamic with the other Death Eaters (and Narcissa.) Bellatrix tries to give orders in Malfoy Manor and I am sure it really annoys her that Voldemort is using Lucius' house as his HQ. That isn't how it's supposed to go! We even get the fun detail that Dumbledore thinks Bellatrix is going to try really hard to get into Grimmauld place - and of course she does, she wants to volunteer the better HQ. Narcissa is sacrificing Draco for the Dark Lord? Well, Bellatrix would have five sons (hypothetically) and sacrifice them all (happily.) She tries to shift the blame for Department of Mysteries thing 100% onto Lucius, and gets really defensive when Snape implies that he has more emotional intimacy with Voldemort than she does.

But she's still really, really useful, and Voldemort knows this. She is talented, and powerful, and his best enforcer. So he would have so much fun dangling that carrot just out of reach, forever. The prophecy makes such a big deal about Voldemort marking Harry "as his equal," because that's just not a thing he does. BELLATRIX certainly isn't his equal.

(dumbledore though... we can maybe revisit.)

[angstflavoured]

A little fiddauthor analysis...

Making this post mostly just to get all of my thoughts out about it regarding how I think it is inherently very toxic on both ends, despite people treating it as more wholesome near the beginning when they were both younger… and the fact that I think it’s very incredibly one-sided. I’m strictly going to be talking about CANON events, not headcanons or speculations or AU’s. If you wanna draw Fiddleford and Ford being cute and hugging and dating, I don’t care, I like a lot of the content for them myself. It isn’t canon to the show and doesn’t affect or harm anybody. That’s what a fandom is and I’m not trying to police anyone, I just think a lot of people misinterpret their relationship and thought it would be fun to talk about it because I find their dynamic really interesting. I’m going to be using a lot of direct quotes and scenes from Ford’s journal, TBOB, and the show, so buckle in baby ! This was supposed to be a quicker and smaller one while I work on my Billford essay, but I had a lot more to say than I thought…

First off, it’s interesting to see how Ford thinks their interaction after so long is going to go. In Journal 3 he says he has “no choice” but to call Fiddleford up to work on the portal because Ford just doesn’t have the smarts to do what he wants to do himself, and he thinks he’s going to have to literally beg Fiddleford to join him. But as we see in the journal and in the show, it hardly takes ANY convincing at all for Fiddleford to drop everything he was doing and leave his wife and kid for months on end to work on a project he knows nothing about. All the info he has he got over a short phone call. It seems like Ford, at this point being so close with Bill and thinking he’s the only one who cares about him, just assumed that most people he used to talk with don’t think about him anymore. He’s had Bill whispering in his ear that he’s the only one who understands him, so it makes sense he doesn’t think Fiddleford will want to do this with him. But from what it looks like, Fiddleford either has been waiting every second for Ford specifically to get back to him, or just has been waiting for any excuse to get the hell away from his family which is… yeesh. Either way, not very healthy regarding his wife and kid. He doesn’t seem to really care all that much about either of them, but more on that later.

Obviously Ford cares about Fiddleford, as soon as he comes down to live with him, Ford hasn’t been so happy in a good while. He missed human connection, despite how good things were going with Bill. Having another person there to talk with was nice. Despite Fiddleford having strange quirks that did irk Ford, he found them endearing and genuinely felt better in his company.

But I think the biggest thing here a lot of people overlook is that Ford only ever refers to Fiddleford as his college buddy in the show, and in the journals as “my assistant.” I’ve seen so many people have Ford call him his partner, but he actually only calls him this like once in the show i think. It’s always my assistant, my research, my theory. Which is funny because Ford didn’t come up with any of this stuff with the portal on his own. Bill was the one that gave him the blueprints. Fiddleford even questions Ford at one point, asking if he had help coming up with them because of how complex they are, and Ford decidedly DOESN’T mention Bill and instead tells him “with hard work, anything is possible.” (Btw he does refer to Bill as his partner multiple times… just sayin.)

The way he talks to and about Fiddleford, Ford is always talking down. He does think that Fiddleford is smart and does think he has a brilliant mind, but he still thinks that he’s below him.

Because Ford has Bill.

And oh my lord, do I not see anyone talk about this. Soooo many comics always depict Fiddleford knowing about Bill existence, but I think the biggest roadblock with their ship and a huge point of contention is that Fiddleford never canonically knows about Ford’s relationship with Bill until after he’s already lost his mind when he’s old. He doesn’t even KNOW that he exists until he’s half sucked through the portal. People ignore this, but it’s so important to their dynamic. Ford doesn’t think that Fiddleford could handle it, and he doesn’t think he necessarily deserves to know. Because Bill is Fords thing. Their relationship is special. Ford is special.

Ford claims he doesn’t tell Fiddleford about Bill because he would throw him in a looney bin, despite their research being so whimsical and ridiculous already. They’re literally building a portal to a different dimension, Fiddleford would’ve believed him. And the way Ford talks about it, you can tell it’s less about Fiddleford thinking he’s crazy and more about something else.

Could F ever truly appreciate the complex fates that brought me and my Muse together?

He doesn’t think Fiddleford could APPRECIATE it. The language he uses, you can tell that Ford knows that Fiddleford would see right through Bill’s facade. And Ford doesn’t want that because he wants to be friends with Bill and he wants to be special, and he’d rather hide Bill and stay in denial than tell his dearest friend, just so he can feel special a little longer.

This is why I think as much as Fiddleford’s romantic feelings for Ford were there, it never ended up going anywhere. Ford would always choose Bill over him. When Fiddleford got him the axolotl pet, Ford quickly threw it out and lied about it to Fiddleford just because Bill told him to. And there’s multiple cases of interactions like this, where Bill will talk down about Fiddleford and Ford will just be like damn… yeah. Here’s a journal excerpt from TBOB around Christmas time. For context, Ford got into a huge fight with a monster and tried to contact Bill to help him, but he didn’t come. And then Bill randomly shows up later when Ford’s at home decorating.

I was almost roasted by Krampus, and where was he? Off inspiring some other scientist? Posing for some tapestry? Were we even partners? He threw the accusation back in my face. “Hey, I’m not the one skipping portal work to carouse with a third-wheel hillbilly with second thoughts about our project!” I started to argue--but he had a point. F has seemed less and less committed to work lately.

Which is INSANE !!! when we see that only a fucking page ago, Fiddleford was explaining how he got in a fight with his wife because he didn’t get her a present for Christmas. After spending multiple weeks and making multiple prototypes for a pair of 6 fingered gloves for Ford.

And if we hop back to Journal 3, there’s a particular interaction with them which is crazy to me. While hiking up a mountain to go to Crash Site Omega, they get into a fight with the Gremloblin, which fucking swoops up Fiddleford into the sky. In Ford’s attempt to get him down, they both end up falling down through the roof of a barn, where Fiddleford gets stuck full of quills and breaks his arm.

Despite our fortune, I have become worried about my assistant. I was able to treat his physical wounds, but I fear there are mental wounds not as easily remedied. For the past several nights, he has been unable to sleep, apparently still haunted by the Gremloblin’s gaze. More alarming is his Cubic’s Cube. It has sat scrambled, unfixed, on his desk for days. I myself have survived many monster attacks without trauma, but perhaps F is more sensitive than I realized…

OH. MY. GOD. The way that Ford talks so condescendingly is enough to make any person's blood boil. It’s the same way when Fiddleford gets sucked through the portal, and when Fiddleford gets pulled back, Ford’s first words out of his mouth are “WHAT DID YOU SEE!”

As much as he cared for Fiddleford… he has no regard at all for Fiddlefords VERY VALID feelings about events that would traumatize literally anyone. But he just pats Fiddlefords back and tells him to get used to it because this is just part of the job and he shouldn’t be whining so much. He does nothing to properly comfort him and scoffs it off like “apparently he’s ‘TRAMATIZED’ or something. I’ve been through so much worse and never had a problem, I don’t get what his issue is.” And then ford is SURPRISED AND APPALLED when Fiddleford creates the memory gun.

Which oohhhhh lord, the memory gun. jesus christ. Such a big example of the distrust between them on both sides. Fiddleford literally canonically lied about destroying the gun and then erased Fords memory about it so that he could erase his own memories in secret without him knowing. And also probably fords sometimes! Not completely canon, but like…. Fiddleford did it once, I wouldn’t put it past the guy. And then when they go to the carnival, Fiddleford hands out his fucking card to Ivan (the leader of the society of the blind eye, who was a teen/early 20s at the time) so that he can erase memories for him that he didn’t like.

Biggest thing we can take away from everything regarding Fiddleford’s character, is that he always takes the easy way out. He ran away from his family he obviously didn’t really care for as much as he should’ve because that was easier than talking it out or divorcing. He pushed it aside for later. Bro was literally looking for a fucken Brokeback Mountain situation, but Ford wasn’t giving anything back to him. So instead Fiddleford constantly made a fool of himself doing things for Ford and tripping over himself to show his gratitude when all the while Ford was entirely focused on Bill. and then he just goes around and starts erasing memories, because it’s easier than having to actually deal with things. Which is why I don’t foresee a reality in which Fiddauthor makes sense, in the way they actually end up doing anything together. Because Fiddleford’s too much of a coward to admit his feelings first, and Ford obviously has his sights on someone else.

And here’s the BIGGEST damning thing, like oh my god.

In Journal 3, Ford goes to a fortune teller (which don’t get me fucking started on how judgy he is to her and how much he talks down about her, DESPITE HER BEING LEGIT AND ACTUALLY WARNING HIM). Long story short, she gives Ford a spiel about how someone close to him is deceiving him. She then gives him a mood ring and says “when this is blue, you may pull through. When this is black, you can’t turn back.”

And LO AND BEHOLD!! OH MY FUCKING GOD, when they’re at the carnival and Fiddleford is talking to Ivan and whispering--

Ford. Looks down. To check if the ring is black.

I took one last look down at my hand and was strangely relieved to find that the palm reader’s ring was still blue. I shoved it in my pocket, collected F, and tried to put the whole experience out of my mind.

FORD LITERALLY THOUGHT ABOUT THE IDEA OF FIDDLEFORD BETRAYING HIM BEFORE BILL. IN FACT, HE LITERALLY NEVER MENTIONS THINKING IT WAS BILL ONCE.

He talks about how they got into a fight at dinner the night before the portal test because Fiddleford was having second thoughts about it being dangerous, and Ford told him to be there or he would get left behind. He’d do it without him.

And when Fiddleford gets pulled through the portal and quits the project, Ford says gooooddd fucking riddance, I never even needed you bro.

F, you weak-willed hayseed! Go back to your doting family and a life of fear and compromise! I weep now not for our failed partnership, but for the golden opportunity thrown away. To think I considered him a friend! I know my true friend. It is my Muse.

One of the few times he ever refers to it as partnership btw. Literally only when they break everything off.

And Ford only starts fighting with Bill about everything after it starts directly hurting him. It literally just seems like Ford is less upset about Bill’s plan being evil, and more upset at the fact that he lied to Ford LMAOOOOO he didn’t like the fact that he was disposable and lesser to Bill, despite Ford treating Fiddleford the exact same way.

At the end of all of this… it may seem like I’m really fighting against this ship, but not in the slightest. I LOVEEEE them so much, but in a way where it would be really toxic and not actually end up with anything happening.

Such a biggg theme when it comes to Ford’s character specifically is yearning. He yearns for success and attention and love and acceptance, but he’s constantly never giving other people those things. Which ends in him not receiving any in return. That is obviously until he gets back from dimension hopping and works on being a better person. When he starts towards healing, that’s when he starts receiving what he always wanted.

There’s so much tension between Ford and Fiddleford it's like disgusting, they were so incredibly gay… but, I hate to say it, it was very one-sided. They did have some fun times together and Ford enjoyed his company for quite a bit, but it was nothing like how Fiddleford felt for him. Fiddleford was always thinking about how Ford was feeling and what he was doing, and Ford never really did that for Fiddleford unless he was prompted to. But he was alwayasyayayss thinking about how Bill felt. And he always chose Bill in the end.

I just see so much of all of this get swept under the rug and never addressed, when it's kind of sad because it’s all so interesting and really adds a lot to both of their characters. They were both so morally gray back in their day, and honestly even more so now that they’re older, and its kinda sad to see that all go ignored. I JUST LOVE TOXIC GAYS SM AND THEY WERE SO TOXIC AND I’D LOVE TO SEE PEOPLE EXPLORE THAT MORE. Hopefully maybe this will prompt some people to think about it like this…….. It’s all so very tragic and their relationship was doomed from the start and i loveeeee shit like that. only misery to be had...

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + dressing you

character: alastor warnings: 18+ for mature themes (no smut) minors do not interact, fem!reader, pet/master dynamic, toxic relationship (possessiveness; reader is nothing more than a silly little doll for alastor to play dress up with), implied size difference, a hint of blood words: 1.1k

Alastor is a creature of habit, a man of routine. He has his daily rituals, his rigorous schedules, his lists of tasks, all performed to perfection each and every day. 

And Alastor likes to begin his mornings in a very specific way. 

You know the procedure by now inside out, upside down, could recite it backwards, if he so desired you to. 

By the time he wakes you, he’s already laid out your outfit for the day; intimates, dress, socks, accessories, all spread in an immaculate flat lay on his seldom-used bedspread. 

You are always expected to adorn yourself with the garments he’s selected, to pull on each and every piece all on your own, fabrics lovingly caressing your exposed flesh as his gaze slithers after the material, leaving burning smudges on your skin.

But, of course, you can never do it all completely right—not like Master can. 

Because it always ends the same, this little morning sacrament: with Alastor fussing over you—straightening out a bow, smoothing out a wrinkle, tugging up a sock, readjusting a sleeve.

There is always something wrong he has to fix, to make perfect. 

And the finishing touch, the finishing touch is always for Master to add. 

A leather collar, as red as his eyes and adorned with a heart-shaped tag, his name in an elegant scrawl engraved in the platinum. He’s always so tender when he fastens it around your neck, after he has thoroughly approved of your dressing for the day, more tender than you’d ever thought him capable of; more tender than he ever is otherwise. 

It’s all just another way he claims you, degrades you, announces that you are his—his to decorate, his to desecrate, his to do whatever the fuck he wants with you. 

That pretty little silver heart that rests so daintily against your clavicle, that rises and falls and glitters with each of your gentle breaths, will never let you forget that. 

Today, as it is with most days, he has chosen a white colour palette. 

Sitting in his usual armchair with his legs crossed, folded hands resting in his lap, he watches as you undress in front of him, left vulnerable and raw to his gluttonous glare. It stings, his gaze razored and slitting into your skin, prickling as it rakes over your unprotected form, leaving you feeling hypersensitive, overexposed, like he’s stripped away some fundamental layer and left you barer than bare.

Yet to the untrained eye, he would appear only mildly interested, possibly even teetering on indifferent, but you know him better than that.

You are not the untrained eye—not anymore.

You know that the glowing in his gaze is brighter, bolder and more brilliant than normal as he sharply catalogues every action—pretty silk slipped off, dainty lace sliding on. 

You know that his pupils are abnormally large, having gnawed away at his irises in their attempt to consume the scene in front of him—a scene he’s witnessed a hundred times before; a scene he never tires of nonetheless. 

You know that his smile, usually sharp and stretched, is a little bit softer around the edges, a little bit sweeter as it seals hungry teeth behind curled lips.

His chest swells and deflates with calm, even breaths, his unblinking gaze holding yours for a moment—in, out, in, out—and you stand still as a statue, waiting.

Such a good little pet he’s got himself. 

He lets the moment linger for a little, basks in the exquisiteness of your obedience, allows that sweet suffocation of your compliance to grow until it’s nearly unbearable, until you’re struggling to keep stationary under his unrelenting stare, until the weight of it is crushing, compressing your ribs, flattening your lungs as you anticipate his approval.

Finally, he nods, and then, you begin.

First, the intimates; pure snow-white lace encrusted with tiny crystals, dainty material skimming your flesh in a faint caress, clinging to your supple curves as you fasten hooks and adjust waistbands. 

Next, an ivory milkmaid dress, complete with cinched puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, the corset top outlining the natural lines and bends of your torso, skirt flaring slightly at the hips and flowing into loose pleats around your thighs. Little white flowers detail the garment, embroidered in silk across the linen, blooming with each of your graceful inhales. 

Then, a pair of white thigh-high nylons to garnish the outfit, adorned with tiny white polkadots, sleek and sheer as they hug your legs. 

He doesn’t miss the ripple of chills that follow after his eyes as they glide up your body, trailing the curled knuckles hooked in the band of your stockings. Nor does he miss the delicate shiver that dances up your spine, or the tensing of your muscles as you linger in limbo beneath his stare, anticipating his next order.

No, he witnesses it all.

And he smirks, huffing out an airy snort, your frame flinching with the sound.

“Does my gaze make you uncomfortable, dear?”

“No, Sir, of course not,” you respond immediately; well-trained, obedient. 

“No? Then why has your body gone rigid beneath my eyes?” 

“I just—” you begin, faltering a little, a small frown on your face. 

Suddenly, he rises, stalking toward you calmly, both hands clasped behind his back. That infamous collar, held securely in his grasp, jingles with each of his steps, such a delicate sound for something so sinister. 

Stopping an inch or two from your face, your head snaps up, the motion instinctual, eyes wide and subservient—searching for guidance, awaiting your orders like the good little girl you are. 

A palm wreathes around your jaw, points of his claws pressing into your cheeks as he forces your head up further, revelling in the soft pained yelp that hitches in your throat, tangling on a gasp.

“Do you feel like a piece of meat, on display for your owner?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

Crimson searches your face, slow and scrutinizing, lids narrowing slightly as his smile sharpens.

“Nothing more than a pretty little prize to be paraded around on my arm, proudly and in public?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Leaning down, he grinds his forehead into your own, inhibiting your gaze from fleeing his, neck bent at an unnatural angle as he looms over you. He stares at you for a moment, scarlet so bright it hurts to look directly into, so brilliant you’re sure it’ll leave sunspots blotting your vision when you finally look away, but you don’t dare to blink. 

Slim fingers flex around your jaw, tightening, and his claws pierce your cheeks—shallow little pricks that’ll be unnoticeable in a few minutes, dots of blood rushing to fill the tiny dents. His tongue laves over each in a single, slow drag, wide and wet as it cleans the wounds and streaks his tastebuds with copper, sealing them with a thick salve of saliva before pulling away. 

“Good,” he finally murmurs, the word a puff of breath wafting across your face, warm and woodsy. “Because you are. And Master likes for his things to look presentable.” 

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | one.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, eventual smut

—word count: 4.2k

—warnings: cussing/mature language, this is gonna start off kinda slow but i promise it'll get spicier lol, say hello to the rest of the professors in this fic ouweeee 🤪, some general bioengineering research terms, very vague mentions of mice research work, more of a glimpse into the yunho x san x iseul dynamic

—a/n: i'm also working on wooyoung's mini series so pls check it out! the next update will prob go up soon! ily <33

"Did you figure out your rotation for this quarter?" You walk alongside Jiung as you head to the Harvey Center, where Professor Choi's lab is located. Both you and Jiung had just finished up walking around campus to get your steps in, but to also check out the classrooms for all your upcoming classes this quarter and pick up books at the bookstore. Most of your classes were in familiar buildings, while two were entirely new. 

"Yeah, I gotta meet with one more professor then I think I can send off my final decision." You nod. Jiung is holding his bag of books and yours, not wanting you to haul them around campus with how heavy they can get.

"That's good."

"Yeah, hope so." He repeats. "Are you meeting with the other professors this week just to see if you wanna rotate in any of them instead?"

"Mhm. All in one week. I guess it makes it easier on me since I don't have to wait on anyone. I can decide by end of the week."

"Are you seeing them in person?"

"Just Professor Choi and Professor Kim. Everyone else said Zoom." Jiung nods.

"Wow, Professor Kim in person?"

"I heard he really values in person meetings." You chuckle. "Which is nice? Maybe it's cause he's the department chair."

"That, too. He just seems like that kinda person, though. He's super active in all the events."

"Truth." 

"Did you like rotating in Professor Bahng's lab last quarter?"

"I did. He was really cool. People in his lab are cool, too. I just.. I don't know? I didn't have a specific project I could focus on. Felt like I'd have trouble fitting myself in there and finding something to work off of. Everyone was great though, don't get me wrong. Just didn't click for me." 

"Makes sense. You wanna be happy and feel like you can thrive somewhere."

"Yeah, exactly. Plus, after talking to Sunwoo and Belle, I think my interests lie more in Professor Choi's lab." You look down at the bags before looking at the Harvey Center ahead of you. "You know you don't have to wait for me, Jiung. You can go to the apartment if you want."

"Nah, I'll wait. I don't have shit to do anyway." You swing the front doors open and Jiung instantly plops down on a free chair near the lobby doors. "I'll be here."

"Shit, I just realized I think his office is downstairs in the basement. I don't know if I have access."

"Where's Sunwoo or Belle?" You quickly pull out your phone and try to dial Sunwoo or Belle to help you. Unlucky for you though, none of them answer.

"I guess they aren't here for the day yet. They didn't pick up." You sigh. "Why didn't I think about this early on?!"

"Relax. It's fine! Poke your head around, I'm sure someone is there to let you in." You pucker your lips in dismay, hoping it doesn't cause any issues and make you late for your meeting. You should've asked for assistance in the first place, but it kinda blew over your head when Professor Choi responded quicker than you expected.

"Welp. Let's hope I don't fuck this up already." Jiung pats your head.

"You won't." You wave to him before heading into the elevators, down to the basement level of the building. It's quiet, and you don't see many people walking around despite it being close to 10am. As you approach the door to the basement, you peek into the window to try and catch a glimpse of anyone passing by in the visible hallway. To your luck, the hallway is dead and there doesn't seem to be any moving heads in any of the nearby lab rooms. You let out a sigh and take out your phone, wondering if you should just email Professor Choi to ask for assistance.

No, maybe someone will pass by in the next 5 minutes.

Give it 5 more minutes, then panic and email.

You tippytoe and peek through the window once more, muttering small curses to yourself for being so unprepared with your meeting. Now, he's probably going to think you can't—

"Y/N?" You turn to see Professor Choi behind you with a soft smile on his face. He's dressed in a grey turtleneck, black slacks and boots— large silver square-shaped frames sitting on the bridge of his nose. He has his hands in his pockets, a heavy leather bag slung on his shoulder. You're surprised he even knows it's you; then again, who else would be peeking into the basement at this time?

"Oh my god, hi—sorry." You pause, slightly embarrassed having Professor Choi catch you looking through the door's window the way you were. "I just realized I didn't have basement access so I was trying to see if anyone was around before bothering you."

"All good. Perfect timing, hm?" He taps his badge against the reader and swings the door open. "After you." You give him a curt bow as a thank you, slowly walking into the basement hallway. San trails behind you, and he takes note of the way you're dressed. You're in some wide-leg white jeans, a cream colored vest and some black platform loafers. It's cute, really. He gives you another toothless smile when you stop in your tracks and wait for him to lead the way. Hopefully, he didn't catch your eyes when you quickly skimmed his outfit again— he was tall and he was well-built, it was very obvious with that turtleneck he had on. He smells of a woody cologne, mixed with notes of jasmine and patchouli. It's not overbearing, but it definitely makes its presence known next to you. "How's your day been?" He asks and you just nod.

"It's been alright. I just went to pick up my books at the book store, explored around campus to make sure I knew where my classes were at. There's a few buildings I haven't had class in."

"That's good. Getting prepared for the quarter well I see." 

"Trying to, at least." He chuckles as he does an abrupt turn to the right and swings a door open. You follow him into another office space, where desks are lined up amongst each other. You find a few people sitting around, typing away on their desktops. It's too bad Sunwoo or Belle wasn't around. You'd probably feel a bit less nervous seeing their faces before the meeting.

"What's up, Professor Choi!" One of his lab members calls out. San does a quick nod and throws up a wave just as he unlocks his office door and steps inside. 

"Come in." He holds the door open for you once again. "Sorry it's a bit messy. I'm all over the place with these progress reports and finalizing class details."

"No worries! Honestly doesn't look messy to me." You look around seeing a stack of papers on his desk. Otherwise, everything is neat. He's got all his awards framed up and lined along the back wall. Books on shelves near his desk. A couch off to the side wall with two small pillows. A small coffee table. A mini fridge. Two chairs for guests at his desk. It's roomy, but not super roomy.

It smells like his cologne.

"Have a seat." He pulls out one of the two chairs directly in front of his desk. You sit and place your bag down on the ground, fixing yourself as Professor Choi sets his bag down and sits at his computer chair. "Gotta apologize again, it's my first meeting of the day so I don't have everything out and ready."

"No need to apologize, I get it." You chuckle and he smiles. 

"Your CV was really impressive." He says as he's pulling up said CV. He's looked at it enough times to have a photographic memory of it, which is the first for him. Right away, he can tell you'd work well in his lab. You have a good head on your shoulders, smart. Can contribute a lot. He just knows sometimes.

"Thank you." You smile and it makes San's smile grow bigger. 

"So, why do you wanna explore those areas? Tell me a little bit more about your experience with everything. Computational analysis, mice, 2P and opto-stim-neural circuit work. All that good stuff." He sits back a bit, his full attention now on you instead of your CV on the screen. You feel your hands get a 'lil clammy the more his eyes focus on you, your lips feeling a 'lil more dry than usual. Shit, he is attractive.

"Sure!" You quickly shake off the nerves and begin to tell him about your experience and interest in bioengineering. It all started when the field was briefly introduced to you in high school, and your curiosity grew to enormous levels when you found a few schools that had the specific undergrad program available. You've talked to a few seniors about their experiences, like Sunwoo, before solidifying your decision to move forward with the major. You tell him how you took a break after graduation to get some more hands-on experiences through two internships and a full-time job, working on in-vitro mice work, computational analysis and building and maintaining 2P microscopes. Then, you realized you really wanted to get back on track and pursue your graduate studies. You tell him about your rotation in Professor Bahng's lab last quarter and how you enjoyed it, but you were having trouble figuring out how you'd fit in the lab. When you talked to Sunwoo a little more about what he's been up to in Professor Choi's lab, your interest in opto-stim peeked, having been Professor Choi's niche. 

It's a nice, easy conversation. You find that Professor Choi isn't as intimidating as you thought. He chimes in with questions every now and then, making it a smooth two-way convo.

"Ah, Professor Bahng? That's my guy right there. Learned lots from him." You chuckle.

"He's brilliant."

"He is, he really, really is." He nods. "But I totally get it, it's good to experience things in order for you to understand what you really want or how to spend your time wisely."

"Exactly." You tilt your head and look at him. "That's pretty much it for me, though. Your work is great. I'm really interested in learning more and diving deep into opto-stim. I know the basics, but haven't gotten a chance to work with it. Sunwoo's project seems to encompass a lot of that, along with the other aspects I've worked with." 

"That's right. His project has been on a roll, same thing with Belle's. I can see you working between the both of them, most of your time with Sunwoo, though. I think you'll fit the best with his, and I can see a lot of potential avenues coming out of it. He's been asking for some help, too." He chuckles. "Why don't you talk to Sunwoo and Belle a little more? Then all four of us can meet in the next couple of days to finalize project ideas and details. Should be good to start the rotation afterwards if it all goes smoothly." Your eyes light up.

"Really? I-I mean, yes. I'll do that."

"Mhm. Let me know when you're ready? Just send me an another email."

"Thank you, Professor Choi." He smiles at you.

"You're very welcome. Do you have any other questions?" You look at him, head tilting out of curiosity.

"Um, not for the project. It's something more personal, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Go for it." He leans back again and rests his clasped hands on his lap.

"Why did you pursue this field?" San is having to pause because out of all the times he's met with students, people [besides formal interviews], no one has asked him that question. No one has asked him directly— people like to assume they know him because his name is out there, but not once has anyone asked about his experience.

"Hm." He hums. "It's probably gonna sound a little cliché and everything, so don't judge me." You giggle and shake your head. "It just felt like my calling? Kinda like you." When he smiles, you find yourself captivated by his dimples. They make everything about his smile so captivating and so, so charming. "I think you might know this already, but my dad was a biology professor. He always told me to challenge myself and think outside the box, and I think the early exposure to his career definitely shaped my path. He'd share his knowledge with me and try to ask me tricky questions. Make me think about what's around me, how things can be improved. Better understood. Then, I learned about bioengineering and tried to better understand it. Open new avenues for things that haven't been studied well yet. Just took lots of risks and tried things out. Failed lots of times before getting the hang of things."

"That's amazing. Your parents must be really proud."

"I hope so." He laughs. "Thanks for asking."

"Oh, no. Thank you. I wasn't sure if I overstepped with that question."

"What? No way. You're actually the first to ask and I appreciate that."

"Oh?" Is all you manage to get out, confused as to why he would say that. Has no tried to ask about him or get to know him a little better? Maybe it was just you, but you definitely thought building good, personal connections would bring more advantages than not— first and foremost, bringing comfort and ease, especially to any new environment. Who would wanna work in an awkward, tense setting?

"I mean it." San laughs. "I appreciate it. It's nice when people take a second to view me as a human and not a robot who is constantly churning work." 

"Course." The both of you maintain eye contact for a bit and it makes you feel so, so nervous that he's just looking at you. And he kinda is just looking at you. Observing you. He finds himself admiring your look once more; the hair, your smile, your nails. Cute. He knows he shouldn't, but truthfully, he can't really help himself when a beautiful woman is in front of him in general. He is a man, and a man who enjoys eye candy. "Anyway, I know you're probably booked and busy today, so let me get going."

"You're okay. I don't have anything until the next 30 mins, don't feel the need to rush."

"No, it's okay. I should totally let you be." You stand and smile at him as you sling the strap on your shoulder and tuck your bag close. "Thank you again, Professor Choi. I'm excited for what's to come."

"Me too. It'll be great, I know it." He stands, hands in his pockets as he follows you towards the door.

"Thanks." You turn to look at him, and he's not too far from you. "See you soon.. over Zoom?" You assume that since the basics and introductions are out of the way, it'll probably be more convenient for Professor Choi to do a Zoom meeting. Lo and behold, he surprises you with a: 

"In person would be nice." He smirks a bit. He does enjoy his in person meetings; they're more productive that way.

"Are you sure? I don't wanna waste your time."

"Never." He shrugs a bit. "I mean it. It's always better to talk in person, anyway." 

"I agree." You smile at him once more, hand on his door handle. "See you soon."

"Have a good one, Y/N. Feel free to email me if anything comes up."

"Appreciate it." You give him one last look before you swing the door open and find Sunwoo just about to settle down at his desk.

"Y/N! Professor Choi! Assuming it went well and I'll get the help I've been begging for?" San laughs.

"Yeah. I asked Y/N to talk to you and Belle about potential projects and to email me once she's ready so we can all meet and finalize details."

"Good with me." 

"Good with me, too." San gives you both a small, toothless smile before walking back into his office. "So, how'd it really go?"

"Good." You approach Sunwoo's desk. "He's not as intimidating as I thought. Kinda. Really laid back, though."

"Yeah, he's super chill and easy going. Super supportive. You'll enjoy it here." He waves his phone. "Sorry I missed your call earlier."

"I forgot I didn't have access into the basement."

"How'd you get in?"

"Professor Choi saw me peeking through the basement door window." Sunwoo snorts.

"Amazing first impression." You playfully pinch his bicep.

"Hate you." You pout. "I'm nervous."

"For what, dude?" He laughs. "I promise you, it's not that bad at all. As long as you put in the work and do what you need to do, everything will play out fine."

"What if I don't get into the lab post-rotation?"

"Don't say that." Sunwoo smiles. "You'll be good. Promise. You're smart and hardworking."

"We'll see. Maybe you'll realize how much of a pain in the ass I am when we work together."

"True." You glare at him and he laughs. "Kidding. Ready for classes to start soon?"

"No."

"That's the spirit." You chuckle. "Anyway, let me know when you're free this week. We can walk around the lab while we talk about projects. Belle is usually here around the same time I am so I'm sure we can grab her whenever." You nod. At this point, Chris and Yeosang walk into the room, the two in good spirits and engaging in lively conversation right before knocking on San's door. 

"Okay. I'll text you later, then. I gotta get back to Jiung, I left him upstairs."

"I saw." He chuckles and salutes just as he diverts his attention to the data on his desktop computer.

"Hi Professor Bahng, Professor Kang." You smile at them in passing and they nod in response.

"Hey Y/N! Nice to see you around these parts." Professor Bahng says with that usual happy tone of his. Professor Kang is a little more shy, but never fails to acknowledge you with a smile or soft 'hello.' Chris presses his ear to the door before laughing and swinging the door open, greeting San as casually as they can before the door shuts.

"Whattup!" Chris plops onto San's couch while Yeosang takes the other end.

"Nothing much. Just finished my meeting with the rotation student. You know her, actually."

"Oh, Y/N? Yeah! She's crazy smart. Think she'll do some good work in your lab." San nods.

"So, what's the plan you wanted to talk about?"

"I need to start planning the symposium for one of the grants. It needs to happen within the next month. Was hoping you can help us, give us a few tips? Maybe do a talk?"

"Where are you planning to do it?"

"Right next door at the Acacia Center, was hoping one of the huge conference rooms would be open."

"Probably the best place to do it because they can cater for the event, too."

"Who else can we recruit to do a talk, though?" Yeosang sits back and lets out a sigh. "Jongho?"

"Try seeing if Namjoon is free, that'll definitely draw some people." They all laugh in unison knowing Namjoon's power. "And make sure you do the whole email blast with flyers everywhere. Let people pass it along."

"Yeah, okay. But, also, don't hate me." Christopher looks at San with an awkward smile. San knows though, he knows very well what he's hinting at.

"We've already talked about this. I don't care."

"I know, but still. You're one of my good friends and I'd hate to put you in an uncomfortable position."

"Well, Yunho is always gonna be there and I don't expect things to change. We're always gonna have to work together despite what happened."

"I don't know how you do it, I'm sorry." Yeosang says, slightly shaking his head as he sinks into the couch a little more. 

"I agree. You're strong, man."

"I have no choice." San laughs. "Besides, I stopped letting that consume me a long time ago. It's none of my concern anymore. As long as I can get my shit done without issues and minimal contact, I couldn't care less."

"That's real, honestly." Chris lets out a breath. "Well, I'm gonna ask him to do a talk."

"Go for it. Will probably be good for the grant, too." San sighs. He meant it when he said he stopped letting the entire thing consume him a long time ago. And he does have to interact with Yunho whether he likes it or not; it's not like he's gonna give everything up just because he can't stand some petty drama from the past. Besides, he promised Namjoon he was okay. He promised he wouldn't cause issues even though Namjoon didn't expect any. But, it did hurt. He's not gonna lie— there are days when he still questions everything and he wonders why things unfolded the way it did. 

He just knows better now, and can actually brush it off without it affecting his mood, his surroundings.

"I gotta keep going through my list of people."

"I can ask around, too." San says. "Do you want me to see if the big conference room is free?"

"Yeah, please?" Chris laughs. "They give you everything."

"No, they don't." San rolls his eyes with a chuckle. 

"Damn near." Yeosang adds.

"Any of your lab members wanna do a poster presentation?"

"Uh." San shuts his eyes in thought for a second. "Let me ask, I think Yoon might have some good data to present."

"Okay, let me know." San nods. "You guys free for lunch later?"

"12:30, maybe?" Yeosang stands and looks at his watch. "I gotta get to my next round of meetings 'till then."

"Same. Text me where to meet?" Chris stands and nods before throwing up the peace sign.

"Will do. Thanks for the tips and for looking into the room."

"I'll let you know what they say." Both Christopher and Yeosang nod just as they walk out of his office and leave him to his peace. He makes a note to send an email after his next meeting about the room and catering, knowing how hard it can be to reserve a room within a month's time frame at this campus. He'll do what he can to help Chris, though— that's one of his good friends and somebody who didn't turn their back on him after everything that's happened. Even Yeosang, Mingi, Jongho. Namjoon. Of course, everyone works great together. Everyone is civil when they need to be. But San knows if he ever needed them, they'd be there for him in a heartbeat. 

They'd be the people he could turn to without question.

When it comes time for lunch, San is barely getting out of his meeting at 12:30pm. He finds Chris, Yeosang and Mingi at the café right across the way from the Harvey Center, falling in line with them just as it grows during the lunch hour rush. They grab their food and plop down at a shaded table off to the side, greeting a few familiar faces and passing students.

"What's up?" Yunho passes, nodding at the table and giving Chris' shoulder a quick massage. Iseul follows behind, not paying the group any mind. Yeosang, Mingi and Chris share their own 'hello's,' while Yunho and San continue to play the silent treatment with each other. Yes, San will work with Yunho if he needs to. He'll be civil, he'll act like nothing ever happened. He'll act like their relationship wasn't severed after everything that went down. But, if he's out here minding his business, eating lunch with friends— he'd rather not bump into Yunho and Iseul and make any small talk. Simply just cause. He's done a lot of work to get past that and he doesn't want anything to do it with anymore.

"Anyway." Mingi says, making Chris snort.

"Anyway. Ya'll trying to hit the gym sometime tomorrow?"

"I'm down." San says, scrolling through his phone. He'll scratch some time out of his evening to hit the gym since it's been a few days  since his last gym session. At least, he plans to finalize his class schedule before end of the day today— he'll have a little more breathing room once he submits that to the department.

"No way, you're not serious!" Your voice echoes as you exit the café, laughing along with Jiung and Felix over Felix's random encounter that he was giving you details about. San diverts his attention to your group, recognizing the outfit, the voice. He sips on his drink and continues to watch the smile on your face build, the animated hand gestures you use, the way you so attentively listen to every word your friends are telling you. Oddly enough, he finds that seeing you is a good distraction. He feels a little more relaxed post-5 second Yunho and Iseul encounter, a small subtle smile creeping up on his lips when he sees you throw your head back in laughter. It's soothing.

That's probably the moment he realizes you are enticing.

And to be honest, he's not understanding why he feels a certain pull to you; it's so uncommon and so, so foreign, to him. He doesn't even think he felt this way when he first started dating Iseul. Don't get him wrong— he did love her, he did feel the usual giddiness, the honeymoon phase, all of the above. Everything progressed as naturally as it could with that time. 

But with you, he's finding a certain itch. He's not sure how to relieve himself, especially when he knows he shouldn't. He can't. 

It'll be trouble having you around, he's very aware of that. It'll be a test for him, the boundaries he creates to make sure you both don't cross that line.

He can't.

Still doesn't mean he won't.

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom

[missyonmission]

NSFW - no minors - smut with plot - Part 1

Plot: His reputation precedes him - brilliant, arrogant, and unapologetically wild. And you, unfortunately, are caught in the orbit of his influence. Your submission gives him a power rush like nothing else and he enjoys toying with your emotions, knowing that you will always come back, that the push and pull of your relationship is a game he has mastered long ago.

In a fateful night where harsh punishments and the desire to destroy the last remaining bits of yourself turn into passionate kisses and the desperate need to give and receive affection, Sukuna loses himself in what has become the most important thing in his life. You.

Warnings: dom!Sukuna - submissive!Reader - sadist/masochist dynamic - power play - pet play - (semi public) punishments - humiliation - degrading - wounds/grazes (but Sukuna takes care of them) - marking (light biting, scratching, talk about branding) - fingering - cum eating - missionary - mating press - begging - crying - forced orgasms - overstimulation - somno

Words: 10.094

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Sukuna, with his striking features and undeniable charm, is a force of nature on campus. His reputation precedes him - brilliant, arrogant, and unapologetically wild. And you, unfortunately, are caught in the orbit of his influence, the one who had become his unofficial partner in a chaotic dance of sadistic pleasure and complete devotion. The term "girlfriend" has never applied to your relationship. It was more of an unspoken agreement, a complex arrangement of mutual attraction and deep-seated frustration.

This specific night, the campus frats are hosting a party, a vibrant affair where students are gathered to celebrate the beginning of the new semester. The party is already in full swing when you see Sukuna approach a girl you don’t recognize. Like always in public, he outwardly showed you that he couldn't care less about you. That you are just a toy to play with whenever he gets bored. Before your very eyes, Sukuna leans in and kisses the girl. The act is bold and brazen, a clear message that he had no intention of respecting your feelings. In his mind, you belong to him, and he can do and treat you however he wants.

He is honestly impressed with how much your need for his attention, your submission, and your desire to please him runs. It always gives him a power rush like nothing else and although Sukuna would never admit it to anyone, you are his favorite out of all the pets he played with in the past and he's sure there will be no one quite like you in the future as well. In a twisted way, he is just as dependent on you as you are on him.

When Sukuna finally returns to your side, he is smirking, eyes glinting with a mixture of challenge and amusement. The kiss is over, but its effects linger heavily in the air.

“What’s wrong, huh? What?! Do you still think you have some kind of claim on me? I was just having some fun. Don't look at me like that. Jealousy is not a good look on you." Sukuna’s voice is laced with an almost playful, mocking curiosity. He knows exactly what is wrong. He just wants to see how you would react. Sukuna thrives on chaos and manipulation. He enjoys toying with your emotions, testing the limits of your patience and loyalty. His pride and self-absorption always make a straightforward apology impossible. Not that he's ever in the wrong, in the first place…

Instead, he revels in the control he has over you, knowing that you will forgive him, no matter how much he provokes you. He knows you will come back, that the push and pull of your relationship is a game he had mastered long ago.

"You should know by now that I’m not exactly boyfriend material." There is a condescending smirk on his lips and a silence between you, a heavy pause that seems to stretch into eternity. Despite his cruel games and his inability to show genuine affection, you are drawn to him in a way that was impossible to ignore.

Unlucky you…

You knew you had it coming your way. You two weren't official, hell, you aren't even anything serious to begin with, and Sukuna made sure you never forget that fact. But tonight, you couldn't control yourself, couldn't control the overwhelming emotions of hurt and desperation. You already made a snarky comment about him flirting with some random girl earlier this evening, letting your bitterness and jealousy shine through, and you know he hates when you act like that. You should have known he would feel the need to assert dominance and would try to belittle and humiliate you for it.

"Are you feeling better now?" You grit out through your teeth, the alcohol loosening your tongue and making you say things you usually wouldn't.

“Come on, don’t be like that. You’re acting so childish,” Sukuna retorts, his voice laced with condescension. “I understand that you’re jealous, but you’re making a fool of yourself in front of everyone.”

Sukuna reaches forward, grabbing your chin with a firm grip. His gaze pierces into you, a challenge lurking behind his amusement. “If you can’t handle this, then perhaps I should just go find someone else who can. After all, there are plenty of better options…” His voice trails off, leaving a heavy threat looming in the air.

His words sting, and you have to clench your hands into fists at your sides, to not start tearing up. You know he's right and that it isn't just empty threats. Sukuna is handsome and rich, and he could be charming if he wanted to be. No matter the girl he wanted, he would be able to get her.

"You're an asshole, Sukuna." Your voice is laced with anger and frustration, and you swat his hand away from your chin, turning around to leave.

“Now, now, don’t be disrespectful.” Sukuna’s voice thunders with authority as he swiftly closes the distance between you, his hand grabbing your wrist with surprising strength.

“You’re not going anywhere. I own you. You’re mine, so you better start acting like it.” Sukuna’s voice is low and threatening, laced with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down your spine. “Now apologize for calling me an asshole, and then we’ll talk about how you can make it up to me.”

You can't help but whimper quietly at his low, threatening tone. His voice is laced with authority and doesn't leave any room for further argument or bratty attitude. You know he doesn't handle disobedience very well.

You swallow hard before speaking quietly, almost inaudible but clearly defeated. "I'm sorry, Sukuna..." Every fight in your body has already left you completely, replaced by the urge to do everything he wants you to do, just to get on his good side again.

Sukuna nods, satisfied with your apology. “That’s better. See, it’s not so hard to accept your place, is it?” He smirks, his hand slowly releasing your wrist. “But, I’m not finished with you yet. I still need retribution for your insolence.” Sukuna’s voice is low and dangerous, his crimson eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes the hairs on the back of your neck rise. “Kneel.”

"What?" You freeze up, looking around for any passerbys. You are in a relatively secluded area, a little away from the main party behind the building, but anyone could just walk by any minute.

"Here? But- but... We are in public... Everyone could- Any minute someone could walk by and-" You try to protest, to reason with him, despite knowing it will be pointless. Once Sukuna's in the mood and has his mind set on something, it was impossible to talk him out of it and you know you will just follow whatever he wants from you, even if it's making you feel uncomfortable.

“Did I give you permission to speak?” Sukuna growls, his impatience evident. He grabs you by the hair, his grip tightening almost painfully. “Listen to me and listen well. You are my property. I own you, body and soul. So if I tell you to kneel, you kneel. And you’ll do it now. You don’t get to refuse my orders. That’s not up for debate."

He grabs your shoulder with a rough shove, forcing you to your knees. In this moment, Sukuna embodies a terrifying presence. His words echo with a primal authority that makes it clear that he is not a man who accepts dissent.

You wince out immediately when he grabs your hair and shoves you to the ground. Your knees are scraping against the rough surface of the asphalt beneath you. The skintight short dress you wore specifically for him does nothing to hide your curves, showing off so much of your delicious, currently unmarked skin that it should be illegal and Sukuna gets the best view down your cleavage from above.

You look up at him, one of his hands still buried in your hair with a painfully tight grip, and tears start to brim already around your lashes.

Sukuna smirks, his crimson eyes narrowing with cold satisfaction. “Now, let me remind you of your place…” He whispers menacingly.

He leans down, his hold on your hair unwavering, his eyes locking with yours. He lowers his voice to an icy, dangerous tone that sends another shiver down your spine. “If you ever dare to call me an ‘asshole’ in public again, I’ll make sure you never walk straight again. Is that clear?”

"Yes, Master Sukuna." You breathe out the words in defeat, surrendering to his will. Whatever he does to you, no matter how hurtful or cruel, you both know deep down you will enjoy it. You both are a little twisted, getting off on this power dynamic, and that's why this thing between you works so well in the first place.

Sukuna chuckles, pleased with your submission. “Good girl.” His voice is a low purr, filled with satisfaction. “Now, show me how obedient you can be.” He releases his grip on your hair, taking a step back, his crimson eyes fixating on you. “Crawl to me and kiss my feet. Beg me for forgiveness as best as you can, little pet.”

Sukuna is always one for the creative and most humiliating punishments. You whimper and start to crawl over to him on all fours. Your ass is on display for everyone who would walk behind you, and your knees are still painfully scraping over the ground. Every time you reach up to him, he takes some more steps back, just to humiliate you further.

When you finally reach him, you bow down in dogeza out of respect and press your forehead into the dirty ground for a moment before your face comes up just slightly, pressing gentle kisses to the top of his shoe.

Sukuna watches as you crawl to him, his eyes filled with a cruel, sadistic amusement. He loves it, the way you have no shame when it comes to him and follow his every whim… Oh, he trained you so well.

He smirks, clearly delighted by your humiliation. His voice is thick with a sadistic satisfaction. “Very good. Now, thank me for letting you kiss my shoes. And you better be convincing enough, slut or I might just have to let my anger out differently.”

He steps back, smirking at your humiliating position. He's already lightly stepping onto the fingers of your left hand, not enough to actually crush it, but enough to already make it hurt. He pauses for a moment, his lips curling into a grin. “Beg to be mine once more. But this time, make it… passionate. Make it memorable.”

You let out a small cry of pain when he steps onto your fingers but you know that this is nothing in comparison to what he is actually capable of, in comparison to what he can really do to you and has already done in the past. You hold back any more sounds, biting your tongue to suppress the tears.

"Thank you…” You whimper out the words quietly, again, giving in to his wishes and beg so prettily for his consideration. “Thank you for letting me kiss your shoes. For letting me serve you, taking me in and helping me act properly. Thank you for reminding me where I belong. That I belong to you, Master Sukuna. Please forgive me and my rudeness. I wasn't thinking clearly, the alcohol and-" You stop immediately knowing that making excuses will only further infuriate him. He doesn't want to hear them. He doesn't care why. He just cares for you acting accordingly.

Sukuna's smirk widens, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes as he listens to your pleas and excuses. "Well, you're learning faster than I thought. I must say, I'm impressed. So..." He lets out a low sigh, his grin never faltering. "I suppose I can forgive you. But it's not just forgiveness you need. You need to show me you're truly grateful and remember your place."

He leans down, grabbing your chin with a deceptively gentle touch. "From now on, you call me Master in public, and your behavior must reflect that. Understood?”

You swallow hard at his words, your lips are trembling, and you want to refuse. You know you should refuse. This is going to be one of the most publicly humiliating things he ever told you to do. You know he will take full advantage of it as soon as you nod your head so stupidly, like you always do to his commands. This will not only stay between you two anymore, like he always wanted. This will not leave your friends wondering which guy you always sneak away with and for whom you are acting so differently than your usual self. This will directly tie you to Sukuna and will make everyone around you realize who the man is that has brainwashed you into a completely different person. This will haunt you for the next few years until you finish college and maybe even after that.

And weirdly enough, at the same time, you can't help but squirm a little in front of him on your knees. The image he creates, the possibilities of scenarios running through your head, it excites you to no end.

"Yes, Master Sukuna." You avert your eyes down to the ground in shame.

Sukuna's smirk transforms into a sinister chuckle. "Good girl. I knew you'd come around." His hand moves from your chin, gently patting your head like you're some kind of dog or a pet. Sukuna's smirk only widens even more at the sight of your shame and submission. He's enjoying you being a willing victim for his cruel games of pleasure. Your agreement to his demand only fuels him further. "Now... I think it's time for some special lessons to help remind you of your place."

He reaches down, taking hold of your chin again and lifting it up with a firm grip. "I want you to crawl alongside me all the way back to my dorm room. We have a lot of things to go over and learn. Get moving, pet!”

You let out another pathetic whimper when he kicks your ass as a sign to start moving and casually walks towards his dorm. You look around for other people, but luckily, you don't see anyone in sight. You quickly crawl after him, trying to keep up with his pace, following him.

When you arrive at his dorm, your knees and hands are hurting all over. They are scraped, red, and a bit bloody with small stones, dirt, and grass clinging to the wounds.

Sukuna walks inside, turning his head towards you with a sinister smirk. “Crawl inside, bitch. You know how I like you better on your knees anyway.” He watches you crawl inside, his eyes trained on the curve of your ass in that short dress, that hugs your perfect body so beautifully.

He kicks off his shoes, gets a cloth and a bowl of warm water, and sits on the couch in his dorm, leaning back comfortably. He pats his lap once, silently telling you what to do.

You crawl up to him and in between his spread thighs, looking up at Sukuna through tear filled eyes and silently sniffle. You place your hands with your palms to the ceiling on either of his legs.

When he starts to take one of your hands into his and clean up the wounds, you blink up at him in confusion. His touch is gentle, almost tender and caring. He never did something like this in the past, and you never expected him to act like this either.

Sukuna doesn't say a word, his fingers cleaning and treating your wounds with practiced efficiency. The silence is broken only by a low hum emanating from Sukuna's chest. It's soothing, almost rhythmic.

He dabs antiseptic on your skin, his touch surprisingly gentle. Every now and then, he leans down to inspect a wound more closely, blowing a cool breath over it to ease the inflammation. He doesn't say anything at first except for a low murmur of comfort, the sound vibrating against your skin.

His voice is low and rumbling deeply in his chest as he works. "It's important for a pet to be taken care of. And it's my responsibility to do so... as your master, of course." He pauses, glancing down into your eyes, and for a moment you think there is something close to intimacy between you two, not only physical but a connection that runs deeper than that. "Tell me, pet.... Are you afraid of me?”

You look down at how he cleans up the wounds, thinking over his words and question for a moment. You look up at him again, watching his face and how his eyebrows furrow in concentration when he dabs the warm washcloth over the wounds.

You finally decide and shake your head 'no' slowly, your voice barely above a whisper to not break the comforting silence. "No. No, I'm not…”

You don't know if this is one of his games, a trick question to see if his past lesson stuck and a chance for you to prove your loyalty. Or maybe he wanted you to answer like this just to turn your words against you and inflict more pain? Whatever it is, you're sure you have answered his question truthfully. Are you afraid of him? No. No, you're not. Right?

He takes a bandage from the med-kit on the side and slowly wraps each finger of your right hand. It's a gesture of care, almost compassionate. When he finishes, he presses a light kiss on top of each bandage.

“That's good..." He murmurs, his voice low. “A pet should respect their owner, not be afraid of them...”

Once he's done, he reaches up, stroking your hair affectionately, still holding one of your hands with his other. "I want you to understand that my discipline and training come from a place of genuine care. Your pain serves as a reminder of your subservience, it does not stem from a desire to harm you."

His tender touch and kisses on top of the bandages are making your heart ache. It's a side of him you’ve never seen before, no matter how hard your training and punishments were. The most aftercare he ever showed you was a warm shower and the opportunity of you staying the night instead of getting kicked out.

Sukuna himself doesn't know if his words are actually true, but there is one thing he is aware of, he doesn't want to imagine his life without you at his feet anymore. He shifts on the couch, reaching behind his back to fluff the pillows slightly. "Come here, pet.”

You scramble up from your knees and onto your feet, wanting to follow his order as fast as possible, hissing slightly when the untreated cuts on your knees start stinging. You sit down on the couch, placing your legs over his lap, and he starts to clean the wounds on your knees with the same tenderness.

Sukuna nods, his face serious as he tends to your scraped up knees with efficiency. The wounds are painful but nothing too serious. As he works, his voice is low and soothing. “Good girl... Just breathe..."

He notices a particularly deep cut and pauses, a brief flash of concern crossing his features. He takes a cotton swab and dabs some antiseptic on the wound before placing a small bandage over it.

He doesn't speak at first, simply focusing on his task, his touch almost feather-like. But then, he speaks up, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want you to know something, pet... Your submission is a sign of your strength. It takes courage and trust to give yourself to someone else like this.”

You lean into his side more, your shoulder is brushing against his arm, and your head starts to rest against his shoulder, with your legs still draped over his lap. It's a position you never found yourself in with him, so intimate and loving.

"I trust you, Sukuna- I mean, Master Sukuna..." You quickly correct yourself, not wanting to anger him again.

Sukuna smirks, a proud glint in his eyes. "Good girl..." He murmurs, his voice low and gentle and places a kiss against your temple.

He finishes bandaging your knees and shifts on the couch, gently pulling you into his lap so that you're straddling him. His hands roaming over your body, touching you almost possessively.

"You've been such a good pet, taking your punishment without complaining. You deserve a reward, don't you think?" He whispers, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"Thank you, Master." The prospect of getting a reward makes you excited, but you know it's best to treat forward carefully. Sukuna's moods could always swing full force to brutal and relentless if you phrased your sentences wrong.

"I'm sorry for today... So, so sorry for earlier, Master Sukuna..." Fresh tears well up in your eyes at the thought of disappointing him, your mind driven into a deep submissive headspace already from your punishment.

Sukuna chuckles, his hand coming up to gently wipe away your tears with his thumb. "Ssssh, shh, little pet..." He murmurs, his voice gentle, soothing even. "You did well. You took your punishment without complaint or resistance. I know it was difficult for you..."

His lips caress your neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind, his breath hot against your skin. "You deserve a reward. Tell me, what do you want?”

"Can I please... Can I please get a kiss? A real one?"

It sounds like a simple request, but it really isn't, and you're scared to overstep a boundary of his and make him mad. You want him oh so desperately to kiss you on the lips, something he never did before with you. It was one of the rules he set. He didn't like the intimacy behind it, but all you can think about from the first time he took you in a bathroom at some frat party is to feel those perfect lips. His lips that have explored every inch of your body other than your own.

"A kiss?" He murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement. He knows how desperate you are for that kind of intimacy, how much you crave it.

He leans closer, his lips hovering just a few inches above yours. It's almost like foreplay, the anticipation building up as you wait for him to make the next move. "You want me to kiss you? Are you sure you've earned it, pet? It'd take a lot to make me kiss you after your behavior earlier... And I don't know if your little performance was enough to warrant a real kiss…”

You desperately want to close the last millimeters of distance between your lips, but you know he would probably kill you if you did it without permission. Instead, you just freeze at his words, a shiver running down your spine, and you can feel yourself starting to tremble in his lap. You're scared, but not of him. You're scared of being denied the only thing you think you ever wanted.

You didn't know what to do. Your brain shuts down while you try to think of something, anything, to convince him to give you that kiss.

Sukuna's hand grasps your chin, firmly holding your gaze. His eyes bore into yours as if to search for something deep within your soul. "Come on, little pet..." He whispers, his voice low and husky. "Show me you deserve it. Show me your obedience... and maybe, just maybe, I'll reward you with a kiss."

His words are a challenge, a test of your devotion and willingness to submit to his will. “Now... What do you want to say to make me change my mind and kiss you? Or perhaps you changed your mind and want something else?”

"No, wait!" You speak up louder than you intended to, the desperate need and distress obvious in the way your tiny fists come up to his chest and grasp at the material of his designer shirt.

"S'kuna, please... Master, please~ I'm sorry. I promise to behave in the future. I promise! I'm sorry. Please~! Just- just…” Your brain frantically tries to come up with something good, something that would impress him and prove your devotion and loyalty in a way you know he needs it.

“I'll… I'll let you do that thing to me! The one you always wanted." As soon as the words leave your mouth, you know there was no going back. Sukuna's eyes are gleaming with excitement already. You would like to blame the remaining effect from the booze at the party for your careless words, but you know that's not it. You have just fallen so hard and fast for the man in front of you, that you lost your mind, your will to be your own person with your own rights and your brain is solely thinking about his twisted forms of pleasure.

Sukuna always wanted to brand his name into your perfect little body, but you desperately refused, making it a hard boundary. One he surprisingly respected without ever pushing you too far, like for everything else. Although it always swirls in the back of his mind whenever he sees your ass jiggle during doggy or your hips buck up while you are sprawled out in his sheets, the only thought when his lips trace your collarbone or his hands grip at the flesh of your waist.

Sukuna's eyes widen in surprise, not expecting you to offer to fulfill his deepest desire. "You... you'd willingly allow me to brand you like that? Even though you were so adamant about refusing in the past?"

He pauses, his eyes searching your face for any signs of deceit or hesitation. But all he finds is raw, desperate need. "Are you absolutely certain, pet? Once it's done, there's no going back. It will be with you for the rest of your life.”

You pause, a slight hesitation when you realize the weight of your words once again and the permanent consequences that come with it. You swallow hard, your gaze locked onto his. You are genuinely scared. Not of him, but of the fact that you might lose him and might lose this moment between you two. Your decision is made, you want to do this. For him, to please him and to get the kiss that you crave so much.

"I know." With your submissive headspace right now, you're definitely not in the right place to make important decisions like this, but you don't care. You need it, desperate to feel his lips brush against yours. Your eyes drop down to his lips, fixed on them like they are the most precious thing in the world.

Sukuna stares at you for a moment, studying your face. And then, a small smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. "Very well... Come here."

His fingers gently stroke your cheek as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light touch. He pauses there for a moment, his eyes closing as he relishes in this rare moment of tenderness. "You really are..." He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "...mine. Aren't you, pet?"

And then, finally, he kisses you.

The moment his lips touch yours, you can feel your body heating up and your skin tingle. It's as if you are set on fire, a feeling of belonging spreading through every vein and clouding your mind and judgment even more. His thumb still brushes against your cheek, and his teeth sink into your bottom lip, making you gasp. His tongue teasingly darts against your lips, and you open your mouth immediately to grant him the desired access. Both of his hands are cupping your face by now, tilting your head further to deepen the kiss.

Sukuna's tongue immediately invades your mouth, like it's exploring and mapping out every corner. His kiss is intense and possessive, demanding submission and surrender so naturally that it is overwhelming. One of his hands slides down to the nape of your neck, pressing you even closer, his fingers tangled into your hair.

And for a few moments, there's only the heated dance of your tongues and the sound of your shared breathing filling the air.

You don't even try to fight for dominance in the kiss. You don't want it, you don't need it. You don't want to be his equal. You want to be his property. You want to be his and want to be taken care of by him. The kiss is intense but not only in your desire and lust for each other but also in the feelings both of you communicate with it. Something in his demeanor is different now. The more intense the kiss grows, the more tender and loving his touch becomes. It's almost as if he would harbor actual feelings for you.

Sukuna's kisses become more passionate, his mouth moving against yours with a burning need. He whispers against your lips, his voice a husky growl. "Mine..."

His hands begin to roam over your body with a possessive touch. The way he touches you, it's like he's claiming you, making it clear that you belong to him. But his touch, while intense and possessive, lacks its usual roughness and cruelty.

Your own hands start to mimic the motion, sliding under his shirt and feeling the warm, muscled expanse of his abdomen and up to his chest. You can feel the fast beating of his heart against your hand, and your hips start to grind down against him. On any other day, he would have already beaten you up for putting your hands on him without permission but right now his tongue is just continuing to explore every corner of your mouth, tasting and savoring every inch.

A low rumble sounds in the back of his throat, almost like an animalistic growl, as your hands sneak their way under his shirt. He doesn't break the kiss, his tongue continuing to explore your mouth with an almost possessive hunger.

And then, without breaking the kiss, he stands up with you in his arms as his hands grip at your thighs, pulling you close against him. “Bedroom... now..." He growls, the look in his eyes burning with an intense need.

When he picks you up effortlessly, you let out a gasp of surprise against his lips, holding onto him tightly while he continues to devour your mouth like a man starved.

He is always dominant in every interaction, demanding perfection and complete obedience from you and during sex, he always does and takes what he wants without giving you the opportunity to decide something for yourself. You love your usual dynamic, but this feels different. You touched him without permission and initiated this moment but didn't receive punishment. Sukuna is handling you with utmost care and affection, something that you’ve never received from him before.

He walks over to the bed, carrying you in his arms like you're made of glass. He gently lays you down, the covers soft and comfortable.

Sukuna hovers above you, his crimson eyes locking with yours. Without a word, he leans down and kisses you again, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender motion. His hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, caressing your skin with a gentleness that's foreign to him.

“What’s happening to me...” He murmurs under his breath, almost like he's trying to understand it himself.

You didn't even hear his quiet murmurs, your ears ringing from the overwhelming feelings inside of you. Your head is spinning, and you can't think clearly, hands tugging at his shirt, wanting it off of him desperately.

"Kuna~" You call out to him and despite his desire for power and your rule of calling him master every time you address him directly, he can't help the rush of arousal in his lower region at the nickname you just gave him.

Sukuna grunts at the nickname you used, his eyes narrowing with a predatory glint. "Impatient, are we?" He taunts.

He sits back in between your thighs and slowly removes his shirt to reveal his toned chest and stomach, covered in intricate tattoos and some scattered scars.

"Don't worry. I'll give you what you need..." He reaches down, pulling you closer by your hips. One hand gently caressing the curve of your thigh and the other sliding under your knee, pushing your legs open.

You hiss slightly when he spreads your legs a little further. The wounds from your earlier punishment are still hurting badly.

Your eyes are trained on his skin, on his tattoos, and the way he moves in the dim moonlight shining through the window. Your bandaged hand wants to reach out for him, but you stop midair, a flicker of uncertainty and fear crossing your eyes, and you're not sure if you're allowed to touch.

Sukuna chuckles, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he looks down at you. "You can touch me without permission... tonight..." He reaches down, fingers gently brushing against your thigh, his touch feather-light with a hint of possessiveness.

Leaning in, he slowly starts to trail kisses along your neck, his tongue lingering for a moment on the pulse point. You can't help but tear up, your lips trembling, and a shaky breath leaves your lips. When he leans down, your hand automatically comes into contact with the bare skin in between his pecs, and you moan out at the warm feeling underneath your fingertips.

His hands slide beneath your back, fingers tracing the zipper of your dress before deciding he's too impatient, and he just rips the flimsy fabric into useless pieces. When he rips off your dress to gain better access to the expanse of your skin, you gasp out, and your other hand is coming behind his neck, gently playing with the strands of his pinkish hair.

Sukuna's lips continue their exploration of your body, leaving a path of hot, wet kisses along your collarbone as he moves down. His teeth nibble at the sensitive skin of your neck before he kisses his way across the collarbone and to your shoulder, where he would usually leave his marks. He gently bites into the sensitive area as if he could sense the significance of this spot. He keeps teasing you, trailing his kisses lower and lower down your chest, his tongue flicking out to taste your heated skin.

Sukuna's hands reach down, fingers wrapping around your ankles and lifting your legs around his waist before he leans back in, his lips capturing yours in an intense kiss. His tongue dances with yours, seeking pleasure as his hips start to grind down against you, his hard length growing to its full size.

"I want this... I want this so much..." He murmurs, his hands grasping your hips possessively, almost to the point of bruising as he nips at your neck. "Need this... need you..." One of his arms wraps around your lower back, supporting and bringing your body even closer to his. His other hand is resting high up on your inner thigh, the skin soft and warm under his hot palms.

"You..." He groans, his voice rough and husky, filled with desire. "I... You're mine."

His hand in between your legs moves slowly to your core, gently parting your folds and settling between them as two fingers start to explore your already wet heat.

You're a mess of moans, gasps, and whimpers. Sukuna knows your body like the back of his hand, knows every sensitive spot, and every way to touch you. You already gave your body and soul to him, but tonight, he gives you a part of himself, something he has never done before. The two of you are completely oblivious to how things might change between you if you continue this passionate night with each other. You both are only focused on the feelings each of you has hidden beneath the surface for a long time, one deeper than the other.

When he starts exploring the inside of your body with his fingers, you can't help but arch your back into him more and more, your hands gripping at the strands of his hair tighter. You're not used to him making sure you're well enough prepared. Foreplay was never one of his strong suits. He didn't deem it necessary for his own pleasure. His gentle and loving touches are sending your senses into overdrive. What is going on? "Sukuna! Master! Please~”

"Shh..." He murmurs against your lips, feeling his words brush against your skin like a gentle melody. He whispers low, almost like he's speaking to himself.

"I promise... I promise I'll go easy on you." He assures, his voice a raspy breath against your skin. He whispers your name like a silent prayer, as if he craves the taste of it on his tongue.

"I'll give you anything you want, anything you need. Just... just don't ever leave..." He looks down at you, his expression intense and dominating, but also vulnerable. There are layers upon layers of pain, suffering, and sadness hidden behind his crimson eyes. It's a glimpse of the broken man behind this facade.

He's a man possessed, a man who has never known love or affection, and is now experiencing these emotions for the first time. He's intoxicated with this new high, the way you make him feel. He savors every second of it, as if he's afraid it could all go away.

With an intense look in his eyes, he leans down, his lips brushing against yours again. He kisses you deeply, passionately. "I want you... I need you... I need to be with you... All I want is you."

He's not used to expressing himself, not used to being so honest with his feelings. He's never felt so vulnerable, so on edge. His thumb grazes your bundle of nerves, intensifying the pleasure. "Relax. Relax and let me take care of you... I'll make sure you feel good, pet... just trust me…”

You nod your head, tears brimming in your eyes. "Trust you. Trust you so much. I'm yours, Sukuna. Always was, always will be..."

Your limbs are clinging to him like he's your lifeline, like he's the savior in the dark, when all he ever did was corrupt and ruin you. He destroyed you, broke you down into pieces, and put you back together with practiced precision to make you his perfect toy, making you depend on him and his touch.

"You are mine, little pet..." He whispers against your skin as if to remind you of your place, his words a low rumble in his chest. "You were... always mine. I want to hear you say my name... say it... Call me that stupid name again."

His hand moves with a natural ease as if he exactly knows what to do to your little body covered by his own like a safety blanket. He doesn't break eye contact, his fingers stroking over your sensitive spot again and again. He takes satisfaction in the way you react to his touch, how your body trembles, and twitches beneath him. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that takes your breath away. His fingers continue to move, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge.

He leans down, gently capturing your lower lip between his teeth, biting down on it. "Do you have any idea... how badly I want to just keep you... forever?"

He kisses you deeply, his fingers wrapping gently around your chin, tilting your head back to give him greater access to your lips. "Kuna~ want to come, please. Please, please, please." The nickname he demands is falling from your lips again without much thinking about it.

Your legs start to tremble, still tightly wrapped around his hips, and you're bucking desperately into his touch for more. His lips are on yours again, taking the little breath away, you are able to catch in your lungs. Your hands are gripping onto his shoulders tightly, breaking the kiss with a loud whimper, burying your face in the crook of his neck and biting down gently into his shoulder to keep yourself grounded somehow.

"Shhhh." He murmurs against your skin, his lips gently brushing against your shoulder. "It's okay... just relax... You don't have to beg anymore, pet... I know what you need... let me take care of you." His fingers move again, slowly and carefully, each touch filled with a careful tenderness and patience that you're not used to.

He can feel you close up around his fingers, the tightness making him groan against your skin just thinking about the way your wet cunt usually clings around his cock as he whispers. "I've got you... I've got you... relax.”

And then it happens, your body clenching down onto his fingers, spasming around them as you're falling over the edge into a deep pleasure. It feels different, unlike every other time he brought you to this point of ecstasy. It is hitting you in waves, and it doesn't seem to stop. You let out tiny whimpers, moans, and cries of his name. Your head is thrown back in pleasure, and your eyes roll into the back of your head. "Kuna. Kuna, please. Master Sukuna, I-”

He watches you closely, an intensity filling him as he listens to your pleas, the feel of you clenching around his fingers, the sound of his name leaving your swollen lips. "Just let go... give in... I've got you." He murmurs, his words like a gentle caress, easing your worry and fear as he continues to move his fingers, bringing you right to the edge again.

You can't stop whimpering and moaning, crying out his name when he doesn't stop to move his fingers and brings you over the edge for a second time without giving you time to catch your breath. You can feel the tears running down your cheeks, but today they don't come from the humiliation and shame he usually inflicts on you and not from that delicious pain either but they come from the purest form of pleasure you have ever experienced in your life.

"You're so pretty like this, pet." His voice is low and husky as he speaks, his thumb rubbing against your clit. His fingers continue to move, gently coaxing you through the powerful waves of ecstasy that rock through your body. He slowly withdraws his fingers, slowly bringing them up and teasingly slipping them into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the digits.

"Kuna~" When he withdraws his hand and takes his fingers into his mouth, tasting your release on his tongue, you are the one who lets out a strangled noise of need. Your hands are reaching out to him, desperately clutching onto his pants. "Need more. Want more, please. Need you…”

He looks at you with his eyes filled with an unfamiliar warmth and gentleness. "More?" He asks, his voice husky and low as he watches you squirm and writhe beneath him. “What a little greedy pet I've got... but you've been so good for me... I guess you deserve a little reward, huh?”

He leans down, capturing your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. Your taste floods his senses, making him moan into the kiss as his fingers start to slip into your tight, wet heat once again.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, mixing with his own intoxicating taste and scent. When he slips his fingers inside again, you arch into him, your chests flush against each other. It was unexpected. You were sure he would take you for his own pleasure, now that you already got your release, but instead, he solely takes care of you once again.

You mewl, oversensitive from your previous two orgasms and as much as you love his touch, you can't help but try to wriggle out of his firm hold. "Kuna~. 's too much. 's too good." You breathe out the words in between kisses.

"Just let yourself feel good, pet. It's what you wanted, right? More?" He murmurs, your quick breath hot against his lips as he continues to kiss you. "I've got you."

His other hand slips under your back, supporting you against him and allowing you to ease yourself into it and keep you from wriggling away. "Tell me what you need... what you want..." He whispers, his voice deep and seductive in your ear.

His fingers continue to work, coaxing you back into that blissful place, your cries and moans growing more desperate as you cling to him. You can feel yourself on the edge again, the coil in your stomach tightening once again. You need him. You need to be connected to him in the most primal way possible.

"Want you. Want to feel you. Not your fingers. Need more. Kuna, please~!"

Your trembling fingers try to fumble with the zipper of his pants. Your legs are still twitching around his hips, your lips quivering from overwhelming pleasure, hands not being able to completely free him from the confines of his clothing because they're shaking too much.

"Need me?" He murmurs in your ear, a playful smile pulling his lips into a smirk as he watches you struggle with the zipper on his pants. "Is that so? Good thing I need you too, princess…” He whispers right in your ear, sending shivers through your body when a nickname so beautiful falls from his lips. His breath is hot against your skin as he continues.

"You just needed to ask..." He purrs, his hands retracting from your burning heat and coming to help you with the zipper.

"Can you please just take me? Like you always do? Need to feel you... Want you deep... Want to be yours..." Your teary eyes are trained on his every move when he slides his fingers out of you and opens up the zipper of his pants, discarding them to the floor.

Your breathing is ragged, coming in short gasps of air, and your eyes are hazy, clouded from lust. Your lips kiss swollen and red from all the intense kisses you shared. Your whole body is aching to be anchored to him.

"So needy..." He murmurs, his voice like velvet in your eardrums. "So eager... Good thing only I can give you exactly what you need..."

His words are a promise, a promise of ownership and possession that sends a shiver down your spine. "I'm not going anywhere... Not without you..." You breathe out the words desperately with tears still running down your cheeks, and you think you might die if he's not immediately sheezing himself inside of you.

His hands come to caress your arms gently at first, his hands moving to grab your hands, intertwining your fingers with each other as he moves atop of you. "I'm here... I'm here. Breathe for me... breathe…”

When you feel him, just the way you wanted to, you let out a gasp. His perfect shape is filling you up completely, so deliciously like it always does. Your eyes go wide at the intrusion before they flutter close in pleasure, and you screw them shut tightly to accommodate. His hands are soothing, still intertwined with yours to reassure you and ground you, and you just breathe through the stretch, like he told you to.

His hands grip yours, holding you tightly as his lips brush against your temple, his voice a gentle rumble in his chest. "Just let yourself feel good. Let me take care of you, princess. I'll take care of everything... You don't have to think about anything. Nothing but this… Just feel me, feel me inside you... I'm right here... Right here... I'm not going anywhere..." He murmurs into your skin, his words a soft, low whisper against your ear.

Again, this is so unlike his usual self. Normally, he takes you how he wants with no regard for your feelings or capability to handle him, but tonight, he lets you adjust, slowly easing you into things before he starts moving. Your body relaxes against his, letting him in and making it easier to move more freely.

"Thank you.." Your voice is so quiet it's barely audible when you whisper those words out in a breath right next to his ear. You don't really know what you're grateful for, for him, for this reward he gifted you, for this moment... All your thoughts circling around him, all your senses finely attuned to him.

"Shhhh... no need to thank me. It's my job to take care of you..." He whispers, his words like a sinful melody as he slowly begins to move his hips, keeping a careful rhythm. "I promised you... I'd make you feel good..." His breath catches as he whispers in your ear, the feeling of you around him almost overwhelming.

He sets a slow and steady rhythm, building up an intense pleasure for the both of you. When he starts to increase the pace, rocking his body against yours and going deeper and deeper, you can feel yourself tightening up around him again, coming close to that blissful edge for another time that night.

"Kuna~? 'm close. Wanna come... Can I come?" Your kiss swollen lips are out in a small pout, your eyes begging him for permission because your mind is conditioned to him, to his orders, to not do anything against his will and you're not sure if you can even come without his permission anymore.

"Shhhhh... You don't have to ask for permission this time... You can come... just let yourself feel good. That's all that matters... And I've got you... I'll make you feel good." He murmurs against your ear, his voice a deep, husky rumble as he whispers reassurance, his words like a soothing balm that takes away all your worries.

He begins to move his hips faster, working you closer to that sweet release as his own pleasure builds.

You free one of your hands from his grip to grasp the bedsheets beneath you, and bury your face in the pillows to muffle your sounds. A few broken cries leave your lips as you start to drool into the sheets when you hit your orgasm. Sukuna's name is spilling from your lips like a mantra, and your legs lose their hold onto his hips, falling open against the mattress.

"That's it... that's my good pet..." His voice is like a melody, smooth and gentle as he encourages you, his words like a reassuring promise. "Just relax... and breathe... I'm right here..."

He slows down, giving you a chance to recover as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You're doing so good... I'm proud of you.” He whispers against your skin, his lips moving down to kiss the pulse point on your neck. "Do you want to stop? Or do you... want to feel even more?”

The thought of him stopping his movements, putting a halt to this moment right now, feels wrong, so wrong. He can't stop. You don't want him to stop. Not before you can feel him spilling his release into you. You need him to fill you up, make you completely his. You're tired and exhausted, but fight through it and lift your legs up, wrapping them around his hips again as a sign to continue.

"Don't stop. No stopping, please. Wanna continue. Wanna make you feel good, too. Need you to finish as well. Please use me, Master Sukuna.”

He looks down at you, his expression tender as he gazes down at you with that warm light shining in his eyes. "You really are my perfect little pet... Aren't you, pretty? Always so eager... so well-behaved..."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, languid kiss, as he begins to move again, his pace slow, his movements tender and intense as he works to push you further towards another sweet release.

His hands come around to slide over the back of your thighs, stopping behind your knees and pushing them up to your chest. The new angle is deepening your connection further and makes you gasp out at the stretch. Again, you try to wriggle beneath him, not sure if you want to escape or buck into him for more. You look up at him through half lidded, teary eyes, and your whole body is moving along the mattress with each movement. Your hands hold onto his biceps, pressing your breasts together for a nice view and your nails dig into his skin.

"Are you... Are you close? I can't do this any longer... Feels too good... 's too much."

"Almost...... Almost there...... almost there." You can hear the hint of strain in his voice as he pushes his climax to the very edge. "Just a little longer... just keep on going...... Keep on going..." His movements become more intense and erratic as his climax nears. His arms press your legs even further into your chest, putting you into the meanest mating press, as he leans down to kiss you again.

When he leans down, you almost can't breathe with the way his body is crushing you, and your legs are pushed back beyond comfortable. By now, he is basically just grinding into you. The feeling so intimate it makes your head spin.

"Can't hold any longer, Kuna... Can I please come? Need release... Please~?" Your bodies are pressed together, your chest flush against his, and you swear you can feel his racing heartbeat matching the rhythm of your own. Your eyes are filled with tears, and your nails dig into his arms so tightly they almost draw blood.

"Come for me... come for me now... that's an order." He commands breathlessly, his eyes locked with yours. His voice sends shivers down your spine and a rush of pleasure through your body. "Come... now..." He whispers, and you can feel his words like a caress against your skin.

You don't even have a choice. Through the past months of pleasurable torture, he broke your whole body and soul, now trained to follow his every command. When the order leaves his mouth, you fall over the edge into ecstasy.

You come around him, hard, your release triggering his own, and his pace becomes erratic, almost animalistic. You can feel him filling you up to the brim, making you feel full and satisfied, your belly swelling up with how much he releases. As your bodies continue to move together, he captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

"Kuna~. Sukuna. Kuna, please~." You mewl his name into his mouth, again and again, completely lost in the feeling and the way your body twitches and spasms around him. "Love you. Love you so much, Master Sukuna.”

His arms wrap around your body tightly, pulling you even closer as your back arches off the mattress. "That's it... you're doing so... good..." He whispers into your skin, his voice tinged with pleasure and something else... affection, maybe?

After you two ride out the waves of pleasure, his body relaxes against yours, and your muscles go limp as the pleasure recedes. The only thing left is the aftermath of the pleasure and a deep contentedness. Your brain feels mushy, your ears ringing, and you can barely keep your eyes open. You're still twitching slightly, and your breathing is far from calming down after the intensity of the past hours. No coherent thought is left and he can see in your eyes, that he did a thorough job in fully satisfying you and leaving you fucked dumb. Your lips are slightly parted and drool starts to escape the corners of your mouth.

"There's that look... that look I love so much..." He murmurs into your ear, his voice husky and raw from his own pleasure. "So cute... so perfect... my pet... my beautiful princess..."

His hands move lower down your body, his fingers tracing over the curves of your hips and the soft swell of your stomach until he rests them there, as if staking his claim.

"Mine..." He whispers possessively.

He rests his hand on your abdomen for a few seconds, making you close your eyes at the feeling of his warm, sweaty palm against your skin. But then he starts pressing onto it, a gasp escaping your lips when his seed gushes out of you and down between your ass cheeks to pool onto the sheets. You're barely conscious now. The exhaustion is starting to take over, but you try to power through it. You know he wouldn't like you falling asleep right now, and you wanted to make him feel just as happy and satisfied as you are right now.

"What a mess you've made..." He murmurs, his eyes dark and possessive, his hands slowly trailing down your body to rest gently over your thighs as you cling to him. "That's a good look on you... I should keep you like this..."

He leans down, pressing his lips to your throat in a gentle gesture of affection. "My good, perfect little princess..." He whispers into your skin, his voice a deep, melodic purr that sends shivers down your spine.

His fingers travel along the skin of your thighs before carefully coming in between and shoving his seed, which's been leaking out, back into you, making you mewl out in overstimulation. Your hand wants to come up to his wrist to stop his actions but you think better of it at the last second because it's still drilled in, that you're not allowed to touch him without permission. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your face turning sideways to cry out into the pillows, and your hips are trying to buck away from his touch on instinct.

When you begin to protest, his grip on you grows firmer, the possessive tone in his voice deepening as he whispers into your ear. "Don't even think about it, pet. This is my mess, my claim to make... and you will accept what I give you.”

He murmurs a mix of praising words and your name possessively, his words sending shivers down your spine. "I'll make sure of that. I'll make sure you don't have any doubt about who you belong to.”

Your eyes are tearing up at his words. You don't want to take more. You don't know if you're able to take more, but your head is automatically nodding at his command, and his fingers pick up their pace again. You would never deny him anything. You couldn't even if you wanted to.

Usually, there rings a hint of anxiety with it, afraid of the consequences of not following his orders, but right now, after everything that happened tonight, you just want to be a good girl for him. You want him to do everything he wants to you, no matter what it is. At this moment, you think you would die for him. You would actually let him kill you. Just for him to be proud of you.

He can see the internal struggle in your expression, the way your body responds to his words. "Good... good... just let yourself feel good,... just feel me..." His voice is a soothing, deep rumble as he whispers into your skin, his words like a gentle breeze on a hot summer day. "No more thoughts. Just focus on this. On us."

His hands move with practiced precision, coaxing you toward that sweet, sweet release. His touches are gentle but insistent, like the touch of a lover instead of the rough, demanding touch you've come to expect.

You don't know for how long he kept going that night. He made you come multiple times on his fingers and on his dick. His release is gushing out of you and causing a white, creamy ring to form around his length while he takes you from one blissful high to the next. He's stuffing his seed back into you multiple times, making you taste yourself and him, making you tremble and cry and beg until the sheets are messy and soaked in both of your cum.

You tap out multiple times, the pleasure of his gentle caresses, the pain of overstimulation, and the exhaustion after a long day become too much before somewhere in the middle you lose consciousness. That didn't stop him from keeping going, taking everything he wants from you even when you're not conscious anymore to feel it. He needs it. He needs you, and just for tonight, he will relish and embrace this new feeling inside his chest.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

I ken she isn't a character you typically focus on, but my curiosity is biting ma baws so I may as well ask just in case.

What do you think of the dynamic between Kate and John? And possibly the dynamic between her and Nikolai. Apologies, I ken there's about a bawhair of dialogue to work with on Kate and Nik but you're smart and I'd trust that if you do have an answer, then it'd intrigue me.

If you don't, fair enough, I completely get why. I'm just, to my core, a nosey bugger. And I fear an obvious one because Christ, the way I type isn't subtle and it really fucks the anonymity bit of this, I just cannae be fucked asking on my main blog.

I think their dynamic is pretty great but obviously complicated by the fact they're working for, and loyal to, different nations. Until very recently, UK and US geopolitics has been pretty aligned. I think John and Kate, if they existed today, would be struggling like fuck with how the rest of the world is turning its back on the US. All of Kate's avenues of information are being cut, MI5 and MI6 view the US as a liability, etc.

But, anyways, in fiction! First meeting and I think Kate probably thought "aw an upstart baby", because Baby Price with his shaven chin and serious eyes probably looked comical to someone who had a twelve year headstart on him. And then he proved himself to be a truly formidable operator, she realised she needed to build a strong link; he was clearly brilliantly intelligent and also gay as fuck ("aw repressed gay murder kitten").

It started off as a relationship of necessity. Then they shared a whiskey and a smoke after a particularly grizzly op, and it snowballed into actual friendship. John did wacky shit like use a gorilla costume as a decoy, and wasn't afraid to bend, and sometimes completely break, the rules. She liked that. He's smart, witty, funny, and so is she. If he was a woman, he'd be her wife. Luckily, she found someone just as good, but without John's temper and fixation on duty (read: someone healthier), so he gets "best friend" instead.

It's still characterised by their roles though. Sometimes Kate has to keep things from John and she hates it. But it's just the way it is. She hates it when their mission objectives don't align, she hates it when she can't provide him all the intel because she just doesn't know, and the fact that he'll go in anyway... Sometimes she wants to choke him with her bare hands. She'll take his growls and his snarls when he's frustrated because she knows it's coming from a place of deeply seated duty, an honour code that pushes him constantly forwards.

John is loyal to Laswell as much as you can be to a foreign agent; again, there are just some things he needs to keep to himself. He'll go in and risk his neck to save her arse. He respects her highly, would follow her into the maw of hell if needed. Over the years, he's started to see her and her wife as part of his extended family. I think he's probably slept on their couch while injured a few times. I wrote "Kicked Into Touch" initially because I wanted to write that domestic time between them. John values Laswell's opinion of him and he enjoys sharing hobbies/time with her outside of work. He's been to BBQs, the occasional family function; she'll likely officiate his wedding to Nikolai.

Speaking of Nik, I think Laswell adores him and him her, even though he finds her exasperating. "Why do you want to go there you crazy woman, what is--fine." He doesn't understand the American mind, probably finds it more than occasionally frustrating, but he knows Laswell is good and just, working within a straight jacket as best she can. She's not your standard, cookie cutter capitalist. She finds him eccentric but brilliant. She knows she can count on him to achieve the impossible in most situations; acquiring specific weapons, flying into hostile territory, accessing the inaccessible meetings and gangs. Nik is one of her greatest assets.

It was Laswell that gave MI6 the idea to use John to get Nik to turn. She had known Nik for a while by that point as a potential informant but her guys had failed to entice him over. Their offers just weren't hitting the mark; he didn't trust them. She had enough intel to know he was gay, and in an exceptionally vulnerable situation, so she had to play it carefully. Honeypotting him outright was cruel and it would only damage the working relationship later on. She needed someone that sat in the niche of hot and interesting, but not a blatant appeal to his prick.

She told MI6 to put Baby Blue himself right in Nik's path; intense, honest, brave and handsome in a unique, roguish kind of way. Laswell knew the way John spoke, the way he carried himself, his expressive face, would hook their Russian in. So when Price turned to Nik in the bar and said, "Come work with me, Nikolai. We'll change the world", Nik damn well believed him.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

hii, i was wondering if i could submit a request for a fic🤔I don't rlly have any specific prompt but i want it to be about karasu or zantetsu, either one is fine. i've read all of ur karasu fics and they're so good! i love ur writing sm!! if u don't want to i totally understand but i also just want to tell u that i think ur writing is awesome (^◡^)

Synopsis: You become taken with your coworker’s roommate, Karasu, unaware that he’s just as fascinated by you — and maybe he has been for longer than you realize.

BLLK Masterlist

Pairing: Karasu x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 8.6k

Content Warnings: relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…, <- never thought i’d be using THAT for a karasu fic, i’m bored of normal karasu characterization so i made him ooc, he’s like fr a weirdo icl, otoya catches strays, yukimiya is just trying to get through the workday, reader is a model, reader’s feet are mentioned a lot?? not sexually in the slightest (they’re injured so she complains abt them) but i mean it’s there ig if you’re a hater, very vague and unfinished feeling not on purpose i just gave up tbh

A/N: you sent this to me so long ago idek if you remember it LMAOAOAO i am so sorry i like fell off the face of the earth in terms of answering requests but HERE IT IS erm sorry it actually highkey sucks but at least karasu is in it…i guess…UGHHHH I HATE THIS BUT I COULDN’T KEEP PROCRASTINATING IT YOU LITERALLY SENT THIS IN THE BEGINNING OF AUGUST I’M SO SORRY MY DEAR but also tysm HAHHA you are very sweet!! i’m glad you like my writing and once again i am sorry for disappearing…

Additional: check my pinned post to make sure i have requests open; after reading the rules, please feel free to make your own!

You had never seen the man leaning against the wall behind the camera before. He wore a dark trench coat and a plaid scarf looped around his neck, and unlike everyone else bustling about the set, barking out orders and shoving each other into place, he was entirely calm. In his right hand, he held his phone, scrolling through something on it with his thumb, and in between his teeth was a lollipop — cherry flavored, which you only knew because of the wrapper lying at his feet.

“That’s not Yukimiya, right?” you whispered to the girl who was buttoning up the back of your top.

“Hm?” she said. “No, Mr. Yukimiya hasn’t checked in yet. I have no idea who that is.”

He was tall, with wide shoulders and the type of face that must have been crafted with painstaking detail by someone or another, his features keen, his eyes a brilliant shade of blue so dark they were nearly violet or black. Dark hair fell into darker eyebrows like the ink of a ballpoint pen on a paper-pale forehead, and just above his left cheekbone was a black beauty mark, which changed everything and yet nothing about him.

You supposed he must’ve sensed your gaze lingering on him, for he furrowed his brow and then lifted his chin, scanning the room before his eyes meet yours. He didn’t seem offended by the prying, his lips curling into a smile as he lifted his left hand into a jaunty wave, returning his attention to whatever he was reading on his phone before you could respond in turn or do anything to feel less like you had been caught committing some crime.

“I’m sorry I’m late!”

This must’ve been Kenyu Yukimiya, your partner for the shoot. He was handsome, too, with a harried, windswept appearance to his reddened cheeks and tousled hair; when he grinned at you apologetically, he was entirely reminiscent of a painting from antiquity.

He sat in the chair next to you as the makeup team got to work, applying the faintest touch of product so that he was not entirely washed out by the blinding lights of the cameras in your faces. You returned his smile with one of your own, polite and careful.

“Luckily, the director hasn’t arrived yet, so it’s not a problem,” you said. “Apparently, he’s strict on everyone but himself.”

Yukimiya winced as a heap of clothes was thrown at him and the finishing touches were placed on his chestnut hair. You watched him with amusement, your hands folded in your lap as he was yanked to his feet.

“Guess I got lucky this time, then,” he said, stumbling into the dressing room, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood yourself, stretching your arms and legs with a deep breath, rolling your ankles in the air, alternating as you did so, and then pacing back and forth in an attempt to accustom yourself to the monstrosities that your feet had been shoved into.

The man in the corner didn’t seem affected by the chaos Yukimiya’s appearance had thrown everyone into. You thought you saw something like a snort escape him, but otherwise he was calm — although you noticed he had tucked his phone away and shoved his hands in his pockets, opting to instead observe his surroundings with a soft curiosity.

You turned away before he could shift his attention to you once again, because your pride could not handle being caught by him a second time, and you pretended like you were entirely fascinated with putting one foot in front of the other, walking in a line so straight it was as if it had been drawn with a ruler.

Yukimiya reappeared completely ready a few seconds later, tying the laces of his dress shoes and then joining you at your side, although of course he did not need to practice walking or anything so silly. Like most men, he had been afforded the luxury of comfort; he wasn’t the showpiece of this edition, after all. You were, and so you were the one made up into a spectacle beyond natural ability or attempt.

“Everyone, in your places!” the director shouted as he entered the studio, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the other on his hip. He was diminutive in stature and wore a ridiculously feathered hat, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in position, so nobody would dare to say that to him, least of all you, who could so easily be replaced.

Still, for one final time, you allowed yourself to look at the man standing all by himself, wondering if he’d offer some reaction to the getup, some indication that you weren’t alone in your feelings. You weren’t sure why it was him who you sought out; perhaps because he, unlike everyone else, was a mystery, an enigma, and so while you could map out without knowing what all the other faces in the room looked like at that moment, you needed to see his to understand it.

He wrinkled his nose into a snicker, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes, and then he took his phone back out of his pocket, maybe to give himself an excuse for laughing. It wasn’t like he really needed an excuse, because no one else was even looking at him, but then again, there was never any harm in caution.

“You’re Y/N L/N, right?” Yukimiya said to you, his hand on your shoulder as you faced the camera, waiting for the director to adjust your stances. “It’s a pleasure. I’m surprised this is the first time we’re actually talking.”

“The pleasure is mine,” you said. “And yes, it’s a wonder we haven’t worked together before, given how frequently I’ve heard your name mentioned. I’m looking forward to it.”

Something about Yukimiya served to enhance everyone he was around, and so, instead of stealing the attention from you, he somehow managed to direct the spotlight so that it shone only on your placid face. You had been expecting the opposite, but you weren’t angry about it; in fact, you couldn’t have been more pleased. It was always the worst thing when your coworker was jostling you out of the way for a few extra seconds in front of the cameras, and you thought to yourself that you’d have to find some way of ensuring you were booked with him more often.

“Amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever been so quickly satisfied by a shoot!” the director said, clapping his hands together and nodding at you both. “Excellent work. I think we can wrap up for the day. I’ll see you two here at the same time tomorrow!”

“Wow,” Yukimiya said as everyone started disassembling the set. “I thought you said he was strict.”

You shrugged as you walked over to the dressing rooms. “I thought he was.”

“Well, we probably shouldn’t complain,” he said. “Between this and practice, my schedule is booked. I have no space to be ungrateful about a little extra time.”

“Very true,” you said. “It’s always nice when things like this end sooner than anticipated. Better than later, anyways.”

The first thing you took off were those excuses for shoes, kicking them under the door for good measure and shoving your feet into a pair of fluffy slippers, wiggling your toes with a sigh. Peeling off every layer you had squeezed into for the sake of the director’s creative vision, you curled up on the bench in only your underwear, sipping on water through a metal straw and staring at the wall, hugging your knees to your chest, lost in thinking about nothing.

Only when you grew cold did you stand, pulling on a sweatshirt three sizes too large and sweatpants that puddled at your shoes, shielding you from the world as you trudged out of the dressing room, wanting to rub your eyes but knowing that you would smear makeup all over the backs of your hands. You settled instead for playing with the thread you had taped to the handle of your water bottle for exactly such an occasion, twirling the loose ends of the meticulous knots in between your fingers idly.

“Ah — L/N!” Yukimiya waved at you as you made your way towards the exit. Unaccustomed to further camaraderie after the end of the workday, you had to fight to keep your expression neutral, and when you noticed the man from earlier was at Yukimiya’s side, the lollipop long gone, you had to fight even harder.

“Is something the matter?” you said.

“No, nothing at all,” he said. “I just figured we might as well walk to the parking garage together, since it’s late and all.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. The studio you were at had only one security guard in its employ, a man that inspired pity more than fear, with a few strands of hair glued into a desperate attempt at a combover and a shirt that was far too thin to be considered professional, so you hadn’t even considered asking for an escort, figuring you would take your chances. Still, the thought of walking alone wasn’t the most appealing, and while you wouldn’t have asked for it yourself, you were glad Yukimiya had offered his company nonetheless.

“Oh! Karasu, this is Y/N L/N. L/N, this is Tabito Karasu,” Yukimiya said as you reached the door and the other man — Karasu — used one black-gloved hand to open it.

“Is he your bodyguard or something? Thank you,” you said, nodding at Karasu for holding the door.

“He wishes,” Karasu said. His voice was rough and deep and sounded like he was perpetually in on some private joke, but you didn’t mind it, not in the slightest. “I’m his roommate — the one with a car, by the way. And a driver’s license. And the time to pick his sorry ass up.”

“What he means is that he offered to stop by on his way home to get me,” Yukimiya said.

“That’s very generous of you,” you said. “Especially considering you were there even before Yukimiya was.”

“Don’t you think? It’s fine, now he owes me one,” Karasu said, his eyes glimmering. “And I intend to collect, of course.”

“He never does anything out of the goodness of his heart,” Yukimiya said with a long-suffering sigh. “You better be careful around him, L/N. Whatever he gives you, he’ll expect the same in return.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, though of course you had no intentions of ever being around Karasu in any way that mattered.

“We play soccer for the Japanese team, you know,” Karasu said. “You should come to one of our games, L/N. I’m sure some of our teammates would be delighted by that. Right, Yuki?”

Yukimiya sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If you’re talking about Otoya and Aiku, then yes, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“Not for her, it isn’t,” Karasu said. “For them, sure it is. But I wasn’t talking about those two, anyways.”

“Pardon?” you said.

“Ignore him,” Yukimiya said. “I don’t really know what he’s going on about.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Karasu said, picking up before Yukimiya on the fact that your steps had stuttered to a stop. “L/N, was it?”

He offered you his hand. You took it and shook, arching a brow at the firmness of his grip, which was much more in line with a businessman than a soccer player. 

“Yes,” you said. “Karasu? It was nice to meet you as well.”

“Don’t worry,” Yukimiya said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll make my other roommate pick me up tomorrow.”

“Otoya?” Karasu said. “Good luck with that. He’ll be late to his own funeral, so don’t think you’re high on his priority list. The only time he comes early is—”

“Karasu,” Yukimiya interjected. “Don’t be crass.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “See you around, L/N. Or maybe not.”

“See you,” you said, starting your car so that it wasn’t freezing when you got in, deciding it wouldn’t be polite to tack on a definitely not to the farewell and instead opting to stay silent.

“Bye, L/N,” Yukimiya said. “Until tomorrow.”

Although your apartment wasn’t large by any means, it wasn’t small, either, sitting at a comfortable medium that was paid for half by you and half by your brother, who was hardly ever home, anyways, but needed somewhere for his mail to be delivered. He was a free spirit, always traveling: for work, for fun, for women and wine, for anything his heart desired, which left you the entire space to yourself more often than not. People were jealous of you when they found out, but when you sat on the couch alone, a blanket pulled up around your shoulders and a bowl of salad held in between your knees, the television on only to ward away the silence that permeated the room, you wondered what they had to be jealous of.

The next day, you didn’t look for Karasu when you entered the studio, but you knew as you stepped in that he wasn’t there. There was something missing, the room a little brighter without him in the corner, waiting with an unmatched patience for Yukimiya to be done. Yukimiya must’ve made good on his threat, then, to call their other roommate to pick him up, although privately you wondered why he couldn’t just drive himself.

The shoot went even smoother the second day than it had the first, and it was a surprise the director didn’t fall to your feet and grovel at the speed with which you executed his vision. Yukimiya struck that perfect balance of workmanlike and personable, and you were content to play along with him, so all in all things moved with relative swiftness.

When you went to leave, you noticed that Yukimiya was standing by the door on his own, tapping his phone furiously. You were under no obligation to stop, but for some reason, you did, waiting awkwardly for a second before clearing your throat.

“Is everything alright?” you said. He startled, almost dropping his phone as he blinked at you.

“Yes! Yes, it’s fine, it’s just my roommate is a jerk, that’s all. Last night, he told me he was fine with picking me up, but now all of a sudden he’s busy,” he said with a scoff.

“Otoya, right?” you said. Yukimiya cocked his head.

“Yes, how’d you know?” he said.

“Karasu — your other roommate mentioned him yesterday,” you said, correcting yourself so that it didn’t seem like Karasu was someone you paid special attention to. Judging by Yukimiya’s expression, you didn’t think you had been entirely successful in the attempt, which was unlike you. You bit the tip of your tongue so that you didn’t say anything further, waiting for him to respond.

“Right,” he said.

“Why don’t you drive yourself?” you said, crossing your arms and standing beside him, facing the road as he was. 

“I can’t,” he said.

“You never learned?” you said. He shook his head, adjusting his glasses self-consciously.

“It’s not recommended I do,” he said. He didn’t elaborate further, but he didn’t have to; you recognized it wasn’t your place and hummed in acknowledgement.

“If you want, I don’t mind taking you,” you said. You didn’t know where Yukimiya lived — for all you knew, it was across the city entirely — but it didn’t hurt to extend your hand like that, especially because you had a sense that he wouldn’t even accept it.

“It’s alright,” Yukimiya said. “Karasu said he’s on his way, since last he checked, Otoya’s in the shower now, for some reason.”

“Oh,” you said. “That’s kind of him.”

“Kind?” Yukimiya said, and then to your surprise, he laughed. “I wish I knew as little about him as you do.”

“Is he a bad person?” you said.

“Not at all,” Yukimiya said. “He’s great. He’s one of my best friends, in fact; it’s just that kind and Karasu rarely if ever go together in the same sentence.”

“How can someone be your best friend if you don’t even think they’re kind?” you said, intrigued by the puzzle Yukimiya had presented you with. The way he spoke of Karasu, it was as if he were some willful spirit that occasionally deigned to lend his aid to those who could bring him some benefit, but the way the two of them treated one another didn’t seem anything like that.

“I don’t know,” Yukimiya said. “If you knew him better, I wouldn’t have to explain this. He’s a hard person to understand, and just when you think you’ve finally got it, he goes and complicates things further.”

“That sounds exhausting,” you said.

“That’s the strangest thing about it all,” Yukimiya said as a car pulled up in front of you both, the hazard lights turning on. “With him, it’s entirely natural.”

Karasu stepped out of the driver’s side, shutting it behind him and joining the two of you on the curb, grinning at Yukimiya in a way that almost felt mocking.

“Told you Otoya wasn’t to be trusted,” he said. “You’re paying for dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yukimiya said, tossing his bag at Karasu, who caught it without flinching. “Put this in for me.”

“Whatever you say,” Karasu said, opening the back door of the car and throwing the bag onto the floor before slamming it shut and patting the handle for good measure. “Is that everything, your royal highness?”

“Yes,” Yukimiya said. “I’m going to kill Otoya when we get back.”

“Hm,” Karasu said. “Violent.”

“He deserves it,” Yukimiya said. “Bye, L/N. Thanks for waiting with me.”

“It’s not an issue,” you said, especially because you hadn’t done it on purpose, and even if you had, it hadn’t been for him. “I’m glad everything worked out.”

You wanted to say something more, something to Karasu in particular, but you didn’t know what or how. It wasn’t like you knew him — not a little and not at all, as Yukimiya had pointed out, and indeed you had no reason to speak to him in the first place. He wasn’t anything but your coworker’s roommate, so what did he mean to you?

Yukimiya shut his door with a hurried apology about the cold, and then it was just you and Karasu on the curb, and you couldn’t tell why, but the way he looked at you made you think he could hear every thought which was racing through your mind. 

“Yukimiya’s right. It’s cold out,” he said. “You should go home now.”

“I’m just about to,” you said.

“Are you?” he said. 

“Why are you questioning that?” you said, surprisingly affronted, although he hadn’t said anything insulting. “Of course I am. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

“I’m not questioning anything,” he said. “Drive safely.”

“Wait,” you said. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

“Would you prefer it if I am?” he said.

“I’d prefer it if you answered my questions instead of coming up with more of your own,” you said, which you thought would be met with shock — after all, it was a rare thing that you broke character and said anything that could be perceived as cutting — but was instead received with a snicker.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll be here tomorrow. Early, if that’s what you want.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” you said. “Do what you’d like.”

“I think that I will,” he said, and then Yukimiya was rolling down the window, telling him to hurry up, damnit, so he left you behind without another word, the car’s engine purring as they drove away.

You must’ve looked like such a fool the next morning, the final of the shoot, your eyes immediately going to the corner where Karasu had been that first day. It was empty, and despite yourself, your shoulders slumped when you realized that he wasn’t there, which was enough for you to break out of that strange trance. Why had you even hoped in the first place? He had made no indication that he was going to come, and you were old enough to know that hoping and wishing were certain paths to disappointment.

“Do you want me to take you back tonight?” you asked Yukimiya, sitting in a chair beside him as you waited for the director to come. It was a clumsy and roundabout way of getting to what you actually wanted out of him, but the last thing you could do was tell him the truth. What would he say, if he knew why you were actually offering? What would he think of you then?

“Hm? No, it’s fine, Karasu’s already got it. He’s at the gym with Shidou — er, another teammate of ours — right now, but he’ll be done before we are, and the studio’s closer to the gym than our apartment is, so he told me it wouldn’t be any extra trouble,” he said, and you thought he must’ve added those extra details for the sole purpose of seeing what your response to them would be, but then you remembered that Yukimiya wasn’t that kind of person. He was just telling you as a way to fill the time, not to get one over you or anything like that.

“That’s good,” you said. “Convenient.”

“Yup,” Yukimiya said. “My agent told me we’d be doing individual photos today.”

“Huh?” you said. “Oh, right. Yes, I think that’s the case.”

“That’s a shame. I enjoyed working with you,” he said.

“Me, too,” you said, and unlike most times, you weren’t lying when you did. “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, though. There’s not so many of us our age.”

“True,” he said. “It’s a given.”

“Exactly,” you said.

“Yukimiya! You’re up first!” the director shouted, entering as he always did — like a whirlwind, leaving papers scattered and assistants flustered in his wake. 

“That’s my cue,” Yukimiya said with a long-suffering sigh.

“Good luck,” you said, glad that it wasn’t your turn just yet. The shoes you were meant to wear sat innocently before you, about two feet away, and although it was impossible for inanimate objects to be snide, they were quite close to it, glaring at you with their bejeweled straps and their impossible tall heels, tittering between themselves at the thought of the cuts already forming on your ankles, the bandages you’d have to remove in order for those terrors to slide on without fuss.

You set your water bottle on the armrest of your chair, taking up the thread and crossing it over itself in the patterns you had been taught in elementary school. You didn’t have anyone to tie these bracelets around, and you couldn’t wear them yourself, for they’d be cut away almost immediately, but the repetitive motions soothed your mind, distracting you from the red soaking through your white socks.

“L/N!” the director screamed, even though you were sitting right there and could hear him perfectly fine. “Put your damn shoes on and get the hell up here!”

Without Yukimiya there to soften the blow, you were the direct target of all of his anger. Swallowing back every emotion you had ever felt and would ever feel, you bent over and began to rip the nude-colored band-aids, stained rusty at the edges, off. Balling them up and throwing them in the trash, you stood on aching soles and pulled the shoes on, one after another, clenching your teeth and taking off your sweater so that you could waltz over to where the cameras were trained.

“Took you long enough,” the director groused. 

“Yes, sir,” you said. “How should I stand?”

“Just put your hands there, and your one leg there,” the director said vaguely, waving his arms about before striking what must’ve been an approximation of the pose he wanted you to take. You did your best to copy it, and the cameras went off, your vision temporarily fleeing and then coming back in spots as the lights faded. “No!”

“No?” you said.

“That’s all wrong! It’s horrible, horrible — you’re not even trying to do what I asked!” he said. “Yukimiya could do it, so why can’t you? Just do this!”

He did the same thing again. You weren’t sure what else you could adjust, but you moved slightly, twisting your torso at a different angle and smiling without your teeth this time. He grunted and motioned for the cameras to go again, but after a few more photos, he groaned, dragging his face over his hands.

“This is horrendous! You look entirely stiff and posed. It’s like you're a mannequin!” he said.

“I don’t — I’m not — what should I fix?” you said, unable to stop nerves from creeping into your voice and jostling it about. As difficult as he was to work with, you knew that the director was a big name in the industry, and if he only had bad things to say about you, then your entire livelihood would be threatened.

“Ugh!” he said, stomping onto the set and grabbing your arm, wrenching it down so hard you were surprised it didn’t dislocate. You chewed on the frayed flesh of the inside of your cheek to keep from yelping, allowing yourself to be pliable as he dragged your leg forward into what he wanted from you. “It’s like you’re a completely different person today! Just disappointing.”

Whatever position he had coerced you into was nothing like the one he had wanted you to imitate, but you refrained from pointing that out, holding it in place while the photographers adjusted their lenses. It was uncomfortable and made the lace lining your collar dig into your throat even more, but at least that served as a reminder for you to be silent.

“That’s enough,” the director said, massaging his temples. “We’re not getting anything more out of you.”

“What?” you said, standing normally, tired of contorting yourself for the impossible-to-please man. “What do you mean?”

“You’re lifeless. I don’t know how you managed to fool me yesterday and the day before, but I see it now. Honestly, if it weren’t for the concerning accusations I’d face, I’d just dig up a grave and pay the families half the royalties. It’d be a cheaper and better performance than whatever you’re giving me,” he said.

“What?” you said again, shame pouring over you, cold in a way that was closer to heat, ringing in your ears and coating your tongue. You couldn’t think of another response, any other way to defend yourself. If he was saying it, then it really was the truth. You swallowed, about to bow your head and shuffle off of the set for good, but then, like a bird in your peripheral vision, you noticed someone standing in the corner.

It was Karasu, and he was muffling a laugh. When he noticed you were looking at him, he dropped his hand from in front of his mouth and jerked his head towards the director, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like get a load of this guy. Your eyes widened, and then you, too, were fighting back a giggle, because you were so tired of the entire charade and your feet hurt and you wanted to go home and sleep for a few hours but this director, this stupid fucking director, couldn’t make up his mind about what he wanted from you. And now your career was ruined and you’d go back to waiting tables and Karasu was standing there, which was ridiculous, because where had even come from? But, then again, did it matter? Because the most amazing thing of all was that he was laughing. The situation was horrible and he was laughing as if it was the most entertaining moment of his life.

“There!”

You cringed as the cameras went off in quick succession, but they were faster than you, and you knew for sure they had caught you before you had cowered away. The director stroked his chin, and then, to your surprise, clicked his tongue in approval.

“Well done,” he said. “That’s the kind of genuine appeal I was looking for. If you can bring more of that to the table, then anyone would be happy to have you.”

You frowned, his sudden switch in mood giving you whiplash. Only seconds earlier, he had been berating you, and now he was praising you? You couldn’t understand what had brought about the change, but you were at least quick enough to not question it. 

“Thank you,” you said. “I appreciate the advice. And the opportunity to work with you.”

“I’ll hire you again,” he said, which sounded as much like a threat as it did a promise. “We’ll bring it out of you. Now that I know what you’re capable of, I won’t rest until I’ve perfected it in the way only I can.”

The thought of being perfected by him, molded and shaped and honed, was the most unappealing you had had in a while. You could imagine him tugging your limbs out of their sockets, rearranging them at his leisure, slicing gashes into your skin so that his clothes and accessories sat better, smoother, without unappealing wrinkles or reflections marring their surfaces.

“Thank you,” you said once more. “It’s an honor.”

“Are you alright?” Yukimiya said when you wobbled over to where your shoes and clothes were strewn about. 

“I’m fine,” you said, but you weren’t looking at him. Your distracted eyes were following Karasu as he left the studio, your eyebrows knitting together as you tried to ascertain what the point of him even coming inside had been, if he was going to leave without you — without Yukimiya. 

He didn’t come for you, a voice in the back of your head, sounding eerily similar to the director’s, said. He came to pick up his roommate, just like he promised he would.

“I can’t believe he chose you as his favorite. Maybe you’ll be his muse for the next few years!” Yukimiya said. The director was known for picking one model to fixate on for an extended period of time. His every project revolved around them, and they were catapulted into unprecedented stardom under his guiding hand, staying there until their retirement. It was everyone’s dream, and you should’ve been happy at the prospect of being next in that line, but when you beamed at Yukimiya, it was fake, the muscles in your mouth straining at the unnatural position you were putting them into.

“Who knows?” you said. “I don’t want to rely on it. It’s not a guarantee.”

“Smart idea,” he said, scrunching up his face. “I’m sorry. I’m used to soccer more than all of this. Everyone’s very…full of themselves.”

“You’re not full of yourself,” you said, shutting the door of your dressing room behind you and calling through it as you changed, hoping to delay him even slightly.

“You’ve never seen me on the field,” he said. “There, everyone’s different. You have to be, if you want to live. Ego’s a form of survival out there.”

“Doesn’t sound much different than modeling,” you said.

“A little different,” he said. “People here are just vain. That’s not the same.”

You hadn’t ever gotten changed so quickly, but in record time, you were swinging your bag over your shoulder and rejoining Yukimiya, who seemed as surprised as you were that you had finished so quickly. After all, you had a bit of a reputation for…sulking? Brooding? You weren’t sure what word they were using for it nowadays, but regardless, your proclivity for sitting in your dressing room in silence was well-known, as much a part of your character as it was a habit. 

“You’re not wrong about that,” you said. “But vanity’s a necessary evil, I think. If you want to succeed.”

“Er, right,” he said, standing in place like he was unsure of how to react. “I suppose so.”

When you did not halt but instead kept moving towards the exit, he straightened and hurried after you. You weren’t going very fast, and his strides were so long that he caught up with you before you could even brace for the biting wind that rushed in as soon as you opened the door. The two of you went along in silence, Yukimiya obviously befuddled why you were still with him but too polite to say anything about it, and it was only when you reached the entrance to the parking garage, where a familiar car was waiting, that you allowed yourself to smile.

“Man, talk about an asshole,” Karasu said, stretching like a cat as he got out of the still-running sedan. “That director is a piece of work.”

“Karasu!” Yukimiya reprimanded, which got him nothing but a sly smile from the man in question. “He’s our boss. We can’t say stuff like that about him.”

“He’s your boss,” Karasu corrected. “So you can’t say stuff like that. I can say whatever I want.”

“You’re going to get me fired,” Yukimiya said. “It’s a good thing I have soccer to fall back on, or else I’d be in trouble.”

“Go sit in the car, then, if you want to stay blameless,” Karasu said.  

“I will! And you better not bother poor L/N. I don’t want her to have a bad opinion of all of us just because of you,” Yukimiya said, jabbing his finger at Karasu, who raised his hands in the air innocently.

Today, he wore a white windbreaker over a grey shirt, and because he was not wearing gloves, you could see that there were calluses on his palms, standing out pale at the seams of his fingers. You weren’t used to seeing calluses on anyone, not when the few people you met on a semi-regular basis took such diligent measures to prevent them, but now that you were faced with them sans demonization, you found their roughness was warm and friendly, not hideous.

“He was pretty bad,” you mumbled as soon as Yukimiya had shut himself away in the car. 

“Yuki, or the director?” Karasu said.

“Don’t be horrible,” you said. “You know who I’m talking about.”

“I can’t believe he compared you to a dead body,” Karasu said.

“That’s not the worst I’ve gotten,” you said. “It took me by surprise because things had been going so well until then, but he was relatively tame, all things considered.”

“Really?” Karasu said. 

“Yes,” you said, dropping your voice to a murmur in case anyone was around, not wanting to give yourself a reputation as a whiner. “Once, someone asked me if my mother was a fish, because there was no other explanation for how I was flopping around.”

“That’s rude,” he said.

“It was!” you said. No one had ever listened to you before, least of all with such a benign expression on their face, and you were so starved of it that you could not contain yourself any longer. “Especially because I was standing still, not flopping around or whatever. Honestly, I wanted to ask him if his mother was a fish, because you know what? There was no other explanation for how he smelled!”

“Horrid!” Karasu said, beaming at you. “You should’ve.”

“Oh, no, no, I couldn’t. I shouldn’t even have said it to you,” you said, shaking your head and pressing your hands over your mouth, unsure of any other method of stopping yourself that would be nearly as effective. 

“But you did,” he said, zipping up his jacket in a swift movement. “I’ll think of something about myself to tell you in return. Give me a day or two.”

“That’s not why I did that,” you protested. “And we don’t have a day or two, anyways, so you’ll have to do it now or never again.”

“Sure we do,” he said. “We live in the same city, don’t we? I bet our paths will cross. Where do you go grocery shopping?”

“Grocery shopping?” you said.

“Karasu! You’re low on gas!” Yukimiya said, rolling down his window. 

“I go to the place across from the park on South 18th Street. Every Thursday after practice,” Karasu said. “Meet all sorts of people there. Never know who I’m going to run into.”

You could picture exactly the store he was talking about; it wasn’t where you typically went, but sometimes, if you were running low on something hard to find, you’d walk the extra few blocks. It was much bigger than the one close to your apartment, after all, and suddenly you wondered if you had seen Karasu there before, if you had seen him ten or twenty times and just not noticed.

“When do you finish practice?” you said, right before he got into his car. 

“Lunchtime,” he said. “I’m hungry more often than not.”

“It’s not good to shop for food when you’re hungry,” you said.

“Then I’ll have to do something about it before I do,” he said. “Well, it depends. Only if I have good company.”

You didn’t realize until you were halfway home what he meant by that, and by then it was too late for you to change your mind — not that you would’ve. Not that you needed to. He wasn’t holding you to anything, even though you knew as well as he did that you would be there; still, ultimately it was your decision. Your choice. 

That was a strange characteristic of his, one that Yukimiya hadn’t mentioned. Karasu didn’t ask for things; he didn’t command them, either. He only made suggestions, nudging you along until you reached the destination that he wanted you to arrive at. You had never met a person quite so adept at it, at presenting choices and questions as disguises for inevitabilities, at guiding people’s thoughts so precisely. It would’ve been unsettling coming from anyone else, but from him, it was natural. It was how he operated. Who were you to chafe at it when that was simply who he was?

The grocery store was large, but they never changed their layout, so you knew where everything was familiarly and without checking the signs. You didn’t have anything to shop for, so you decided to wander the aisles, thinking that if something caught your eye, you’d buy it without further consideration.

You found yourself staring at a bag of oranges, a bright red 50% Off! sticker slapped right on the netted packaging. Swallowing, you reached for it, but before you could, someone snatched them away, holding them in the air teasingly.

“I thought you shouldn’t shop for food when you’re hungry,” Karasu said. “And might I add, what a coincidence it is, seeing you here!”

“I’m not hungry,” you said, taking the oranges back and holding them to your chest protectively. “And I wasn’t looking for you.”

“I didn’t say that you were,” he said. ��I distinctly recall saying that it was a coincidence we even met, in fact. Anyways, maybe you’re not hungry, but I am, so I should be off. Meals to eat, shopping lists to plan…it’s a busy life I have.”

“Sounds mundane,” you said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “You’re right. That reminds me! Before I go, what is it that should I tell you?”

You couldn’t deny that that was the real reason for why you had come to the grocery store — what was he going to reveal? For as much as he knew about you, you knew frighteningly little about him, and now that you were faced with a chance to learn what kind of person he really was, you didn’t want to let it leave your grasp.

“Whatever you want,” you said. He plucked the oranges from your grasp again, and before you could complain, set them at the bottom of the small basket he held in his arms.

“How about this? I knew you were going to go for the oranges,” he said.

“How?” you said.

His eyes sparkled as he leaned closer to you, and you suddenly remembered Yukimiya’s warnings. Whatever you thought you knew about Karasu, it was likely only half or maybe a quarter the truth. Really, he was shifting and cunning, a fox and a crow, far from comprehension, not a danger but not kind, either.

“I’ll answer if you tell me something else about yourself,” he said.

“Why are you acting like I’m entering some kind of contract with a devil?” you said.

“I’m not a devil,” he said. “Just Karasu. My teammates think I’m a great guy, if the recommendation sets you at ease.”

“It sounds more like you’re trying to blackmail me,” you said. He shook his head.

“Couldn’t it be said that you’re doing the same? You’re asking questions about me and expecting that I answer when you have no intentions of reciprocating,” he said. 

You pouted, because when he put it like that, he wasn’t wrong, and it wasn’t that you didn’t trust him — because you did. You trusted him more than you should’ve, considering how guarded you had learned to become.

“I have an older brother,” you said. “He’s overseas right now. I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”

“I have an older sister,” Karasu said. “Maybe they know each other.”

“Probably don’t,” you said. “Also, you didn’t answer my question.”

“I guess I didn’t,” he said, reaching around you to take two boxes of cereal off of a shelf. “Try again.”

“My parents didn’t want me to be a model,” you said. “They thought I should be a teacher. I’m good at it. Children like me.”

“I was going to go into investment banking,” he said. “Or consulting. One of those such fields. Maybe I still will, but soccer is fine for now.”

This was a game for him, you realized. Like tennis, but better, and so, instead of being irritated, you decided you might as well indulge it. It had been so long, anyways, since the last time you had spoken to someone freely, without concern for what they might spread about you, whose ears they would whisper your secrets in just to get one or two steps ahead.

“I threw a dress at a designer’s face once,” you said. “He didn’t like the shade of lipstick I was wearing, even though he was the one that picked it. The only reason my reputation wasn’t ruined was because he ended up liking the way the lipstick turned up digitally and promised not to say anything about it if I allowed them to use my photos after all.”

Karasu laughed, opening the doors to the fridge and taking out milk, stacking it neatly in the basket. You weren’t sure when the two of you had begun shopping in earnest, but it seemed he had forgotten about his plans to eat lunch. 

“In high school, my teammate pissed me off, so I made sure to shove him around extra when we tried out for a nearby youth team. It made him look so inept that he didn’t make the cut,” he said, taking an abandoned cart and depositing his things in it, motioning for you to put your purse in as well.

“That’s mean!” you said, but it was hard to disguise the fact that you, too, were laughing. “You’re mean.”

“His fault. He should’ve played better, anyways,” Karasu said. “I had been helping his sorry ass out for too long. He would’ve been cut regardless. You could say I just…expedited the process.”

“I’m the only one in my family who still wishes my brother happy birthday,” you said. “He’s a disappointment in everyone else’s eyes, but he lets me live with him and pays his share of the bills, so how can I disown him?”

“Between the two of us, my sister is the perfect one, so I’m afraid I can’t relate. Vanilla or hazelnut?” he said without skipping a beat. Before you could even answer, he face-palmed. “Oh, wait, Otoya hates hazelnut. I’ll get that so he doesn’t mistake it for his own.”

“I used to be a waitress,” you said. “Before I was a model. It was a lot less glamorous of a career. I don’t think my feet ever recovered from it.”

“I’m sure those shoes that you were forced into for your last job didn’t help any,” he said. “They looked inhumane.”

“They were,” you said, your ankles panging at the reminder, still inflamed and angry as they were. “Though I think anyone would’ve suffered with them on. I doubt the designer had human anatomy in mind when making them; I haven’t bled like that in a while.”

“They made you bleed?” he said. You hummed.

“Yeah,” you said, seeing no point in lying. Who would he tell? Who would even believe him? “Fashion over function, right? It was only for a few photos. They’ll be healed so quickly I’ll forget I had them in the first place. Enough about me, though. Tell me something else about yourself.”

“I sprained my wrist playing soccer as a kid,” he said. “It was a long time ago, but even now, I can feel it when it rains.”

He still hadn’t answered your original question, and you didn’t think he would, not until you offered him something of equal or greater value. But what did you have like that? What aspect of your silly life held enough weight that it would make someone like Karasu, always so ready with his wit and his charm, willing to part with something he clearly deemed to be a secret?

“I’m lonely,” you said, turning away from him, pretending to be fascinated with comparing two different brands of yogurt, neither of which you would buy. “You’ll laugh, but I think this is the longest conversation I’ve had with someone outside of work since my brother last came home. It’s nice, surprisingly. Talking to you and all. I like it.”

Or maybe you just liked him. You couldn’t really separate the two. Either way, it remained that ever since you had met Karasu, you could not conceive of a time when you had not known him, a time when you had gone home to your empty apartment and watched your empty shows and eaten your empty salads and thought you were satisfied by it all. You doubted he knew he had this effect, and you certainly wouldn’t be the one to tell him — after all, he’d probably be frightened if he found out that you had, in such a short time, grown so attached to him and his games and his conduct.

“The oranges,” he said. “You tried to buy them the first time I saw you.”

“What?” you said. Now it was his turn to avert his eyes and yours to watch him in fascination, finding it far easier to stomach a secret than to spit it out.

“It was a long time ago, but it was definitely you,” he said. “It was a Thursday, and I was just coming back from practice; this grocery store is far from my apartment but close enough to the field that, when Otoya — he was sick, so he had skipped that day — texted me that we were out of bread, I decided I’d make the detour. I wasn’t planning on staying here long, but right when I was about to leave, I saw you. You only had a packet of instant noodles and a bag of oranges in your hands. They were on sale back then, too, but—”

“But I had to put them back,” you finished for him, remembering that day as well as he did, albeit not his role. “Because I didn’t have enough money to get them, even when they were 50% off.”

“Yes,” he said. “I left before you noticed me, but I always — I always wish I hadn’t. I kept making the trip here, doing my shopping every Thursday at the same time until it became ingrained in me like routine, and I told myself if I ever saw you again, I’d buy them for you.”

“I can buy my own oranges now,” you said.

“I know,” he said. “That wasn’t the only reason I came back each week.”

“Why else?” you said.

“Well,” he said. “I can’t just tell you everything in one go like that, can I?”

You scoffed. “You can.”

“But I won’t,” he said.

“But you won’t,” you said with a sigh. “Anyways. So you knew me even before we met?”

“I knew of you,” he corrected you. “Though not as a model. Just as an absurdly beautiful girl I saw in a supermarket once and thought about occasionally.”

“So it was a coincidence that you happened to be at that shoot?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“When Yukimiya told us about the girl he’d be working with, Otoya looked you up,” he said. “And despite how long it had been since you last crossed my mind as well as how much longer it had been since the only time I saw you in the flesh, I recognized you immediately.”

“You have a good memory,” you said.

“So I’ve been told,” he said. “I didn’t go with any strange intentions, if you’re wondering. I only wanted to know what kind of person you actually were.”

He wasn’t a typical admirer, taken with your celebrity or your status. He was curious, not about Y/N L/N the model, but you, the girl he nearly met in a grocery store so long ago it was all but inconsequential. You wondered what it said about you that instead of being wary, you only felt all the more inclined to reveal yourself to him. You wondered if this was some lack of self-preservation, as your brother would declare it, or if this was an innate knowledge, an instinctual understanding that the man before you was different.

Maybe he was or maybe he wasn’t. You didn’t know, and maybe, on some level, you didn’t care. Taking his hand, you set it on the bag of oranges, placing your own atop it firmly, your thumb tracing his scratched knuckles.

“Buy them for me,” you said. “And I’ll tell you who I am, plainly and without fuss.”

“Is that what you consider a good deal?” he said. “I’d say you’re a bit more valuable than a discount bag of oranges.”

“Do you think so?” you said. “Fine, then. The oranges, and a pack of instant noodles.”

“Closer,” he said. “But I’m a fair person. I can’t accept.”

“You,” you said, all in a rush. “The oranges, the noodles, and you. That’s my final offer. I’ll give you everything if you give me that much.”

He didn’t even pretend to consider it. You thought that it must’ve been what he was waiting for all along, what he had been, in that way of his, leading you towards.

“You’re a tough bargainer,” he said.

“So you agree to it?” you said.

“Sure,” he said, and when he noticed your face falling at the noncommittal nature of his acceptance, he laughed. “Yes. Yes, yes, I agree. The oranges, the noodles, and me; you can have all three as you please.”

And it was odd, but just for a moment, the reprieve lasting only for as long as his breathy chuckle, your feet ceased to ache.