#are scenes where the two of them are together
Text
Flirting with the FBI
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Word count: 7.1k
Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???
Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.
A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭
Masterlist
You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.
If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.
Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.
You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.
You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.
“There once was a serial killer,
Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,
He cut, diced and slashed,
Left the feds quite abashed,
So I leave this message to be clearer”
The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.
You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.
You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.
None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.
And you really wanted to listen in.
The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.
Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.
A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.
With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.
“There once was a bullpen full of agents,
Who thought they were very surveillant,
But a simply code crack,
And there system did hack,
A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”
This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.
The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.
Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.
He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.
Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.
“The tall, dark and handsome employee,
How I do wish that he could enjoy me,
I would gladly submit,
we match wit for wit,
But he's trying his best to arrest me.”
The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”
The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.
You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.
A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.
After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.
By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.
So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.
“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,
I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,
the killer, you see,
Is right now hunting me,
You're the ones who can do better tracking.”
You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.
That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.
You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.
“There once was a doctor called Reid,
Who I simply and truly just need,
I would lie on my back,
And then let him attack,
Any inch of my body with his seed.”
He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.
Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.
You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.
He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.
This latest limerick was his last straw.
“The cameras are how I can see you,
I do find myself enjoying the view,
His hair is so fine,
I wish he was mine,
The agent with more PhDs than two.”
“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.
“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”
“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”
“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”
They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.
“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.
“The agents grew closer by day,
As the killer wanted to escape,
He paced across the floor,
As I watched by his door,
Getting closer than the agents could say.”
He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.
“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”
“Officer Falstaff, why?”
“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.
“Spencer, wait-”
“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”
Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.
“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.
“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”
“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”
Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.
“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”
His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”
“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”
“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”
The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.
The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.
Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.
Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.
The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.
“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.
A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.
The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.
You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.
“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,
Working with you has been like a dream,
When Reid comes it is wet,
And my mind is all set,
Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”
The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.
“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.
“When you find me there's lots for me to say,
I can't help simply feeling this way,
Your profile I read,
Can't believe you're a Fed,
I yearn for you all night and day.”
Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.
He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.
You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.
“The Doctor had finally cracked it,
The only identity that could fit,
The pretty young thing,
Who'd been flirting with him,
And was thinking of sitting on his…”
You sent a second message along with the first.
“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”
The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.
xxx
So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.
You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.
Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.
You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.
He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.
He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.
“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”
Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.
“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”
“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”
“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.
“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.
“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”
“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”
“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”
“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”
He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.
“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.
“As much as anyone does.”
“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.
“What do you think, Doc?”
“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.
“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.
“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.
“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”
“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”
For the first time in a while, you were speechless.
“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”
“Why, Y/N?”
You sighed and looked back up at him.
“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”
His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.
“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.
“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”
He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.
“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”
“You want to sleep with me?”
His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.
The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.
“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”
To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.
“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”
You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.
“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.
“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”
You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.
“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”
Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.
“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”
“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”
The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.
A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.
“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.
You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.
“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.
“No, you don't.”
“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”
“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”
“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”
“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”
He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.
“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”
He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.
“Can we keep this serious, please?”
“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”
“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.
“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.
“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”
Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.
“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”
“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”
“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”
“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”
You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.
He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.
It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.
“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”
“I'm driving you home.”
“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”
“What about friends?”
“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”
His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.
“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”
“What?”
“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.
“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”
“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”
The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.
“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.
“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.
He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.
The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.
“Spencer!”
“Doctor Spencer Reid.”
“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”
“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”
You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.
“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.
“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”
The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.
He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.
“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.
“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”
“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”
He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.
“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.
“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”
“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.
It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.
When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.
“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.
“And let you touch my things? No.”
You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.
“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.
“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.
“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.
“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.
“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”
You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.
He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.
You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.
“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”
“What's the difference?”
“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."
"And what would that be?"
"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”
“Brat,” he spat at you.
“Fed,” you spat back.
“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.
“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.
“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”
His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.
“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”
“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.
“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”
You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.
“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”
“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.
“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”
With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.
The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.
His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.
“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.
With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.
“Fuck, Spencer-”
“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”
“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.
“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.
“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”
“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.
“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.
Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.
“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”
His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.
“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”
“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.
“Say it.”
“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”
“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.
“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.
“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.
Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.
Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.
“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.
They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.
“Who I simply and truly just need.”
He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.
“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”
A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.
“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”
His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.
He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.
“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.
You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.
You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.
He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.
If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.
He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.
Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.
When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.
“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.
“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”
“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.
Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.
When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.
He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.
“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”
#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid smut#mgg#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid criminal minds#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n
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NOCTURNAL WALTZ | RYŌMEN SUKUNA
✮ summary. . when life tries to ruin your dreams you keep trying. you get up, wipe the sweat off and try again, even when you fall… it's either that, or ally yourself with your rival and hope he doesn't drag you down to the bottom of hell with him.
✮ cw. . workplace harassment (not from sukuna), slight possessiveness, slight violence (blood), alcohol consumption, smoking, eventual smut, exhibitionism, choking kink, dirty talk, breeding kink, 18+
✮ tags. . modern + ballet au, enemies to friends to lovers, briefly fake dating, all characters are adults, descriptions used for the reader: fem + afab!, backstory, has hair long enough to tie, wears dress in one scene. divider creds: cafekitsune.
✮ wc. . 18K
Ever since you were a little girl all you've known to do is dance.
You did it at school performances, you did it at Christmas when your whole family gathered in the living room and the snow fell cold on the tall treetops and red flowers in your garden.
You always remember the scene wistfully and in slow motion, longing for the days that will never return. Your father played the piano and your mother looked on proudly, her hands were always clasped together at chest level watching you with the eyes of an owl making circles with your legs in the air. She always had that expression on her face as if she was afraid you were going to fall, she was always on the edge of her seat, her lips curved into a smile— after all, she was in charge of organizing all your choreography and choosing the songs you were going to dance to, along with your shoes and your outfit. All this was until you were fifteen when you begged her to finally enroll you in a real dance school.
You remember how nervous you were on the first day. You wore your hair pulled back so tight it looked like you were smiling the whole time, your eyebrows stretched and your stomach felt like that Halloween night where you ate so much candy your guts hurt, though all of this was pushed aside the moment you saw the great ballroom.
The walls rose far higher than your little eyes could see. White lights glowed against the beige walls —which your teenager self mentally corrected them later, it wasn't beige, it was salmon, with curtains the color of the peach your mother cut on Sunday mornings— and in the background you could appreciate a melody you knew well since it was your mother's favorite, the one she always chose for you to dance: "dance of the sugar plum fairy."
Training professionally was much more demanding than your mom had told you. You studied in the morning and practiced in the afternoon, your feet hurt all the time in the beginning although with time this became more bearable, however they never stopped hurting because you never stopped practicing.
The lights blinded you for a moment leading you to run away from the incandescent glowing light, causing you to stumble and Sukuna purposely let you fall from his arms so that you kissed the ground.
Your body hits the wooden floor with a dull thud, the live music doesn't stop because of your accident and the director of the ballet claps twice again. It's the signal that the show must go on, it's what the music means that instead of slowing down it rushes to climax, you force yourself to stand up, with a sukuna growling tiredly behind you. No one helps you so you do it alone, you bury your toes in the wood and your injured feet push off the ground and support your weight once more as you rise phoenix-like on your tips.
This is what it takes to be a pro, is what your mother would say if she were alive. You hear her voice loud and strong in your eardrum along with the noise of the music.
One, two and... up!
You hear her ask you for more. Lift your foot more, lift your knees more, straighten your back more. You're trying but—
"You're being too rough," you spit through gritted teeth. Maintaining the fake smile your character must wear.
You know he hears you, yet he remains silent, twisting and turning, holding you above his head and taking one last turn.... Everything seems blurry from your point of view, your stomach churning like a roller coaster even though you don't remember the last thing you ate because this was exactly what you wanted to avoid.
Don't throw up, don't throw up.
You catch the two claps from the director indicating that sukuna should drop you and that's exactly what he does... with a little more force than he should, his hands are loose on your waist, barely gripping you. Your arms stretch, they tremble in the air as does your smile, a cold sweat that shouldn't be there runs down your temples, you feel the salty drops slide over your lower lip and your breathing becomes almost nonexistent, your chest rises and falls and then sukuna lets you go, you are alone, the lights focus completely on you and you hear laughter in the background.
This is the moment where you must do your solo. Spin alone one more time and then let yourself fall. Your feet don't respond at first, you had forgotten your smile, very focused on moving your legs but when you manage to do it you falter again and collapse on the floor with a harder impact than the previous time. Now the music comes to a sudden stop.
You hear him sigh heavily, followed by the fluttering of the sheets of paper in his hand. Kurogawa, the director, puts his glasses on his head like a makeshift headband and slaps his hands once.
Immediately the whole room fills with noise, people start moving. Even your dance partner who although you don't see him, you feel him walking and moving away from you. You have a hard time getting up, this time you really have a hard time. Your body has been beaten to a pulp by the dozens of practices you have carried out these days, your dress and tights hide the bruises that have permeated the floor on them, you carry on your hips sukuna fingers by the force in which he has grabbed you, even so, you do not manage to perform the spin that should come out naturally.
You are a star, this is what you were born to do and this is what you have always done, why can't a dumb spin come out perfectly?
Kurogawa calls your name before you can move further away. You freeze in the middle of the stage, grateful to be away from the spotlight and more in the comfort of the gloom.
You sense his footsteps approaching, with each footstep his heels announce how close he is and your body trembles, your teeth chatter and you force yourself to be still.
"What's the matter?" His voice is neither far nor near.
"I don't..." you force your lip between your teeth before articulating your next words. You can't say you can't.
"I asked you a question." His body is behind you, stopping the draft that touched your back, serving as a wall that exudes warmth and insecurity.
His hand curls around your forearm with some force and makes you turn to see him, his violet eyes are naked, without the glasses he looks much younger, yet a couple of gray hairs escape from the improvised headband reminding you of the age difference.
Kurogawa examines you up and down, his eyes linger on your mouth for a moment and you think maybe he notices how dry they are, this prompts you to lick them suddenly.
"Do you want me to switch someone for you? There are dozens of girls who wish they were in your shoes."
"I know, sir." You bite your lip to control your emotions, and swallow the bitter bile rising up your esophagus.
His hand descends from your forearm to the width of your shoulder blades. "I don't think you appreciate it enough." This time he addresses you in a lower tone, he's hunched down to be at your height and the tone he uses would seem like he's telling a secret. His fingers run down the length of your back, you feel his fingers drag the fabric and linger on your lower back. "Is it Ryōmen? Is he the problem?" Then he pulls you closer to his body, this time there is no space between you, his leg is touching yours and his bittersweet breath, the taste of liquor mixed with wilted petals brushes your nose.
"I feel that we are not compatible, sir."
"Ah..." exclaims Kurogawa, still glued to you. "Are you implying that my best student isn't good enough for you?"
"I think..." he was too close for you to even think of anything. You try to see past his shoulders that steal all the light yet there is nothing but darkness, and the chill in your temples moves to your lower abdomen.
“Child... you're lucky your daddy paid a lot of money for you to be here, I don't think there's much talent in you.” Your mascara-filled lashes flutter like the wings of a swan. Your lips part to ask for space, but you're interrupted, he says your name and it's bitter, it sounds disgusting in his throat. “But the untalented ones, they can always do something else, can't they?”
Suddenly, someone calls your name again from the vast darkness behind you.
“Don't keep me waiting. You made me promise to take you home, brat.”
Kurogawa takes a moment to detach himself from you and you inhale in despair, you were drowning in his cheap cologne and alcohol stench. Sukuna is behind him, like a silhouette, you can barely make out his body.
You don't stop to look at the director when you step out of his reach, you don't even do it with Sukuna and run far away from there. The silence that settles in the corridor is terrifying, you feel like running to get away as fast as you can from there, however you try to keep your composure, you tighten the fabric of the tutu looking for some security and comfort in it breathing out of sync and when you manage to reach the street you have to lean back against one of the walls to regain your composure.
You force yourself to breathe through your nose and let it out through your mouth forming a cold mist. The icy breath of the night is a slap of reality that makes your cheeks tingle and your legs and arms are the first to complain about the change in temperature.
Sukuna appears at your side a few seconds later, he says nothing, so you force yourself to lift your head and check his expression. There are wrinkles in his brow and he has his hands tucked in his front pockets, you realize this is the first time you've seen him in casual clothes. He had had time to change out of his uniform to replace it with worn blue jeans and a black sweater that has blood red lettering embroidered on the chest.
His presence floods you with the same excitement as the first time you stepped off the plane and the change of weather made your body bristle, making you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. You were scared like a mouse forced out of its burrow. As at that moment, all you needed was a hug. A ghostly force grabs you by the hips and lifts you off the brick wall, throwing you into the arms of your dance partner in search of the comfort you can't seem to find anywhere else these past few days.
Sukuna tenses up at your boldness. You are sobbing into his chest as if someone has passed away. He stands still for a while, allowing your hands to barely touch his hip, while the few passersby watch the peculiar scene, wondering what has happened; after all you are still outside the prestigious ballet academy.
Against all odds, he puts his hand on your back in an unprofessional way, in a way he has never done even dancing with you. His arm floats in the air in a strange and awkward motion until he decides to rest it on your lower back, completely pulling you closer to him. His left arm goes to your shoulder blades squeezing you to his chest completely, giving you a strange comfort that doesn't quite reach friendly.
Excessive tears prevent you from breathing, so you fight the grip and prison that is his ribcage to look up and search his eyes.
“Are you okay?” Your knees give out on you, though with his help you stabilize again. “What was it he said to you?”
You sniffle through your nose. Those red eyes seem to watch every move you make and suddenly, the heat of realization of how close you are begins to climb up your ribs until it sits on your chest.
“Nothing.”
“I saw how close you were. Whatever he said or did to you...” Sukuna pauses, weighing what he will say next. You see him close his mouth and his jaw tenses. “You can trust me, I know there are rumors that he...”
“This is just an allergy,” you interrupt him by clearing your throat.
Sukuna laughs. Not only does he laugh, but he brushes you aside as he bursts out laughing holding his stomach. You cross your arms and pucker your lips, feeling the indignation immediately.
Without saying anything to him and with the wind freezing the salty tears on your cheeks, you turn to walk away from him infuriated with yourself that you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with someone like him.
“Brat!” he was still laughing. “Wait...” you hear him trot behind you, until his fingers pull your forearm back to force you to stop. “Your bag.”
When you notice what he's holding in his hands and had probably been carrying on his back, you realize that it was indeed your bag. You would have left it in the room along with your belongings in the locker had it not been for him.
“Thank you,” is all you say, still suspicious of his thoughtfulness.
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
As if it were part of a comedy scene, your stomach growls and Sukuna has to cover his mouth to contain his laughter. You look at him accusingly again. When he removes his hand from his face and raises it in submission, he reveals a smile that shows his teeth and fangs, returning to the predatory aura that always surrounds him.
“I'm gonna order sushi to go, you can join me if you want.” The wind makes you hug yourself again, avoiding his eyes at all costs. “It's across the street.”
Ryōmen Sukuna has been a pain in the ass ever since you met him at dance school. Ever since you arrived, all he's done is annoy you: bad-mouth you to your classmates, be rude in your presence, and belittle your work when you were chosen as the principal dancer. Having him here, pretending to care about you and inviting you to dinner, throws you off.
Realizing that you cried into his chest and, worse, were comforted by his touch, makes you feel guilty.
“I don't need your fake kindness.”
Sukuna lets out a snort and mimics you, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at you from above, like a superior being marking his position.
“It's just sushi. Don't act like I'm offering you an engagement ring. Just say no.”
“And that's what I said,” you reply with a bark, struggling to maintain your stance and what little courage you'd mustered to stand up to him.
You notice how Sukuna drops his arms and falls silent. Something inside you wants to continue arguing or just talk to someone. When you get “home”, you're just sitting on the bed staring at the ceiling, counting the times your room is illuminated by the lights of the cars passing by on the avenue or swiping on tiktok until you fall asleep.
You try to find an excuse to talk to him again, but you run out of ideas as you see him turn his back to you, checking the road up and down to make sure no vehicles are coming.
“Okay. I'll see you next week,” he says before crossing to the other side.
“Wait...” you call out to him, but Sukuna is about to reach the other sidewalk. He doesn't stop when you call out his name, even though you know he's listening. You step forward and shout again, a little louder this time. “Can you take me home?!”
Sukuna stops and turns slowly. You wish someone could wipe the ridiculous smile off his face and the incredulous expression he has right now. You instantly regret asking for his help.
You both wait patiently for the approaching cars to drive away in opposite directions, leaving you again in silence.
“What was that? I don't think I heard you,” Sukuna mutters, squinting his eyes and bending his body forward a bit.
You check both ends of the road before walking across and finding yourself face to face with him.
“I think I missed the bus,” you mumble hastily, a little embarrassed. “Please,” you add, doubting whether politeness will make any difference on this occasion. After all, you're dealing with Sukuna; you don't think being nice and kind will work with someone like him, so you opt to offer a bribe. “I'm going to pay you.”
“I don't need your money, brat,” he spits as soon as the words are out of your mouth, looking outraged when you look him in the face again.
“Can you stop calling me that?” Sukuna chuckles, clearly amused with a situation that you don't find funny at all. Your life is falling apart to pieces with every passing second, but to him it's a circus. “What's so funny?”
"Are you always so serious? It's a little annoying that you don't know how to take a joke; I wouldn't be surprised if you had no friends."
You want to slap him, even though you know it wouldn't make any difference. You've felt him behind you, leaning against your back, his firm hands holding your hips and helping your movements flow, so a slap on his shoulder would be in vain, it would only make him laugh.
Now you want to slap yourself regretting that you decided to talk to him in the first place, that you showed yourself vulnerable.
“Are you going to take me or not?” you insist.
“Give me your address.” Sukuna pulls his phone out of one of his front pockets and types as you give him the direction. Exactly three seconds later he exclaims, “Are you staying in a motel? I thought you had money.”
You don't know how much more you can take before you explode; you clench your fists some more, trying to contain your anger.
“I don't think that's really any of your business.”
You stand in silence for another while. He checks his phone while you watch him. The sign behind him above your heads is decorated with pink neon lines that flashes forming the name of the restaurant.
Sukuna sighs wearily, catching your attention. “Okay, join me in ordering something to go first.”
Sukuna doesn't wait for you to complain or agree with his proposal before he starts walking ahead of you, his steps slow and unhurried. You decide to follow him at a distance that gives the impression that you are not together.
With an open hand, Sukuna pushes open the transparent door and a bell announces the entrance of new customers. The place is immersed in an elegant and serene atmosphere; the aroma of rice floats freely in the air, filling your hungry stomach that growls for a mouthful of whatever they are cooking. Aside from three girls at the counter taking their orders, there are no customers other than the two of you.
You let Sukuna move on as you stop to admire the details of the place. The walls are painted in warm tones that emulate natural wood, and the ceiling has hanging paper lamps that create soft lighting.
The low murmur of water in a small koi pond in the center of the room catches your attention. You approach and watch the fish swimming freely in the water currents; you bend down to observe one in particular that appears to have a scar on one of its fins. You squint your eyes and move closer to the pond to check if the fish is okay, but at that moment the light of the restaurant is interrupted by the body weight of someone overshadowing it.
When you look up, you find Sukuna scowling at you. You don't understand what that look means and decide not to insist on deciphering it. You straighten up to try to match his height.
“Let's go.”
“So soon?” it seemed like they were waiting for him.
You watch his hands, holding a white paper bag with the restaurant's logo on the top. Then you notice the girls who seem to share a secret as they murmur, barely disguising that they are looking at you.
Sukuna continues to stare at you, so you decide not to say anything else and simply nod at his silent command. You make your way to the door and the bell rings again as you leave the place.
“Where's your car?”
You catch him grinning. Maybe you've said something he finds curious, or maybe he just wants to tease you because he can; being rude seems to come naturally to him after all. You let him lead the way and trace the way as he rummages for some keys in the back of his jeans, all the while heading towards the back of the restaurant.
Suspicious, you look around to make sure there is someone nearby who can help you if necessary. Amazement assaults you as you discover that in the back there is a parking lot, and there, in the middle of the empty spot, you see a bike. It's a shiny, black sportbike with red accents, sleek and modern looking.
The realization dries your throat.
“Is that yours?”
“Yup,” he looks amused and almost proud to actually own such a beautiful and imposing bike. You could taste the teasing tone in his voice and in the way he hurried his footsteps away from you, and you struggled to keep up with him.
Sukuna got on the bike and inserted the keys immediately, while you stood motionless, watching him hold it up with his feet so it wouldn't fall off.
“What are you waiting for?” He didn't have a helmet for himself, much less for you. He wasn't wearing gloves either, and that was perhaps the reason why his hands always felt rough when you had skin-to-skin contact when dancing.
You looked around you, meeting the vast nothingness again, as if you were asking the universe for help.
“I've never been on a bike,” you confessed to him without a filter.
You didn't know what to expect when you blurted that out, but it definitely wasn't Sukuna staring silently at you, stabbing you with those dagger-red eyes.
“So what, are you scared? C'mon, come on up.”
You sighed deeply in surrender and climbed up the bike trying to touch him as little as possible, but always failing on the spot. Sukuna jerked a little along with the bike as you tried to improve your posture behind him, trying to lower what you could of your tutu so it wouldn't fly off when he started driving.
Eagerly waiting for him to pull you away, you slide your hands down his hips and cling to his body in search of a safety that immediately greets you. The engine growls like a beast making your whole body vibrate, you cling tighter to him closing your eyes tight for a moment before letting out a sigh.
“Hold on tight,” he says, at the same time rolling his hand across the throttle.
You crinkle the fabric of his sweater under your fingers clinging to him as if your life depended on it. As he moves forward and picks up speed on the road, you hide your face in his back finding the same security as a few moments ago when you allowed yourself to sob into his chest.
The last thing you expected on a monotonous Thursday night was to end up like this, hugging Sukuna who is the last person you would ask for help, right after having the second worst day of your life. You allow yourself to relax in his presence now that you are not looking at him and now that your thoughts are overpowered by the sound of the wind against your ears.
You don't have time to elaborate any more nostalgic thoughts as Sukuna slows down and you are forced to return to the present, raising your head over his shoulder to check where you are. It was already completely dark when you arrive at the motel, and as you step into the gloom, you make out the dim lights flickering in the distance, indicating the other rooms that must be inhabited by people like you, with no settled place to go or belong.
“You can leave me here,” you indicate speaking slowly, longing for the moment when you can step onto solid ground again and return to the safe space that was your motel room, that even if it smelled like cheap detergent and the green apple spray you bought at the nearby gas station convenience store, you've managed to call home these past few months.
Sukuna obediently stops the bike near room 147 and allows you to get off, without asking questions or making conversation, which surprises you. Discomfort washes over you from your feet covered by ballerina slippers, up your cold legs until it reaches your chest.
“Thank you,” is all you say out of kindness. Instinctively you hug yourself, shrugging your shoulders toward your ears in search of some warmth.
Sukuna looks you up and down, and in his eyes you notice that spark of accusation or perhaps contempt, similar to the one you saw in your father the last time he visited you.
You wait for him to finally say something, after long seconds that feel endless, but you interrupt him before he gets the chance.
“I'm quitting.” You don't know why you say that, your body expels it as an automatic reaction, similar to vomiting after a hangover.
You immediately regret it and turn away. Little interested in what he might say next, you hasten your steps to run away from him and hide in your shelter as soon as possible.
“I thought it was allergies.” Bastard. You grind your teeth, clenching your fists. You don't have the energy to fight him; what little of the mask you put on to pretend you're the perfect woman will soon unravel like Cinderella's spell, and you don't want that to happen while you're arguing with him.
“I thought you were a tough girl.” You hear him yell again, as you try to pretend he doesn't exist. You turn left, in the direction of your room, the last one in the whole row.
“I can help.” Those words slow your steps to a complete stop. It takes you a moment to find the courage to turn around, but you finally do, taking a breath of air and looking him straight in the eye.
The distance between you is about the size of a bus, not much, but enough to look like a pair of cowboys about to have a duel and so that anyone listening can pick up on your discussion thanks to the silence of the night.
“Help with what?” you ask, defiantly.
Sukuna looks up at the sky for a moment, as if the answer is in the clouds. Without looking at you, he replies, “To be less of a dick, maybe.” Asshole. “To teach you how to relax once you're under the lights.”
You fold your arms. “If...?”
He grins, clearly amused with how much he's enjoying the situation, and you want to shout into the wind how much you hate him. Now you understand why he doesn't like you; your personalities are very different. You like the summer, he probably likes the cold. He's always teasing and getting under your skin, while you have to constantly fight not to break. You are polar opposites of different worlds.
“If you help me with something.”
“With what exactly?” you ask almost instantly.
“It's just a favor,” he replies with a shrug.
“What kind of favor?” you insist.
“It's not that kind of favor,” he says with a gesture of annoyance.
“What's in it for you?”
“Can't I help a partner?”
You're tired of playing this game. It's clearly draining your time and energy. You appreciate that he brought you home and behaved with the slightest decency you would expect from an empathetic human being seeing someone cry, but you've had enough. You turn to leave, feeling it's not worth wasting any more time on this. You plan to sleep thinking about your decision and send a letter to the director tomorrow morning. With what little money you have left, you hope to travel back to your home country.
“I need help with my grandfather.” It's as if Sukuna drops a hook that your innocence fishes for. You're not sure what he's referring to, but your curiosity compels you to turn once more and face him. This time, you close the distance with each new unsure step.
Watching you walk towards him, Sukuna continues. “Monthly he sends fish to Yokohama. The guy who was helping me quit a few months ago, so I've had to do it alone, which is a pain in the ass,” he runs a hand through his tousled hair from the trip, seemingly remembering.
“Why me?”
“Don't think you're special,” he grumbles with a growl, reflecting on what he just said, he adds. “What I mean is, it's a favor for a favor. I'll tutor you on how to improve as a dancer, and you help me with the fish. It's a win-win.”
You hate the idea of training alone with him almost as much as working moving fish, or whatever it is you're going to do, but...that was the only choice you had. It was either this or actually quit and go home empty-handed, face your failure and your father, and break the promise you had made to your mother before she died. Besides, with Sukuna as a sort of watchdog working with you you think maybe Kugawara wouldn't bother you again, though the thought of it happening again makes your skin crawl.
You nod finally, averting your gaze to your feet for a moment. “Okay. When do we start?”
“Tomorrow I'll come by and pick you up around 3:30. We'll do the fish delivery and then we can practice.”
“Okay.”
“Be on time 'cause I hate waiting,” he snorts.
Maybe working with Sukuna wasn't such a bad idea after all. You spend all day cooped up in that old motel room, watching the cars go by and waiting for the time and days when you have to go train again. It's boring to be stuck in there doing nothing but waiting for the days to pass, so the idea of visiting another city, seeing new places and maybe discovering more about who Ryōmen Sukuna was seems appealing to you; you can't deny it.
There's so much mystery surrounding him that you can't help but be drawn in.
Fri. 4/14 • 5:50PM —
You mentally cross out what you thought the night before and wish yesterday's version of you had thought more or at least asked more questions before blindly agreeing. Working with Sukuna was terrible, much worse than you imagined before you fell asleep. You hated the fishy smell permeating your clothes, rather, clothes you borrowed from Sukuna belonging to the boy who quit earlier. The uniform was baggy and threadbare: the faded blue T-shirt had sweat stains and stale smell, while the pants are baggy, a bit long and a dull gray color, with a loose belt to adjust the size.
You wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand after putting the last box of fish in the restaurant's freezer and being thankful to be done with everything for the day. You restrain yourself from complaining to Sukuna for not making it clear to you exactly what work you would be doing because after all it had been your fault for not asking and trusting unquestioningly. As you bite the inside of your cheek to control your tongue, you realize that inside the colors and patterns are the same as the sushi restaurant across the street from the academy, which makes you think they are probably from the same brand.
Outside, the clear Yokohama sky shows a bright sun toasting your cheeks as Sukuna finishes signing papers behind you. The change of season has the weather undecided, on the verge of leaving winter behind; some spring mornings are warm and the nights, cold.
His shoes clack against the pavement as he approaches you. With a light tap on your forearm, you hear him chuckle, following it up with, “Who knew? I didn't know you could carry so much weight.”
He doesn't wait for your response and continues on his way to the white truck. With your eyes narrowed and your feet begging you for a break, you walk to the waiting, lit truck and slam the door shut. Being in the cold air, with your sore feet now stretched out should feel more comforting. You're protected from the sun's rays and its warmth, and the spicy apple air freshener is pleasant enough to make you forget that it's spring. However, the situation is not entirely delightful for you.
Sukuna next to you seems immune to the silence that you find so uncomfortable. You take a quick glance at him and find him staring down the road as he drives back to town. He has one hand curled around the steering wheel and the other resting on his leg. His uniform is different from yours; his consists of an impeccable white shirt and blue pants tailored to fit him navy blue, on the left side at chest height he has the restaurant's name written on it.
Now that his shirt sleeves are rolled up, you can make out the tattoos on his wrist: two thick black rings run along his skin. Being so close to him and noticing the black ink permeating the skin makes you wonder if they hurt him much. The thought that he probably has more tattoos on areas of his body that you can't see thanks to the clothing comes into your head, but you'd rather push that image away and look straight ahead.
Traffic is moving slowly, with seas of vehicles coming and going on a dual carriageway Sukuna has to slow down every so often because the cars stop which makes you understand that you will be stuck here for a while. Bored with the silence and not wanting to be the first to speak, you take the liberty of turning on the radio, jumping from station to station before finding one that plays old romantic music.
Sukuna makes a snorting sound, prompting you to look directly at him. When your gazes meet, you'd rather ignore the feeling in your stomach and the cocked grimace you manage to notice on his lips before he undoes it.
“What?” you ask him, surprised that your tone doesn't sound as dismissive as usual. “I can find another station if...”
“It's my grandfather's favorite,” he confesses to you quietly. “That one's fine.”
Your fingers slowly move away from the radio, processing what he's confessed to you and considering that this might be a window into getting to know him better.
“You said you were helping him — is this his business?”
Sukuna hums as if weighing the words, tapping the steering wheel a couple of times. “Yes.”
You blink slowly. “Do you guys have a lot of time in the market?”
“Yes,” he repeats again and you fill your lungs with the smell of spicy apple and his subtle cologne.
You resign yourself to having a monosyllabic conversation with him so you press your lips together and rest your chin on your hand looking out the window. From where you are, you can admire the horizon and the still blue water being illuminated by the intimate rays of afternoon sun. Seagulls circle the shore and you imagine their deep song filling the bay.
“I can't remember the last time I went to the beach.” You wanted to dip your feet in the water, let the waves massage them from side to side, feel the sand between your toes and the sun warming your skin—
“Honestly, me neither. Since I've been working with fish, the beach seems less exciting to me, I don't know if that makes sense.”
You look at him, did you just say that out loud? Sukuna watches you briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. You contemplate him longer than you need to before looking straight ahead again and watching the traffic move a little faster than before.
“Have you guys always worked with this?” you perk up to ask again, still keeping your gaze straight ahead.
“Seafood?” he seems to think, humming aloud. “The restaurant has been in the family for as long as I can remember. So...yeah.”
“That's strange. I never would have imagined you doing this kind of work.”
“Why?” he chuckles, as if sharing a secret with himself.
“You're so good at dancing,” you admit, giving him a fleeting glance. “I didn't think you do anything more than that.”
“The best,” he instantly corrects you and you physically force yourself not to roll your eyes.
“I thought you were a spoiled rich kid.”
You turn to catch him grimacing in annoyance. Clearly, he was conflicted about what you had just said.
“I like to dance, but I've always worked hard since I was little. Everything I know and everything I do I learned from my grandfather.”
“It's just the two of you?”
You notice him frowning and speed up quickly before the light turns red. His lips open, but before he can respond, he stops the truck abruptly causing the boxes in the back to rampage and crash into each other as Sukuna shouts insults at the bicyclist who sped in front of him.
You admire him for a while longer: pursed lips, furrowed brow and hands tense around the wheel. Then, you turn your gaze ahead to catch the cyclist fleeing in front of you at full speed, now barely a distinguishable silhouette. Wasting no time, Sukuna sets off down the road again as you wonder what it was he was going to answer. Now, curiosity towards him beckons you that much more.
As Sukuna turns at an intersection to return to Tokyo, you mentally review the information you have about him:
He really loves his grandfather, of that you are left in no doubt since he is the person he mentions the most, he is the only person he talks about in fact. Also, does he cook? You make a mental note of that with a question mark next to it because you're not sure if he just drives the truck or if he really knows how to cook. Third and probably most important, he's not as bad a person as you thought he was. Yes, you still feel like fighting with him and contradicting him at the slightest argument, but that's because of resentment built up over the months. If you were meeting him today for the first time or even if you actually worked for him, you would be encouraged to recognize him as introverted at best, which makes you wonder if the person you see in the academy is just part of the show. Could this be his true personality? And what else is hidden underneath the mask?
The rest of the trip passes in silence as you immerse yourself in your thoughts and theories. The radio station gradually changes from romantic music to more danceable current pop songs, causing you to hum all the way and move your body gently to the melody.
“Are you too tired?” asks Sukuna, once you are on the main road into town.
“Yeah. Why?” you grumble with a grunt, stretching your arms above your head and swinging your feet in circles.
He nods, pondering. “I'll take you to the motel then. We can train later.”
“Oh, no. I'm ready to start today.”
Suddenly, you don't feel so tired when it comes to dancing. You don't want to wait any longer to start practicing and improving, and the truth is, the longer you go without improving, the faster the day of the final presentation comes.
Sukuna pulls into the parking lot of a tall building, moving inside the place illuminated by white lights until he comes to a complete stop next to the bike that you instantly recognize as his.
You get off the truck first with your bag slung over your shoulder, shake your feet again and perform brief stretches as you wait for Sukuna who passes by you walking certainty towards the elevator; you follow him like his shadow.
“You live here?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I thought we were going to train,” you say, wondering if his apartment will have enough space.
“We will.”
“But...”
“Have you been told you ask too many questions?”
You fall silent as you stand inside the elevator and he presses a button that immediately turns gold, the elevator jolts smoothly and begins to slowly travel through each floor until it reaches number ten. The doors open along with a soft chime, and Sukuna is the first to step out guiding you to his floor.
The apartment complex is modern and elegant. The walls are adorned with dark wood paneling and a floor made of synthetic fur. Sukuna walks confidently down the hallway and you follow him noting the numbered doors with sleek steel plates. When you reach the door to his apartment, he takes his keys out of his pocket and inserts them into the lock opening the door with a quiet click.
He invites you in first with a nod and as you do so you find a well-decorated and tidy space, perhaps somewhat different from what you had imagined. The polished wood floor is covered by a neutral-toned carpet; the room has contemporary furniture and a wall adorned with framed photographs.
You discreetly observe your surroundings, longing to linger a little longer observing the photographs on the wall and get to know his family, however Sukuna keeps moving in front of you without giving you time to get a chance to do so.
“I knew you were a rich kid...”
He chuckles softly. “Come.” Sukuna guides you into a hallway and stops in front of a wooden door. “Shower,” he instructs you as he sees your confusion, struggling not to flash another one of those smiles you'd grown accustomed to. “You stink of fish. Get changed, I'll be waiting for you on the terrace.”
A bitter resistance dies on your tongue. The lingering smell of raw fish clings to your clothes like an unwanted shadow. You decide not to protest that just this once he is right and instead turn your back on him, clinging to your bag as you walk into the bathroom.
You decide to take a quick shower using the first liquid soap you find on top of the sink, scrubbing your body with your hands and quickly wetting your hair to freshen it up a bit, making a note to wash it properly when you get to the motel.
When you're done, you emerge from the bathroom in one of your practice outfits that fits snugly to your body for flexibility. You tie your hair up in a high bun so it won't bother you and head with determination towards the terrace where Sukuna was waiting for you.
The sunset tints the sky with reddish hues, creating a celestial spectacle among the clouds. The terrace is decorated with potted green plants and comfortable armchairs with cushions piled at the back, leaving enough space to move around without bumping into furniture.
Dim lights hang from the ceiling, subtly illuminating the space. And in the background, soft instrumental music plays, similar to what the academy plays. Sukuna is sitting stretching his legs out on the floor in a V-shape, and with a barely perceptible gesture of his lips, he invites you to join him and imitate his movements. He bends his body gracefully and at will, and you do your best to keep up as good as you can.
Then, he stands gracefully and offers you his hand, drawing you to his chest.
“Your problem is that you don't trust me. You don't trust that I'm going to hold you when you jump...” You're ready to respond, but your lips seal when he continues. “So we need to fix that.”
The way he says it makes you shudder; you don't want to give in, but you know you have no choice now.
To the beat of the music, Sukuna wraps his hand around your waist and you mimic his steps— circles, one... two... until he stops and asks you to jump, but you hesitate, visibly trembling in his arms.
“Trust me,” he asks you with a serene exhale.
“I can't,” you reply, wetting your dry lips. Sukuna follows each stroke of your tongue before returning to your eyes, where the lashes fuss uneasily.
“You have to trust me as much as I trust you.”
Yet inside you, feelings of doubt and fear linger, like foolish specters whispering in your ear. You feel overwhelmed, not only by the pressure and responsibility on your back but by the closeness of your bodies, there is no space between your chests and if he leans in a little closer you could taste his breath.
“I can't,” you stammer, pulling away from him. “I think it was a bad idea to come,” you admit truthfully, letting your worries slip out loud.
Without you moving further away, his hands hold your wrist firmly making you spin around, and your tiptoed feet respond at once. He holds you still close to him, your back pressed against his chest rocking to the rhythm of the instruments.
“Jump.” Your heart races and you decide to close your eyes to concentrate on the drums pounding against your ribs, on the breath tangling in your lungs. His hands move up and down your waist, go to your ribs where he feels your heaving breath expand his palms. “Take a deep breath,” he speaks sweetly, his breath brushing the shell of your ear. “I'm not going to let you fall this time. I swear.”
You take a deep breath processing the words. could you really trust his promise? You feel his hands come back down to your waist and with the help of his hands exerting pressure, you jump up and he gracefully lifts you above his head. For an instant, you contemplate the city stretching out beneath your feet, like a blanket of light and shadow. Your arms spread like wings, and a spontaneous laugh escapes your lips as the wind caresses your skin. Gently, Sukuna lowers you to the ground once again and you watch a proud smile form on his face.
Together, the two of you capture the sunset from the terrace, sharing that ephemeral moment in silent complicity.
When you finish practicing about three more times, you find yourself lying on the ground, breathing shakily as you watch the sky dotted with bright spots. Sukuna has disappeared inside his apartment, turning on the lights and returning with a bottle of water that he kindly offers you.
“Thank you,” you say, immediately popping the bottle into your mouth.
“You're not too bad,” Sukuna comments with his usual calmness, though beads of sweat on his forehead betray his exertion. It's obvious why he's Kurogawa's top student.
“I really mean it. Thank you.”
Sukuna averts his gaze for a moment before turning back to you. “Are you going to stay for dinner?” he asks instead.
“I'm fine...,” you reply, finally getting up from the floor and dusting off your clothes with your hands.
“I hope you're eating something better than soda and canned food at that stinky motel.”
You both share a knowing chuckle, your gazes intertwined for a moment.
“No promises,” you say, raising your hands to chest level. “But I have to go now. Thanks for everything, again,” you add, taking another long drink of water.
“Do you need a ride?” offers Sukuna.
“I'll get an uber.”
Sukuna nods, walking you to the door where he waves you off with a friendly smile.
What the hell was that all about? And why are you about to throw up your heart?
Sat. 4/14 • 6:32 pm —
The second week training with Sukuna has been a revelation. You've gotten used to the smell of fish that you now find less unbearable, to getting up early before the alarm goes off, and you've even gotten used to the horrible oversized uniform you have to wear, but above all, you've gotten used to Sukuna's presence and his training sessions that bring you closer and closer together. Of course, you have improved remarkably. Sukuna is a born teacher and could surpass Kurogawa when he decides to retire. He knows just what to say to make you feel comfortable in your own skin and relax in his arms, which he has succeeded in doing.
As you get to know him better, you realize that he is not the image you had created in your head. He is considerate and has managed to get you to open up to him a little more, tearing down the shell of animosity you had raised. Before, you were fighting a non-existent battle against him, a fight to be the best that now you only keep against yourself.
With the descent of disdain for him came something more.... Appreciation? Admiration, perhaps? You don't want to acknowledge what that emotion is. For now, you cling to the idea that you can be friends, that you could become good friends in time.
With the practices and the unofficial ones you do with your dance partner, your steps become more natural, loose and fluid. Soon, your movements will resemble those of the fantastic swan you are meant to emulate.
Sukuna spins you around with the climax of the violins resounding above you. Thanks to constant practice on his terrace he manages to lift you into the air with ease, getting you for the first time to not hesitate and leap gracefully into his arms which gets you a round of applause from your colleagues, drawing a proud smile on your face. Your chest is pounding, you feel the excitement in the darkness of the theater and, in a far corner, you can glimpse the ghost of your mother clapping proudly. You were really going to make it.
Sukuna helps you touch the floor once more, and because of the intimacy required for the final scene, your faces are inches apart. The sound of muffled applause, the circular spotlight that focuses on you exclusively, and the scent of his cologne (a subtle blend of woody and citrus notes that awakens your senses), make the moment far more intimate than the scene requires.
Unsure if this is still part of the performance, Sukuna brushes the tip of his nose against yours before finally pulling away, leaving you drifting beside him and depriving you of his body heat. Slow clapping comes from the background in the gloom, and you walk away from Sukuna taking long strides as if you've been caught committing a crime, your hands sweaty and your stomach clenched.
“That was much better,” Kurogawa says, praising you both, though he looks directly at you. “A wonderful presentation.”
“Thank you,” Sukuna replies, and you feel him tense beside you as he holds the director's gaze that's still resting on you like a predator.
“Though you still have a lot of room for improvement,” Kurogawa says, looking straight at you. Your lips tighten into a straight line, feeling some disappointment in your chest.
“I think she's doing very well,” Sukuna interjects, looking Kurogawa up and down before exhaling like a raging bull.
Kurogawa watches Sukuna and then clicks his tongue.
“Ryōmen, can you remind me who the director of the ballet is and who is recognized as the best male category ballet dancer in the entire country?” Sukuna falls silent, and you are unable to ignore his clenched jaw. “Sorry, I didn't hear you.”
Sukuna exhales and replies sarcastically. “You are, sir.”
“That's what I thought,” he replies, savoring the victory, still keeping his eyes on you. “So when I say something needs to get better, it's because it's going to get better. You can all go..., my little swan, you stay a few minutes with me, we need to talk.”
Sukuna's eyes are pulled from the director to fall on you. Under the spotlight you notice his red eyes become darker, dark ink spills into them and at the same time his half closed eyelids give him the aura of a feline. You nod, assuring him wordlessly that you will be fine.
The room gradually becomes empty, you are the only ones present. Kurogawa tucks himself back into the darkness while you stand under the burning light of the spotlight that seems to glow now brighter than ever. Suddenly, the sound of the piano climbs the walls again and makes your skin tingle.
“Again,” he orders you.
Immediately you put your back straight facing the theater seats. Your feet automatically tiptoe, your arms move in the air, move up your body and stop above your head. Your movements are much more fluid and you can feel it; you are more flexible than before or maybe you always have been and all you needed was a little push. A vote of confidence.
The thought that you will have your little ritual with Sukuna tomorrow (he cooks for you after you help him deliver the fish and after your practice), puts a smile on your face and helps you relax, ignoring the presence of Kurogawa who follows you with his sharp eyes every time you move.
The clacking of his shoe heels tells you he's getting closer, and a subtle sense of dread comes over you as you wonder what Kurogawa might be thinking or planning.
“Are you two dating?” He asks suddenly, wrapping his hands around you behind your back in imitation of the role Sukuna plays.
"I don't have to justify my personal life, sir." Your reply is quick and sharp, cutting through the awkward tension.
He laughs dryly. “Because that would be a problem. I wouldn't allow my lead dancers to have an affair, that would be problematic.” He steps closer to you undoing the space between you and grabs your waist from behind, you instantly pull away looking at him with your eyebrows together. “Hold still.” He steps closer again, you take another step back, about to be engulfed by the darkness.
“Sir...”
He pauses under the spotlight, his few gray hairs and greasy locks gleaming in the direct brightness. The light highlights the deep lines of his face, accentuating his intense, commanding expression. His piercing gaze seems to cut through you as he calls out your name.
“Come here. Let me show you what you're doing wrong,” Kurogawa says in a tone that combines authority and criticism.
“I think I'm doing a good job,” you insist, trying to maintain your composure.
“Oh, you think Ryōmen is a better teacher than I am? He's been putting ideas into your head?” he asks wryly.
“I mean no disrespect, but...” you start to say, but you're interrupted.
“Girl,” he says with disdain, “Come here.”
“No,” you reply firmly, burying your feet on the stage.
The director smiles mischievously. “The cat is showing her claws, I see,” he mutters. “You know he's no good for you?” he continues. “So if you're sentimentally involved...I'm afraid I'll have to degrade you both from being the lead dancers.”
You sense that his threats make you feel lightheaded. “You wouldn't do that,” you say with a hint of desperation.
“Be a good girl then.”
“We'll present in exactly two weeks, no one can take my place,” you defend yourself, looking for an excuse that will convince you more than him that he can't do this.
“Mei-Ling is ready. We've been... practicing,” he says with a lopsided grin that makes you cringe.
“You're disgusting,” you reproach him, unable to keep pretending that standing here in front of him listening to his innuendos doesn't have your body chilling.
“You have no idea,” Kurogawa replies, widening a mischievous smile. “Now...”
He approaches you with clear intentions of touching you, you look around for something you can defend yourself with or someone who can come to your aid but the room was empty, there was only you there. You keep shuffling your feet until you run into the wall, until the darkness has covered you both and all you can see is his macabre smile.
Kurogawa reaches out to grab you when Sukuna's voice startles you. He says your name for the first time and you look over the director's shoulder to see him on the other end in casual gray joggers and a white t-shirt. “Is everything okay?” he asks looking directly into your eyes and for a moment it's just the two of you.
Your voice breaks and you can't answer him, but your desperate look tells him everything he needs to know.
“This is private training, Ryōmen. You may leave now.”
Still he pays no heed. He advances towards you with the bag where he kept his clothes hanging from his left shoulder, sukuna stops and plants himself next to you; his arms embrace your shoulders and he sticks you to his body. “Do you wanna leave?” He asks, looking up at you directly.
“Yes.” You reply without hesitation or pausing to look at the director.
“Ow look at that? Isn't that romantic?” he laughs dryly, clapping his hands together sarcastically. “Long live lovers, right? From hate to love is only one step, I guess.”
Sukuna ignores Kurogawa's words, removing his hand from your shoulders to take yours and lead you away. Surprise flashes across your face, but his warm grip turns the initial coldness into a comforting sensation, making your heart race in your chest. You don't resist and squeeze his fingers tightly as you pull away.
The man laughs louder again, turning to look at you just as you reach the small stairs that would lead you off the stage. “Don't even bother coming back, you're fired,” he shouts arrogantly.
You search Sukuna's eyes to make sure he's feeling the same fear you are. For a moment, doubt crosses your eyes and you consider turning around and apologizing as the only option in this situation. But Sukuna avoids your gaze, releasing your hand to address the director.
“If you have something to say, say it now,” Kurogawa spits with a triumphant smile on his face.
Sukuna climbs the stairs again, leaving you paralyzed in the middle of the steps. His movements seem more imposing under the contrasting lights, and as he approaches the principal, you can see Kurogawa's smile widen in pleasure.
Sukuna takes a deep breath, running a hand through his pink hair to pull it back before turning and connecting a closed fist against the director's jaw. Kurogawa falls to the ground, coughing and wiping blood from a split lip. There is hatred and resentment in his eyes as the two men stare at each other for a moment, right before Kurogawa spits out blood mixed with saliva that was pooled in his mouth.
In that moment of tense silence, you stand watching in horror, both hands covering your mouth. Sukuna spits towards the ground and then turns away, wiping his hand and knuckles. He walks past you and with a hand on your lower back, guides you out of there.
“Let's get the hell out of here,” Sukuna mutters.
“Are we just...?” you try to say, but Sukuna interrupts you.
“Are you okay?” he asks with concern. You nod, unable to say much more. “That's all I care about,” Sukuna concludes as you walk away from the place.
You didn't want to go back to the motel. With your dreams crushed so easily in front of you, the last thing you want is to be alone with your self-destructive thoughts and a judgmental memory. The director always seemed a little strange to you and now you tag the way he approaches you as unprofessional but you never thought he could go to the extreme of cornering you like that; however, seeing him lying on the floor, bleeding, brings accusatory thoughts into your head that you want to erase. Your memories betray you showing you more blood than there really was. In his eyes was written pure revenge, you knew that with his influence only one mail was enough to destroy both your career and your life. You don't want to think about the consequences of your actions; at least not tonight, not now. So when Sukuna asks where you want to go and you reply that you don't know, he decides to take matters into his own hands and take you on a bike ride around the city. Neither says anything else and you ask no questions, letting the vibrations of the engine and his body under your fingers make you feel safe.
Your cheek is crushed against his broad back, clinging to his waist as much as you can as you watch the lights of the city and its tall buildings go by like flashes. People come and go and your heart sinks a little in your chest each time Sukuna's fingers roll easily across the throttle. Water pools in your heavy eyelashes and you can't decide if it's from the wind or if it's just sadness and the pile of bitter disappointment you force yourself to swallow.
Sukuna stops at a gas station, you wait leaning against the bike while he pays and buys some sweets that he silently passes to you as an offering. You open the colorful wrapper and pop the chocolate into your mouth, chewing silently as you are distracted by the dust clinging to his boots.
“Do you wanna go to my place?” The question surprises you and his voice invites you to look at him, back to the present. You notice his face and are distracted by the soft pout that forms his lips unconsciously. In the short time you've known each other, you've noticed it's something he does often. A habit.
You assume that you are friends now. You find the situation and the question ironic. If an oracle had told you about eight months ago that you'd be taking bike rides with Sukuna, clinging to his back like a baby koala bear, driving with him every day out of town while jamming karaoke in his fish-smelling truck and hanging out at his apartment, you'd never have believed it.
Finally, you shake your head in affirmation, taking another bite of the bar.
“I hate that motel,” you confess, covering your mouth.
“I know. It smells like a shoe, I don't know how you can live there.”
You regret letting him into your humble room. Everything was tidy and perfectly sprayed with that green apple spray you depend on so much now, but you still saw him pinching his nose with two fingers and commenting on the stench. You'd complained before, of course, and the owner told you he'd move you to another room as soon as it became available, but now that was the only one you could be in; the room is at the back, next to the laundry room and the damp lurks through the walls, ending up sitting in the middle of your floor.
“Hey!” It really did smell awful, but it wasn't funny when others made fun of it. “It's all I can afford for now. Sorry I'm not rich like you.”
“I thought you were rich,” he says, playing with his bruised knuckles as the numbers on the screen behind him keep going up.
“Not anymore,” you confess, distant memories of your life coming back to you in a flash. “My father refuses to help me with academy expenses, he sees it as a waste of money and time, and I guess he's right. I only have enough to live for two more months there, I was looking forward to the ballet performance but now…” Your voice trails off, unable to finish the sentence.
You notice how he leans over to gently tap you on the shoulder with the same hand that punched Kurogawa earlier.
“We're going to fix it, brat. No long faces while I'm around.”
You contemplate him a while longer in silence as you finish eating the chocolate bar and clench the wrapper in your fist to throw it in the trash when you're at his apartment. Once the tank is full, you roll back down the road and seven minutes later you are in the warmth of his apartment.
You take off your shoes as you enter and head straight to the living room after Sukuna asks you to sit down and he goes straight to the kitchen. You take the opportunity to look at the various photographs on the bluish wall that you have always wanted to see up close but he has never let you: a small Sukuna clutching a baseball bat smiles at the camera, his hair tousled as if it's been a windy day, and his hands tightly wrapped around the bat. There's another where he's with who you assume is his grandfather in front of the restaurant near the academy, clutching a fish that's bigger than both of them which makes you chuckle under your breath. In the last one, there's him and another boy who looks very like him, both wearing thick coats with faux fur edges and looking at the camera with surprised expressions.
“Your brother?” you ask as you hear his bare feet moving across the floor and, turning to face him, you find him with two plates full of sushi rolls in his hands. “Thank you,” you smile at him, sliding onto the couch.
“Be careful not to drip the sauce on my couch, brat,” he jokes. You want to complain about the not-so-pleasant name he calls you by, but you keep silent, hiding the sense of longing that overwhelms you as you want to hear him say your name again. “And my nephew,” he quickly points to the picture before disappearing back into the kitchen. “It was the first time we went to New York.”
You take another quick glance at the picture and grab the wooden chopsticks next to your plate.
“Nephew... So you have siblings?” You ponder, pinching a sushi roll between your chopsticks and bringing it to your mouth, careful at all times not to drop anything on the couch. For how neat the place looks, you know he's not kidding when he warns you that he doesn't want any stains on his couch.
Sukuna returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands, as he carefully sets them on the coffee table.
“I'm not going to drink,” you quickly excuse yourself.
“Come on, let's celebrate that we don't have practice tomorrow.”
His humor helps you cope a little. You press your lips together in a straight line that gradually turns into a sad smile and finally nod, giving your permission for him to pour the white wine for both of you. You grab the glass without further thought and take a long drink, closing your eyes for a moment.
“And... um,” he clears his throat, taking a seat next to you to get ready to eat as well. “I had a brother. I lost him and my parents in an accident when they were on their way from Kyoto to see me dance last year.”
The news makes you frown and you set the cup aside immediately, showing your concern. Sukuna seems immune; anyone who didn't know him would say he's over it, that he doesn't care, but you've learned to see past the mask he usually shows himself to others with. Hesitantly, you put your hand on his leg in comfort and something inside you waits for him to push it away, only it never happens. He looks down at your touch for a moment before returning to your eyes.
“I'm so sorry.”
His shoulders shrug and he finally relaxes. “At least I have my grandfather for now.”
You nod, understanding how bitter the situation is as it's easy to put yourself in his shoes.
“I'm really sorry. I lost my mother too; she had a medical condition that had no cure. Her dream was always to see me dance at a professional academy.”
“Is that why you traveled to Japan?” asks Sukuna before popping a sushi roll into his mouth.
“Yeah. But I guess it doesn't matter now.”
“I told you we're going to fix it,” Sukuna says and now it is him placing his hand on your thigh intimately. You watch as his fingers spread over your skin, noticing the veins running down the back of his hand and the thick tattoos surrounding his skin.
“You punched him in the face,” you look away from his fingers to force yourself to look him in the eyes, both of you sharing a brief chuckle. “How can we fix this?”
Sukuna is no longer touching you and his absence is immediately felt.
“We can report him,” he suggests.
“They won't listen to us,” you reply.
“Not with that attitude.”
You look away from him for a moment, toward your plate and the half-empty cup. You grab it and raise it to your mouth to wet your throat.
“Thank you... for everything,” you say sincerely, swirling the glass so that the liquid spirals against the glass.
“I should never have left you alone,” Sukuna admits.
“But you came back for me. That's the important thing,” you reply, restraining yourself from touching him again. Instead, you take a last sip of wine that serves to drown out thoughts of what would have happened if no one had arrived in time.
With banal conversations filling the space from time to time and laughter over jokes that aren't even that funny; you both finish eating.
With two glasses of wine drunk and now Sukuna pouring a third everything seems funnier than usual. The sting of the pain of having lost everything you've built is buried there waiting to make you ache and although you know Sukuna feels it too, he manages to disguise it very well, spending all his energies on making your night.
“Stop it,” you tell him with a laugh, squinting to fix your eyes closely on his face. “You've got something there.” You point to a part of your own cheek with a finger, smoothing the skin and wiggling your fingers for him to do the same.
“Where?” he asks, pulling his eyebrows together, touching the wrong part of his face.
“Look, here!” you point to your cheek again with more emphasis, but he still misses.
“Wipe it off for me. What is it?”
“It's just soy sauce, you messed it up more.”
You lean a little closer to wipe the sauce stain next to his nose, carefully rubbing the skin by moving your thumb over it until it's clean. You smile at him, you just need to wash your face now, as you turn your attention back to him you realize he is blatantly looking at your lips.
“Later,” he says softly, licking his lips slowly and alarms go off in your brain.
“It'll get sticky if you don't go,” you reply mimicking his tone, struggling not to notice his mouth and how close you are.
Sukuna slowly makes himself move his gaze from your mouth to your eyes. Still close, you can notice the alcohol on his breath, his scent of cologne tickling your stomach.
“I never understood why you disliked me so much,” he blurts out suddenly, almost in a whisper.
“Are you serious?” you pull away before you do something you shouldn't, the tingling sensation of alcohol probably making you see things that aren't there. “Everything you talked about me?” He arches an eyebrow, showing confusion. “You were saying I should go back to my country...”
“Yeah, because you were saying I had no talent. And who did you think you were?” he defends himself, getting defensive. With that expression that he instantly erases almost makes you remember the Sukuna from the past.
“I never said that.” You defend yourself.
Silently, you both let the weight of realization sink in, sharing a silent stare.
“Kurogawa.” You respond in unison.
“Fuck him,” Sukuna says through gritted teeth. You want to reproach him, but honestly?
“Yeah, fuck him.” Then you both laugh.
Silence reigns between you again, squeezing like an intruder between the little space that separates your bodies on the couch.
“Are you staying the night?” Sukuna suddenly blurts out, giving you a sideways glance.
“Um, no?” That makes him look at you completely, analyzing you as if you've just said something barbaric.
“I can't ride like this,” he comments with obviousness.
“That's fine, I'll get an uber.”
“I don't trust an uber to send you like that.”
You don't trust yourself around him, you don't trust what your numb senses can do or say, so the farther away you are from him, the better it is for both of you.
“Like what? I'm almost sober,” you say, squeezing a space with your index finger and thumb leaving a small gap in between. “Besides... I know how to defend myself.” To reaffirm your sentence and validate your sobriety, you stand up to take a brief turn but fate is ironic and trips you over your own feet; in an instant your mouth is about to kiss the ground. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, preparing to receive a stinging pain that never comes, instead, you are welcomed into an embrace that fills you with security.
“Fuck. You're so drunk,” Sukuna says with a laugh, helping you to your feet.
You open one eye. “Sorry, I don't usually drink.” You close it again, massaging with your fingers the sudden dizziness that squeezes your temples. “Maybe I am a little dizzy.”
“I can tell that,” he says. “You should have told me.”
“Um, I did.” You open your eyes now realizing how intimate you are. Your open palms on his chest rise and fall with his agitated exhale and the tension weighs heavy. His hands are on your lower back in a sort of embrace that holds you close to him and keeps you from running away, and you wouldn't even if you could. You hear your own breathing quicken in your ears, and without thinking, you lean in to kiss him but Sukuna lifts his chin avoiding you and kissing your forehead instead.
“Come on, I'll take you to bed.”
Sat. 4/15 • -:- am—
You wake up with a slight headache pulsing in your temples and the sharp spicy smell of a perfume you don't recognize as your own. Still with your eyes closed, you turn your body to reach for the phone on the bedside table, you stretch your fingers in search of it, but your hands can't seem to find the nightstand, so you struggle to blink slowly and finally open your eyes completely. The unusual darkness confuses you a bit and makes you wonder what time it is; the sun should be penetrating the motel windows intensely at this hour, so you curiously sit up in bed. You look for your phone under the pillow, between the sheets and in every nook and cranny your hands can reach on the mattress.
It is at that moment when you notice the different color of the sheets and the four pillows around you, making you realize that this is not your bed, nor is this your room. Looking at your legs you realize that you are still dressed in last night's clothes, then you remember Sukuna. Your eyes scan the room in the absence of light — were you in his room or maybe he had another guest room? You pull the sheet off your legs and head to the window to open the black curtains and let the sun finish waking you up.
The lively view of the city greets you from below, cars come and go on the fast moving highway. With the help of the light now illuminating every corner, you take another look at the room and find out that this was probably his: the space is spacious and modern, following the same style as the living room with a minimalist decoration. The walls are a light gray and in front of the bed there is an elegant glass desk with an office chair. On top of the desk, there is a closed laptop and some tidy papers.
The bed is bigger than the one in the motel and is covered with black sheets, next to it a closet with the doors made of a mirror in which you see yourself perfectly reflected, you try to fix your hair as much as you can in case you find him when you go out looking for your phone, but by the prevailing silence makes you aware that Sukuna was probably not at home.
You find your phone on the floor near the couch. At the memory that it must have slipped out of your pocket when you almost fell last night just to then try to kiss Sukuna, your body burns with embarrassment. Unlocking the screen and looking at the time you find a message from Sukuna and missed calls from your father and group of friends. Shit, you totally forgot them.
R. SUKUNA: If you wake up and I'm not here, take a shower, there are headache pills in the desk drawer and eat something. If you decide to take a bath, use something from my closet. I'm visiting my grandpa, I'll be back in about an hour. :)
Checking the time, you realize that the message was sent half an hour ago so you still had time to be alone and clear your thoughts before he returned. After how absurd you acted last night, you don't want to see him today, not in a few weeks maybe. You don't have the courage to look him in the face, especially after he walked away, making it clear to you where he stood with you.
You return to the room with the phone in your hand and a glass of water you quickly grabbed from the kitchen. You open the first drawer and search for the pills you need stumbling upon some personal items, including two small square wrappers of different texture and metallic blue color. Before an unwanted idea can germinate in your mind, you push the condoms aside and take the pill, drinking every last drop from the glass.
You are determined to leave and escape from him, but the sweat from the previous day clings to your body and you refuse to go out like this. You quickly duck into the familiar bathroom and take a quick shower without getting your hair wet this time, opting only to pull it up in a simple bun and wear the same clothes from the day before. You exit the bathroom determined to take refuge in the motel, walking straight to the front door.
“Good morning.” His voice makes you yelp. You put one hand on your chest and one on your mouth, looking him up and down as if you've seen a ghost, and he has the audacity to laugh.
Sukuna looks fresh, as if he's had a good night's sleep and just got out of the shower. He's wearing a light blue short-sleeved sweater and black sweatpants; the baseball cap covering part of his face makes him look much younger.
“Did you sleep well?” Sukuna speaks again and you hope he didn't notice you looking him up and down.
“Yes, thank you. I had a bit of a headache, but I'm better now. we...?” We sleep together. It's the sentence you don't get to finish.
“The couch is more comfortable than it looks.” He gives you another brief grin and your heart flips.
“I'm so sorry about yesterday.”
You both know what you mean, so neither of you decides to delve into it. He downplays it with a wave of his hand, and you appreciate his friendship now more than ever, so you let that memory die.
“You were drunk...” he excuses you before you have a chance to.
“Of course, I never...” you stop, unable to finish the sentence.
“I know.”
“How's your grandfather?” you ask him, quickly changing the subject, struggling not to notice the tattoo peeking through the opening near his neck.
“He's much better, actually.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” you say sincerely, forcing yourself to swallow the guilt that's weighing you down inside. He's showing his most vulnerable side with you, and all you can think about is how much you want to kiss his neck.
“There's just one little problem.”
Your eyes narrow and you take a step forward, paying more attention this time. “What's wrong?” you inquire with genuine concern.
“He wants to meet my girlfriend.”
"Oh." You blink slowly, your lips opening and closing as you choose your next words carefully. “You have a girlfriend.” It's a statement. Of course he has a girlfriend.
“That's where you come in.”
“Excuse me?”
“He always insists that he doesn't like me being alone, that I should focus on other things than taking care of him and the restaurant. To put his mind at ease, I told him I have a girlfriend, I just didn't count on him asking me to meet her. I can only rely on you for that.”
You're flattered, but it's still not enough to hide the fact: “So you lied to him.” You ponder, processing all the information he's blurted out to you.
“Um, no. I'm going to get one, just not now. I'm not sure how long I'll be able to keep him with me and I didn't want to disappoint him.”
You nod slowly. “So, you want us to go visit him?”
“Yes, just once or twice.”
“And for me to act like I'm your girlfriend?”
“Yup.”
You sigh deeply, you massage your eyes with the palm of your hand trying to run away at least for a second from his presence and the effect he has on you; you don't want to keep looking at him and keep thinking about what he is making you feel inside because, what was all that? Sukuna was. your. friend. Why couldn't your hormones understand that and why did you suddenly feel like you would burst if he ever touched you? You finally open your eyes, nod.
“Yeah, okay. I'll help you.”
You don't think about the implications of this, you don't think about the fact that pretending to be his girlfriend makes your heart gallop fast against your ribs when it shouldn't. This is nothing more than an act of good faith, you're just helping a friend. You refuse to consider that you might have to hold his hand, and even the idea of having to kiss him is possible in some scenario.
It's the first time in years that you realize you don't remember the last time you kissed someone. You've been so focused on working, improving and becoming a better dancer every day that you don't remember the last time you had romantic or sexual contact with someone, and you're definitely not ready for Sukuna to be your first.
“I have to go now.”
You have a lot to process.
“Stay for breakfast,” he suggests with that lopsided grimace of his, the one where he doesn't show his teeth but could make you sign a deal with the devil if he wanted to. You have to grip your bag tighter so you don't reach out and touch the inky flash that winks at you again.
“See you later!” you say instead, running for the door.
You don't stop to wait for an answer because you know he would change your mind because that's what he always does (get his way), make you stay and confuse you even more. You pull out your phone and call for an Uber back to the discomfort of your bed, where you can be away from the effect he has on you.
Thurs. 5/10 •
Meeting Hiroshi in person after hearing so much about him makes you feel like you've already known him for a long time. The smile spreads on his face like ink on water when he sees you, and it's already second nature for him to call you “daughter” as he grabs your hand and cheeks affectionately; he really likes you and you like him back.
Accompanied by Sukuna holding your hand, you always bring him flowers or fruits and listen attentively as Sukuna reads to him and tells him how business is going at the restaurant, while he nods. In a way, he reminds you of your own grandfather; a man just as sweet and hardworking. Seeing this new side of Sukuna is certainly different and addictive. The patient way he talks to his grandfather makes you look at him with admiring eyes; he seems like a totally different man. You have been accompanying him for the last three visits and seeing him spending so much time with his grandfather is becoming a regular habit.
On one of these visits you bump into someone you had seen before in one of the photographs he has hanging in his apartment. Yuuji, much older, much more adult, smiles at you and has the same cheerful expression as his grandfather; he is a boy full of energy who squeezes your hand and shakes it energetically the first time you meet him. He looks a lot like Sukuna and it is impossible for you not to make the internal comparison of how different they are despite being so physically similar.
On Monday after visiting Hiroshi, exchanging the flowers for new ones and making sure he was enjoying his favorite meal, Yuuji, who was already at the hospital when you got there, invites you over for dinner as a sweet gesture to get to know you better.
The restaurant a few blocks away from the hospital is crowded with people, brimming with a cozy, family atmosphere with polished wooden tables and delicate white tablecloths. The soft murmur of family conversations intermingles with the tantalizing aroma of dishes wafting from the kitchen and traditional music in the background.
“I never thought I'd see Uncle Sukuna with a girlfriend,” Yuuji confesses as he rolls noodles on his chopsticks and brings them to his mouth.
“Hey,” Sukuna growls, finishing the sake in one gulp. “Don't disrespect your uncle.”
“It's not that,” Yuuji laughs.“It's just that you're always so secretive, and after what happened with Dad... but I'm happy for both of you.”He looks at you briefly now as he shakes his head slowly.
Your body twitches softly at the surprise of feeling Sukuna curling his fingers with yours on top of the table. His thumb caresses the back of your hand, and butterflies flutter inside you at the sight of this affectionate gesture, though you quickly remember that it's all part of the act. Getting caught up in the moment and excusing yourself to your inner judge, you gently squeeze his hand, reminding yourself to maintain the role of girlfriend.
As you enjoy dinner, you and Sukuna chat animatedly, sharing anecdotes about Hiroshi, the origin of the restaurant's peculiar name, and Yuuji's antics as a child. The vibe in the restaurant is permeated with warmth and energy, with the bustle of the other tables and the comforting aroma of ramen wafting through the air.
At the end of the meal, Yuuji bids the two of you goodbye with a hug, explaining that he must go elsewhere but that he hopes you will have a second date together.
As soon as he makes sure Yuuji has left the restaurant, Sukuna looks at you with a soft smile. “Thank you for joining me tonight. I know this isn't part of your commitment as a 'fake girlfriend'.”
You smile back, still feeling the warmth of his finger on your skin. “Thank you for letting me meet your grandpa, he's an amazing person, and your nephew is really adorable.”
Sukuna nods, his eyes shining with something you can't decipher. “I know Yuuji really likes you too. I think he likes you more than me.”
You giggle softly, recognizing that this encounter has brought you closer to Sukuna. Meeting one of the most important pillars of his life, along with his nephew, who is practically the only close family he has left, makes you feel lucky to be able to witness this more intimate side of him. You just hope that, when all is said and done and they both realize that you're just his friend they'll still continue to accept you and treat you with the affection that has characterized them so far.
“Maybe I should go back to the motel. It's getting late,” you say, bursting the bubble that had enveloped you out of reality. Being away from him was the last thing you wanted right now, but you needed to remind yourself from time to time that this was not part of your current life.
At that moment, he gently withdraws his fingers from yours and nods with a tense line on his lips.
“Sure. Join me for a smoke first.”
After paying the bill and leaving the restaurant, you both walk to the back with Sukuna gently tugging on your hand, still engaged in an act that should only happen when Yuuji or his grandfather are around. Surrounding you, a few people congregate to talk and share a cigarette.
Sukuna brings the cigarette to his mouth and you help him shield it with your hands as he tilts his head slightly to avoid the wind. The cigarette lights up as he inhales and exhales slowly through his nose, keeping his gaze fixed on you the whole time. He is leaning against the wall and you are close by, standing between his spread legs.
“I'll probably have to go home soon..., my real home, I mean,” you tell him suddenly, preferring to watch the people walking in and out of the parking lot instead of paying attention to him.
“Is it the money?”
You nod still without glancing at him. “I can't wait for it to be over, I already talked to my dad and he also thinks it's for the best.”
Sukuna is silent as he takes another puff and exhales just in time for when you turn back to look at him.
“I've been requesting a recommendation letter for you for another academy. I filed an official report against Kurogawa and we have witnesses, people who had made accusations before but had never filed an official report.”
His name brings back bitter memories that dissolve in the smoke and stale smell of the cigarette.
“I'm going to testify too.” Your voice surprises you as much as it seems to surprise Sukuna, who looks you up and down with curious eyes.
“Fine. I'll be with you.”
“Why didn't you tell me before?”
“I wanted to be sure, I didn't want to get your hopes up.” His eyes turn soft and you can see in them the same shadow that was in them that time in his apartment. He was looking at your lips just like now and he didn't seem to mind hiding it. “You look beautiful, by the way. Yuuji kept looking at you.”
You smile, glancing down at the teal dress you decided to wear that night.
“You don't look bad yourself,” you tell him, touching your fingertips to the oversized wool coat he was wearing. Sukuna follows your fingers as they stumble over the black buttons and away from his body. His eyes follow your hands that stay still on either side of your body and then they return to your face, momentarily checking your mouth.
“Wanna try?” he asks, raising the cigarette to your eye level.
“I've never smoked,” you confess.
“That wasn't my question.” He bites his lip, followed by the tip of his pink tongue moistening his lower lip gently. “You want me to guide you?”
“...Yes.”
“Open your mouth,” his voice comes out quick, eager and sharp almost like yours. His words guide you as you part your lips just enough for him to place the cigarette between them. But instead, Sukuna pulls you closer into him gently squeezing your waist as he exhales smoke into your half-open lips. “Swallow a little bit and then exhale,” he gently commands you. “Don't let it go down your throat.”
You follow his instructions without complaint, holding the smoke for a moment in your mouth before releasing it. The taste of ash floods your palate for a moment, a smell you find unbearable and yet.... “More,” you find yourself asking, rising on tiptoe to reach for the cigarette yourself.
You're sure you're not asking for more of the cigarette, you're asking for more of him. Of the brief touch you get from his unfriendly hands on your body, more of his perfume lulling your senses, more of his closeness.
His fingers leave your lower back to climb up to your jaw keeping you steady, still and trapped as he exhales a second puff between your parted lips. Your heart flips but you manage to repeat the action of inhaling and exhaling without coughing, and as he prepares to do it a third time without you asking, your noses collide in the darkness of your closed eyes; his lips brush yours for an electric instant, and you feel his fingers clinging tighter to your jaw: breathing out.
“My God...you,” you stand still, feeling yourself burn inside as his warm breath seeps into you once more. “If you don't stop me, I will do something I will regret.” His words are a threat brushing your tongue.
Your foreheads meet and rest against each other, fingers guided by desire slipping under his coat where you cling to his shirt ruffling the fabric. You close your eyes waiting to feel him, that first real contact, charged with sparkle and fireworks. You tilt your neck back, giving him the access he needs to take you.
“I'm not going to stop you,” you gasp, pushing closer.
Sukuna growls like an animal, immediately replacing his grip with his lips on your jaw; barely perceptibly grazing the flesh and bringing tickles to your insides. Then he moves slowly up to your ear, outlining the jaw bone with his mouth and staying still behind the shell of your ear, simply breathing warm air.
“We're in public,” he reminds you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Charged with a bravery that is uncharacteristic of you, you reach your hand toward his crotch, feeling the bulge that is evident through his pants.
“Then let's go somewhere more private.”
Sukuna grunts once more, hunching towards you in such a way that it appears as if he is hugging you. His hands slide down your back until they reach your ass and squeeze it, the people around you startle you but the feeling lasts a moment before you turn your attention back to him and the plea that seems to spill from his throat.
“What have you done to me?” he utters your name as if you were a divine being and he is a mere servant. Your hand, gaining confidence, presses harder on his erection. “I want to slowly peel off your clothes, worship every inch of your body. Kiss every spot, every mole.”
He abandons the comfort of your ear to move to your neck, where you sense his breath as he subtly pushes his hips against your open palm. It's embarrassing to be doing this in public. His coat and the shadows of the night help hide the scene, but if someone were to discover you, you could get in trouble.
“Tell me you need it too,” he whispers against your throat on the verge of losing his temper and pressing his nose, his eager mouth clinging to your skin; sucking. “Tell me you feel the fire in your chest too,” he gasps, his teeth grazing a little harder.
“Fuck. I feel it. I've wanted to say it for a long time, but I was afraid you wouldn't feel the same,” you lick your lips. “That night when I tried to kiss you...”
“You were drunk,” he interrupts you. “I didn't want you to regret it the next day.” Sukuna reluctantly pulls away to admire you with dilated pupils and parted lips. “But you have no idea how much I've had to restrain myself to act just like a friend.” He examines you up and down. “Let's go to my apartment.”
Holding hands and with feelings running high, you move quickly into the parking lot to find the bike parked a few feet from where you were. Sukuna just lets you go to put the helmet around your head and then proceeds to put his on and without another thought you set off on the road. The cool night air immediately envelops you, the edge of your dress flaps against your thighs thanks to the speed at how fast he was going, almost as quickly as your heart beats in your chest. For you, there's a mixture of excitement and nervousness, a sense of disbelief mixed with anticipation. You can't stop thinking about what just happened, what you've wanted to occur for months and what might happen now.
The drive back to his apartment is fraught with sexual tension. The speed, the wind in your faces and the physical proximity keeps you on edge, your fingers run up and down his chest under his coat, impatient up and down patterns reminding him how close you are.
As you reach the apartment the palpable excitement between you and Sukuna intensifies. You both quickly slide off the bike, and holding hands take the elevator to his floor. Neither of you say anything until you reach the quiet of his place, interrupted by the hitching of breaths.
Sukuna steps forward and sits on the couch that is now so familiar to you, his eager but controlled expression blurring in the gloom that dances in the living room. From there, he calls your name softly, his voice laden with restrained emotion. The atmosphere in the apartment seems charged with electricity as you approach him, your heart pounding in your chest.
As you get closer, Sukuna watches you carefully, his eyes roaming over every part of you with admiration and desire.
“Take off your dress,” he says hoarse with lust.
Without thinking you grab the edge of the dress, slip it over your head and pull it aside to be left with only the underwear you have chosen for the night. As you move forward and are finally in the middle of his spread knees Sukuna grabs your hips and helps you to sit on his lap. The grip on your hips firms and hardens, he takes it upon himself to rub your covered core against the wideness of his thigh and short moans of pleasure take over your mouth.
“Keep riding my thigh. Slowly. Feel that pussy get wet for me, feel it ache,” he indicates, releasing your hips to then worship your thighs up and down.
Oh. It was aching, you want to tell him. Everything inside you was doing it, burning with need every muscle, every vein. Your legs from the posture, your pussy from need and your tight belly begging for a release but instead you stand quietly contemplating with your mouth open the way, after removing his coat, he undresses the buttons of the sweater one by one finally satiating your curiosity by revealing the tattoo underneath.
More black marks. They draw you in and invite you to touch them, thick ink-filled lines that you trace under your fingers start at his chest, cross between the line that joins his shoulder and neck and disappear behind along his back. Puzzled you stare at him some more, losing yourself in his eyes as you rise to look at him; he looks still, pleased that you are touching him as if he were art.
“Did they hurt?” you wonder with a bit of naiveté.
Sukuna cradles your breasts gently above the fabric of your bra, he seizes the moment to tug on your nipples hard, getting you to moan.
“They hurt a lot,” he confesses quietly, in a low tone of voice that plays it down.
You continue tracing the canvas that is his skin, moving down his abdomen until you stumble upon the belt that holds his pants in place. Briefly you check his eyes, hoping they tell you something more than the lust that seems to flood them.
“Why did you decide to get tattooed then?”
Sukuna catches your gaze silently, his fingers snaking around your belly, walking up to stop in the middle of your thighs and through your panties he strokes your clit with three fingers.
“We all have to endure a little pain sometimes, don't we?”
It feels so intimate the way he talks to you, the way he looks at you. When he roams your body with his gaze you can't help but feel small. You rub against his fingers, push and circle them helping him get to know your body better, listening to your broken gasps, showing him exactly where it makes you feel good.
“I want to suck your cock,” you confess as you reach down to undo his belt. There was no shame binding you now, only a raw desire that longs to be unleashed.
He smiles pleased with the change in attitude, and silently pushes your hips up to help you remove his pants leaving him alone in a pair of boxers which you soon pull down leaving them tangled midway down his thighs. Sukuna then pulls you off his lap and places you on the side of the couch where he instructs you to spread your legs for him thus getting easy access between your thighs.
As Sukuna continues to give attention to your pussy, you contemplate how hard he is: more than big it was thick, with the tip of an angry pink throbbing just below your mouth. It had been years since you had last given oral sex to someone, your last few encounters were nothing more than a monotonous thrusting and pulling out where you ended up with the guy cumming on your lower back or stomach; you never felt like sucking their cock but with sukuna it's different. With him everything is.
“It's been a long time since I've... you know,” you confess, holding back a nervous giggle.
From below you raise your gaze to lace it to his eyes that receive you slightly closed, sharing a guilty smirk that he wipes away as he bites his lip.
“You're doing a very good job,” he praises you. And his fingers tossing the edge of your panties aside leaves you breathless for a second, your lip quivering receiving his fingers inside you. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to, though.”
His words cause you to twitch around two fingers pushing and massaging your pussy. So deep, so slow, he synchronizes his thrusts with the way your lips close around the head of his cock; his movements are precise as if he's searching for something inside you, in, out and then he pulls them all the way out to make you cum as he rubs your clit hard and talks dirty to you.
Sukuna praises you sweetly as you sob his choked name against his thigh, his caresses surround your now sensitive clit and every time he touches it you find it impossible not to shudder. Then he grabs you by the face and kisses you on the forehead and holding your hand helps you up to guide you to his room that you already knew.
The lamps are off and the only light coming in is through the open window, the curtain ruffles softly in the cool spring breeze sending sudden chills down your bare skin. Sukuna instructs you to lie face down on the bed and you do so as he goes to another side of the room. The mirror you saw earlier shows you your half naked body under the swirling shadows and the masculine scent permeating his sheets makes you sigh deeply.
The bed sinks with his weight, the mattress groans as he digs his knees into it and positions himself behind you, your ass rising almost without your permission, eager with anticipation.
“You want to fuck me like this?” you throw your head back to catch him putting on the condom, one of the blue wrappers you saw before is now off to the side near your feet.
“Fuck yeah. Just lay back, you work so hard...” He snaps, spitting on his wrapped cock and giving it a couple of strokes before spreading your ass cheeks apart. “You want it like this, want me to work to make you feel good?”
“Yes,” you sigh, watching every glimpse that the dim light allows you of his body in the big mirror.
Slowly he sinks into you and you take it in with a deep moan. “That's it,” Sukuna murmurs, resting his hands on your lower back, initiating gentle thrusts that have your body rocking against the sheets.
Sometimes you feel him so deep you call his name, drunk with pleasure, you hope he understands you're begging him to keep going because you can't speak. Your mind is filled with him, his natural scent on the sheets, the smell of his sweaty perfume, his chest heavy against your back sinking you a little deeper into the mattress.
“Do you want to fuck yourself a little on my cock?” He says, gently circling your neck with his fingers without actually exerting any real pressure, with his free hand he stimulates your clit and your back arches right away. “Push your ass back, that's it...”
“I'm gonna cum...” you warn him, gasping with your mouth open, blinking rapidly so as not to lose sight of your bodies reflected in the mirror, fitting together perfectly as they do when dancing.
Your orgasm was still making you shiver the moment he turns you around so that you are facing each other. Sukuna is grinning showing you his sharp fangs, bringing your hands above your head and clasping his fingers between yours he starts fucking you again, your legs on his broad shoulders, his mouth just inches from you.
“Hi,” he says giggling breathlessly and it catches you immediately. “You look so beautiful now, you look gorgeous when you cum for me...”
His thrusts become deeper, your skins echoing each time they meet.
“Ryōmen...”
“I know, baby. I feel it too... Do you want me to cum inside?” You nod drunkenly with pleasure, unable to stop staring into those deep red eyes, his lashes fluttering and you notice his jaw tightening. “Yeah? You want to feel my thick load creaming that pussy?” he says, through clenched teeth.
“Yes, oh my god, please.”
Your fingers run down your stomach and down between your thighs, your fingers graze your clit once giving you the final push you need to cum a third time.
“Next time we'll do it raw, baby. I promise, but take it like this now, hm; cum for me.”
Your body tenses, your belly tightens in anticipation as Sukuna finally joins his lips with yours. The sensation is electric, as if a current of desire runs through every fiber of your being. Your lips meet in an eager, fiery kiss, where Sukuna sucks your tongue greedily and bites your lower lip with unbridled passion.
The intensity is almost obscene, each movement making you moan softly. Your legs tremble, but his weight on you only fuels the growing fire in your belly. Though your body aches in this position, you can't stop; the kiss is addictive, a whirlwind of sensations that far exceeds your deepest desires. It is far more than any subtle fantasy you have allowed yourself to imagine.
Sukuna leans closer, his hands caressing your face tenderly as his lips explore yours with passionate urgency. The room fills with the sound of your ragged breathing, swallowing each of the growls he lets die in your mouth.
. . . Slowly he pulls out of you, then rushes to throw the condom away in a basket by the desk. Your aching body turns to admire his broad back and gaze at the ink stains on it in the poor light.
With a simple “I'll be right back,” he leaves you waiting naked between the sheets your fingers stretch to gather and tuck you in. Before you can allow feelings of guilt or doubt to arise, Sukuna returns to the bed with a bottle of water that he offers you to drink. You immediately bring it to your mouth as he lies down next to you, one hand behind his head and the other resting on his tummy.
You snuggle close to him and Sukuna immediately wraps his arms around you, drawing you into his warm body.
“That was amazing,” you admit, as your fingers trace figures on his chest. However, Sukuna senses how you suddenly tense up.
“What's wrong?” he asks you with a frown.
“I was thinking about what's going to happen to us now,” you mutter, averting your gaze.
“I like you,” he says, as if it hasn't been clear until now. “I want you to be my girlfriend, for real this time,” you both chuckle lightly, and you raise your face to stare at him for a moment, a smile spreading across your lips.
“I like you too,” you admit with a hot face, surprised to admit it out loud; you never thought this moment would come, the odds of ending up in love with Sukuna were low, almost nil. And yet, here you are.
“Good. Then we have no more questions,” he leans in for a fleeting kiss on your lips, awakening a dormant volcano in your belly. “I have to go visit my grandfather tomorrow, do you wanna grab lunch when I'm done?”
“Is it okay if I come with you?”
“Of course. You know we love having you around,” he says, struggling to hold back another smile.
"Does that mean that if I'm your girlfriend now I won't have to help you lift the fish boxes anymore?" you joke, and he drops his head back laughing softly. You look at him in awe, you never thought you could like him any more than you already did, but having him like this, so close, so vulnerable, makes your heart race.
You want to kiss him again, to sit on his lap and take control this time, but you bite your lip instead, letting out a smile.
“You're definitely going to have to help me more at the restaurant now that you're my girl.”
My girl. You feel like you might burst.
“And what about my dad? I already told him I'd go back to my country.”
“Nah. I'm not going to let you get away so easily, you're mine now. You're exactly where you belong.”
And Sukuna was right. Here you feel good, safe, despite the struggles you will face you know you can get through it together. So you lean in and kiss him again, and again and again; you would have all night and many more because now you were his and he was yours.
Thank you for reading! reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated ♡
I don't do parts two! ⟡ I do not allow repost (do not translate or copy elsewhere), please do not recommend my work on tiktok.
#wr#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna ryomen x you#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x reader
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Devotion.
I just want, or rather need, to write about this scene, because it stuck in my head for the last seven days. And because of the wonderful @lurkingshan I decided to post it...
This scene is the culmination, the end of the years that Qian has forbidden himself to feel joy or love. Romantic love that doesn't demand, that doesn't require him to be in control, to take care, to be the big brother. So far he has not allowed the depth of his feelings for Yuan to surface. He has kept them locked away, kept control of them. He knows they were there, but couldn’t or didn’t dare to face them, to name them. And he would have continued to do so if Yuan hadn't finally told him what he actually wants from him. It wasn't enough for him to tell Qian that he loves him, that it was his own problem, not Qian's, that he was content if the person he loved was happy. The talk with San Pang and the staircase talk were the first steps, Qian is finally able and willing to face those emotions, but couldn’t make up his mind. Still couldn't name those feelings.
Everything is too much for him. He is overwhelmed by the decision he has to make and the possible outcome of that. He could lose Yuan, if they don't work out in the end. If those boundaries are finally crossed, there is no going back to where they were. So Qian needed to hear that Yuan doesn't want him as a brother. Every time Yuan told Qian he can take care of him, he is there for him and holds up the world together with him, it was as a brother. In Qian’s mind, he said that as a brother. All Qian brought Yuan was suffering and sadness and abandonment, because he fell in love with him.
In his mind, Yuan shouldn’t love him as something else than a brother, because that would harm both of them. Because loving Qian isn’t a good thing to do. Qian knows that Yuan loves him but hasn't understood, or rather wanted to understand, the extent of his feelings. Yuan wants to be his partner. He wants him to be able to rely on him, to be Qian's rock, no matter what life brings, he wants to be there for him. And not just for the moment, but for the rest of his life. And not just as a brother Qian has to take care of, but as a lover, the one person who puts Qian first.
He wants to be Qian's partner, he wants to protect him and take the burden off his shoulders. He wants Qian not to have to deal with everything on his own, but to open up to him, to share his worries and hardships with him. And Qian finally understands what it means when Yuan tells him that he can summarize his life in two words: Wei Qian. Yuan puts Qian above himself, he would run to the end of the world for him if he had to, he would fight against the rest of the world if he had to, he will protect him, he will take care of him and love him no matter what the world holds. And finally Qian understands that it's good, that Yuan won't just leave him once he opens up, because he loves everything about him, his dark sides and his light ones. Yuan can take care of him to the end, can love him to the end. And Qian surrenders. He's always in fucking control, no matter what, he has to control everything, even his heart. But at some point, all resistance breaks. He just had to understand.
And when they get into the bedroom, Qian is beaming. The lightning focusses on his face, this delighted face. He is like pudding under Yuan’s kisses, touches, breathes. In that moment he exists only out of his emotions. There is nothing more and nothing more is needed in this situation. He has never looked so weightless before and has certainly never felt like this.
We know what Yuan imagines at night, or at least we have a pretty good idea. We have witnessed countless moments when his love and affection for Qian literally leaked out of his face, while Qian tried to suppress his feelings with a petrified expression. But finally, he can feel them. He allows himself to give in. He allows Yuan to take care of his world, to let him feel how much he loves and desires him. The power of emotions and sensations are depicted on Qian’s face. He has his eyes closed, tasting every single moment, savouring every single touch. Blissfully.
Yuan's presence is Qian's entire focus. Just as Qian is Yuan's entire focus. And he makes sure that Qian feels good, that he forgets everything, all problems and responsibilities, illnesses and losses, for the moment. He takes care of his world. This one thing he wanted to do for so long, he is finally able to do.
(Well, there is an edited version out now with this whole scene as one without the flashbacks, but I saw the other one first and I loved it, so I stick to it.) The whole scene is repeatedly interrupted by scenes from the past and it is always Yuan. I was also a bit irritated by the time jumps at first, I get why people are annoyed by this, but it makes sense. We know that Qian is Yuan's whole world, the centre around which he has revolved for years and for which he would do anything. We see scenes that led to where they are now. Their shared history. Their shared memories. The sequences speed up and at some point it's just Yuan’s face at its core. Yuan. Yuan. Yuan.
And you can understand, without needing to be told, that Yuan is also Qian's whole world. He is the centre, the heart that gives his own life warmth, with whom he can let himself fall, who knows him better than anyone else, who was always there, even when he physically wasn't, the only one who could tell him to do things he didn’t want to do, the one he can’t fucking live without. And Qian surrenders. The feelings he couldn't allow for so long are now boiling out and we have these close-ups of his face and see how he's longed for it. How touch starved this boy was.
I don't need a close-up of Yuan to know that he's enjoying every single second. Would it have been nice? Sure, but I think narratively, that's the way they wanted and needed to go. And I love this whole scene. It's aesthetic, it advances the story, it's intimate and it's fitting for the show. Because Qian always was Yuan’s world and Yuan is Qian’s whole world.
I just wanted or needed to say I love this scene, its buildup, its pace, its hecticness and this disconnected feeling. It's Qian's scene. It's what we've all been dying for, for Qian to finally give in. And when the emotions overwhelm you, then it becomes hectic, then nothing hangs together and thoughts can't be grasped, can't be put in order. You jump from moment to moment, starting at one point and ending at a completely different one. It's Qian's scene. It's not Yuan's. We've had enough scenes to see Yuan's love and devotion, now it's time for Qian. We are, like Yuan, experiencing Qian in his first moment of absolute devotion. Without time, without place, without anger or fear. He doesn't think about the past or worry about the future, because for the first time he lives in the present. Yuan gives him this security that he can let his guard down, give up the control. I don't think Qian has ever felt as safe, secure, and loved as he does in this moment. And I love it so fucking much! Perhaps I just ignore my little dissappointement in them rushing this whole thing, because I watch those scenes with a narrator in my mind and he is giving me so much more in those scenes than the actual scene shows. But I understand everyone who is dissapointed with this scene and editing.
#unknown#unknown the series#unknown ep 11#qianyuan#chris chiu#kurt huang#qian x yuan#bl drama#bl series#asianlgbtqdrama#taiwanese bl#taiwanese drama#taiwanese series#queer drama#lgbtq+#just my thoughts#josi watching bl#unknown meta#long post
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❀ not so secret — inumaki toge
synopsis: you and toge were having a secret rendezvous, far away from all the others, or so you both thought
tags: fluff, gn reader
word count: 1.4k
“Look at him… He’s infatuated....”
Maki sighed, rolling her eyes at the scene happening around the corner between you and Toge—that is, if she could even see anything, as Panda was practically blocking her vision.
Just peering from the bushes she and Panda were hiding from, they could see you two—very explicitly, she might mention, holding hands.
She knew something was afoot when Toge grabbed you by the hand the second you finished your dinner and dragged you somewhere, unbeknownst to her. Their curiosity was piqued, only for the two to find you two, alone, sitting together on a bench, enjoying each other's company in the moonlight.
Or so you two thought.
Cue having Maki and Panda staring at you two with wide-eyed eyes and curious spirits. Well, for Panda, anyway.
Now, they were a reasonable distance away—enough to see you two together but not enough to hear a word, and neither could you guys.
Maki squinted her eyes, trying to decipher what exactly was going on between you and Toge through the dense and overgrown foliage that was Panda’s ass.
Your silhouette was barely discernible against all the bushes blocking her view and the dimming twilight in the sky, but the subtle gestures and hushed whispers from both your and Toge’s figures spoke volumes.
Maki leaned in closer, her curiosity piqued despite her initial reluctance. She could not lie. Seeing Toge this intimate with someone was somewhat unexpected, unsettling even. “...Don’t you think that Toge’s demeanour is a lot more, different? We’ve never seen this before from him,” she noted, squinting her eyes at the bench you both were still sitting on, now laughing.
“Shush Maki! We’re getting to the good part!”
Maki sweatdropped at how invested Panda was. At this rate, she may as well think that Panda was also included in your guys’ relationship. “Good part, my ass. The hell are we even stalking them for?”
“For reconnaissance,” Panda replied matter-of-factly.
“Well, yeah. They’re definitely close,” she shrugged begrudgingly, her voice hardly even audible. After all, they were stalking you two from behind the bushes. “But dating? I’m not so sure.”
“What else could it be? Look at the way they’re leaning towards each other like they’re sharing some big secret!” Panda leaned his body forward eagerly, eyes wide with excitement. He appeared to be more invested than Maki was, as if this were all some kind of romance drama in real-time.
But Maki, ever being the voice of reason, remained skeptical, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. “Maybe they’re just friends?” she clicked her tongue sarcastically, still in a whisper. “Ever heard of that? We can’t jump to conclusions based on a few stolen glances.”
But the Panda was undeterred. “I doubt it. I believe that there’s definitely something more. I can feel it in my bones!”
“You’re being delusional.”
“Hello, everyone~!” a voice suddenly interrupted their conversation, startling them into silence.
‘Oh god…’
“It’s your good-looking teacher, Gojo Satoru, here to— What are you both doing, hunched down in the bushes like that? Oh no! Don’t tell me you’re now homeless!”
Maki shot her teacher a withering glare, her patience wearing thin with each passing moment.
“Now, what are you doing here, huh, Satoru?”
“So cruel!” he cried out mockingly, but his trademark arrogance and his shit-eating, mischievous grin were on full display. "I was just thinking of checking in on my favourite students, of course. But it seems like I've stumbled upon something much more interesting."
‘...Ugh.’
That’s it. All hope was lost. A lack of privacy did not exist. Not in Jujutsu Tech, where the most unlikely of people—or animals, for that matter—were always watching.
“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d see them here alone again since the last time,” Gojo hummed.
“They’ve been meeting here in this exact spot for the last four days now,” Maki noted. “You think theres something going on that we don’t know about?”
“Well, of course!” Panda said a matter of factly. “Isn’t it clear that they're dating?”
All eyeballs shifted to the scene where they saw Toge holding your hand close to his face, and you leaned on his shoulder. The intimacy between you two was evident even from a distance from where they were watching.
Toge’s fingers brushed past yours before grabbing them firmly, your fingers intertwining with his. Toge's gaze met yours, and a soft smile graced both your lips. A silent exchange of warmth without an onigiri ingredient was said from Toge in sight.
“Oh shit! They’re getting handsy!” Gojo gasped, seeing this happen first-hand.
“Be quiet,” Maki hissed. “You’re loud-ass is going to get us caught.”
“That's right. We’re just getting to the good part!” Panda added with a playful smirk, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle before them. It was comedic, really.
Maki sighed. There really was no reasoning with those idiots…
Gojo bent over to Maki and Panda. “So, are we just waiting for them to make out?”
A tick mark appeared on Maki and Panda’s faces. ‘This guy…’
Just as they were spying on you two, Panda’s hefty weight, along with the shock of Gojo’s surprise appearance, poured over the scene. But their attempt at stealth was quickly foiled as they toppled over each other like a cascade of dominoes, making a loud noise, something that you two very much picked up on in this seemingly quiet space.
Caught off guard, you and Toge stood up and turned towards the commotion, eyebrows raised in surprise, eyes and ears attuned to the noise that had just come unexpectedly from behind where you once sat.
“What the—”
Maki began to sweat. ‘Just great.’
You and Toge, now standing before the toppled mound of bodies, exchanged a puzzled glance, eyebrows raised in surprise, only to be quickly replaced by amusement at the spectacle unfolding before your eyes.
“Salmon salmon.”
“Huh? Maki, Panda, and— Gojo too!?”
Everyone’s necks turned, only to see you and Toge standing before them, holding hands. You and Toge exchanged knowing glances.
“Ahem…” your eyes flushed in embarrassment, your voice faltering as your hand remained enlaced with Toge’s, glued to the moment. “Did you… see everything?”
Caught red-handed, their faces flushed with embarrassment. Well, Maki, mostly. Panda and Gojo could not give a single damn; they were more interested in the fact that you were there.
Finally, they asked the burning question, "Are you and Toge dating?"
They exchanged looks filled with curiosity and anticipation, making you sweat. Their gazes shifted between you and Toge, practically demanding an answer from either of you, clearly not willing to take no for an answer.
There was silence, right before…
“Huh? Oh, yeah, we are.”
“WHAT?!”
“I was right!” Panda started dancing around.
With a tilt of your head, you turned to face the pale blonde, who blinked at you, all with the innocent expression he always had.
“Toge, I thought you said you were going to tell them?”
“Tuna.”
The boy gave you a sheepish expression, Toge’s small muffles speaking through the layered shirt he always wore. You inhaled deeply and continued to hold his hand, tightening your grip. “Don’t worry. I could never get mad at you, Toge. Like, come on, just look at the expressions on their faces. The poor souls.”
‘Huh…?’
Toge's gaze softened at your words as he nodded in agreement. "Salmon roe.”
His expression said it all. It was one of adoration, to be able to hold your hand and spend time with you, that brought him immeasurable joy in his quiet world. One that the others hardly ever saw in the pale-haired boy let alone a mere smile, all but hidden away under his mask, quite literally.
You couldn't help but chuckle softly at his choice of words. You rubbed at his straightened, pale hair, utterly oblivious to the incredulous stares of Maki, Panda, and Gojo. "Yes, yes, salmon roe," you replied with a wide grin of your own, feeling a warmth spread fruitfully in your chest as if the three were mere background props in your own quirky sitcom.
As for the second years? Well…
‘If this supposed to be romantic…?’ they all sweatdropped.
Heaven forbid the words of onigiri ingredients could ever be considered “romantic.”
“Are we… interrupting something personal here?” Panda neared closer to Maki, whispering in her ear, only to receive a punch right in the gullet.
“So, were we the first to learn about your relationship?” Panda sparkled as if they weren’t just interrupting a moment of yours a moment ago, or even that he was just punched. Having a puppy body has its advantages, perhaps.
“Oh,” you blinked. “No. It was Ijichi, actually, a few days ago.”
“SO YOU BOTH WERE GETTING HANDSY!”
“Not really. He walked into the classroom while me and Toge were in the middle of-”
“I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! YOU TWO REALLY WERE MAKING OUT!”
“That’s not it either…”
©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.
#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#y/n#gn reader#x reader#fanfiction#fanfic#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk fluff#jjk drabbles#fluff headcanons#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jujutsu kaisen comfort#fluff#comfort#scenarios#headcanons#drabbles#inumaki toge#inumaki#inumaki x reader#inumaki toge x reader#inumaki toge x you#inumaki x you
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uuu just imagine reading manga with naoya in bed while being cuddled up together <3<3
Hello!!!
Ok so this is sweet—kind of domestic amirite? oof. I love me some domestic Naoya when he's nothing but a loving husband. akgfhaksjghkjaghjkashgjas and a nerd too ahahah awww anyways...
warnings: very tiny mentions of smut. implications really. fluff outside of that.
happy reading!!
Imagine it being a cold snowy day where Naoya doesn’t have to go out on missions, tend to clan responsibilities, or anything else.
A day where he can simply spend his time in nothing but his favorite, deserving things, such as catching up with his favorite series, enjoying a well-deserved break from all those countless missions, and of course, spend time with you—his needy wife who didn’t hold back from letting him know how much she missed him.
“What would you like to do today?” is how the days would begin, with you peppering endless kisses across his face while the two snuggled underneath the sheets.
“Hmmm, I feel like spending the whole day in bed.” He sighs, kissing the top of your head. “The new chapter of the manga I told you about came out yesterday, and I want to read it.”
“I’ll make breakfast, then.” You smile, ready to push yourself up from the futon and rush to the kitchen—though Naoya had something else in mind too.
“What’s the hurry, my love?” he murmurs, pulling you back to him. “Going away from me so soon? I just came back…”
“N—No, of course not… I could never!” you blush. “I just… just wanted to make the best of today, you know? Please you.”
“You know, there’s one thing that will immediately please me.” He breathes against your ear, you shudder.
“…I still have to get your bath ready.”
“Can’t see why we can’t do both.”
You press your lips together, heated by his words.
“Ok, but we can’t get too distracted—I still want you to enjoy your day! You rarely get to rest as of lately….” You pout, he laughs before leaning to give you a kiss.
“With you by my side, there’s no way I cannot.”
After that is done, followed by a relaxing bath and a delicious meal prepared by you—Naoya insists in only being fed by you, not the staff; you happily oblige—you’re quick to take your place by his side on the futon, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and rest your head against his chest while his free hand holds up one of his favorite magazines, the one that publishes his favorite anime of the moment.
“I read they had to reprint this issue solely because of one mistake. Nothing too big, but apparently big enough to have the whole publisher pull out the magazine…”
“Gee, that must’ve been quite the task—And to allow it too! Is the author that big or something?”
“Kind of, he’s the best seller at the moment.”
“No wonder, if he’s not happy, that means no business for them.” You sigh. “I wonder if the change is even noticeable.”
“I don’t know, but that’s what I’ll figure out now—they usually point it out anyways.” Naoya squeezes you against him, kissing the top of your head.
“Well, that’s sounds like a wonderful plan!” You grin. “And if you get hungry, or want something to snack on, just let me know and I’ll bring it to you.”
Naoya blushes.
“I love you.”
It’s your turn to blush.
“I love you too.”
The rest of the evening would go on that way, with Naoya reading his manga, eyes intently fixed on the panels while murmuring to himself whenever particularly interesting scene occurs, if not scoffing when a character does something stupid—just as he did in real life; both gestures that you found incredibly cute, how relaxed he is when doing things he loves.
And though he was very focused on that, he was still attentive enough to your presence and gestures, hands and lips looking for yours whenever you reached out to him or vice versa, as well as allowing you to feed him, careful enough to not distract him that much.
Because you just couldn’t snap him out of trance, you know? He looked so adorable!!
Although it would turn a bit… too much soon enough.
“I don’t—I don’t want anything else, Y/N—” he protests when you try to shove another piece of popcorn into his mouth, going as far as moving away, but you simply stuck to him.
“Come on, you have to eat!”
“Not to this point!” Naoya gasps, stomach full to the point of exploding! Of so it feels. “I don’t—I don’t want anything else!”
“Tough luck, Naoya—If you didn’t want me to spoil you, you shouldn’t have stayed home!” you giggle, and Naoya just relents, because he can’t do anything else when he’s putty to both your adorable charm and insistence, his beloved wife.
A side of Naoya that fortunately, is just for your eyes to see.
I just realized that Naoya was the kind of guy to say: "I want a wife that is submissive, that is only attentive to me and knows her place and yadda yadda yadda" until you came along and he was like "ok I like that but... I also want kisses...."
Idk I just keep thinking he's very desperate for affection hahaha call it ooc I DO NOT CARE I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM. 😶😶
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this small thing 🥺❤️ him getting all flustered because you're always so caring to him is AGH healing!!! We could literally change him...
Now, thank you so much for sending in this ask ❤️❤️❤️ take care and hope to see you soon!!!
#ask#naoya zenin#naoya zen'in#naoya x reader#naoya zenin x reader#naoya zenin x you#jjk naoya#naoya zen'in x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk x you#prompt series: jujutsu kaisen
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A copy/paste of a post I made on the CS forum in regards to Thicker Than:
-------------
I’m just popping back to post a quick update about my plan/process going forward.
My current plan is to continue drafting this story as it is. Once I have first draft, then I’ll go back and fix some of the issues that have been brought up here.
Top of the list:
*Fix confusing navigation in chapters 3-4.
*Add more opportunities to interact with allies in non romantic contexts. (Perhaps in groups so people don’t worry about losing romance routes but can still spend time and get to know various characters).
*Add more choice and variation to the trial scene (plus a potential aquital for vampires loyal to the Night Court).
I hope that’s okay. I think it’ll be easier to edit once I have the whole thing more or less together. That way I’m not going back and forth quite as much and it’ll be easier to know exactly where any jumps/skips need to go.
The latter half of Chapter Ten is very romance focused. Chapter Eleven is going to be very big and busy (depending on the playthrough) and I may end up splitting it into two, but I’m not sure yet. The game is already starting to fork towards the various endings (of which there will be five with variations in each). Some will be more involved than others, but I want to try and make them all rewarding in their own way.
I know it feels like choices that were made in part two are a little redundant, but I’m hoping later chapters might change some minds.
The tribute choice is still one of the biggest in the game (and whether or not it was actually paid) and the outcomes and consequences of that will start to come out more soon.
Not all consequences will be good. Again, I hope that’s okay.
I’m also hoping it’s not too frustrating waiting a little longer for the above mentioned fixes.
Thank you everyone for your honest feedback. This game is much more complicated than my last and it’s been a steep learning curve all the way (I’m never doing timeskips ever again 😅). But, with your help, I’m hoping the final product will be a really fun. 💙
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God I'm such a sucker for dom/sub edizzy where Ed enjoys domming because he gets to come up with endless fun 'fuckeries' (or.... scenes), and Izzy enjoys subbing because he's fucking gaga for Ed in all his Whacky Weirdness (affectionate), and god DAMN, this stressed-out little chihuahua-man needs to turn his mind off and just exist.
But it gets stale, eventually.
Ed is the flavour of neurodivergent that needs endless variety, whereas Izzy is the flavour of neurodivergent where everything needs to be the same forever, please, or I will have a nervous breakdown. Plus, neither of them have any idea how to manage each other's emotional needs!
Ed topdrops HARD. He requires a lot more aftercare than Izzy, but Izzy is kinda awkward and embarrassed about giving it, and is definitely awkward and embarrassed about needing it himself.
It's like, the 1700s. Neither of them have read 'the new bottoming/topping book'.
So, obviously, things crumble.
To the point where one time, they're setting up a scene, just going through The Familiar Motions (which to Izzy are such a source of comfort, and to Ed a source of growing torment) when Ed reaches his emotional broiling point. He crumples to the floor in tears, tugging at his hair, tearfully confessing to Izzy that he can't do this, he can't, he can't -
Cue Izzy panicking, tied to the bed, halfway to subspace already, now jolted out of it and adrift in a tidal wave of brain chemicals, his only thought what the fuck did I do wrong? Is it me? Is he tired of me?
(because deep down, he's been afraid of that for some time)
But his captain obviously needs something. And Izzy's gonna try his best to give it.
He's tied up to all four bed posts. He can't move, can't fucking get to Ed to stroke his hair and kiss him and do all that other soft shit he should hate a whole lot more than he does. But he can flop back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Coralling his spiralling thoughts.
He has to hold it together, for his captain. Has to do this, for him.
"C'mere, Eddie," he says, but his voice is all broken and scratchy and weak, so he clears his throat, tries again. "Eddie. Here."
And Eddie, snivelling, underlip trembling, comes. All dressed up in his leathers, beard big, shoulders broad, looking the very part of Blackbeard. Except for his tear-filled brown eyes - which are looking at Izzy so fucking warily, like Ed expects him to give him a fucking scolding.
And - yeah, maybe if this had been in the middle of a firefight, Izzy would've. But it's not. it's just the two of them, together, and right now, hurting Eddie is the furthest thing from his mind.
"What d'you need?" he asks, all gruff. Tugging at the ropes, rough hemp chewing on the tender insides of his wrists.
Ed gives a petulant little shrug. Fucker. Izzy's not a mind reader; he can't just intuit...
But... maybe he can. Ed's shoulders are shrunken, his spine stooped. He looks like a wet fucking cat. Pathetic. Useless. All the things the great Blackbeard should never be.
But Blackbeard is a myth. Eddie's a man. And Izzy knows better than most, how men can act as one thing and deep down, be another.
He thinks of the moments when he feels so fucking small and useless and broken. How Ed makes him feel good... And, glancing at the persistent bulge in Eddie's tight leather pants - how neither of them have said the word they agreed on, that'd bring this whole farce to a close - Izzy knows just what to do.
He licks his dry lips. Either this works, or Blackbeard snaps and kills him. Luckily, Izzy's always liked the thought of dying at his captain's hand.
"Wanna be mine tonight, Eddie?" he asks.
Ed's eyes go wide. Then narrow. Whole fucking face journey, mashed into a couple seconds: surprise, anger, fear, relief. Izzy waits patiently for him to settle, gripping the ropes that hold him spread-eagled for his captain's attention. Heart fluttering in his chest like he's staring down an oncoming enemy battalion: outgunned, outmanned, but still hungry for the fight.
"C'mon then," he says, nodding to where, despite it all, he's still half-erect too, bare cock plump against his scarred thigh. "Up here, there's a good b-boy."
His voice almost breaks on the last word, every instinct screaming at him not to demean his captain in the way he likes to be demeaned. Ed's so much better than him, brighter and sharper and fucking brilliant; he's not so weak as to need this. Or at least, he shouldn't be. Right?
But it's hard to focus on that when Ed crawls over him, danger in every movement, sleek and lithe as a jaguar. Fucking beautiful.
Then he ducks his head to bury in Izzy's neck, over his swallow tattoo, and nods.
"Good boy, telling daddy what you want," Izzy whispers into his hair - the same words Ed was supposed to say to him, when all this was over. He feels his captain sigh against his swallow and go deliciously slack.
It ain't what Izzy likes, as a rule, but for Ed... for Ed, he'll do damn near anything.
...Then Izzy gives Ed a healing dommy sloppytoppy, all while still tied to the bed, Ed crying while he rides him into the mattress. They hug after and hold each other, but not for nearly as long as they should. And everything hurts like an infected wound, but they can't stop picking at this thing they call a relationship until it scars.
#ofmd#ed teach#izzy hands#our flag means death#ofmd izzy#edizzy#blackhands#ed babygirl teach#ed teach born on a beach
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Who’s the man at the prison gate in the Pit Babe Series 2 Trailer?!?!?
Hi, I’m an idiot with an internet connection So, here is my totally accurate and scientifically sound analysis in support of my theory that it’s Pete. Grab your tinfoil hats friends and follow me down the rabbit hole.
First, I’m going to need you to turn your brain off and live in a world with me in which we won’t even consider that this is a new character who has not been introduced yet ( jokes on me because change2561 would pull this type of thing).
Now we need to narrow down the pool of candidates from our currently known characters. Obviously if our Prison throuple of Kenta, Winner and Dean are out of prison and spying on the X-Hunter squad we can safely assume the person who got them out isn’t likely to be in the inner circle of the X-Hunter team, so we can safely disregard Babe, Charlie, Alan, Jeff, North, Sonic, and Kim. Now we have three players in the running- Way, Pete and Tony.
So let’s get to narrowing this down, behold Exhibit A
Our man in black stays out of focus for most of the clip, but from what we can see it seems that this man is dressed in a suit and as we never see Way ever dressed in those types of clothes the whole season I think it’s fair to also vote him off the Island.
Now to our final two candidates, it’s time to analyse some heights baby!!! We are going to use Kenta as a control subject, height wise, for this as he is the most likely of the prison throuple to have had scenes with both the remaining candidates.
So let’s start with Tony, it’s ridiculously difficult to get shots of these two together where Kenta isn’t half a mile behind and throwing off the perspective because of that, but I tried my best.
As you can see from these over the shoulder shots, Tony and Kenta’s eye level looks to be about the same, with them being almost exactly the same height ( Tony being slightly taller at a push). With this shot also confirming that they are very similar in height to each other.
Moving onto Pete, we can see that our baby boys have a bit of a height difference, with Kenta being the shorter of the two. His eyeline whenever talking to Pete is directed upward.
Now let’s head back to the original shot of the mystery man’s back and use our new found knowledge, and attempt to solve this by using the ancient scientific method of drawing lines on pictures.
As Winner isn’t standing at full height I’m disregarding him from the experiment, much like I wish I could disregard him from the narrative completely.
So let’s draw onto our screenshot where Kenta and Dean’s eyeline should land if they were looking at someone that was of similar height to them.
And now let’s draw where their actual eyeline ends up, taking into consideration where our mystery man’s shoulders are to give us a rough estimate of where their eyeline should land if they were looking at his face, which they are.
Now as you can see from my totally foolproof scientific method, both of their eyelines are pointed slightly upward indicating that the person on the other side of the gate is taller than both Kenta and Dean. Now there is only one of our candidates who is taller than Kenta and that leaves us with only on option left… Pete.
I rest my case.
( Also just on the logical side, why would Tony get the man who betrayed him and stabbed him out of jail, like that makes no narrative sense)
#I have half a science degree and I’m not afraid to use it#I will take no constructive criticism at this time#only my Nobel prize#you’re damn right I’ll try and shoehorn in PeteKenta crumbs to the trailer#pit babe the series#pit babe series 2#meta post#my meta posts
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"Make it look like a freak lighting accident"
It’s been years since I’ve revisited Due South, but the @ds30below event sparked my interest again, and I decided to watch a few episodes with my bud @flownwrong to celebrate. We watched three episodes that stuck in my mind the most over the years after being absent from the show for so long: Bird in the Hand, Eclipse, and The Ladies’ Man, and I found all three to be a very rewarding rewatch, even though my memory of the rest of the series is a bit hazy.
Bird in the Hand:
When we started our mini marathon, I didn’t realize that this was the only ep of the three where Fraser’s dad plays a role, and I forgot how solid Pinsent was at pulling comic relief duty. The scene where he popped up demanding that Fraser murder Gerard immediately after Gerard was droning on about how Robert’s dogged nobility was his ultimate downfall had me rolling, as did the bit where he—probably correctly— asserted that Ray would shoot Gerard for him if Fraser really asked him to (aww). One thing in particular about his character that struck me while watching this episode were the moments where he actually interacted with the environment around him in a way that impacted people other than Fraser by implanting the idea to retreat in McFadden’s mind and having Gerard attempt to grab his hand while dangling in the air. In my memory, it was a lot more ambiguous whether Robert was actually a spirit or a figment of Fraser’s imagination, so that ended up being kind of a fun twist for me.
Since the other two episodes we watched were very Ray K centric, I’m glad we did one that had a focus on Fraser’s emotional state. The scene where he confronted Robert about stubbornly refusing help in life and said “I never loved anyone as much as I love you” while Robert was still trying to find ways to derail the conversation is a fan favorite for a reason; it’s a rare, intensely vulnerable moment for Fraser and I really enjoyed the way that Paul Gross pulled back from it a little. In another show with another character, it’s easy to imagine a scene like this being a more blatant, emotional showstopper, with the neglected son saying this in a fit of tearful anger that’s meant to make his father rear back in surprise. Instead, Paul Gross delivers the line in an understated way that’s almost more like puzzled frustration, as if Fraser is trying to piece something together about himself instead, which I thought was a really nice touch to the scene that made it feel very Fraser. I also love the cunning way that Fraser brought it back around just a few minutes later by weaponizing male emotional repression in order to freak out everyone else in the room and gain the upper hand (as well as have an opportunity to annoy Ghost Dad by calling him short) while also delivering some genuine truths: Gerard really did break his heart.
Last but certainly not least, I adore how Ray kept trying to take care of Fraser throughout the episode in his own grumpy, special way. Sure, trying to orchestrate some Fraser-on-Gerard police brutality didn’t end up being the most well received suggestion, but it’s sweet that he acted extra vengeful to make up for Fraser’s dutiful restraint. I also forgot that the “Mentally Deficient” sticker gag and the tape recorder conversation were both in this episode. The Bickering Married Couple vibes between them were always such a classic part of the show, so it was nice to see that on display.
Bird in the Hand really held up strongly against my fond memories of it, and I was a little surprised at how easy it was to slide back into this world and be immersed in it after being away for so long. Sometimes I guess you actually can go back home again.
#due south#ds30below#i will post my observations about Eclipse and The Ladies’ Man separately hopefully either tonight or tomorrow#but i had a blast watching all three#thanks alina!
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a silly screenshot edit i made of one of my favorite moments :)
...because i organized my bank accounts and wanted to give one of my cards a special cover!!
a brief note about applying the sticker to the card:
the directions said to line up the sticker to the opening for the chip, but it went better for me when i lined the sticker up to one of the long sides of the card. (but of course make sure the sticker would be in the right part for the chip)
bonus behind the scenes on my making the pic under the cut :)
i tend to make several lineart layers when doing REALLY CLEAN lineart so i can more easily erase overlapping lines. (the first screenshot has lines that "overshoot" because that gives nice sharp corners and line width variety, but i need to erase the extra parts of the lines)
(i like these screenshots because Lucifer looks extra clowny with this colorfulness)
i realized on this project, since the final lineart is just going to be black anyway, that i can use different colors for each layer and then LATER make the lineart black. (realized it after already making some lineart, so you see some black here)
SO, RIGHT. VERY EASY TO THEN GET BLACK OUTLINES: JUST SET BRIGHTNESS TO ZERO. i usually use a program called FireAlpaca, and the way you do that there is: Filter > Hue… > drag the Brightness cursor all the way to the left
in this screenshot, you can see some of the effects i added to Lucifer to give him the nice shadowed look that Hazbin Hotel has, as well as where i covered Charlie at the tip of Lucifer's hat lol
i included my layers on the right of the screenshot to show how i set up the outline layers in the final version: as you saw above, i named my outline layers with the color used for them, then, once i was done with the outline, i placed the "outline before color change" folder above the base black "outline" folder. that way, if i later notice a mistake, i can simply turn on the colored outline folder and i'll see what color that part of the outline is and jump to the necessary layer, rather than going on a quest turning off and on a bunch of layers each time
since i duplicated my outline folder before changing the outlines in one of them to black, the base outline folder already has the color names included in the layer names
NOT ALL DIGITAL ARTISTS USE AS MANY LAYERS AS I DO LOL. I GO WILD WITH THEM SOMETIMES. MANY OF MY PROJECTS HAVE WAY MORE THAN 80 OR EVEN 500 LAYERS. people just tend to figure out what works for them. i wouldn't be surprised if i end up using fewer layers in the future. or a lot more. or go either way depending on the project
so, yeah, this is a screenshot edit, so i traced the main part of Lucifer's body. for the background, i used two screenshots. had to cut together and cover some stuff. here's the two screenshots unedited followed by a scribbled version to make things work lol and then the scribbled version that includes some extra touch ups/covers
and some screenshots i took while working on this, when i unexpectedly got some cool-looking versions :3 first one reminded me of Day of the Dead looks (he DOES need to be more colorful to be more accurate) and the second is just rad
ANYWAY probably the most helpful thing to most people would be the colored outline thing talked about at the start lol, the stuff i bolded. that was IMMENSELY useful and i love black outlines more than ever XD
#hazbin hotel#hazbin lucifer#lucifer morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer#screenshot edit#i feel like there's something else i wanted to mention under the cut but i'm forgetting lol#oH. IT WAS ABOUT CHANGING THE IN-PROGRESS COLORED OUTLINES TO BLACK LOL. GOT IT WOO#rexan's art#i got the sticker like two months ago and i STILL sometimes take my card out only to look at it XD#one of my best purchases ever lol#(it was about $15 in the U.S. and that includes shipping. i really wanted a Lucifer card)#(so worth it)
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Something that kind of bothered me if you will is how people think Grayson and Avery had romantic chemistry together.
In the first book Grayson treated Avery nastily and neither trusted each other. There was tension every time they were in a scene till the end of the book. No romance.
Book 2. Okay so there was some sweet moments with the skiing, sword fighting, and then the kiss. But still I didn't feel any romance. I saw two people who used to be enemies slowing becoming friends. Avery was having to become what Grayson was raised to be. And just under a year, where Grayson had his whole life. Grayson knew the struggle and he wanted to help. Also the fact Avery thought of Jameson when she was told to picture someone while on the imaginary cliff.
Book 3. It's pretty obvious Avey and Jameson are a thing. Grayson has gone to Harvard but then returns for her birthday. It's awkward between them when Eve is around but then we have that heart wrenching scene in the chapel. When Grayson tells Avery he had never hated her and there are many things that she will never know about how he feels about her. I think it was his way of telling her that they will ever be together. She choose Jameson and Grayson knew that.
Anyways, so I still stand by that Avery and Grayson are each other's right hand person. Biggest supporters and comrades in arms. Not lovers.
Disagree or agree all you like.
#the inheritance games#the brothers hawthorne#the hawthorne legacy#the final gambit#grayson hawthorne#jameson hawthorne#avery grambs
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Chris is reaped but Eddie is over the age limit so he can't volunteer for him. Buck is from another district but is moved by Eddie's attempt to save Chris on tv, feels like he has nothing waiting for him - his parents don't care, maddie is gone with doug - so he decides to protect Chris in the games (i have this very specific mental picture of Buck picking up Chris as soon as the canon goes off and running - picture the scene where he runs from the tsunami with Chris). They survive until there's only one other person left, Buck kills that person but not before a knife hits Chris in the chest like Rue. Buck defies the capitol by saying that he will kill himself if they don't save Chris immediately. They both survive. Buck and Eddie meet after and become best friends and fall in love (slow burn). In the quarter quell, both Eddie and Buck go back into the arena. The rest of the team is either a previous winner or part of the resistance.
Buck wins the games alone and only meets Eddie after. Eddie is a previous winner, he volunteered for Chris two years ago and is very famous bc of that. Eddie and the rest of the team are secretly part of the resistance and when Buck starts his new life being paraded around as a victor he's slowly introduced to the resistance while also being used as a pawn in the Capitol's games.
A more traditional version: Eddie is Peeta (Shannon is Katniss?) and Buck is Finnick (in the sense that he's the Capitol's pretty boy that is "rented" to whoever the president wants). Eddie and Shannon win the games together using the berries trick, and then have to prove they're in love but actually their relationship is very complicated and becomes even worse after the games. Buck falls for Eddie pretty quick but Eddie is still in in his mess with Shannon. They all end up in the arena for the quarter quell but Shannon dies (or not?). If Shannon dies, Eddie vows to destroy President Snow for her, becomes the mockingbird in her place.
I like all three of these options and I can't decide which one to go with. All of them would be buddie endgame, of course. It would be interesting, if I wrote them like the 100K word behemoth they are just begging to be, to include Buck/Tommy as Buck's bi awakening and other plotlines from the show. I just don't wanna write something that is literally the plot of the books (Eddie and Buck as Katniss and Peeta)
#911#eddie diaz#evan buckley#my fic#buddie#buddie fic#911 fic#poll#i want to write this so bad#hunger games au#hg au#buddie hg au
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deep down i'll never stop being an astrology girly so here i am reading about the compatibility between marauders era characters and i might be projecting but i think they're pretty close to how i picture the dynamics
lily & severus
Capricorn and Aquarius friendship compatibility is pretty high. Both of them are the kind of people that go picky when selecting their BFFs and believe in investing in them thoroughly. If they closely get along with each other, they will share a shrewd bonding that would be liked by all around. With fun and excitement in their friendship, Capricorn and Aquarius friends share a lot in common. Both love to search for timeless things and believe in scorning fads. Where Aquarius shows its creativity, their Capricorn buddy just perceives it all right and calculatedly and right with them. Therefore, as pals, they could effortlessly get along, but only if none of them becomes critical or demotivating.
james & sirius
Both Scorpio and Aries are ruled by the planet Mars in astrology. The energies of two Mars natives could lead them to either become allies or ruthless enemies. Arguments in friendship are inevitable but the differences won't exist for long. Aries, as they like to be the starters of things, claims the spotlight in the Aries and Scorpio relationship, meanwhile, the Scorpio stays behind the scenes to support the Aries intellectually and emotionally. Aries and Scorpio could have a wonderful friendship and achieve great success while having their share of fun.
sirius & remus
These two Water Signs are terrific friends. Protective Scorpio loves caring for vulnerable Pisces. The whimsical Fish enjoys lifting Scorpio's spirits. They're highly creative people who love collaborating on writing, music, and design projects. When they're not working, they have fun trading books, watching movies and going to concerts together. These two Scorpio Pisces friends are intense souls who often form friendships within a fringe group – think Skater-punks and Metalheads. Scorpio, in particular, likes to look down on mere mortals and frightens people off with their menacing demeanour and sometimes, eyeliner and multiple piercings. Pisces is fashionably depressive enough for fringe dwelling but recognizes much of Scorpio’s schtick is self-preservation – they soothe the scorpion beast with creativity and off-beat spirituality. Scorpio understands Pisces chaotic mind and teaches them how to focus on one idea before moving onto the next.
james & remus
The Aries sign in astrology is ruled by the planet Mars while, on the other hand, Pisces is ruled by the planet Jupiter. The influence of Mars keeps the Aries strong and active. Jupiter’s influence adds intensity to their friendship. Aries could help Pisces realise their dreams, and on the other hand, Pisces could provide a recess where Aries could display the softer side of their character. In a nutshell, both the signs complement each other well in a relationship. And as they do so, the chances of their friendship turning into something special are always high.
lily & james
(romantic compatibility) Here comes your knight in shining armour Aries. Apart from the initial A, there are literally thousands of other things that take the Aries and Aquarius compatibility beyond imagination. The Aries are usually attracted to the Aquarius owing to the latter’s charming personality. The Aries and Aquarius are very idealistic individuals and extremely good at communicating their thoughts and feelings with each other. In love, the Aquarius are a bit reserved but open and excited about learning the hows and wows of the relationship. These two signs usually go well together in general and they support each other through thick and thin.
(communication) The Aries and Aquarius conversations are so fulfilling that many people would literally pay to listen them talk. It doesn't happen often for the Aries to find an idol in someone, but an Aquarius does inspire them. An Aries would listen to the Aquarius with sheer curiosity, all excited about what they might discover. Meanwhile, Aquarius also enjoys their role as a sharer for they have so much to say. However, Aquarius is not up for ridiculous conflicts and usually cuts the other person from their life to safeguard themselves from the same. Thus, it is recommended that the Aries rein their impulsive nature and urge to counter when they converse with Aquarius.
am i crazy or does it actually make sense???? i also wish we knew what is peter's solar sign. i feel inclined towards gemini or cancer, but i'd love to hear if anyone has any thoughts on this
source
#sirius black#remus lupin#james potter#lily evans#severus snape#marauders era#marauders fandom#astrology#hp headcanon
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NGE arc 2
I'm really enjoying the show now! The first six episodes had their ups and downs but I feel like this stretch really sold me on it.
The biggest change is, of course, Asuka. She takes up a lot of screentime, but it feels justified. Retrospectively, you can see the "hole" in the show that she goes on to fill.
Asuka is everything Shinji and Rei are not - brash, overconfident, rude, energetic, etc. She's always messing with Shinji - trying to get his attention, criticizing him, trying to get a rise out of him - and it's not entirely clear to me whether that's because she feels a certain way about him, or because that's just how she is with another kid her age and he's the only one who really qualifies.
On the other hand, her relationship with Rei is much more straightforwardly a rivalry - she feels threatened by Rei's whole deal. It's also unclear to me whether it's one-sided or not. Rei is very stoic, and Asuka's introduction ended the little window we were getting into Rei's head in episode 6, which disappointed me a bit.
Misato feels like she's gotten her shit together a bit more now. She's a more competent guardian and she has intelligence guys watching Shinji's every move, which she should've done on day 1. With Asuka's introduction, the vibes between her and Shinji feel a lot less weird. Idk.
I really, really liked the lights out episode. Felt like really crisp storytelling, with a lot of very good character moments. Definitely a stand-out thus far. I also found the scene where Shinji almost kisses Asuka while she's asleep and then snaps out of it very striking.
We still don't really know exactly what the Second Impact was, though it's implied that someone (proto-NERV?) captured an angel embryo and then mishandled it somehow, which led to a much worse catastrophe than we've otherwise seen. Why were there only two angels, before a 15 year gap? Is that related to why the pilots are all 14 years old? How were the first two angels subdued? Was the angel embryo that NERV has on ice captured then, or now?
I'm also told that there's more to the whole "EVAs are alive" twist than I was giving it credit for, so let's speculate a bit. Are the EVAs enslaved angels? That seems off - we've seen the EVAs act "automatically" to protect human children, whereas the angels will just murder them. There was a throwaway line about angel DNA being similar to human DNA - maybe the EVAs are angel-human-cyborg hybrids, or something? The continuous references to "contamination" seem like a looming Chekhov's gun.
After Shinji told Rei his dad sucks, I had hoped that was a sign he wasn't as obsessed with his father's approval anymore, but no luck...
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Okay S2.5 Speculation, let's go! (In no particular order)
Possible flashback on how Millie and Blitzo met considering one of the scenes has them fighting and Millie is shown with long hair.
Ghosteffers will focus heavily on Millie and Blitzo's relationship and dynamic.
I've heard some people speculate that innkeeper as being Leviathan. I personally think it's too early to say, but I do believe this could be a demon from the Envy Ring based on the aquatic design. (Maybe a possessor?)
We may or may not now have confirmation that Cash Buckzo was responsible for keeping Blitzo and Fizz apart for years considering we see him in front of Fizz's hospital room.
Verosika and Blitzo will have a chance to talk their relationship out.
Verosika seems to help Stolas out for some reason (perhaps after Full Moon it'll be a turning point for Stolas and Blitzo's relationship?) (possible new friendship forming between Verosika and Stolas?).
I've seen people speculate that one of the demons we see could be Satan (the one with the bulky lava arm) and I think that speculation is a lot stronger. Since we see Mammon in the trailer as well, we may end up getting an episode where the Sins convene (hopefully this means Ozzie will show up as well).
Fizz seems to be helping Blitzo out now that they're friends again. It's possible that Blitzo might be going to Fizz for either advice or because he might actually want to get Stolas some type of gift.
Octavia may end up playing a big role since we hear her calling Stolas out on his behavior. Might be related to the Goetia get together we see sprinkled throughout.
DHORKS and CHERUB working together might spell bad news for IMP. The two working together could be what causes IMP to be on the run in the first place (and could also lead to that fight going on in the Lust Ring).
All in all, I'm extremely excited for what the rest of the season has to offer and I'm very happy we have general release dates this time around.
#helluva boss#helluva boss theory#theory#speculation#helluva blitzo#blitzo#helluva millie#helluva stolas#helluva octavia#helluva mammon#helluva fizzarolli#fizzarolli#verosika mayday#cash buckzo#DHORKS#CHERUB
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I know you like tenken, takaken and sukume but what are some other relationships or dynamics do you like in jjk and why? Could be romantic, platonic, familial, antagonistic or just plain toxic and fucked up, anything.
Thanks for the interesting ask! These are my favourites at the moment.
Mahito & Yuuji
I think it's the best antagonistic relationship Yuuji has in the entire manga. I like them both as a ship and platonically for what we get in canon. Although considering the scene in the anime where Mahito tries to murder kiss Yuuji, you could say it's one-sidedly canon.
I miss Mahito a lot lately and come to only appreciate him more and more with time. He was very good at building up a sense of dread and he has a viciousness to him that's lacking in the current Shinjuku fight for me.
He mirrors Yuuji without literally being related to him (so far, who knows what else Gege will reveal to be in Yuuji's gene cocktail). Yuuji learns something from him, reflects upon himself, his actions, who he wants to be and why he fights. They are both still figuring each other and themselves out. Both of them grow during their fights and become more dangerous, desperate and feral any time they meet. I love how Mahito is not only able to break Yuuji, but also to break him. Yuuji's hatred for Sukuna is smouldering, while for Mahito it is a raging fire. Yuuji has nothing to learn from Sukuna and no interest to engage with him anymore, while for Mahito it was raw and personal and resulted in Yuuji embracing the disgusting and ruthless side of himself that makes him so cold against Sukuna.
It's been great to see how even now Mahito still influences Yuuji. He was the first one who really taught him about the soul and what it can be capable of. Any time the soul is brought up, Yuuji's first thought is how Mahito was able to manipulate and contort it. He is able to hurt Sukuna so much because of what he learned from Mahito. As much as I miss Mahito and his personality, it wouldn't make sense to bring him back now, so I'm glad to see his continued impact on Yuuji this way. Overall, what I like about the two is how "juvenile" their conflict is. Cruelty of a child and innocence of a child clashing and both of them improving, growing and maturing through it. I also think it's very fitting that Yuuji never got to exorcise Mahito because the message is that Mahito represents a different side of him and he shouldn't ignore or destroy that side, he has to embrace it to be able to stomach what lies ahead.
Maki & Mai
If done right, I'm always a sucker for twin relationships, especially the codependency in it. I wouldn't say Maki & Mai are my favourite example of them or the best written one, but I still like them for what they are, particularly everything in Perfect Preparation and the Sakurajima colony. It could've been better and more consistently set up, but the payoff is still emotional and impactful and that's what I like them for.
Both of them need each other, wanted to help each other in their own way, but they never saw eye-to-eye or managed to communicate properly until after Mai's death. They were holding each other back through more than just the jujutsu consequences of being born a twin. Mai wanted Maki to give up and live with her at the bottom and Maki thought she had to shoulder all responsibility and could only go on and pave a way for them alone. Even after the have "become one" in a jujutsu sense and Maki unlocked her Heavenly Restriction, they don't immediately work together and have to learn how to communicate with each other and lift each other up, make up for what the other can't do. And through understanding Mai better and learning to hold her and fight together with her, she also begins to understand herself better.
I wish we got a more in-depth look at them, their past and relationship while both were alive before the Perfect Preparation arc. I hope Maki's arc will have a satisfying end and she will find something meaningful to do with her life.
Hakari & Uraume
Every time the leaks come out, I'm hoping for at least a glimpse at these two. There's been setup for some really interesting exploration of the themes of humanity and strength here. They are also just such a funny duo and it gets more and more hilarious the more chapters pass by and we don't see them. While Sukuna plays whac-a-mole with the main group, Hakari and Uraume have been "fighting" for 20 chapters now without seemingly getting anywhere except gossiping about what happens over at the main source of action. Wouldn't be surprised if we skip back to them to see them eating ice cream while watching the others get beaten up.
On a more serious note, I really hope the little speech Uraume gave in ch 245 gets picked up again and explored upon because it was the most interesting commentary we got so far on the source of sorcerers power, what it means to be human when you are so strong and also Uraume's background. Uraume's view of humanity and strength seems to slightly differ from Sukuna's and they also seem to reflect upon it more. They say forming relationships and fear of losing said relationships is what makes you weak and yet they have no problem following Sukuna and worrying about him. They are even open to forming bonds with others like Kenjaku or even Hakari. Hakari is actually the person we have seen them be most relaxed and friendly with so far. With Sukuna there is always a remaining formality and Kenjaku annoys them, but with Hakari they chat like a normal person. They make fun of him, but it's very colloquial. It seems like they actually came to see him as a true equal. There is no binding vow or old history binding them together, they simply want to keep Hakari from interfering with the fight and through that they got to engage with him without any pretence.
I just wish we actually got to see how their relationship developed over that now pretty significant amount of time and to see more of Uraume's worldview and maybe Hakari's too. He broke away from Jujutsu Tech and was left to build up his own independent existence together with Kirara. Very similar to Uraume and Sukuna. Now if we could only explore that connection between them more. On page. Not off-screen. I would've taken that any time over the pointless intervention from Geto's cult members or Kusakabe sacrificing himself.
Kusakabe & Yaga
I think this is Kusakabe's most interesting relationship and what actually gives him some depth beyond Exposition Guy. It's also where we see Yaga's more overtly caring side beyond his interactions with Panda. Unfortunately, it gets overlooked a lot, in part because Gege doesn't linger much on it beyond one or two chapters and Kusakabe's last words before getting cut down. There is literally nothing about this ship in fandom spaces. Probably because for some reason people think Yaga isn't hot enough (he's the literal definition of a dilf what more do you want?)...
Chapter 147 is interesting because it shows us the closest relationships and most hidden secrets both Kusakabe and Yaga have. We learn that Yaga not only makes autonomous puppets, but he actually has a whole Hundred Acre Wood-type of retreat full of the souls of dead people, children in particular. They aren't weapons like Panda, they don't fight, they are just allowed to live there. Protected by Tengen interestingly enough. She probably just doesn't care what he does or thinks it mildly interesting/quirky. This is also where we find out that Kusakabe has a sister (Usami?), who has been severely traumatized to the point of being catatonic and lost her son, Kusakabe's nephew. Despite the taboo, both Kusakabe and Yaga are willing to raise the dead not only to help her, but also to give Kusakabe something of his family back. It's the most vulnerable moment we've gotten of him and it speaks of their deep bond that Yaga was willing to do this. Doubt he would do this for just any jujutsu teacher (who doesn't even work for him). Creating that kind of cursed corpse isn't easy after all. But nothing strengthens a bond like necromancy. Kusakabe's last words about Yaga in ch 254 are also interesting. He fights for Yaga, knowing he wouldn't force him to do this, but reflecting on how they used to be able to fight together. They must have known each other for a long time. Kusakabe tells himself multiple times to not linger on the dead, but any time he does, it's because of Yaga.
A very interesting relationship with much potential that goes underexplored. I would've much preferred for his relationship with Yaga to be highlighted more in his fight against Sukuna than that out of place "interview" where people who barely know Kusakabe explain his character to us. If they could bring Gojo and Nanami back from the dead, they could've shown Yaga too. If you really want me to believe that Kusakabe is a kind person, show me more of how he acts around the people he actually cares about, i.e. Yaga and Miwa. He's a very different person around them, particularly Yaga and that's when he allows himself to be vulnerable.
So yeah, I think they explored each other's bodies to help each other through their grief.
#I thought about including JinKen too but I already talk a bunch about them everywhere else on my blog#plus I wanted to choose some where we already know a substantial amount about their relationship in canon#jujutsu kaisen#itadori yuuji#mahito#itamahi#uraume#hakari kinji#kusakabe atsuya#yaga masamichi#jjk spoilers
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