#and after that? can't stop cursing you is SO MUCH FUN if you can stand that the author discontinued it after wrapping up the 1st arc

[lemonduckisnowawake]

Rating (the translated, not actually OG) titles of manhwa/manga because I was bored

Monstrous Duke's Adopted Daughter/The Monster Duchess and Contract Princess - not egregiously long but boring when the story is actually interesting. 6/10. Rename it with something more snappish like the Adopted Shadow or whatever. idk. Have I mentioned I've been banned from naming things?

My In-Laws Are Obsessed with Me - 4/10. Also not horrible but it's clearly a clickbaity title and I roll my eyes. Better to rename it to like ..... something to do with blood maybe? Or if you want to keep it family-themed. Blood Ties? Also boring and you can tell I'm speaking from a western YA-genre reader perspective?

Beware the Villainess - 8/10. This needs no change

The Perks of Being an S-Class Heroine - .... it's exactly what the title says, ngl. 7/10. But it could be better and less of a summary. Don't know what, though

The Noble Girl Who Finds a Nerdy and Plain Guy Moe Thinks That the Arrogant Prince Is in the Way - 0/10. I just. Why? The official English title is something like The Lady Likes a Nerd over Princes, which I found weird but the summary was interesting (turns out it was a good manga. But the author just has zero respect for the agency of women. Like. Comically so that it's not even funny as it gets a tad bit narratively frustrating as it's used as a device to drag on the plot) Anyway. Just why?

An Archdemon's Dilemma: How to Love Your Elf Bride - 2/10. Not as unforgivable as the previous but horrible all the same. And while the concept was interesting and I gave it a try because it was a rec, it turned out to not be for me at all. The title is dramatic, I'll give you that. It reads like it's a self help book for demon kings who want to learn how to Love and that's basically the manga

Frieren: Beyond Journey's End/Frieren at the Funeral/Frieren the Slayer - 10/10. Look. Any of those titles are good. It doesn't pop out but neither does it force you to hide the title out of fear of being misunderstood

The Savior's Book Cafe Story in Another World - 5/10. Inoffensive but another summary title. You could have literally just called it the Savior's Otherworld Cafe instead. Or something

I Listened to My Husband and Brought in a Lover - 1/10. Encourages cheating with consent. Actually, the manhwa kinda did too (the husband cheated first and was like you should cheat too). At least people know what they're in for? Don't want to retitle it. It deserves it for starting with decent potential for that premise and kinda failing to deliver.

I Stole the Number One Ranker's Soul - 6/10. Again, it's pretty catchy and not terrible but I still don't like these summary titles. Manhwa is amazing, however.

Can't Stop Cursing You - 8/10. Dying laughing because it reads as someone going "man, I just... can't stop cursing you. Really can't help myself you know? Sorry not sorry" while zapping you repeatedly with curses. Still pretty stupid when the actual manga was REALLY shiny with all that horror and bloody gore and interesting plot

Gingerly in Love - 10/10. Trust me. Once I saw what it was about, I died laughing. Not the most memorable manhwa but the wordplay of the title....

The Tyrant Wants to Be Good - 6/10. Again. Inoffensive but there's something annoying to me personally. The manhwa is great, though. Love me a woman who makes her trauma everyone else's problem, regrets it, and then internalizes the guilt in her do-over at life so bad that she ends up getting aggressively adopted into a found family

I Got a New Skill Every Time I Was Exiled, and After 100 Different Worlds, I Was Unmatched - 0/10. Why are isekai titles actually the worst sometimes. Manga itself is meh, in my opinion. It has potential ruined by the usual commodification of women, so I dropped it despite my interest

Bonus:

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court - 3/10. Twain really was isekai titling when he probably didn't know that Japan was even a thing, huh. Not terrible, but it has that isekai style of summarizing the premise.

Bonus again:

The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders Who was born in Newgate, and during a life of continu’d Variety for Threescore Years, besides her Childhood, was Twelve Years a Whore, five times a Wife (whereof once to her brother) Twelve Years a Thief, Eight Years a Transported Felon in Virginia, at last grew Rich, liv’d Honest and died a Penitent - -10/10. It was an okay book but you shouldn't have had this power over your book titles, Daniel Defoe. Seriously. My edition just says "Moll Flanders". Never have I wanted to shame a dead author more. It's not even an isekai but it's worse than an isekai title. It's a whole anime opening credits.

[ramonathinks]

(18+, minors/blank accounts dni)

jealous ex husband gojo who just can't keep stand seeing you with someone else. he hates that you gave up on him, hates that you don't wear your ring anymore even though he does and he wears it proudly.

"you have a date tonight, the girls tell me." busted. you cringe and eye you little daughters, only six the both of them but you told them to keep quiet about the situation.

"yes..." you reply, anxiously awaiting his response.

you could just picture his face now, nose a bit flared and lips pursed. with clenched teeth he said, "alright, have fun." but it wasn't that simple.

he always kept close watch on you and it made you nervous with how simple it left the conversation. "well, i could come pick the girls up before then. about 8-ish?" he asks and you say yes before hanging up.

gojo was always too busy which was what led to the divorce. you'd both married young, 20 and stayed together since but when the girls turned 3 you had enough and just left. he wasn't being there enough for you or the girls and it hurt.

when he pulled up you cursed yourself for getting ready so early. your hair in long curls and a knee length skirt with a small slit on the left leg. he didn't bothering knocking or waiting for you to open the door, he had keys and you knew this so you continued with your makeup.

he was standing there watching you but you ignored him. or tried to but he walked closer and closer until he was right in your face. "how beautiful, you are." he held your jaw and forced you to look at him.

"why don't you ditch this date and come with me?" he asked, bringing your lower reign to his. "don't you miss me baby?" he nipped at your skin and the memories and feelings were coming back.

you had to be strong. you swallowed and pulled his back from you. "you have to stop this, im sure you have someone out there satoru, but she isn't me." you tried to walk off but he grabbed your wrist and brought you to your bedroom.

"y/n, so you think anyone can make you feel as good as i make you feel? don't you know i love you? my feelings never left and i know yours haven't." he rubs you through your panties and kisses you on your lips.

"everything can be different now." he promises, easing his way between your legs. his heavy cock entering you slowly, it was only the tip so far but it was splitting you open. you'd been without sex for two years and now tears were in your eyes.

"you think he can fill you up like me?" he adjusts himself and enters more of his cock into you. he was still so big, you were choking. you could feel him in your tummy and in your throat.

"you're always going to be mine, so stop running." he told you as he jerked his hips. "stop trying to let this go baby?"

"satoru—"

"mommy! the door!" one of the girls yelled.

"shh," satoru brought a finger to your lips and leaned forward to make love to your mouth. it was too much and you both were drooling after just a few minutes, he pulled himself out of you and looked at his wet cock.

"think about what i said." it was hard to forget. you clenched your legs together after you cleaned yourself up, not even wanting to face your date.

not even wanting to face your ex-husband either.

[hyuckiefluff]

MOONSTRUCK | p. jisung

pairing: werewolf!hufflepuff! jisung x hufflepuff!fem. reader genre: best friends to lovers, hogwarts/supernatural au, angst, smut. wc: 18.3k+ summary: after a cruel prank leaves jisung cursed, he withdraws from everyone—including you, his closest friend. but secrets can't stay hidden forever, and when a full moon pulls you into the darkness he's tried so desperately to conceal, there's no going back. content warnings: werewolf lore & transformation, drug usage, rut/mating behavior, rough sex, biting/marking, mild breeding kink, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, bulge kink, mentions of bruising & blood, mild body horror, brief medical talk (contraceptive), aftercare. lmk if i missed any! a/n: nearly a month in the making and i can finally say i’m satisfied enough to post this lol. i’m actually really happy with how it turned out—and i finally got to write about werewolves, which has been on my list forever. canonically, werewolves in the HP universe (and most lore tbh) are dangerous nocturnal creatures and primarily bloodthirsty. but for this fic, i took a step away from that and leaned into the rut aspect instead because why not ;) pls don’t judge the cover, i had picsart and a dream lol. btw moonstruck by enhypen and nda by billie eilish are two songs u should listen to while reading this!

ps: i don’t know why i was under the assumption that everyone knows hp terms but i realized that is not the case after my mark fic 😭 so even though i didn’t use too many obscure ones here, here’s a little reference guide just in case: legilimens– someone who can read minds or emotions squib– a non-magical person born into a magical family (in this fic, it’s thrown around more like calling someone useless/coward) wolfsbane– a potion that allows werewolves to keep their mind during a full moon; in hp lore they still transform, but in this fic it's not a full transformation. feel free to message me if anything else was confusing! happy reading<3

You didn’t expect your seventh year at Hogwarts to feel like grieving someone who was still alive.

Three months ago, Park Jisung was still your best friend. Now, he can’t even stand being near you. 

The suddenness of this change was something you couldn’t wrap around your head. But things don’t always fall apart all at once. Sometimes they drift until you’re left staring across a room at someone who used to know everything about you and wondering when they became a stranger.

He was the very first friend you made at Hogwarts. You remember how he barely spoke to anyone, and you sat next to him in Transfiguration class just because there was an empty seat. You charmed your quill into a frog that wouldn’t stop croaking, and when he finally cracked a smile, it felt like you’d won something important.

He was awkward and soft-spoken, unsure of himself in the way most boys are before they grow into their limbs. But you liked him instantly. Probably because he liked the same books as you, or because he never made fun of you for being nervous on a broom. 

He even held your hand during your first flying lesson, hovering near you the whole time so you wouldn’t be scared. Years later, you found out he was just as scared of heights as you were and only pretended not to be to make you feel safe.

By fifth year, you spent so much time together that you could finish each other’s sentences. By sixth, you were bringing blankets to the highest tower in the castle and naming stars until you both fell asleep mid conversation. There wasn’t a single version of your life in Hogwarts that didn’t include him.

You thought seventh year would be just like that…. 

You were wrong.

After a summer of sending each other daily letters, pages and pages of thoughts, jokes, and half-sincere promises to never grow up, you returned to school thinking nothing could change.

And at first, it didn’t.

You walked to classes together, fell asleep with your legs tangled on the same couch, pretending not to hear the way people whispered about it the next morning, and snuck out of the common room after curfew not caring that you’d get caught.

The Astronomy Tower was your favorite place, you discovered how pretty it looked at night in your third year. 

It was quiet that evening, the wind tugging at your robes as you leaned over the battlement. Jisung set down the little paper packet he’d smuggled from the kitchens—honey biscuits, still warm—and nudged it toward you.

“Payment for helping with my Potions homework,” he said, trying to be casual, though the tips of his ears were already pink.

You laughed and took one, bumping his shoulder with yours. “You’d owe me a whole bakery if this were the price.”

He smiled softly. The moonlight caught in his hair, and for a second you forgot the chill entirely.

“Close your eyes,” he said suddenly.

You arched an eyebrow but obeyed. Something light, wool‑soft, was placed around your shoulders. You opened your eyes to find his black‑and‑yellow scarf wrapped there, smelling faintly of cedarwood soap and parchment ink—purely, unmistakably Jisung.

“You’re shivering,” he mumbled, eyes on his shoes. “Couldn’t have my star‑chart partner freeze.”

You swallowed a reply that felt too big, and instead reached for his hand where it rested on the stone ledge. Your fingers threaded with his, easy as blinking. He stiffened for a second then squeezed back. When you looked up, his gaze was already fixed on you, wide and bright, as though the whole sky were reflected there instead of above your heads.

Neither of you moved for a long while. Orion wheeled overhead, the biscuits cooled, and the castle bells tolled curfew far below. But the only thing you really noticed was the warmth of his palm against yours, and the way your heart tripped every time he glanced your way and smiled shyly. 

You learned just how soft‑hearted Jisung was that day on the Astronomy Tower.

Which is why, a few weeks into seventh year, it struck you as utterly wrong when rumors reached you that he’d been seen tagging along behind Lee Seungmin. Seungmin was everything Jisung wasn’t—loud, sharp‑tongued, the sort of Slytherin who thought shoving first‑years into suits of armor was a hobby and swapping curse ingredients under the table was a joke. He hexed quills to peck at classmates and bragged about detentions like they were trophies.  

Jisung, by contrast, apologized when he bumped into someone and brought extra quills for anyone who forgot theirs. He flinched at raised voices and fed the barn owls after hours because he worried they were lonely.

So hearing his name linked with Seungmin’s felt like hearing that rain was falling upward. At first you laughed it off, because surely someone must have mixed him up with another quiet Hufflepuff. But then Jisung started arriving late to meals, dodging your study sessions, mumbling vague excuses you’d never heard from him before.

That was when you realized the rumor wasn’t a mistake—and that something was very, very wrong.

Seventh Year

September settled over the castle in a bright rush of golden leaves and new parchment, and for a while everything felt the way it always had. You and Jisung were crossing the courtyard—still laughing about his theory that Professor Lockhart polished his hair with Mrs. Skower’s Extra‑Shine—when a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

“Oi, Park!”

You both turned. Lee Seungmin jogged toward you, grinning widelys. You didn’t bother hiding your sigh.

“Still on for tonight?” he asked, dropping his voice as he leaned in toward Jisung.

“I’m not sure. I’ve got a Potions essay to finish.” Jisung shifted akwardly.

Seungmin smacked him on the back, too hard to be friendly. “Come on, you’ve bailed twice already.”

You stepped forward, folding your arms. “Don’t you have that same essay, Seungmin? It’s half the term grade.”

He turned, as if noticing you for the first time and smirked “Why bother? Snape’s going to fail me anyway.”

“Typical,” you muttered.

“I’ll let you know later,” Jisung said quickly, cutting between you before another jab could leave your mouth.

Seungmin’s gaze lingered on you, faintly mocking, before he turned away with a humorless laugh. “Sure thing, Park.”

The moment he was out of earshot you exhaled. “Since when are you and Seungmin… close?”

“We’re not,” Jisung said, scratching at the back of his neck. “He just hangs around sometimes.”

You searched his face. “You two have nothing in common.”

“It isn’t a big deal,” he insisted, but the laugh that followed sounded fake.

“It is if you’re sneaking off with someone like him,” you said, sharper than you meant to, but the worry was too much to hide.

Jisung’s gaze dropped to his shoes. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You just walked the rest of the way to class in silence with a sense of unease settling on your chest.

That was when the distance began to show.

First, he started seating two rows over in Charms, smiling apologetically whenever you glanced his way but never moving back. He stopped leaving crooked little jokes on the margins of your Transfiguration notes or looking at you and trying not to laugh whenever Professor Lockhart messed up a spell.

He still spoke to you, yet every conversation felt stitched together, as if he were acting out a script. One afternoon you finally asked, “Are we all right?” He nodded so quickly you had a hard time believing it.

The next time you saw him with Seungmin it was well past curfew.

You had just left the library after wrestling Arithmancy proofs and stopped short as soon as you rounded the corner near the dungeon stairs. There was Seungmin leaning against the wall and Jisung half‑turned away, both speaking in low murmurs. You caught only fragments of Seungmin’s lazy drawl and Jisung’s tight replies. Then Seungmin laughed sharply, and your best friend flinched as though struck.

Your loud footsteps made both of their heads snap up.

“Y/N,” Jisung blurted, striding toward you as if to block your view. “Why are you out so late?”

“I could ask you the same.” You said arching a brow.

Behind him, Seungmin offered a thin grin before slipping down the stairs into the darkness of the dungeons.

Jisung pressed a hand to his eyes. “I was heading back to the dorm.”

“What did he want?”

“He—” Jisung’s voice faltered and for a heartbeat you saw the words gather behind his lips but he swallowed them down. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Your voice cracked on the word. “Come on, Ji.”

“I’m just tired,” he whispered. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

Silence pooled between you, at last you forced a smile neither of you believed. “All right. Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow never arrived—at least, not the kind where he told you what was wrong.

Because the next day Jisung never came to class at all.

Two whole days slid by without a glimpse of him and you were so on edge you kept glancing over your shoulder, half‑expecting his soft voice behind you. Or hoping he might walk into the library with that shy lopsided smile, asking if you had spare parchment which he always ran out of because his handwriting was too big and messy.

But he wasn’t anywhere, and no one seemed willing to notice besides you.

By lunch on the second day you couldn’t keep silent. Renjun was halfway through a Honeydukes bar, mumbling that chocolate boosted cognitive function, when you leaned across the table and murmured, “Do you know what’s going on with Jisung?”

He froze mid‑bite. “What?”

“Renjun,” you said, low and tight, “you know he hasn’t been to class, or in the common room. He isn’t anywhere.”

“I thought he was sick,” Renjun offered with a shrug that felt rehearsed.

“He isn’t in the hospital wing, and he hasn’t answered any of my owls.”

A flicker of something, maybe guilt, crossed his face. “Maybe he just… needs space?”

Your gaze sharpened. “Did something happen?”

“No,” he blurted too fast. “No, not that I know of.”

“Renjun.”

“I swear, I don’t know.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. That was answer enough, but you let it drop for now.

That evening, heading back from a prefect meeting, you passed the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room and heard voices up the corridor.

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—until one word snapped you still.

“Jisung.”

“Snape got to him before—”

“—thought he was going to die, mate—”

“—Seungmin won’t shut up, keeps saying it wasn’t meant to go that far—”

A rush of blood pounded in your ears as you picked up bits of the hushed conversation. You edged closer and caught sight of Jay and Niki—Seungmin’s friends—half hidden in the shadows, whispering behind cupped hands.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. Your thoughts finally being confirmed; Something happened to Jisung and Seungmin was at the heart of it.

You didn’t sleep a minute that night. Every time you shut your eyes, the conversation replayed in your head until dawn bled through the curtains and you were already out of bed, fury keeping you upright.

You found Seungmin loitering outside the Great Hall, laughing too loudly at something Jay and Niki had said. You crossed the marble floor without a second thought.

“Where is he?”

The smile slipped from Seungmin’s face. He cocked his head, all polite confusion. “Sorry, where’s who?”

“Drop the act,” you said, stepping close enough that he had to tilt his chin to keep eye contact. “I heard your lackeys talking last night. Where’s Jisung?”

Jay and Niki exchanged a look but said nothing..

Seungmin gave a thin, brittle laugh. “You’re hearing ghosts, sweetheart. Why would I bother with Park?”

“A better question,” you started, voice cold, “is why you’ve been so attached to him lately. You don’t exactly run in the same circles, so what did you talk him into?”

Something sharpened in Seungmin’s eyes and he leaned in by a fraction. “Careful with what you’re accusing me of.”

“Or what?” You didn’t move. “You’ll do to me what you did to him?”

For a heartbeat his mask slipped, just long enough to confirm you’d scored a direct hit.

“I didn’t touch him,” he said, almost gently. “Whatever mess Park’s in? He walked into it himself”

“Liar.”

He dipped his head, a mock‑sympathetic smile curling at his mouth. “You think you know him so well, huh? Ever think that maybe he finally got tired of you shadowing him like a needy bitc—”

Your wand was at his throat before the last word finished leaving his lips. The corridor went silent except for your breathing.

“You know nothing about us,” you said, voice shaking with contained fury. “If he’s hurt, I’ll make sure everyone here knows exactly whose fault it is.”

Seungmin’s gaze flicked to the tip of your wand, then back to your face. A slow, poisonous smile spread. “Ask too many questions, Y/N, and you might choke on the answers.”

He stepped back with his hands raised in surrender, and strolled away. Jay and Niki followed in uneasy silence. You lowered your wand, fingers trembling with adrenaline.

His parting smile told you everything about his involvement. But you still didn’t have clear answers.

So you went to seek the other person allegedly involved. Snape.

When you descended into the dungeons, the silence was immediate and unnatural. No one ever came this far during free periods; only Professor Snape’s office existed at the end of this corridor, buried deep in the coldest, most isolated part of the castle.

Faint green flames floated midair along the walls, suspended in enchanted sconces that made no sound and cast no warmth. They pulsed gently, like breathing, and their glow warped the stone around them, making the shadows twist in ways that defied logic.

You hated it down here. Even now, in your seventh year, walking this corridor alone made your heart thud against your ribs like it wanted you to turn back.

But you were desperate.

Snape looked up slowly when you stepped into his office without knocking, his quill pausing mid-sentence on the parchment. His expression went from mildly irritated to coldly displeased in an instant.

“Is knocking a forgotten concept these days?” he said dryly.

“Professor,” you began quickly, not even trying to hide the urgency in your voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Snape set down his quill, arching a single eyebrow. “Then I suggest you start talking, and make it quick.”

You swallowed. “It’s about Jisung… Park Jisung. He’s been missing for days, and no one seems to know anything. Or at least, they’re pretending they don’t.”

His gaze sharpened and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of caution behind his eyes before he quickly masked it.

“I fail to see why you’re bringing this to me,” he said coolly, leaning back in his chair. “Missing students are a matter for the headmaster.”

“Don’t,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but you pressed forward anyway. “I overheard some students talking. They mentioned your name…said you found Jisung somewhere. Something happened to him, didn’t it?”

Snape’s eyes flashed briefly. “And you believe the idle gossip of students because…?”

“Jisung wouldn’t just disappear on his own like that. I know something happened to him,” you shot back, voice shaking. “And I believe you know exactly what.”

He watched you silently for a moment. You could feel him weighing something behind his guarded stare. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

“Miss Y/N,” he began slowly, voice heavy with thinly veiled warning, “there are things within these castle walls and beyond them that you are better off not knowing.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” you said immediately.

“On the contrary,” he replied calmly. “It is precisely my choice. And you will do well to remember that.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, frustration prickling hot behind your eyes. “Professor, please. Jisung’s my best friend. If he’s hurt… if something’s happened… I need to know.”

Something shifted in Snape’s expression at your words, almost looked like regret. When he spoke, his voice was almost gentle, which frightened you more than his scorn.

“Sometimes the worst harm you can do to someone is to keep prying.”

He paused, holding your gaze steadily. “Park is alive. That is all you need to know. Now leave.”

You stood frozen for a second, his words sinking in painfully. Jisung was alive—yet somehow, that felt worse. It meant something had happened… Something terrible.

Your jaw tightened. “You can’t keep this hidden forever,” you whispered fiercely.

He leaned forward, eyes piercing yours in the darkness of the room.

“We’ll see.”

You turned away, storming from his office without looking back. Snape hadn’t denied anything which meant there’d definitely been an incident and it was serious enough that Jisung couldn’t be seen right now. He was alive, but he was hurt, and whatever happened to him was being deliberately hidden.

A few days later

The day started like any other.

You pushed cold eggs across your plate, half listening to Renjun’s gentle attempts at conversation while the Great Hall hummed as if a student hadn’t been missing for a week. But suddenly, a hush rolled through the room.

You felt Renjun touch your arm.

“Y/N.”

You looked up, and followed his gaze toward the doors. The breath caught in your throat.

Jisung was standing just inside the oak doors.

He was bent at the shoulders, eyes flicking over the Hall as if he didn’t remember ever being there before. His robes hung wrinkled and loose and there were red scratches carved along his neck and cheek. He was paler than before and the shadows beneath his eyes made him look years older than when you’d last seen him.

Without greeting anyone, he drifted to the far end of the Hufflepuff table nowhere near his usual seat beside you.

You were on your feet before the thought finished forming.

Renjun caught your wrist. “Y/N, maybe wait—”

You shook him off and crossed the hall, every step echoing in the sudden quiet.

“Jisung?”

He flinched but kept his gaze on the empty plate. “Not now, Y/N.”

“You’ve been gone a week,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I was so worried—”

“I said not now.” The snap in his voice was sharp enough to cut. He glanced up and the terror in his eyes chilled you to the bone.

You reached for him, but he stood so abruptly your balance faltered. Without another word he strode the length of the hall and disappeared through the doors, leaving a silence that seemed to bend the rafters.

You stood frozen, heat flushing your face as dozens of eyes slid away. Renjun appeared at your elbow and talked softly. “Let him breathe.”

You nodded, though the emptiness in your chest insisted otherwise.

Jisung returned to lessons, but only in body. He answered professors in one‑word murmurs and offered classmates strained smiles that meant please don’t talk to me. At meals he sat alone, two yards of empty bench marking the space where laughter used to live.

He moved faster when he saw you in the corridors. He no longer waited outside classrooms or drifted toward your chair in the library. His robes hung loose as if he’d lost weight along with sleep, and his hands shook whenever he raised his wand. Sometimes you caught him staring through stone walls at something only he could see.

You tried with soft hellos in the common room, and owls folded with careful questions but every attempt slid off the wall he’d built overnight. The harder you reached, the farther he retreated, until all that remained between you was silence and the memory of how easily you’d once shared the same breath.

2 days later

Jisung sat on the edge of his bed, head buried in his shaking hands. His palms were marked with crescent-shaped indentations from how hard he was clenching his fists.

He kept hearing it.

The snap of branches in pitch-black darkness. The sickening crunch of claws sinking into damp earth. The guttural snarl vibrating through his bones moments before razor-sharp teeth pierced his shoulder. The thick warmth of blood soaking through his robes.

Sometimes it came to him in dreams. Other times, he’d be awake, in class, or walking down the corridor. A sound, or a smell and he was back in the forest.

Snape had said the wolfsbane would help and it had in a way. At least, it kept the full transformation at bay. But it didn’t stop the memories, it didn’t quiet the noise in his head.

His senses were too sharp now, every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of candlelight, every rustle of parchment felt louder. Sometimes he thought he could hear people’s heartbeats, smell their sweat before they entered a room. His insides constantly felt overwhelmed with unbearable energy. He felt trapped in his own skin, moments away from tearing free of himself. Sometimes he felt too much, and other times… he felt nothing at all.

Worst of all, though, was you.

He couldn't stand to be near you anymore. Not because he didn't want to, but because your scent now stirred something dangerous within him. It made his chest ache unbearably, tightened his throat with longing and thirst.

A part of him urged him to get far away from you. But another darker, more primal part whispered the opposite… to scent you, to sink into you, to lose control entirely. But he refused to drag you into his nightmare. He wouldn't allow it, no matter how much it tore at him.

He could remember most of what led him into the forest, up to a certain point.

He remembers Seungmin saying he wanted to hang out and they met near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where one of the slytherins handed out something called shadeleaf. It was an iridescent petal folded into itself like a capsule. Illegal, of course. Banned by the ministry for its hallucinogenic properties and its tendency to react differently based on magical affinity.

Jisung didn't even know why he was there. This wasn’t his scene at all. The guys were drinking something out of a flask that smelled like burnt sugar and smoke. Jay was lighting up a rolled spell-scroll with charmed embers. Niki already looked half out of it, eyes glazed.

When Seungmin started showing an interest in him a few weeks ago, Jisung had been flattered. He'd only ever made two close friends at Hogwarts, so someone new noticing him felt good. That was the only reason he went along with him. He wanted to be accepted.

“Is it safe?” Jisung asked nervously.

“Come on, park,” Niki chuckled, placing a shimmering petal on his tongue. “Don’t be a Squib.”

“What's the worst that could happen?” Seungmin grinned, handing one to him. “You trip a bit? See some weird shit? Wake up with a headache?”

Jisung hesitated, staring at the thing in his palm. It pulsed faintly with a color he didn’t have a name for.

He didn't want to do it, but they were all watching him. So he took it.

The effects hit almost instantly. His vision went fuzzy first; he could only see edges warping and light bending at impossible angles. Then his tongue tingled and throbbed, and his body felt too hot.

“Shit, this is strong,” Jay laughed.

“It’s not that bad,” Seungmin said, puffing from the smoldering scroll between his fingers.

None of them looked as affected as Jisung.

"Come on, Park," Seungmin said, draping an arm casually yet firmly around Jisung’s shoulders. "There’s a spot a little deeper in. We hang out there all the time."

Jisung couldn’t hear properly anymore, everything sounded underwater. He followed anyway.

He couldn’t say how long they walked. It felt like hours, though in reality it was probably mere minutes before his knees gave out, sending him sprawling onto the cold forest floor. His head spun violently, vision fractured.

He tried to speak, to call out but his voice didn't work, the forest blurring darker and darker until only silence and blackness swallowed him whole. He didn’t know when they left him. Just that at some point, he was alone.

The last thing he remembers was seeing bright, yellow eyes and feeling immense pain…

He woke up choking on his own blood.

His body jerked violently, lungs burning as he struggled to take in air. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders, pulling him upright with urgency. Through blurry, half-open eyes, he caught the outline of a wand glowing faintly in the dark. He barely recognized the familiar cadence of Professor Snape’s voice echoing through the haze.

“Park… Can you hear me?” Snape’s voice was clipped, edged with tension he’d never heard before.

Jisung managed only a strangled groan. He couldn’t speak, his throat was raw, filled with the metallic tang of blood. Breathing felt impossible, each gasp shallow and painful, as if his lungs were full of lead. He felt wetness soaking through his clothes and pooling beneath him. He didn't know if it was sweat or blood. Probably both, his clouded mind whispered darkly.

He was certain of only one thing—he was going to die here.

“You’ve been attacked,” Snape explained urgently, casting quick charms that rippled warmly across Jisung’s battered body. “I need you to remain as still as possible while I attempt to slow the bleeding.”

The word attacked echoed faintly in Jisung’s mind. Attacked by what? His thoughts swirled sluggishly. He couldn’t focus enough to piece anything together.

Snape pressed a small vial to his lips. The Hufflepuff hesitated, eyes flickering up weakly, his question dying soundlessly on cracked lips.

Snape seemed to understand instantly. “It’s Wolfsbane.”

The word crashed over Jisung with crushing weight, his mind snapping painfully back to clarity. Wolfsbane. A potion for…

His stomach twisted violently, nausea gripping him as realization cut sharply through the fog in his mind.

He’d been attacked by a werewolf.

It felt impossible. He wanted to deny it, wanted to believe it was just some twisted nightmare brought on by the drugs he’d foolishly taken. But the pain burning through his shoulder and the dark, grim expression on Snape’s face all made denial impossible.

With trembling lips, Jisung allowed Snape to tip the bitter potion into his mouth, grimacing weakly as he forced himself to swallow it down. It tasted vile but he had no energy left to protest.

He collapsed back against the cold forest floor, limbs heavy, vision fading once more as Snape continued muttering charms, trying to keep him tethered to consciousness.

“Stay with me, Park,” Snape’s voice commanded, sharp but oddly comforting. “You’re not going to die tonight.”

But Jisung wasn’t sure he believed him.

The darkness rushed back in, heavy and thick, pulling him under again as Snape’s frantic movements blurred and faded away.

His memory is fuzzy from then on.

One moment he was lying in the dirt, blood soaking the ground beneath him. The next, he was being levitated through narrow hallways, his body wrapped in magic and warding charms.

The room was dark, except for a wandlight hovering near the ceiling. He was placed on a dusty mattress on the floor. His skin felt stiff with blood, every muscle felt like it had been peeled apart and sewn back together with barbed wire.

He recognized the Shrieking Shack from an article he’d read once about the most haunted places on Earth. That’s where they were right now.

The shack was colder than he imagined. This was the place they used to tell ghost stories about in the common room. The place kids dared each other to peek into on Hogsmeade weekends. It smelled like old wood and dust. Snape moved through it like he’d been here before—like this was routine.

He cast a dozen silent spells before even speaking. Layers of enchantments wrapped around the rotting floorboards, the shattered furniture, the warped windows.

“You must take this Wolfsbane every day,” Snape said curtly, setting a tray on the floor beside the creaking mattress. “Or I’ll force it down your throat.”

Jisung didn’t answer. Snape paused, studying him with that unreadable stare.

“You’ll stay here until the full moon passes,” he said. “You’ll say nothing when you return.”

Jisung blinked slowly, the weight of it sinking into his bones. ‘When you return… or If’.

Then Snape turned to go but he stopped in the doorway.

“You are not the first,” he said, voice low. “It will be painful but you’ll survive.”

And with that, he was gone.

The silence was the most unbearable part of being in the Shack. Not even the pain or the way Jisung’s bones ached like they were preparing to snap apart. It was the silence that made him feel like he’d go crazy any minute.

He tried to sleep, but whenever he tried he’d blink awake to phantom sensations of fur brushing his skin, fangs pushing against his teeth, and a sweet scent of honey curling through the cracks in the floorboards.

It wasn’t the full moon yet but his body was already responding to it. The Wolfsbane kept him from changing completely, but it didn’t stop everything. His skin itched as if it was being stretched and he realized he’d grown a few inches taller overnight. His eyes were also becoming sensitive to even the faintest flickers of light, and they were a dark shade of yellow that glowed whenever the moonlight hit them.

It might’ve been on the second night or the third, he couldn’t remember well, but Snape came in and told him that the full moon would be at its peak and he would feel the effects more despite the potion.

Jisung lasted about two hours before the pain began. It wasn’t sudden. It crept in slowly, like frostbite, numbing his fingers first. Then his wrists and his legs. He thought maybe this was it—maybe he’d just fade out before anything happened. Then it spread up his spine and into his skull, where it bloomed behind his eyes like fire.

The pain was so much bigger than his body. It burned and it shredded him, as if his bones were being broken and rebuilt at the same time, like his skin wasn’t big enough to hold him anymore. He scratched at his own arms until his nails cracked and bled. It got so unbearable he slammed his head against the wall hoping he would knock himself out but he couldn’t.

He clawed at the walls, tore at the floorboards and bit into the wood until his mouth filled with splinters and blood. He howled until his throat tore raw. And still, it didn’t stop

He lost count of how many times his limbs broke and reformed. His jaw cracked open so wide he thought it might dislocate, teeth pushing through bloody gums. He was sobbing or at least, he thought he was. It was hard to tell over the sound of his own growling.

The transformation stopped halfway and started again the next day. He never fully transformed but he felt the pain of his body trying to fight against it every single time.

He stopped counting days after that.

Hunger and exhaustion tangled with grief and fear until all that was left was the throb of his body and the steady hum of magic in his blood. He didn’t think about the pain anymore. Or the bite. Or Seungmin. Or the forest.

Mostly, he thought about you.

He tried not to, but you wouldn’t leave him. Your face, your laugh, your voice, it all circled him like the moonlight through the slats in the wall.

The way the thought of you made his body burn now.The way your honeyed scent used to be comforting but now made his lungs tighten and his mouth water. He didn’t understand why he was feeling this way.

On the seventh day he woke up soaked in sweat, shivering uncontrollably. The moon had passed. He could feel it in the way the ache in his bones was retreating and his mind was clearer.

Snape arrived at dawn.

He said nothing about the mess of blood and broken furniture in the room. He just studied Jisung who was sitting slumped against the wall. He pulled out his wand and started casting diagnostic spells over his body.

“You’ll return to class tomorrow,” he said. “If anyone asks, you were ill.”

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape continued impassively. “You are not to mention the Wolfsbane, the forest, or what you’ve become. Do you understand?”

Jisung finally looked at him, barely able to lift his head properly. “That’s it? Just… go back like nothing happened?” His voice came out hoarse.

Snape’s eyes narrowed faintly. “No. That is not it.”

He stepped closer.

“You will take your potion every cycle, no matter what. And you will not seek out the other boys involved, nor will you retaliate.”

Jisung’s jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to rip Seungmin’s throat apart, but he knew that was just the wolf thinking.

“And most importantly, you will stay away from her.” Snape said, his voice dropping at the last word.

Jisung sat up sharply, knowing exactly who he was referring to. “Why?”

The professor’s expression didn’t soften. “Because the wolf doesn’t care that she’s your friend. It doesn’t care about boundaries or guilt or decency. It responds to need.”

Jisung’s chest tightened, throat dry.

“The first few transformations are the worst,” Snape continued, pacing slowly now. “Your body hasn’t adjusted. Your instincts haven’t aligned with your mind. You will feel urges…violent, territorial, carnal urges that you can’t control. Those urges will turn into fixations... Especially for someone you already had feelings for”

“I don’t–” Jisung started.

“You don’t need to lie, Mr. Park.” Snape cut him off, “I am a very skilled Legilimens, you know? I can see your mind and I see how it’s filled with thoughts of her.”

Jisung looked away, jaw trembling slightly. Snape stopped in front of him.

“Her scent” he said quietly. “It already triggers you, doesn’t it?”

Jisung didn’t answer. That sweet scent of honey and parchment that he kept smelling through the rotting floors and the dried blood, he figured out it was you. It reminded him of that night at the Astronomy tower.The Shrieking Shack might be a few miles away from Hogwarts castle but he could still somehow smell you.

“You feel it in your chest, in your teeth, in your gut” Snape said, voice like a scalpel. “You want her.”

Jisung’s breathing picked up.

“That is the beginning of your rut.”

“Rut?” he repeated, barely above a whisper.

Snape nodded. “It’s a biological response. Wolves enter a heightened state after the full moon cycle. Some experience it more than others, especially younger ones who’ve recently turned”

Jisung’s heart was pounding now, nauseatingly fast.

“You may feel sudden impulses or worse you might want to act on those impulses.”

He felt sick. “I’m not— I would never hurt her.”

“I’m not concerned about your intentions,” Snape said coldly. “I’m concerned about your self control. A werewolf’s instincts are hard to resist and if you lose control, Mr. Park… She will pay the price.”

“So stay away from her,” Snape said with finality. “It’s the only way to keep you both safe.”

Jisung sat there shaking, the weight of what he’d become pressing down on his spine like a second body.

He couldn’t go back. Not like this.

“I’m not ready,” he said hoarsely.

Snape didn’t turn. He stood by the window, watching the last of the night dissolve into grey morning.

“You won’t ever be,” he said simply.

Jisung clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to see her. Or anyone. I—I can’t trust myself.”

“You must learn to live with your current situation.”

“Why can’t I just… stay here?”

Snape turned at that. His eyes were cold and calculating.

“Because people are already asking questions,” he said. “Students, staff. Your friend.”

Jisung’s heart stuttered at that.

“She’s worried,” Snape continued. “Rightfully so. You disappeared without warning. She’s been to my office several times. She’s even confronted the student who got you into this predicament, pulled out a wand at him. I don’t know how much longer I can keep her from endangering herself trying to find you.”

Jisung lowered his head, guilt flooding every nerve.

“Rumors are spreading, too.” Snape added. “A few students are saying they saw you with Mr. Lee that night. Some think you were injured, others that you’re in trouble. You’ve already been gone too long.”

Jisung swallowed hard. “So I just walk into the Great Hall acting like I’m normal?”

Snape didn’t blink. “Yes.”

His stomach turned. “And if someone sees the scars?”

“You’ll say you had an accident in the forest.”

“And you’ll back me up?” he asked bitterly.

“If I must.”

Jisung exhaled shakily. “And Y/N? We—we’re always together, she’ll find it weird if I suddenly cut her off”

“You’ll keep your distance regardless. If she asks questions, you deflect. If she pushes, you walk away. You’re not safe around her”

He bit his lip hard, so hard it almost bled. “She’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Then hope she’s smart enough not to get too close.”

The doors to the Great Hall had never felt so heavy. Jisung stood in front of them for nearly five minutes, staring at the carved wood. Behind them, he heard laughter, casual conversation, normalcy.

He wasn’t ready.

But Snape’s words echoed in his skull.

"You’ve already been gone too long."

He took a breath and pushed them open.

All the noise overcame him like a wave, the plates clinking, voices overlapping, owls fluttering through the rafters. It all felt loud in a way it hadn’t before, as if someone had turned the world’s volume up just to punish him.

He kept his head low and his pace steady. One foot in front of the other. Just like Snape said. Act like nothing happened.

He could feel all eyes on him almost instantly. First years stopping mid-bite and a few seventh-years whispering across the Gryffindor table. Someone, he thought maybe Jay, froze with a goblet halfway to his lips.

And then you. He didn’t have to loo, he felt the second your eyes landed on him, making something twist deep in his chest. That same unbearable tightness he’d felt in the shack whenever he let himself think about you. About your laugh echoing across the common room. About your fingers brushing his when you passed him a quill and how it used to mean nothing, and now it meant everything.

He knew you’d notice the hollow look in his eyes, the bruises blooming like violets on his neck and the bandage peeking out from beneath the collar of his robes. You’d find it weird that he didn’t sit near you, didn’t even glance your way. But he tried to ignore those thoughts and just focus on the plate in front of him even though his stomach turned at the smell of food.

You stared at him from your seat. It took you several long, painful seconds to process what you were seeing.

Jisung—your best friend, who’d been missing a week without a word—just walked into breakfast looking like he’d seen hell and barely made it back out.

His robes were loose like he’d lost weight and his eyes were ringed with dark circles, exhaustion written clearly in every line of his face. There were cuts visible, thin red marks down his jaw, a deeper scar stretching beneath his collar, fading bruises on the backs of his hands. His hair was tangled, his posture painfully tense.

You felt a sick sense of relief after seeing him, despite his appearance. But most of all you felt angry. You felt everything all at once, a hot rush of emotions almost too intense to handle.

Jisung avoided your gaze completely. He picked at the food in front of him, not really eating, just pushing it around his plate.

He felt you approaching before you spoke. Your scent hit him first, warm and familiar, yet unbearably intense. His jaw clenched tight, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He didn’t look up even when you stood near him. He simply couldn’t trust himself to see your face and not fall apart.

You called his name quietly and he almost cried at the sound of your voice. But he didn’t move, not even when you stepped closer.

Slowly, he raised his head, gaze finally meeting yours You went still, eyes widening just slightly. He knew instantly what you saw—the darkness in his stare, the shadowed bruises, the fresh scars. The way he looked wrong.

He couldn’t bear your pained eyes, so he snapped at you. Something he’d never do before, but Snape told him to deflect. So he yelled and walked away, trying to ignore how hurt you looked.

This was what Snape meant. You’re not safe around her.

You couldn’t eat after that. Not with the way he’d looked at you.

Jisung had always been soft-spoken, a little awkward, a little shy—but never cold. And you didn’t need a Healer to tell you that whatever he’d gone through wasn’t some stomach bug or routine cold. You weren’t stupid.

You saw the tremble in his fingers when he reached for his fork. You saw the way he flinched when someone behind him dropped their goblet. You saw the bruises just under his collar and the bandages.

Something happened to him.

You sat back down but your heart was still up at the other end of the table with him.

“I need to know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Renjun.

He sighed. “Y/N…”

“Don’t say it,” you snapped quietly. “Don’t say I should give him time. Don’t say he’ll come around. I know him, Renjun. He’s scared. You don’t just disappear for a week and come back with claw marks on you neck.”

Renjun went quiet.

That silence told you more than anything else.

“Okay, I’m tired of this… You know something, don’t you?”

He avoided your gaze. “It’s not my place to say.”

That hurt. “Is it mine to not know?”

You stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. “If no one’s going to tell me the truth, I’ll figure it out myself.”

Over the next few days, you tried to get close to Jisung in every way you could think of. You waited for him outside the greenhouses after Herbology, hoping to catch him alone. You switched seats in Charms just to be nearer, and sometimes you even loitered in the corridor after Potions, telling yourself you’d walk him back to the common room.

Despite your best efforts, he continually slipped away.

He offered awkward excuses about having somewhere to be, or sometimes said nothing at all and just walked past. Most of the time, he barely managed to look at you, as if doing so caused him physical pain. This wasn’t an icy kind of avoidance, nor was it tinged with anger. It felt worse than either of those possibilities—it was as though he found everything about you unbearable, but still couldn’t muster the energy to explain why.

Once, you nearly cornered him after lunch. He was leaning against the corridor wall outside the Great Hall, head tipped back, looking utterly exhausted. In that unguarded moment, your eyes met his, and you thought you glimpsed your old friend beneath the tension he carried. Summoning the nerve you’d been collecting all day, you stepped forward.

“Can we talk?” you asked softly.

For a split second, it seemed like he might say yes. His mouth opened as though he wanted to form the words but then Professor Snape’s voice echoed from behind you.

“Miss Y/N.”

You turned around to find Snape standing there, unruffled as always, robes hanging in sharp lines. He inclined his head in an almost polite manner yet still carried the weight of an order.

“I need you to come to the dungeons,” he said in a measured tone. “There are ingredients that require sorting. I trust your handwriting is still legible.”

You tried to protest, but as soon as you turned back, Jisung had vanished. From that moment on, it became a pattern: every time you got too close to him, Snape appeared with some new task for you—an extended office hour to discuss a mistake in an essay, a request to reorganize outdated potions, or a perfectly timed interruption just as you were about to speak with Jisung privately.

On a rational level, you knew it was ridiculous to think Snape was orchestrating this on purpose; however, it was impossible to ignore how consistently he managed to swoop in whenever you finally had a chance to approach Jisung alone. You didn’t know why your professor was so intent on calling you away, and truthfully it wasn’t the main issue gripping your mind.

All you could focus on was Jisung.

He looked so different—worn down, scared, ashamed, like he was carrying a secret that weighed on his shoulders every moment of the day. Every time you tried to reach him, he withdrew further. It broke your heart, because you weren’t trying to fix him or make him talk if he didn’t want to. You just wanted to be there, to stand by him instead of watching from a distance.

Yet no matter how hard you tried, the boy who used to seek you out for study breaks and late-night jokes now seemed determined to avoid you. And the more distance he forced, the more you wanted to find out what had really happened, because this Jisung—the one who flinched when you spoke and looked away when you caught his eye—felt like a stranger wearing your best friend’s face.

It was late, far too late for anyone else to be out of bed. So when you heard commotion up in the Astronomy Tower during one of your prefect rounds, you instinctively climbed the stairs to inspect, your wand held loosely in your fingertips.

The castle had felt too quiet lately. Ever since Jisung came back, everything had been off balance. You’d even taken extra patrols just to keep your mind busy. You weren’t expecting to find anything up there except maybe a few rowdy owls.

But when you pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Astronomy Tower, you froze at the sight.

Jisung was there, hunched against the railing, his robes half-open, hands gripping the stone balustrade so tightly you saw his knuckles pale even from across the room.

"Jisung?" you said softly, hesitant.

His head snapped up instantly, and your breath caught in your throat.

His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, irises shimmering unnaturally gold beneath the moonlight. Sweat gleamed across his pale forehead, his hair was messy and damp, sticking to his face. His breathing came harsh and fast, almost feral.

You took a cautious step forward. "Jisung, are you okay?"

"Stay back," he choked out, voice strained and rough. "Don't come closer."

But you saw the tremble in his arms, the feverish brightness in his eyes. He looked sick. He looked scared.

"What’s wrong? Let me help—"

"No." He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut as if fighting himself. "You can't—I'm not—"

He trailed off, stumbling forward as if pulled by some invisible force toward you. He was breathing heavily, lips parted as he seemed to taste the air between you.

"Jisung—"

Your voice cut off as his gaze snapped sharply to yours again, something raw and dangerous flaring in his eyes. It sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you instinctively backed away half a step.

"Leave," he hissed, the word barely recognizable through his clenched teeth. His whole body seemed rigid with tension. "Please, leave before—"

He broke off with a gasp, doubling over as though a wave of pain had just wracked through him.

You rushed forward instinctively, panic clouding your caution. "Jisung!"

He moved faster than your eyes could track. One moment he was curled into himself and the next he had you pinned against the cold stone floor, wrists pressed tightly beside your head, his face inches from yours, breath hot and erratic against your neck.

"Ji—" Your voice cracked. "What are you—"

He inhaled deeply against your throat, his body trembling against yours. "God, you smell so—" His voice was ragged and broken, almost a sob. "I can't—I can't stop it, I—"

He pressed closer instinctively, hips pinning you hard against the floor. His lips grazed roughly against your neck, sharp teeth skimming dangerously along your pulse point. Your heart slammed against your ribs, fear tangled confusingly with something hot in your lower belly.

"Jisung, please," you whispered, half plea, half gasp. "You're scaring me."

Those words seemed to pierce through whatever haze had overtaken him. He jerked back, eyes wide, suddenly horrified at himself. His gaze flicked down to your wrists, already bruising beneath his grip, and he stumbled away as if burned.

"No," he whispered, horror and guilt bleeding openly into his expression. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"

You stayed frozen on the floor, chest heaving as you watched the agony twist across his face.

"What’s happening to you?" you breathed, sitting up slowly.

He stared at you, anguished, hands still trembling at his sides.

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I—I'm so sorry."

Before you could say another word, he turned sharply and bolted down the stairs, leaving you alone, shaking, and terrified.

The Hufflepuff common room was quiet when you walked in. Most students had gone to bed, but Renjun sat alone on the couch.

You didn’t give him a chance to pretend he didn’t see you coming.

“You’re going to tell me what happened.”

Renjun sighed, not looking away from the fire. “Y/N…”

“No,” you said, standing in front of him. “No more deflecting. You’ve known something since the day he came back.”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know the whole story.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

Silence.

You crossed your arms. “Do you really think I’m going to stop asking? You’ve seen him. You know he’s not okay. And no one’s saying anything, and I’m losing my mind because—” your voice cracked, just slightly— “because that’s my best friend.”

Renjun’s shoulders slumped. He looked like he aged ten years in a second.

“Seungmin and his friends... they planned something,” he said quietly.

Your chest went still.

“I only heard a conversation between Professor Sprout and Professor Snape,” he continued. “But apparently they were hanging out near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Seungmin gave Jisung something. A potion or… some kind of enchanted hallucinogen.”

Renjun looked up at you, guilt heavy in his eyes even though he hadn’t been there. “They led him into the forest, Y/N… And something attacked him.”

You stared at him, voice thick with dread. “Something?”

Renjun hesitated. “Snape... Snape was the one who found him.”

You felt cold all over. “What was it?”

He looked away.

“Renjun. What was it.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“A werewolf.”

A gasp got stuck in your throat.

“I don’t know how bad it was,” Renjun said softly. “But apparently Professor Snape had to lock him up for a week while he went through the transformation.”

Tears stung behind your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to believe it myself….”

You sank into the chair across from him, everything too heavy to stand.

“A werewolf,” you whispered.

He nodded and suddenly, so many things clicked at once. Suddenly it all made sense.

After Renjun told you, you couldn’t sleep.

You sat in your bed staring at the ceiling until the sun started bleeding through the windows, and then you slipped out of the dorms without a word. You went straight to the library and stayed there all morning.

Madam Pince gave you a curious glance when you asked to go into the Restricted Section after looking through every other possible book in the regular shelves and finding nothing of value. You dropped Professor Babbling’s name as your excuse—said you were doing independent research for an Arithmancy paper. She didn’t ask further, just handed you a list of approved titles and waved you through.

You didn’t touch a single one of them. Instead, you searched for everything you could find on werewolves.

They were mostly old, dusty books with creaking spines and brittle pages. Most seemed to be more folklore than facts but you found a text buried near the bottom of a shelf, half its title burned off the spine.

Lycanthropy and Lunar Madness: A Clinical Compendium.

The chapters were brutal. You read about the first changes, the muscle pain, the sensory overload. The way magic in the blood would flare, fight back, burn from the inside out. You read about the violence, how the mind slips away when the full moon peaks, how instincts override everything else.

But what caught your atention the most was this:

“In cases of recent infection, the afflicted may experience an attraction fixation, often triggered by proximity to a familiar person. This response is especially common in individuals whose first transformation occurs during adolescence or early adulthood.

The instinct is not always sexual, but it is always possessive. The werewolf’s senses recognize the person as a source of comfort or danger. When comfort, the fixation can lead to obsessive behavior, rut-like symptoms, and irrational aggression if the person is perceived as threatened or unattainable. When danger, it can lead to avoidance or attack. Scent is the most common anchor. Once imprinted, it is nearly impossible for the werewolf to ignore.”

Your throat tightened. You re-read the paragraph five times.

It made sense, too much sense. His distance, his flinching, the way he couldn’t look at you anymore.

Your scent.

You remembered how he looked at you that morning in the Great Hall. How he barely breathed when you stood too close and how he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you asked what happened. And last night in the Atronomy Tower, he said you smelled good and it looked like he wanted to eat you alive.

You closed the book with shaky hands and then checked out four more. You didn’t stop reading until your eyes blurred. You didn’t eat or go to class.

By the time the sky outside the window started darkening, you were sitting at a corner table, surrounded by open tomes and loose parchment covered in frantic notes—everything you could find about Wolfsbane, Snape’s potion-making reputation, the legal status of werewolves in magical Britain, and every known case of student infection in the last fifty years.

You turned the page again.

Magical Intervention

“Wolfsbane Potion, taken daily during the week of the full moon, prevents transformation but does not erase the instinctual response. It is crucial that young werewolves are supervised during their first year of turning, especially if they experience early signs of rut.

If left unmonitored, the werewolf may become a threat not only to others—but to themselves.”

You found another book next. Not on lycanthropy, but on magical trauma. It mentioned Professor Snape by name.

“A known expert in dark creatures and cursed bloodlines, Professor Severus Snape has played a role in the treatment and monitoring of several underage werewolf cases, particularly after the war.”

You sat there for a long time, staring at the page, your mind buzzing. Snape knew, he was involved and he wasn’t just keeping the secret, he was managing it.

Which meant whatever happened to Jisung—Snape had seen it before. And he’d chosen not to tell you a thing.

You sat there in silence, your hands numb on the table. Snape had told him to stay away from you, that much was obvious now. But no one had told you what being near him could do.

You weren’t afraid of him. But for the first time, you understood why he was of you.

You left the library as the sky was starting to pale with early morning light, the forbidden books still echoing in your thoughts. You didn’t bother going to class again. You went directly to Snape’s office instead and waited there. When he finally arrived, he paused mid-step at the sight of you.

“Miss Y/N,” he said flatly. “You are not scheduled to meet with me.”

“No,” you said, stepping forward. “But I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth, sir.”

His eyes narrowed. “I beg your par—”

“Did you know?” you cut in, voice trembling with restrained rage. “Did you know what would happen to him?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“I know that Jisung got attacked by a werewolf.”

Snape stilled.

“I went to the restricted section,” you continued. “I know what werewolves go through. I know about the rut cycle. The way someone can trigger it just by being close… Did you know it would be me?”

He didn’t speak, and that silence was an answer.

You took another step toward him. “You told him to stay away, didn’t you?”

Still silent.

You laughed bitterly. “What, were you going to wait until I ended up on the courtyard floor with his teeth in my neck before you decided to warn me?”

“Lower your voice,” Snape said sharply, eyes flicking toward the empty corridor.

“No,” you snapped. “You don’t get to tell me what to do now when you left me in the dark about everything.”

“He is alive and you’re safe because of me,” he said sharply. “Do not mistake silence for neglect.”

“He’s barely alive,” you fired back. “He’s walking around like a ghost and you expect me to believe that’s your idea of help?”

“You think you want the truth but the truth is messy and dangerous. And the truth, Miss Y/N…” he stalked closer to you, almost menacingly “… is that your friend is not who he was anymore.”

“I know that!” you shouted, voice cracking. “But you made him think he was dangerous.”

“He is.”

“No,” you said fiercely. “He’s just scared and you’re feeding it.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what a werewolf in rut is capable of.”

“I do now.” You stepped closer again, voice trembling. “I’m not stupid or fragile. And I’m not going to stay away just because you think it’s better that way.”

“Miss Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped. “You can’t “protect me” by locking him away like some creature. He’s not a danger to me. What’s dangerous is isolating him, making him ashamed of something he didn’t choose.”

Snape’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“And what will you do, then?” he asked. “If he loses control?”

“I’ll help him.” You exhaled, hands trembling. “I’m not afraid of him and he needs someone who isn’t.”

There was a long pause. Snape looked at you with something like pitty. Then he spoke, carefully.

“Then you’d better learn how to handle what’s coming.”

Knowing about Jisung’s condition didn’t bring the relief you thought it would. If anything, it made everything worse. Because now you understood that there was almost nothing you could do to save him from himself. And, like Professor Snape said, the safest option was to stay far away.

And you tried, but it was so hard.

You'd find yourself turning to complain about Professor Binns's endless lectures, only to realize it wasn't Jisung beside you, but Renjun—quiet, studious Renjun who never dared utter a complaint in class.

Or when you walked toward the kitchens out of habit, thinking maybe you'd sweet-talk the elves into some pumpkin tarts, only to remember it was Jisung who always did the charming.

Or when the night sky looked especially clear and you found yourself wanting to stargaze but realizing no one else knew how to trace constellations on your palm with their fingertip. And you couldn’t even remember their names without Jisung pointing them out to you.

Renjun tried. He filled the empty seat at meals, nodded at the right moments when you rambled, even agreed to sneak out once or twice. But he wasn’t Jisung. He didn’t know your weird inside jokes, didn’t lean his head on your shoulder when he got sleepy, didn’t touch your wrist when you got nervous.

You missed him so deeply it ached.

So, when you saw him slipping out of the common room one night you followed him without a second thought.

He moved quickly across the grounds, his hooded shape skimming the moonlit grass. You jogged to keep up, keeping low behind hedges and statues until he stopped beside the Whomping Willow. Your breath caught as he pressed a knot at the roots and the tree froze mid‑sway, its branches locking in eerie stillness. Then, an entrance yawned open.

You hesitated. Every instinct screamed that going after him was a terrible idea. But the thought of him hurting or worse, hurting alone was too much to bear.

So you followed.

The tunnel led you into the Shrieking Shack. A chill raced down your spine the moment you stepped inside. Rot and mildew clung to the walls, the floorboards seemed like they would give way with each step, and it smelled like old nightmares in there. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from gagging but you kept going, following the sounds of his ragged breathing upstairs into a dusty room.

You opened the door cautiously, barely an inch—but before you could fully register what was happening, Jisung lunged. He grabbed your arm, yanking you roughly inside and pinning you to the sagging mattress with a strength that startled you.

"Jisung—!" you gasped.

He loomed over you, eyes wild, glowing gold in the darkness. His expression was pained, almost feral.

"What—are you doing here?" he growled through gritted teeth. His voice was deep and barely recognizable.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I—I was worried. You missed all your classes…”

Something dark flared in his gaze, and he dropped his head, panting harshly against your throat. He inhaled deeply, shuddering as he pressed closer instinctively. Your breath hitched sharply, your body reacting involuntarily to his closeness.

"You shouldn't have come," he whispered brokenly, hands trembling where they gripped your wrists.

You swallowed, feeling his hips press involuntarily against yours and realizing exactly what was happening.

"Your rut," you whispered breathlessly, realization flooding you. "It's started, hasn't it?"

A helpless whimper slid from his throat as his hips rocked against you once more, his erection pressing unmistakably through his trousers. The desperate sound he made sent heat pooling in your stomach, despite the fear and confusion swirling inside you.

“You smell so fucking… good” He let out another ragged noise, and you reached out instinctively, resting a trembling hand against his cheek. His skin burned under your palm. He looked almost delirious, golden eyes flickering between human fear and something more feral.

You’d spent the past week reading about werewolves and their ruts, absorbing every detail you could from hidden texts and restricted tomes. You knew that once the rut hit, the urge for physical intimacy would become nearly unbearable. You also knew it was dangerous for you to be near him like this.

But as you stared at your best friend, trembling and half-broken with need, your heart clenched. You couldn’t just walk away.

“Jisung,” you said carefully, your voice shaking. “Did you take the Wolfsbane?”

He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t know… I think I didn’t—” He broke off, a pained groan tearing from his throat as he rocked forward, hips searching for contact.

Swallowing hard, you remembered the passage in the book. How an afflicted werewolf needed a trusted partner to help ease the rut’s consuming effects.

It felt like your heart was in your mouth.

“You—” he gasped, voice faint. “You can’t stay. I—if I hurt you—”

You cupped his other cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “You won’t,” you promised, though a part of you wasn’t entirely sure.

“Y/N,” he groaned, hips rutting forward again. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now, I swear—”

“I want to help you,” you said softly. “Please let me.”

His pupils dilated immediately and he let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming but despite your own hammering pulse, you didn’t draw away.

Because somewhere deep inside, you knew this was the only way to help him.

His grip on your waist was bruising, claws just barely retracted. His body was sweat-slicked and trembling, panting through gritted teeth as he pressed himself flush against you.

“I warned you,” he growled, voice shaky with restraint. “I told you to leave.”

You pulled him closer up and felt how he shook under your touch. “You can have me”

He didn’t wait another second. Your clothes were suddenly nothing, the fabric ripped under his desperate hands. Your skin was bare before you had time to register the sound of seams tearing. His mouth found your throat instinctively, tongue tasting your pulse before he bit.

You winced at the pain and his hips rutted against your thigh, hard and frantic, his cock felt thick and straining through his trousers. He was whining soft, broken sounds between gritted teeth, like each second without you wrapped around him was tearing him open from the inside.

“You smell—fuck, you smell so good,” he gasped into your skin, humping against you harder. “I need—i need to be inside, I need—”

You spread your legs, breathless, head spinning from the force of it all. “I’m here, Sungie.”

He didn’t prep you, didn’t pause for a second—just spit on his fingers and shoved them inside you hard and fast. Stretching you wide while whispering obscenities you couldn’t even make sense of.

“So fucking tight—fuck—gonna ruin you—fill you up, knot you, make sure no one else ever gets to—”

You didn’t even realize he’d taken his cock out until you felt him line himself up with shaking hands, barely getting the tip in before he snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out and Jisung growled, slamming his hand beside your head, forehead pressed to yours, golden eyes glazed over.

“Mine,” he gasped. “Fuck… Mine. Mine. Mine—”

Suddenly, he shoved your knees up, pressing them tightly to your chest as his hips snapped forward, rough and desperate. You cried out sharply, feeling stretched too wide, overwhelmed by the rawness of him filling you again and again. His teeth dragged harshly against your throat, marking you repeatedly, as if he couldn't bear the thought of anyone mistaking you for anything but his.

You sobbed beneath him, your body caught between pain and a pleasure that blurred into something unbearable. Part of you wondered numbly if it would have changed anything if you'd told Jisung it was your first time—if it would've made him pause, slow down, be gentler. But you knew it wouldn't have mattered. He wasn't fully himself, and even if some part of him wanted to stop, he couldn't.

You felt it then, the swelling at his base. His knot beginning to expand, stretching your entrance wider with every punishing thrust. Panic mixed with need, your mind spinning as your walls spasmed around him.

“Gonna knot you,” he panted desperately, voice breaking as he slammed into you harder. “Can’t stop—fuck, you feel so perfect—gonna keep you like this forever—”

He thrust deeply one last time and locked himself inside, his knot catching and sealing him within you. You screamed, body jolting at the sudden fullness, the pressure almost too much. He shuddered violently above you, his cum flooding hot and deep, twitching through aftershocks that made your thighs quake and your vision blur.

You barely had time to gasp a breath before his knot began to soften, still pulsing faintly inside you. But Jisung didn’t stop, not even for a moment.

Before you could recover, he flipped you roughly onto your stomach, the mattress creaking sharply beneath you. He pressed into you again slowly, his breathing ragged and hot against your sweat-damp back. You trembled uncontrollably beneath him, arms shaking, barely able to keep yourself upright.

“Jisung, wait—” your voice broke, a thin plea lost beneath the rasp of his breath.

But he didn’t acknowledge your begging. One hand pinned your hip firmly, the other flattened between your shoulders, forcing you down into the sheets until you couldn’t move. You felt the ache building again as he pushed inside you once more, pushing mercilessly against your walls. Your thighs burned, your body instinctively arching to escape the overstimulation, but he wouldn’t allow you to shift away.

The moment he felt how wet and open you still were, the last shred of his restraint shattered. His rhythm turned frantic, his hips slamming into yours so fiercely the air was knocked from your lungs with every brutal stroke.

You moaned helplessly into the sheets, fingers clawing at the mattress as your body surrendered. He wasn’t speaking now, wasn’t asking if you were okay—all you heard were harsh, ragged sounds torn from his throat, desperate noises so primal and raw they made your skin burn hot with shameful need.

His movements grew rougher, your bodies locked in a rhythm that erased any remaining thought from your mind. Your senses narrowed until all you knew was the brutal heat between your thighs and the ache of him stretching you. You took every thrust, helpless to stop, unable to do anything but accept the ruthless force of his body on yours.

His teeth bit sharply into the back of your shoulder, fangs scraping against your skin until you gasped in pain. His grip tightened, fingers bruising your hips as he pounded into you without mercy, branding you with every brutal snap of his hips.

With one final thrust, he buried himself impossibly deep, and you felt the knot swell again—filling you, stretching you beyond limits as he locked himself inside with a guttural growl.

His whole body jerked, cock throbbing violently as he spilled into you again. It was so much cum it leaked around the thick swell of his knot, your walls clenching tight, helpless to hold it all in. He held still, panting, hands trembling as he stayed buried in you, locked and pulsing.

He stayed inside you for what felt like forever, body trembling from release, your muscles fluttering weakly around him. His breath came in uneven bursts against your skin.

But even then, you could feel that he wasn’t finished.

He rutted again and let out a feral sound low in his throat, one that sounded more like a growl than a moan. And then he was moving just enough to slip free with a wet sound that made both of you shiver.

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you. He dragged you onto your back again, spread your thighs wide, and settled between them with a single-minded hunger that made your whole body pulse with anticipation.

His gaze dropped the moment he pushed back in and he groaned, eyes locked between your legs with an obsessive intensity. Your walls clenched around him as his cock slid in with zero resistance. His breath hitched, and he stopped for just a second.

His mouth parted when he saw the shape of him pushing inside you, deep enough to press against your belly, the bulge rising with every brutal thrust. He pressed his palm against it and let out a wrecked moan. The sight of his cock inside your belly driving him halfway mad.

“Fuck,” he choked. “That's me? inside you?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a gasp as he rocked into you harder.

He watched your stomach move with every stroke, how your cunt took all of him, again and again, walls fluttering around his cock like your body was desperate to keep him.

He was mesmerized. Staring with wide, hungry eyes as hips snapped forward with more force. One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other pressing to your lower belly as he kept thrusting, rougher this time, watching the bulge disappear and return with every movement.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “you’re made for this—fuck—you’re made to take me like this—”

You could feel the knot swelling again, dragging harder against your soaked, overstretched entrance, until your legs started to shake. He braced both hands on either side of your hips, growled deep in his chest, and slammed forward. The knot forced its way in with a brutal stretch that made your eyes roll back.

His whole body jerked, head falling forward as a strangled moan left his lips. His cock twitched violently, knot fully buried, and you felt the rush of his cum flooding you again, deeper this time, deeper than anything had ever been.

His eyes were still locked on your lower stomach, wide and blown out with awe. The bulge in your belly pulsed with each twitch of his knot, round and taut with the sheer amount he’d pumped into you

“Look at that,” he whispered, almost dazed. “Look what I did to you.”

He reached out again, fingertips brushing against your stomach and the possessiveness in his voice made your body clench all over again.

“I'm inside you.”

He blinked, his eyes flickering to your face as he really looked at you for the first time.

You were trembling, bruised, and barely able to keep your legs from shaking. Your eyes were glassy, your body completely spent beneath him. And something in him seemed to return.

His hands gentled against your skin as he eased out of you slowly, knot slipping free with an aching stretch that made you whimper. You gasped at the sudden emptiness, but he didn’t leave you long. He kissed your thigh once, softly, as if in apology, and then lowered himself between your legs.

You barely had the strength to lift your head. “Ji—what are you doing…”

But he didn’t answer. Just held your thighs gently in his hands, spreading them open again but this time with reverence, not greed.

Then he licked a single, languid drag of his tongue that made your hips twitch weakly. He groaned low in his throat at the taste of you.

You whimpered, the oversensitivity almost unbearable but his hands kept you grounded. Thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, mouth moving with an aching kind of care. He sucked gently at your clit, tongue flicking in slow passes, easing the pain into something warmer.

You threaded trembling fingers through his hair, tugging gently.

His mouth grew more desperate by the second, tongue dipping lower and teasing at your entrance where his cum was still leaking out. He groaned at the taste, sucking softly, messy and slow, like he couldn’t get enough of it. Of you.

He buried himself there with his nose pressed into your skin, mouth drinking you. You let out a soft cry, hips twitching against his face, and his grip tightened just enough to hold you still as he circled your clit again, tender but insistent.

“I need to make it better,” he murmured into your skin, voice hoarse and reverent. “Let me—please…”

You didn’t answer but the way your legs shook around his head told him everything. So he stayed there—worshipping the mess he made, tongue moving slow and devoted, lips soft and endless. He lost himself in you.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the pain.

It was deep and dull at first, but the moment you shifted, it sharpened—radiating through your thighs, your lower back, your hips. Your skin felt hot, stretched too thin in some places, sore in others. You winced as you tried to sit up, limbs trembling slightly from the effort.

Jisung was already awake. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from you, his robes wrapped tightly around him. His shoulders were stiff.

You swallowed through the dryness in your throat. “Ji?”

He stood up without looking at you.

You watched him move across the room, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. He picked up your clothes from the floor—torn in multiple places, seams ripped from how desperately he’d removed them the night before—and with a flick of his wand, the fabric mended itself slowly in the air.

“Get dressed,” he said flatly. “I’ll help you get back to the hospital wing.”

You blinked. “Back to the—what?”

He turned then, just slightly, just enough to look at you briefly. His eyes were guilt-ridden.

“You’re hurt,” he said. “I can see it.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

“And I’m going to Snape later,” he continued. “I’m going to ask him to relocate me during the next cycle. Somewhere far from here.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Jisung, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he snapped. “Because this—” He gestured toward you, his voice colder now. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

Your heart twisted.

“I told you to stay away,” he said. “And I didn’t mean that to sound cruel. I meant it because I knew I’d lose control. And I did… and now look at you.”

He walked toward the cracked mirror, stopped a few feet in front of it, and gestured for you to come closer.

You hesitated.

“Please,” he said, quieter now. “Just… come here.”

You stood slowly, legs shaking slightly under your weight. You wrapped yourself in the blanket and stepped toward the mirror.

Your reflection made your breath hitch.

There were bruises on your neck, angry bite marks along your collarbone and shoulder. Finger-shaped welts on your hips and thighs. Your lips were still swollen from where he’d kissed you too hard. Some of the marks looked deep. Others looked like they might last days, if not longer.

“I didn’t know I was capable of this,” Jisung said behind you, voice cracking.

You looked at him through the mirror. His face was pale, jaw tight.

“I’d rather suffer the worst pain a rut could ever give me than ever touch you like that again.”

“Jisung—”

“No,” he cut you off. “You don’t understand. I didn’t even care if I was hurting you. I couldn’t think. You could’ve cried, begged, screamed, and I still would’ve—”

He stopped himself, breathing hard.

“I’m not going to let this happen again. I’ll talk to Snape. I’ll take whatever dose he gives me. I’ll lock myself somewhere no one can find me.”

You stepped forward, reaching for him, but he flinched when your fingers brushed his sleeve.

He turned his face away. “Get dressed,” he said quietly. “Please.”

There was nothing else to say.

He handed you your clothes without looking at you again. When you were dressed, he silently moved to support your weight down the stairs and back toward the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.

Your legs ached with every step. Jisung’s arm was around your waist, holding you upright as you moved slowly down the path back to the castle, your freshly repaired clothes felt stiff and uncomfortable against your bruised skin.

You hadn’t said a word since leaving the Shrieking Shack. Neither had he.

His touch wasn’t warm, or comforting. It was careful and detached. Like he was holding you not out of care, but out of obligation.

Your heart hurt more than your body. You two had been close for so long. Even after he’d changed, after he came back cold, distant, guarded you still felt more warmth than right now. Like he was reaching for you even when he didn’t realize it. So seeing him acting like this was almost unbearable.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t rejection or shame. That he was just protecting you, trying to keep you safe. But it still felt like being left behind.

You didn’t even realize how close you were to the castle until the path curved and the first archway of the courtyard came into view.

“Park.”

Professor Snape stood just beyond the arch, his arms crossed over his chest, black robes billowing faintly in the wind. His gaze flicked over the two of you quickly. His eyes dropped to the way you leaned into Jisung, to your limp. And then he saw the bruises. Even with your collar pulled tight, they peeked out, the edges of bite marks and the faint discoloration just beneath the skin.

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Come here,” he said, voice cold.

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape stepped forward. “Now.”

You felt the panic rise in your chest immediately.

“Professor, wait. It’s not—he didn’t—” You reached for his sleeve. “He didn’t force me.”

Snape’s eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, you almost stepped back. His expression didn’t change, but something in it darkened like your words had confirmed what he already suspected.

“I didn’t ask what he did,” he said sharply. “I asked him to come with me.”

Jisung’s jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. He didn’t say a word, just let go of you carefully.

You nearly stumbled from the sudden absence of support.

“I can explain—” you tried again, but Snape raised a hand.

“This is not your responsibility,” he said, more quietly this time. “And you are in no condition to be standing here arguing.”

He turned to Jisung once more.

“Park. Now.”

And without looking back at you, Jisung walked toward him.

You stood there trembling, arms wrapped around yourself, the chill settling deeper into your bones now that he was gone.

Jisung stood in the doorway of Snape’s office with his head hung low. The potions master had stepped away to ensure you made it safely to the hospital wing and to explain the delicate situation to the healers. Minutes stretched on endlessly until finally, he heard the sharp clack of Snape's shoes approaching.

“Go in,” Snape ordered coldly, gesturing toward the open door. The Hufflepuff obeyed silently.

Snape shut the office door behind them with a flick of his wand. The room smelled of ash and damp parchment, but Jisung could still smell your scent stronger than anything else; it clung to him, saturated his senses.

“Sit,” Snape instructed curtly.

Jisung lowered himself into the hard chair opposite the desk, shoulders slumped. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Snape’s eyes.

“How is she?” he asked softly, voice raw.

“She’ll live,” Snape replied coolly, summoning a few vials and herbs onto his desk. “Madam Pomfrey is treating the bruising you saw fit to decorate her with.”

Jisung’s head snapped up, panic clear in his gaze. “I—I bit her. More than once.” The admission spilled out before he could stop himself, heavy with guilt and shame. “Does that mean—”

“No,” Snape interjected sharply. “The curse passes only when the biter is fully transformed under the full moon. You were saturated with Wolfsbane, half-shifted but not contagious.”

Jisung exhaled sharply, gripping the chair arms until his knuckles whitened. Relief flooded him, but Snape wasn't done.

“However,” Snape continued, voice lowering dangerously, “do not delude yourself into believing she was truly safe. Had you missed even one additional dose, or had the moon been at its peak, she would already share your curse, and that responsibility would lie entirely with you.”

Jisung flinched. “I know. I—I keep hurting her. I keep losing control, and no matter how much I try to stay away, something just…pulls me back. I don’t know how to stop it.”

Snape regarded him for a moment in silence before speaking, voice softer but still edged with steel. “That’s because it is no longer a matter of mere control. You've complicated things significantly, Park.”

Jisung looked up slowly, eyes wide with apprehension. “What do you mean?”

Snape folded his hands on the desk, expression severe yet composed. “By marking her during your rut, you've effectively chosen Miss Y/N as your mate.”

Jisung’s breath caught, his throat tightening painfully. "Mate? I—what does that mean?”

“It means,” Snape explained, calm and clinical, “that your wolf has identified her specifically as an anchor. Such mate-bonds occur most commonly during adolescence, particularly around a first transformation. It's why you find yourself physically unable to stay away for long.”

Jisung swallowed, panic bubbling up again. “Is it dangerous? Will I hurt her more?”

“Not inherently,” Snape said evenly. “But the bond is permanent, Park. Your wolf will always crave her presence—most intensely near the full moon or during rut. Ignoring it will only worsen your aggression.”

“Then…what can I do?” Jisung asked desperately. “How do I keep her safe?”

“You must never skip your Wolfsbane. Take it every evening at sundown and report to me regularly so we can adjust dosage accordingly. Furthermore, and pay attention to this, you must manage your bond carefully. You cannot fight it entirely so stay close to her but with awareness, not indulgence. ”

Jisung flushed deeply. “But… after everything I've done, how can I risk being close to her again?”

Snape leaned forward slightly. “The greater risk lies in distance, your instincts will spiral. Proximity is crucial but do not confuse instinct for entitlement.”

Jisung nodded slowly, the weight of responsibility settling heavily onto his shoulders. “Does she…know?”

“She soon will,” Snape replied quietly. “But it is essential she hears it clearly from you. Be honest and thorough. Do you understand me, Park?”

“Yes, sir,” Jisung whispered. ��I won't fail her again.”

Snape regarded him a moment longer, then produced a fresh vial of Wolfsbane, setting it decisively on the desk. “Good. Now leave before I decide silence is insufficient punishment.”

Jisung rose unsteadily, clutching the vial to his chest. He walked slowly to the threshold, feeling every step heavy with responsibility. Just as he reached the door, Snape spoke once more.

“Park, if you truly care for the girl, learn how to live with the wolf without letting it consume her.”

The door sealed shut behind him, and Jisung stood for a long moment in the corridor, the potion trembling slightly in his grip.

You lay on one of the hospital wing beds, half-covered by a sterile white blanket, the curtains drawn tightly around you. The air was too quiet, every sound outside muted by the silencing charm Madam Pomfrey had casted when she left you there.

You picked at your cuticles absently, barely noticing the sting where skin peeled back. Your hospital gown gaped at the shoulders, revealing the bruises along your arms in the shape of fingers. Jisung’s fingers. You should’ve been horrified and maybe you were a little bit but there was something strangely comforting about them. His hands had held you through something painful, but they had held you. It made you feel... needed. Like you mattered to him again.

Your thoughts scattered when the curtain parted and Madam Pomfrey stepped through, her face tight with concern. Behind her came Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house. And just before the curtain fell shut again, you caught the edge of black robes retreating down the ward—Snape. He’d definitely told them everything.

You bit your lip and dropped your gaze.

“Hello, dear,” Pomfrey said gently. When you didn’t answer, she cleared her throat. “To begin with, I’d like to offer you a calming draught for the pain.”

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, though your whole body ached. You didn’t want to take anything that would fog your thoughts. You needed to stay alert to explain the situation.

“Well…” she murmured, unconvinced. “Then I’ll start with the surface wounds.”

She gestured toward the scratches and crescent-shaped bites along your shoulders and collarbone. You stayed still while she worked.

Professor Sprout stepped closer, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Miss Y/LN,” she began carefully. “There’s no need to be guarded with us. We’re not here to punish you… but there are a few matters that need to be addressed.”

You nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on a wrinkle in the bedsheet.

“Madam Pomfrey will heal what she can,” she continued. “But the bite marks will take several days to fade. Magical injuries of this nature are… stubborn.”

“I understand,” you murmured. The marks didn’t bother you.

Professor Sprout hesitated, color rising faintly in her cheeks. “We also understand that Mr. Park was… in a heightened state when you were intimate.”

You saw her flinch slightly at her own words and you almost pitied her. There was no elegant way to discuss something like this. You nodded once.

“Am I correct to assume no contraceptive charms were cast beforehand?”

Your brows pulled together. You’d never studied contraceptive spells properly. You knew they were meant to be used before any intimacy though and given how everything had happened there hadn’t been time for anything like that. You shook your head slowly.

Professor Sprout exchanged a brief look with Pomfrey before exhaling slowly. “Very well. Madam Pomfrey will now perform a diagnostic charm to ensure no unintended consequences arise from your… encounter.”

You nodded again, tending slight when Madam Pomfrey raised her wand and murmured a spell. A pale lavender glow swept across your lower abdomen then faded without a flicker.

“No conception,” she announced softly. “Everything is normal.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out and you noticed Professor Sprout’s shoulders ease a fraction.

Pomfrey lowered her wand, relief softening the stern set of her mouth. Then she hesitated, studying you over the rims of her spectacles.

“Dear, may I give you some practical advice?”

You nodded, cheeks still furiously warm.

She lifted her wand again. “There are several reliable contraceptive charms you can use. The simplest is Praeventa Conceptum. It’s quick, painless, and lasts a whole day.”

Professor Sprout cleared her throat delicately but said nothing.

Pomfrey demonstrated. She pointed her wand at her own midsection. “Circle once, clockwise, like so.” A pale halo of light traced the motion. “Then speak Prae‑ven‑ta Con‑cep‑tum. Stress on the second syllable of each word. The charm settles just beneath the skin and it’s a mild warming sensation, nothing more.”

You mimicked the motion in the air, whispering the incantation under your breath. A faint peach‑colored glow sparked at your wand tip and faded.

“Good,” Madam Pomfrey said, satisfied. “Remember, the charm must be renewed daily, and it is far more reliable when cast prior to any sexual activity.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, both grateful and faintly embarrassed.

Professor Sprout offered a small, reassuring nod. “Better to learn here than under far less ideal circumstances.”

Pomfrey tucked her wand away. “Knowledge is its own protection.”

“Again, you are not at fault for any of this,” Sprout added, voice firm. “Last night’s events were influenced by circumstances far beyond your control.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly.

A shadow crossed the professor’s eyes. “Mr. Park is with Professor Snape now, discussing the seriousness of missing future doses of Wolfsbane.” Her tone suggested ‘discussion’ meant something closer to a dressing‑down. “He’ll be monitored closely.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” you said, fingers worrying the edge of the sheet. “I followed him there, fully aware of the consequences. I just wanted to help… and I don’t regret it.”

Madam Pomfrey’s brows knit, but it was Professor Sprout who spoke first. “Miss Y/L/N, no one here is assigning blame. What matters now is that both of you are safe, and that Mr. Park remains diligent with his potion.” Her gaze softened. “Your loyalty is commendable, but your well‑being is equally important.”

You nodded, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “I know.”

Pomfrey dabbed a final line of salve across the deepest bite mark. “You’ll be sore,” she said gently, “but you’ll heal. Rest here tonight, at least until breakfast.”

The curtain swayed gently as they left you alone, and you stared ahead thinking only of the warmth of his breath, the panic in his voice, and the way he’d whispered “you shouldn’t have come” like it had broken him to see you there.

But you would do it all again.

Madam Pomfrey cleared you for release just after sunrise. You dressed in silence, fingers brushing over the gauze she’d left on the deepest bite. She offered one last vial of bruise balm and a faint smile before sending you off.

It was Saturday, thank Merlin. There were no classes so most students were still sleeping. You were relieved as you stepped out of the hospital wing, and saw nothing but an empty corridor.

Though still a strange, hollow pressure settled in your chest. You missed Jisung.

You weren’t sure if it was the residual ache in your muscles, or the fading imprints he’d left on your body, but you felt the absence of him like it was stitched into your skin. You needed to see him.

And then, as if your thoughts conjured him, he appeared.

Jisung was standing at the other end of the hallway, just beyond the shaft of sunlight spilling in from the tall windows. He looked stunned to see you, like he hadn’t meant to be here, like his feet had brought him without his permission.

You hesitated.

Snape had surely warned him again—more strictly this time—to stay away from you. But still, Jisung took a step forward and you followed.

You met in the middle of the hallway, stopping close enough that your chests nearly touched. It wasn’t until you were standing in front of him that you realized how much he’d changed. He was taller now, just slightly, but it was enough to notice. His shoulders were broader, his presence heavier, like the wolf was still there beneath the surface.

He stared at the bruises along your collarbone, what little was visible through the open neck of your shirt. You saw the way his throat bobbed, how his eyes flickered with guilt.

“Are you—?”

“I’m okay, Ji,” you cut in gently, offering him a small smile. “Perfectly fine.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He exhaled shakily, and his hand reached for yours tentatively. You almost gasped at the contact. It had been so long since he touched you first. His fingers threaded through yours like they were remembering how easily he did this all the time before.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your other hand rose instinctively, brushing against his cheek. He leaned into the touch immediately, eyes fluttering closed.

“Did Snape scold you too badly?” you asked, voice soft and teasing.

Jisung cracked a smile. “Yeah, I have to clean the Quidditch stands every day this winter without magic.”

Your eyes widened. “Seriously?”

He laughed. “I’m joking.” He paused, eyes searching yours. “Though honestly… I think I deserved one.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You’ve been punished enough.”

He didn’t respond, just looked at you like he was still trying to figure out if this moment was real.

The corridor felt suddenly too small, so without speaking, you guided Jisung toward the nearest side door that opened onto the courtyard. The November air was sharp, but sunlight spilled across damp flagstones and carried the faint scent of wet leaves.

You walked side by side, your shoulders brushing now and then. After a long stretch of silence, Jisung spoke in a quiet voice. “Do you remember fifth year… when we hid in Greenhouse Three during that thunderstorm?”

You smiled. “And you spent the whole time pretending not to be scared of lightning.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I kept thinking about that last night. How you held my hand and told me storms always pass.” He glanced at you, guilt and wonder warring in his eyes. “I wanted to go there initially. But then I smelled you, and I went to the Shack instead, thinking you wouldn’t follow me into a place like that.” He laughed bitterly. “I should’ve known better.”

The admission loosened something tight inside you. “Storms pass, Ji,” you said. “Even the ones inside us.”

He stopped, turning to face you fully. “Does this one? Because I can still feel it.” His gaze flicked to your neck where a bruise peeked above your collar. “I feel every mark I left on you like they’re on my body, too.”

You lifted a hand to his chest, just over his heartbeat. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He looked at you, like he almost believed it, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise. “Snape told me… the biting… it wasn’t random.” he dropped his gaze and bit his lip nervously “I… marked you.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt.

“He said you’re my mate now,” he said quietly. “That the wolf chose you. That’s why I can’t stay away. Why I can’t stop smelling you, hearing you even when you’re not around. Why it feels like something’s ripping open in my chest when I try to stay away.”

You stood still, eyes locked on his.

“He said I shouldn’t fight it. That if I try to pretend the bond doesn’t exist, it’ll make it worse. That I just have to be… careful and gentle with it. With you.” He exhaled, voice tight. “He said if I really want to protect you, I have to learn how to live with the wolf, not push it down.”

“What did you say?” you finally asked.

“I told him I’d do anything to keep you safe,” Jisung said. “And I meant it.”

You reached for his hand and he let you take it, though his fingers twitched.

“The bond… is that why you came to the Hospital Wing corridor?”

He nodded, shame creasing his brow. “I woke up and… I was already walking there. I didn’t think.”

“Then next time, think and tell me,” you said. “We’ll handle the need together. On our terms.”

He swallowed. “Snape says if I miss a potion… you’ll be in danger first.”

“Then you won’t miss it.” Your tone brooked no argument. “Even if I have to brew it myself.”

A faint smile ghosted his lips. “You’d sit through that smell?”

“I’d sit through worse.” Your thumb stroked over his knuckles.

He exhaled shakily, some of the tension easing, though the gold still flickered behind his eyes like embers. “I’m not safe yet,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” you answered, stepping close until your foreheads touched. “I’m not scared.”

For a while you simply stood in the sunlight, listening to the distant chatter of students who knew nothing about storms or wolves or the way a heartbeat could echo in someone else’s chest. His hand tightened around yours, and instinctively you looked up, meeting his gaze.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation clear in the tense line of his jaw. Before he could withdraw, before he could overthink it, you stepped on your tippy toes and pressed your mouth gently to his.

It began softly, a cautious brush of lips but it escalated quickly. His mouth opened hungrily, tongue sliding against your teeth, and you gave in with a low sigh. His hand found your waist first, pulling you closer, then slid up to cup the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangled through his messy hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing forward instinctively until you were pinned softly against the rough stone wall.

“I can’t lose control again,” he murmured urgently against your lips but still he kissed you harder, as if he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.

“You won’t,” you promised breathlessly. “This is fine.”

His hips snapped forward again, pressing you tighter to the stone behind you. You knew you were out in the open—anyone could pass by and see—but caution melted beneath the heat of his mouth trailing down your neck. The dull soreness from the previous night faded to a faint pulse, replaced by something hungrier, as he sucked gently at your throat.

“Ji—” your voice shook softly, hands gripping his robes tighter. “You’re… you’re not still in rut, right?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “No. No, I don’t think so,” he panted roughly, almost like he was convincing himself too. “It doesn’t feel the same as last night, but—” He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to yours “I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad—I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you.”

A helpless moan escaped you at the raw admission, your pulse quickening under his mouth when he kissed you again—softer now, more controlled, as if he was proving to himself he could do this without falling apart.

“I won’t let myself hurt you again,” he breathed, lips brushing your skin between each whispered word. “But you need to tell me if it’s too much”

You shook your head slightly, pulling him closer still, holding him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “Ji, nothing’s ever too much with you. Just stay here… stay with me.”

He shivered, his breath hitching as he kissed you again, trying to ground himself in the feeling of you rather than the wild instinct still whispering beneath his skin.

Someone laughed nearby, close enough to remind you exactly where you were.

Jisung froze against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a soft groan. “We need to move,” he muttered “If anyone sees—”

“Then come on,” you said grabbing his hand.

He followed without another word.

You tugged him along a narrow side-corridor, the secret path behind the Herbology wing that only upper years and rule-breakers bothered with. Past the old broom cupboard, beyond the faded tapestry of a witch laughing drunkenly into her wine goblet, your footsteps were quiet, your pulse anything but. It hammered through your veins, in your fingertips, your throat—everywhere Jisung’s hand stayed locked in yours.

Soon you stood outside Greenhouse Three, abandoned since the storm in your fifth year shattered half its glass panes. Now, ivy and moss crawled along the cracked glass walls, and no one had bothered to repair it, leaving the space forgotten and overgrown.

You slipped through the splintered wooden door, pulling him gently behind you.

Inside, sunlight spilled across broken tables and tangled greenery. Plants had grown wild, illing the air with the scent of damp earth, crushed leaves, and something faintly sweet. You felt your chest tighten from the memory of your younger selves hiding here together.

Jisung remembered it too, you could see it in the softening of his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. He caught your lips again, slow at first, but deepening fast, pulling a moan from your throat. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in until you tasted him fully.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered against his mouth, fingers trembling as you tugged at his clothes again.

He groaned softly, forehead pressing to yours. “Say it again.”

Your breath shuddered. “I want you to fuck me, Ji. Right now.”

He kissed you once more, messy and desperate, before stepping back just enough to undo his belt. His hands shook slightly, desire evident as he freed his cock—already hard and flushed, leaking at the tip as he positioned himself between your thighs. You lay back on one of the old greenhouse tables, cool beneath your skin but sturdy enough for this.

Jisung dragged the head of his cock through your folds, groaning openly at how wet you were, coating him perfectly. He pressed gently against your entrance, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, thumb stroking tenderly.

He met your gaze, eyes filled with heated care. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, voice thick with want but edged with concern.

You cupped his cheek softly, eyes locked on his. “It’s perfect. It’s always perfect with you…Just fuck me, Ji.”

And he did.

The first thrust was slow, a deep stretch that pulled a gasp straight from your lungs. His cock slid in inch by inch until he bottomed out, and then he just held there, buried inside, groaning like he’d finally found home.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re so tight, you feel so—shit—you feel like you were made for me.”

You clenched around him involuntarily and he hissed, head dropping to your shoulder as he fought the urge to move too fast.

But control didn’t last long. His hips started to roll into yours, picking up a rhythm that got harder with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping echoed off the glass, mixed with your breathy moans and the desperate groans breaking in his throat.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, dragging him deeper.

“Yes, yes—right there—don’t stop,” you gasped.

“I won’t,” he growled. “I can’t.”

He drove into you harder, the table creaking beneath you as he pounded into your soaked cunt like he was trying to carve the shape of himself into your body. You arched under him, nails raking down his back through his shirt, gasping every time he bottomed out and hit that spot that made your toes curl.

He pulled out just enough to watch his cock slide back in.

“Look at this,” he breathed, one hand dragging down to your stomach, pressing just above your pubic bone. “Can feel myself right here.”

You could tell Jisung was obsessed with seeing himself inside you, it made his thrusts hit deeper just so he could feel himself in your lower belly. You moaned brokenly, the pressure making it worse, the angle driving you insane. 

“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna come,” you choked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t—”

“I want to feel it,” he growled. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

Your body clamped down around him, walls spasming hard enough to make Jisung curse violently. He fucked you through it, rough thrusts stuttering until his own orgasm took him.

With a strangled groan, he slammed into you one last time and came hard, cock twitching deep inside you as he filled you again with thick spurts that made your pussy slicker than before.

He collapsed over you, forehead buried in your neck, both of you panting like you’d run for miles. His cock was still buried inside you, twitching with aftershocks.

You dragged your fingers through his hair gently, voice hoarse. “That didn’t feel like your rut.”

He laughed, breathless. “No. That was just me.”

“Are you okay?” he whispered into your neck, voice raw and reverent. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head slowly. “You didn’t. You were perfect.”

He sighed against your skin, relief loosening his shoulders. Then, gently—so, so gently—he pulled out, groaning as his cock slipped free from your cunt. The mess between your legs was immediate, warmth spilling down your thighs, and you whimpered at the sensitivity.

“I got you,” he murmured, already reaching for his wand.

He muttered a quiet cleaning charm, careful not to touch you until you nodded. His hand brushed your knee, then your thigh, his fingers trembling as he whispered the incantation again and wiped away the rest with his robe sleeve. 

When he was finished, he kissed the inside of your knee, then your hip, then your stomach like it was part of some silent apology only your skin could understand.

“I’m gonna help you down,” he said, voice soft.

You nodded, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you slowly from the table and holding you close while your legs adjusted. You swayed once, but he caught you instantly.

“You’re shaky,” he murmured.

“You fucked my legs numb, Park,” you whispered, trying to smile, and he let out a breathy laugh, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he mumbled. “Not even if Snape drags me out of your bed himself.”

You held onto him tighter, forehead pressed to his collarbone. “You better keep that promise.”

He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

“I will,” he said. “Forever.”

He helped you sit on the edge of the table while he redressed—pulling his trousers back up, refastening his belt with one hand while the other stayed on your knee like he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching you. When he was done, he reached for your discarded panties, blushing faintly as he held them out to you.

“I should’ve asked first,” he said quietly. “Back then. In the shack.”

You looked up at him, heart aching. “You couldn’t. And I already told you… I don’t regret it.”

He nodded, but the guilt lingered behind his eyes. So you took his hand and laced your fingers through his again.

“We’ll be okay,” you said. “You and me.”

“We will,” he whispered.

You dressed in silence together, stealing soft glances and touches, letting the heat cool but not disappear. And when you finally stepped out of the greenhouse, blinking into the pale afternoon light, Jisung’s arm was already around your shoulders holding you close and as steady as the heartbeat you’d heard pounding through his chest not long ago.

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was quiet and certain.

Like a promise kept.

eeeeek feedback is greatly appreciated! i love reading ur comments and anons <3

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: i caved and did an actual Ewan fic! Given that the lad is more of a public persona nowadays, I reckon it's fine (?) This is pure self-indulgence for all my Ewan loves. May have a continuation but idk for now, enjoy!!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader and Ewan are paired for press interviews. Despite barely having any scenes together and only knowing each other in passing on set, the chemistry they share cannot be denied...

Your first round of press takes place in a primped up hotel suite in Paris, thanks to the team at HBO.

You are an up and coming actress, much like some of your costars in the show, but the pressure is heavier on you because you were entering in season two, whereas everyone was already well-acquainted with one another.

Your few scenes were mostly with Jace and Baela, so you grew close to Harry and Bethany.

However, the media team decided to pair you up with Ewan for the day. A little fun initiative was set by the team that a character from the Blacks would be do press with a counterpart from the Greens - hence, yourself and Ewan.

You're nervous as you walk down the hallway, unable to fully pay attention to the instructions your lovely assistant gives you.

She tells you about the different interviewers for the day, bloggers and magazine writers from all over the world. She reminds you that each one will only be for a maximum of 5 minutes, so it shouldn't be too complicated. She smiles and eagerly says, "Take a deep breath, you got this!", as you reach the suite doors.

But in your mind, all you can recall is your first interaction with Ewan, almost a year ago right after the table read. You had nervously blurted out to him that Aemond is your favourite character, after he just asked, "How are you?". He laughed, said thank you, before he was pulled away in conversation by Tom.

You pray to the fictional Westerosi gods that things will fare better today. That you won't get all tongue-tied when those steel blue eyes land on you.

Upon entering the room, the team is quick to fuss over you. Sometimes you forget that you're actually an actress now. A celebrity, some might say. It all feels surreal and you have a inkling it won't ever stop being this way.

Ewan is already seated in front of the camera, and he stands to give you a hug as you finally walk over.

"Hey there, how are you?" he smiles widely, smelling like cigarettes and something muskier as he wraps his arms around you.

Unroll your tongue. Rework your brain. Calm down.

"Hey, Ewan!" you respond. "I'm doing great, happy to see you again."

"Well, I only wish we could have had more time together on set." Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to take your seat before he does the same. "But next season perhaps? Who knows?"

"Oh, sure." You settle in, pleased by the fact that your chairs are only about a foot apart. "We can both look forward to my character giving Aemond the arse kicking he deserves."

He laughs, eyes glinting with mischief. "Come on now, I was thinking our characters are actually quite compatible, no?"

"Well, I sure wouldn't want to step on Alys' shoes. She'd probably curse my character all the way to Yi Ti."

"Hmm," he hums, biting his lip. You can't help but hear Aemond when he does that. "I say you can always count on Aemond and Vhagar to come to the rescue of a beautiful maiden such as yourself."

Well, you'll be damned. Ewan, while still an introvert of his own sort, is as charming as can be. If he's turning it on to get himself hyped for the press, it's working.

It's definitely working on you, to say the least.

The media manager gives the signal for the first interview to begin, and a reporter walks in, all ready with prepared script in hand.

"Here we go," you mutter, facing forward.

"Good luck," Ewan replies.

You both shake the reporter's hand, and he introduces himself as Jared.

"So guys," Jared begins. "Why don't we start with you telling me a little bit about what we can expect from your characters this season?"

The question is easy, and it doesn't take long for you and Ewan to think it through. Jared asks a few more basic questions, before drawing the attention more to you.

"When you watched season one, did you have a favourite character?" he asks you.

You smile, "Oh, I mean, I have to say - and Ewan already knows this, by the way - that Aemond was my favourite character."

"Was?" Ewan says, feigning shock. "Unacceptable."

"Was... Is... " you shrug, rolling your eyes playfully, earning a laugh from Jared. "I think I might be more a Daemon girl now."

"Oh!" Jared exclaims happily. "Does Matt know about this?"

"I'll be sure to tell him - "

Ewan interjects, shaking his head at you, "There's no need to tell him, because I'll convert her back to Team Aemond in no time, trust me."

"Daemon is awesome, though," you say to him, smiling.

"Sure." Ewan makes a face like that fact doesn't matter. Wasn't he the one who said that Daemon would be the character he would most like to play if not Aemond?

"And Caraxes is my favourite dragon." You share a look with Jared, hoping he would agree.

"Yes!" Jared says. "Caraxes is the best dragon in the show, in my opinion."

"Ah, you're both wrong," Ewan says. "My Vhagar is the oldest and baddest dragon in all of the land."

"My Vhagar, he says," you joke. "Seems like someone still hasn't shed Aemond for this press tour."

"And I never will, darling." His gaze is intense when he turns to you, and you clear your throat to fight the warmth rushing to your cheeks.

"Alright, they're giving me the wrap-up," Jared thankfully breaks the tension. "It was a pleasure talking to you guys, congratulations on the new season!"

One interview down, and your nerves have already considerably subsided. Ewan tapping your arm to start up a conversation once more surely helps in distracting you.

In the best damn way possible.

"How do you think we did? That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"I think we did quite well," you casually offer a high five, but your heart skips a beat when Ewan interlaces your suspended hands for just a moment.

"I'm glad they paired me with you," Ewan says, after releasing your hand. You hold on to the armrests to keep your fingers from twitching.

"I am, too," you admit. "I am a fan of you, after all, but I think you already know that."

He blushes, "Well, that's not a bad thing. I think you're a fantastic actress. I must have seen your first film a good ten times."

"You mean my first and only film," you add humbly. "But thank you."

"Only film for now," he affirms. "No doubt this is only the beginning for you, darling. With your talent and your charisma, I'm sure you have potential scripts piled up already."

"I could say the same for you! Have you seen what your fans say about you online? You're the internet's new boyfriend, Ewan Mitchell."

The media manager announces the next interview, but Ewan follows up with a response for you under his breath, "I have seen some things. But when I have a girlfriend, I'll make sure she won't have to share me at all."

Oh, so apparently he is single. But wait - why is he telling you this?

You don't get to mull over that thought. For the time being, the next interview starts and you make sure you do a good job at what you're paid to do - promoting the series.

Not daydreaming about getting with a costar, for heaven's sake. Stay professional.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You feel lightheaded after finishing the seventh - or had it been the eighth? - interview.

Your assistant delivers a coffee to you during the twenty-minute break. Ewan had stepped out to the balcony to have a smoke, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

He certainly is everything you expected him to be, and so much more. Insightful, cheeky, dedicated. An artist, through and through. He was in the business for all the right reasons, passion and respect for the craft.

If he had any flaws, you weren't privy to them yet. If there are any reasons for you not to be attracted to him, you didn't know what those were yet.

And with every flirtatious remark and pointed smile, you can't deny the hope blooming in you.

"Hey," he reappears, pulling you out of your musings. "I hope you don't mind that I smell of smoke."

No, you didn't, not when it's him.

"Don't worry about it," you reassure him. You tilt your head forward to take a sip of your coffee, but a lock of your hair falls in front of your face. Annoyed, you think to reach for it, but Ewan beats you to it, tucking it back in place.

"There you go, darling," he croons, gesturing for you to proceed in drinking.

"Th-thanks." His eyes don't leave yours as you take a slow sip.

"So," you say, desperate to break the silence, "which interview did you enjoy the most so far?"

"How can I possibly choose? I mean, I really liked the one with ComicSociety, the guy that said our characters have a lot of chemistry and should get together next season. He's right, I already told you!"

"Ohhh, sure, that will go down really well with the Blacks and Greens."

He smirks, "I don't see why not?"

"For one, Aemond is ensnared by Alys, and my character will never give up fighting for Rhaenyra. I just don't see it happening, Ewan."

"Right," he mutters thoughtfully, "there is still Alys in the picture."

"Still in the picture? With the amount of steamy scenes you two have lined up for season three, I'd say she will be Aemond's entire picture in and of herself."

"Hmm," he glances at you once, then looks down. Dare you think it, does he look disappointed?

"But hey," you add lightly, "maybe we can talk to Ryan and he can flip the entire script just for our characters."

"Yeah," his cheeky smile resurfaces, "maybe you can take Alys' place."

Take the place of Alys? Of Alys. Is he insinuating...

"Next round of interviews, guys!" The media manager announces to the room.

"Here we go again, darling," Ewan squeezes your hand once, before putting on his professional face once more.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

By the end of it all, not even caffeine can perk you up. You were exhausted, you and Ewan having finished four full hours of press.

Your assistant comes to your aid, ready to direct you back to your own hotel room.

"This has been such a pleasure, Ewan, really." You stand, this time initiating the hug.

He squeezes you gently, humming in your ear. When you pull apart, he says, "I honestly wouldn't mind trudging through hours and hours of press with you."

That's sweet of him. You're too tired to mask the warmth that rises to your cheeks. "And I feel the same. Today couldn't have gone any better."

"Truly, and listen, maybe we could - "

"Ewan!" The manager approaches. "I'm so sorry to rush with this, but we need to film just a quick soundbite with you for Aemond. Just two to three questions for the Max Tiktok account?"

"Oh, okay - " Ewan is reluctant to turn away from you.

"Perfect! If you could just stand there by the windows please..." The manager already has him by the arm, directing where he has to go.

"We have to go," your assistant says. "Still have to prep for tomorrow."

"I'll see you soon, Ewan!" you call out to him. "Thanks again."

He gives a half-hearted wave, dejected as he watches you walk out of the room.

"That wasn't too bad," you share with your assistant as you enter the elevators. "Not bad at all, actually."

"Oh, you did so well," she compliments. "It definitely helps with the press that you and Mr. Mitchell have such insane natural chemistry."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

In the calm of your hotel room, you get ready for bed.

Just when you're about to finish with your nightly routine, your phone rings from your bedside table. You're quick to rush over, thinking it could be your assistant or your manager, with an urgent update about work.

But no - it's an unknown number. A UK number, as it appears.

Confused, you click answer anyway, putting it to your ear with a tentative, "Hello, who is this?"

"Hi, darling."

"Ewan?"

"Yeah, uhm, I hope I didn't disturb you - "

"Not at all," your answer comes out in a rushed breath.

"I also hope you don't mind that I got my assistant to ask your assistant to give me your number? It's what I wanted to ask you before you left today."

"Oh." You feel fully awake now, by some miracle, butterflies finding home in your stomach. "I don't mind. I... I should have given you my number, anyway. I have most of the cast's, in case I need to get a hold of you guys."

"Hmm, right," he says from the other end. You hear him calmly breathing, the sound strangely comforting, and wonder if he can hear the same from you.

He says, "I just wanted to keep hearing your voice. Didn't get enough of it today," and your heart just about stops.

"Oh. Okay," is all you are able to respond with.

"What are you doing?"

"Just... just getting ready for bed." Phone pressed to your ear, you shuffle around the room, putting some things back in place.

He says nothing for a few seconds, but you still hear his breathing, and some shuffling in the background. It occurs to you that he might just be as nervous as you are now.

Maybe.

"Listen," he finally says, "do you want to hear my pitch to Ryan about why our characters should get together next season?"

A genuine laugh escapes you. He sure is persistent. Playful, sure, but you're definitely willing to play along.

"Let's hear it."

"First," he says, "you have to renounce Daemon as your favourite character - "

"Not a chance."

" - and swear your love for Aemond."

"Keep dreaming."

He laughs, and you can only picture the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Aww darling," he teases, "don't you love me?"

💌 part two - part three

The OGs will know that the final line is a nod to my first ever Aemond fic! 🖤

Did this slightly delay my series works? Yes, yes it did. Do I regret it? For Ewan frickin Mitchell, I would never ~

[gallusrostromegalus]

As someone a bit too young to have seen Bleach the first time around, AEIWAM is still consuming a crucial portion of my brain cells. So imagine my surprise when I looked up Tousen, the reason you started this behemoth of an alternate universe, on TV tropes.

Among other shocking revelations...

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE JOINED AIZEN OF HIS OWN FREE WILL IN CANON???? What do you MEAN, TITE KUBO, that the reason your Tousen wants to destroy the Shinigami is that his crush died of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE???

Who is this man and what has he done with my eternally suffering Tousen?

You understand why I had to take custody of this poor bastard.

I can respect what Kubo was going for- Aizen was right in the fact that Soul Society does suck, and the extended canon is that Tousen's crush was killed by her husband, everyone knew it, and nobody would prosecute the husband because he was a Noble. Canon Tousen is, more or less, suffering from the same kind of rage-based brainrot that is unfortunately so common these days- the idea that because a system is imperfect, or ever corrupt, that it's a good idea to tear the whole thing down/restart the universe (the real Path Of Least Harm is of course, the much more complicated and frustrating work of Dis-and-re-mantling the system piece-by-piece without leaving vulnerable people to fend for themselves, but that isn't as emotionally satisfying or fun to draw as senseless destruction, but I digress).

but his arc is only barely on the page at all, mostly after his death and contains one of the blandest and most obnoxious tropes- fridging- and the whole thing falls flat. It also fails to explore the FASCINATING angle of disability and tbh, racism in soul society- two VERY fucked up things that would very much justify his rage. But it's shonen and the series was deep in production hell at that point, and tousen was far from the only victim. I still don't know what the fuck Gin's deal was.

ANYWAY,

Notable changes between Canon!Tousen and AEIWAM!Tousen and some art under the cut:

Kakiyo is Kaname's adopted sister, and despite looking nothing alike, since they re-incarnated in soul society at the same time, they regard themselves as twins.

Kakiyo does kind of a lot in the plot before her demise- she's responsible for introducing Kaname and Komamura, teaches Zaraki and Yachiru how to read, and unintentionally helps Aizen by recommending him to be promoted to third seat in the 5th division, because she and Kiganjo were thinking about starting a family soon, and Aizen would make a good stand-in for her while she was on maternity leave.

She also gets to do a bunch of stuff after she dies too!

The characters in Tousen's name approximately mean "Necessary Scholar" and make an allusion to a legendary scholar from China who came to Japan to find the elixir of immortality for the emperor. He returns with an elixir that stops the emperor from aging, and the emperor kills him so he can't make anyone else immortal (the emperor doesn't age, but he's still vulnerable to stabbing, and gets stabbed). I thought that was an extremely fun literary allusion so I'm leaning into it- before he becomes a Shinigami, AEIWAM!Tousen took over the library run by his ans Kakiyo's adopted godparents, and ran a children's literacy program. he has a special interest in information sciences and educational methodology. even among nerds, he's a mega-nerd.

Kakiyo meets and marries Gosuke Kiganjo, who goes back to West 51 to meet his beloved's brother and the weird giant monk that runs the library with him. Kaname is immensely fond of Kiganjo, and has no qualms being the best man at their wedding. He and Gosuke are good friends for the first few years of the marriage, until Aizen gets his claws into Gosuke and slowly drives him insane.

In AEIWAM, Tousen is cursed into going along with the plan by Aizen. Aizen was just going to make Kiganjo kill him, but Gin is getting impatient with Aizen's hogyoku progress, and persuades Aizen into cursing Kaname into compliance instead with a Forbidden Bakudō: Kyuunodo — Ningyō Kugi Saiyaku (人形釘誓約, Puppet Nail Covenant)

I do keep the canon!Tousen's reputation for being pedantic, unecessarily critical and generally kind of boring. The reason for AEIWAM!Tousen's reputation is different: He is kind of a pain in the ass, because he is in Horrific Pain and Deeply Traumatized and that makes people irritable to say the least, and he deliberately cultivates a reputation for being Boring to keep people far, far away from him- and hopefully, far from Aizen as well.

An underrated bit of Canon!Tousen is that Suzumushi is not his zanpakuto. Suzumushi was Kakiyo's zanpakuto, and we see him take the sword from her coffin in the manga. Which is insane because it means HE ACHIEVED BANKAI WITH A ZANPAKUTO THAT WASN'T EVEN HIS. Dude is SEVERELY underrated as a swordsman. In AEIWAM, Suzumushi is still Kakiyo's zanpakuto, and only BARELY clings to life on the last reserves of the Spiritual power Kakiyo put into her before Kaname finds her. Suzumushi persuades him to take her up, enter the academy and bring Kakiyo's killer to justice (Suzumushi has fallen to Aizen's illusion and doesn't know who the killer is). She kind of glosses over how they bond, but she more or less crawls into his soul and supresses Kaname's native Yume-kon that would have been his own Zanpakuto spirit if it had been allowed to awaken. She did make an entirely new Shikai and Bankai for him- the chime that makes people lose conciousness is entirely new, the AOE of Just A Shitload Of Swords was Suzumushi's original Shikai. The Bankai of a space where anyone not touching the sword experiences no sensory input? Suzumushi made it first and foremost as a refuge for Kaname when the pain of the curse became to unbearable.

The biggest difference, of course, is that Kaname lives through the Aizen Arc and gets a Happy Ending: Once he wakes up after the battle, he is free, and chooses to marry the wolfman he's been in love with for centuries. Here's some art of them, finally home:

[khywren]

I Wanna Love You (But I don't Know How)

❛ pairing: Astarion/f!reader ❛ word count: 5.7k ┊ ❛ rating: 18+ MDNI ❛ tags/cw: smut, pwp, piv sex, oral sex, blood drinking, anxious reader, soft(ish) Astarion

▸ summary: “I knew you'd understand,” Astarion says, lowering his head to press his lips against yours in a kiss that sets your entire body alight with desire. Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you'd be lucky enough to kiss him, yet here he is, slotting his mouth against yours and running his tongue across the seam of your lips as if it's the most mundane thing in the world. And for you, it's anything but that. For a moment you forget to breathe as time stands still, and only once his other hand lays on your hip to pull you closer do you realize that you haven't died and that this is actually happening.

OR: A reinterpretation of your first night with Astarion with an anxious/slightly inexperienced reader.

AO3 ┊ masterlist ┊ dividers

It's well after sundown when you slip as quietly from your tent as you can to meet Astarion in the forest. One last glance over your shoulder at the edge of camp reassures you that no one has spotted you leaving, an embarrassment you would like to avoid at all costs.

Astarion has never kept his flirtatious behavior a secret from the others (in fact, you'd wager he does it publicly on purpose with the specific intent of watching you squirm), but it's one thing to let him tease you and another thing entirely to have anyone discover your little nighttime tryst.

You're already nervous enough about this as it is, thank you very much.

When he'd asked you to join him earlier in the evening, your initial reaction had been… less than ideal. You try not to think about it, which consequently means that it's the only thing you can think about. Reverse psychology at its finest.

“What's your idea of ‘a little fun?’”

“By the hells.” An exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes, as if he can't believe how oblivious you are. “Sex, my dear. A night of passion.” He leans close, smiles that wicked smile of his. You catch a glimpse of his fangs and curse the heat in your cheeks. “With you,” he adds after a moment, just in case you still didn't get the hint.

Your face still burns at the memory of his voice and the thrill of pleasure it had sent directly to your core. You had almost reconsidered even coming out here, humiliated by your own naivete, but here you were, nonetheless. Not because you didn't want to disappoint him, but because somewhere along the way you had gotten it in your mind that maybe he liked you as much as you liked him.

Wishful thinking, but who could blame you?

After all, what wasn't there to like? His biting, sarcastic humor. The effortless way he moved in battle, daggers as sharp as his fangs as he felled his enemies in a graceful yet deadly flourish of steel. That silver tongue of his, always primed with a clever remark or a quick jab. And that was all without even mentioning how unfairly handsome he was. Most elves were naturally gorgeous, you knew, but Astarion was an anomaly even by those standards.

When you stop to think about it, this girlish crush of yours is perhaps the most embarrassing thing of all. But there's something about Astarion that makes you feel like an innocent, blushing maiden all over again, and you'd be lying to yourself if you hadn't secretly been a little excited by his offer. Even the idea of casually spending time alone with him would have been enticing enough.

So now, here you stand in the middle of the forest, breathing deeply and trying to steady your rebellious heartbeat as you wait for him to find you. It's late summer and the nights have grown significantly colder since your journey began, and when Astarion doesn't appear after several agonizing minutes you consider that perhaps he's had second thoughts after all.

More than a little disappointed, you turn to leave, only to see a figure emerge from the trees at the other side of the clearing. Your eyes immediately fall upon his broad, bare chest, openly gawking at him in the moonlight. Astarion is just as stunning in the dark as he is in the sun – because of course he is. He moves with an almost feline grace towards you, lips pulled back in that familiar smirk of his that you've grown so fond of. 

“There you are,” he purrs. His words are husky, sensual, flowing like liquid silver inside every recess of your mind to banish any thoughts that aren't about him – what few there were even remaining. Your mouth is dry when you swallow around the lump in your throat, letting out a shaky exhale. Astarion is standing close enough now that you can catch his scent on the breeze, citrus and something earthy that does nothing to calm your nerves.

“I’ve been waiting,” he says with an arch of his brow. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

You don't anticipate the fit of laughter that bubbles in your throat and spills out your lips, but it immediately breaks the tension that had settled between you.

“Oh, gods,” you manage, grinning despite the way Astarion glowers at you. He clicks his tongue in disapproval and folds his arms over his chest.

“Excuse me? What's so funny?”

The way he scrunches his nose makes him look like a disgruntled housecat, something you find both hilarious and endearing. But you keep that little fact to yourself because you value your life, and instead cock your head to the side in consideration.

“First of all,” you say, holding up a finger, “that's an awful line, even for you. And secondly –” you hold up another finger “– the first time we met, you held a dagger to my neck and threatened to slit my throat. Or was that part of the foreplay too?”

A turbulent wave of emotions flicker across Astarion's face before it settles on a petulant sort of pout.

“Yes, well, difficult as it may seem to believe, I made a mistake,” Astarion huffs, pointedly looking away as you've plainly caught him off guard. But he can feel you staring, and he quickly clears his throat and schools his expression with impressive ease. “A mistake that you will find I am here to rectify.”

The silence gives you time to think – time to poke more holes in his story. Before you have the opportunity, Astarion steps swiftly forward again, and you shiver as the ends of his long, slender fingers slide beneath your chin and tip your face towards his. That seductive look is back, no traces of his earlier irritation visible beneath the heated gaze he fixes you with.

“So, darling, what do you say?”

Your heart is in your throat, hammering wildly at just the barest touch of his skin. Despite his shameless flirting, Astarion rarely touches you, and each time he does sends a jolt of excitement through you. This time is no different, amplified tenfold by the circumstances of your present situation. You wonder how he does it, disarming you with nothing more than a simple touch.

Astarion continues to watch you, head tipped to the side as though he's a wolf sizing up a hare, deciding which part of you he'd like to sink his teeth into first.

Gods, yes. Of course. I've only been thinking about this for an embarrassingly long time.

“Okay,” you say instead. You try to match his stare, but his eyes leave you feeling as bare as the day you were born, and you can't help but cast your gaze elsewhere; worse still, you're certain that he can read every one of your most embarrassing thoughts, even without the aid of the tadpoles wriggling around in either of your brains.

“I knew you'd understand,” Astarion says, lowering his head to press his lips against yours in a kiss that sets your entire body alight with desire. Never in your wildest dreams had you ever thought you'd be lucky enough to kiss him, yet here he is, slotting his mouth against yours and running his tongue across the seam of your lips as if it's the most mundane thing in the world. And for you, it's anything but that. For a moment you forget to breathe as time stands still, and only once his other hand lays on your hip to pull you closer do you realize that you haven't died and that this is actually happening.

The feeling of his lips on yours is so much more intimate compared to the way they felt on your throat when you've let him feed on you. They're soft and pliant – far moreso than you would have guessed – especially when the rest of him is all hard muscle and sharp edges. When he's this close, his scent ensnares you completely, and you can detect the subtle notes of brandy beneath the bergamot and rosemary. 

You sag against his chest and let him do as he pleases, opening your mouth to let his tongue sweep inside and taste you. He groans softly when you bite down playfully on his tongue, eyes gleaming when he pulls away and smirks in approval. 

“Careful, darling,” he growls, close enough to your ear that you can feel the vibration of his voice. “I bite too, and I can guarantee I won't be nearly as gentle.”

It's no secret that Astarion knows how much you delight in letting him feed on you. He knew even before you clumsily admitted it to him the morning after the first time it happened, and by the third time you had invited him into your tent after dark there was an unspoken understanding that it was immensely pleasurable for both of you.

There's nothing quite like it, is there? The sharp sting of his fangs that melts away into the purest form of bliss as he nibbles your skin and sweeps his tongue greedily over the puncture marks between long, slow pulls of your blood. Or the way he murmurs little noises of approval against your throat – “that’s it, darling; so good for me…”

Even now, Astarion fully expects the effect his threat has on you: the way you tremble in his arms and how you press your mouth into a thin line to stifle a moan. He kisses you more insistently this time, one hand tangled in your hair as the hand on your hip guides you back until you're flush against a tree and pinned beneath him.

“Is that what you want, my sweet? Shall I drink your blood while I fuck you?” Astarion peppers a series of deceptively light kisses across your jaw, teasing you with the razor sharp points of his fangs as he seeks out your pulse point. You know he can feel it just beneath your skin, the blood surging through your veins with each erratic beat of your heart telling him what you lack the words to say. You envision his proposal in vivid detail and moan softly in response.

“Who knew you harbored such dirty little thoughts.”

Astarion's tongue traces an idle path over the bite marks on your neck and your breath catches in your throat as your hands scrabble for purchase on the rough bark behind you.

“I have so many thoughts about you, Astarion,” you confess. “That's the problem.”

You feel Astarion exhale across your skin, breath fanning out to tease the nape of your neck. His mouth splits into a wide, wolfish smile.

“Is that so? Why don't you tell me all about them, hmm?”

But where would you even begin? Nevermind that your mind is far too addled to form more than a single, barley-coherent thought.

“I could tell you, but I’d rather show you.”

“Oh?” This seems to pique his interest, though he never stops mouthing at your neck. He must be hungry, and you make a mental note to address that concern as soon as possible.

 “What did you have in mind, darling?”

In response, you fumble for his waist, earning a noise of surprise as you spin him around and sink to your knees in the grass. This, he clearly does not expect, if the way he raises his eyebrows is any indication.

You glance confidently up at him, at last feeling like you have the upper hand. You don't necessarily mind him being in control, but neither will you deny yourself the fun of surprising him.

“Isn't it obvious?” You allow yourself a small smirk of your own.

Your hands trace the edge of his waistband, making your intentions clear. For once he is silent, as if uncertain how to proceed. But that's fine – you're more than happy to take the lead for now.

“Most of the men I've been with expected me to do this,” you explain, waiting for his consent before you commit to undressing him further. “It's been a while, but I promise I know what I'm doing.” You huff a laugh and stick out your tongue. “Well. Mostly.”

You can only hope that your eagerness makes up for your lack of recent experience. And that's half the battle anyway, isn't it? Astarion looks at you for what feels like an eternity, and for a moment you see a flicker of hesitation in his expression before his eyes narrow and anchor on your face. 

“You don't have to,” he finally says, his hand lowering to brush an errant lock of your hair out of your eyes. He sounds almost sad, as though the only reason you had made the suggestion in the first place was out of obligation.

“Yeah, I know,” you say, smiling cheerfully up at him. “But I want to do this for you. And besides, wasn't it your idea for us to ‘indulge’ ?” you ask, poorly mimicking the teasing lilt of his voice. “That means you too.”

Astarion's expression softens as he smiles almost reluctantly back at you. A weight seems to lift from his shoulders and he visibly relaxes.

“All right, then. If you insist, darling.”

“Good, because I do.”

You shift slightly between his legs, steeling yourself for the task at hand. Your nerves flare yet again, the idea of disappointing him suddenly far more relevant than it had been before. Astarion's skin is cool and smooth beneath your fingers as you slip them beneath his waistband, tugging his pants down over the ample curve of his backside and down the length of his toned thighs. The only remaining barrier between you and the rest of him is his underwear, which is currently doing very little to obscure the very noticeable bulge beneath the fabric. With one last glance upwards, you suck in a breath and give them a swift tug, busying yourself with pulling his clothes down to his ankles so he can kick them aside.

The next time you lift your head, there's nothing left to the imagination. Astarion's cock greets you at eye level, half-hard and already glistening with a slick bead of precome. It's as pretty as the rest of him, the tip flushed a soft shade of petal pink that has you dying to know how much more enticing it would look after he's fed on you. You file that thought away for next time – provided there even is a next time. Best to not let yourself get distracted.

That, it turns out, is easier said than done. You reach out almost shyly and wrap your hand around his cock, impressed by the feel of him. He's smooth and heavy in your palm, and you give him a few experimental jerks, transfixed by the way you can feel his cock begin to swell in your hand. 

Astarion makes a quiet noise and your eyes follow the path of his body along his stomach and the hard lines of his chest, surprised to find his own half-lidded and a single fang digging into his bottom lip. You maintain eye contact as you continue pumping him, coaxing more soft sounds of pleasure from his throat.

“Ahh…” Your name slips from his lips, almost as an afterthought, and you instinctively squeeze your thighs together to give yourself some relief from the way his voice has your body begging for his touch. You've never heard him quite like this before, and the effect it has on you is nothing if not potent. His nostrils flare and you know instantly he is aware of your arousal.

Astarion leans back against the tree, one hand anchored in your hair as the other one digs into the bark, desperately trying to help him maintain his balance. The length of him is slick with his arousal, and you want nothing more than to taste him. Emboldened, you guide your free hand between his legs to cup his balls, lifting his cock so you can press the flat of your tongue against the underside at the base. The sensation makes his cock jump and his hips buck forward, eager for the feel of your mouth upon him. He tastes of clean linen and something distinctly Astarion, salty-sweet and decadent.

“Does it feel good?” you mumble against him, tracing your tongue along the vein that snakes around the length of his cock as you work your way towards the sensitive tip. When you wrap your lips around him and swirl your tongue over his slit, Astarion lets out a whine and tugs sharply on your hair, clearly fighting the urge to thrust deeper into your mouth.

“Y-es, love,” he says hoarsely, “that's – ohh… ”

You repeat the action, as eager to hear him again as he is to let you pleasure him.

“Don't stop.”

As if you had anything else in mind.

You tighten your lips around him and hollow your cheeks as you take his cock deeper into your mouth, hand twisting around the base of him in little corkscrew motions. Eyes locked on his face, you moan against his hard length, bobbing your head in time with the hand that strokes his shaft. You feel more than pride when Astarion's mouth falls open and he is unable to do anything but voice his pleasure, each moan and mewl he makes making your clit throb with need. 

Precome and saliva coat your chin as you take him deeper still, bracing your hand on his thigh to help you guide his cock to the back of your throat. The sensation is almost too much for you to handle, and you take a moment to breathe through your nose and remember to pace yourself. With his pupils blown, Astarion's eyes look more black than red, slamming shut as you swallow him to the base, press your nose against his stomach, and moan. He struggles to watch you work his cock with your lips and tongue, hips jerking every now and then and shoving his cock even further down your throat.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice tight and raspy. “If you keep this up, darling, I'm going to –” Another groan as your tongue slides across his shaft in a way that makes his thighs tremble. His body is as taut as a bowstring, his release imminent.

Speaking now would only be an inconvenience. You take advantage of the tadpoles to reach into his mind, allowing him to feel the building pressure between your thighs as his cock hits the back of your throat again and your cunt clenches in response.

“It's okay,” you assure him. “I want it. I want you to come. It feels good for me too.”

Astarion needs no further encouragement. With both hands buried in your hair, his hips stutter and he bucks into your mouth, spilling himself down your throat with a groan that tapers into a satisfied whimper. He releases you and falls back against the tree, chest heaving. His cock twitches in the open air, dripping and still half-hard.

“See?” you pant, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

“Cheeky little pup.” He speaks with that same sensual lilt in his voice that you're so familiar with, but this time it seems almost lighter, less restrained.

Astarion advances on only slightly unsteady feet, pushing you back onto your elbows as he takes his turn settling between your legs. Your eyes are wide as he hovers over your face, lips only inches from yours.

Kiss me. Kiss me, gods dammit.

A low chuckle rumbles in his throat, and you realize that you hadn't bothered to sever your tadpole connection before beaming your thoughts directly into his mind.

“Needy little thing, aren't you? Although I suppose it can't be helped.” Astarion kisses you again, nipping insistently at your bottom lip to encourage you to open your mouth. All the while, his hands slip beneath your sleep shirt, tracing a searing path across your body. But instead of grasping your breasts as you expect him to, he breaks the kiss to pull the garment over your head, one hand on your sternum as he presses you into the grass. The cool air isn't the only thing that makes you tremble.

Astarion mimics your actions from before, fingers dipping beneath your pants as a playful grin slides across his elegant features. “Has anyone ever done this for you, sweet girl?”

He licks his lips and you part your legs further. “N-no,” you admit with some reluctance.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “No? You poor thing. Allow me to fix that mistake as well.”

He doesn't need to ask you to lift your hips for him. Your body moves as if on instinct, letting him undress you with one swift motion. You lay shyly beneath him in the grass, gazing up at him with round, curious eyes as he looks at you in quiet contemplation.

“Do you want to know the reason I asked you to come all the way out here?” he asks, hands on your knees as his eyes rake down your body. Your skin burns beneath his lustful gaze, wetness pooling between your slick folds as he bares your center to him.

“Why?”

“Because this way,” Astarion purrs, sinking between your legs, “I don't have to hold back.” The last thing you see before your vision goes white are the rich, ruby reds of his eyes, narrowed to slits as he descends upon you. The first flick of his tongue against your clit is enough to make you cry out into the night, and when Astarion does it again and wraps his lips around the sensitive pearl and gently sucks you truly think that this might be the death of you.

His tongue glides between your folds to gather your arousal; the taste of it makes him groan, and you dig your fingers into the grass, trying not to thrash beneath him. Pleasure erupts like wildfire over every nerve ending as he works you with his tongue, wasting no time discovering the parts of you that make you whimper for him the most.

“Is it too much?”

It takes you a moment to realize he's asked the question, and you find the strength to peer down at him through hazy, unfocused eyes as he glances up at you.

“Yes… no… I don't…” You stop before you embarrass yourself any further and take another breath. “Maybe a little,” you admit, more coherently. “But it feels good. I want you to keep going.”

“My apologies.” He runs his tongue over his fangs and your poor heart skips a beat. “I'm finding it very difficult to resist devouring you whole. You, darling, are quite the delectable little treat.”

Another unexpected giggle bursts forth from your lips and you fall back against the soft ground as Astarion sits up and looks at you in confusion.

“You don't have to do that, you know,” you manage between laughs, finally propping yourself up on an elbow and tossing him an affectionate look.

“Do what?” he asks.

“Try to flatter me with those terrible pickup lines. I already like you; I wouldn't be out here if I didn't.”

Astarion's brows furrow and he seems to stare at you as if you are some unsolvable riddle, the expression on his face something you have no name for. It's as forlorn as it is relieved, amused as it is exasperated. 

He's still studying you when you sit up, and maybe it's just your imagination that tells you he leans into your touch when you cup his face and pull him in for a quick kiss, but that's all right with you. Astarion's eyes are curious and bright, an ocean of precious rubies shining beneath the light of the moon. The sight of it is enough to make your heart ache.

“All right,” he agrees, shrugging. “No more terrible pickup lines.

“Good,” you say. “I like you better that way. Just… just you.”

The grass is already wet with dew when you lay back again, letting your hands fall from Astarion's face. He almost seems to mourn the loss, but after a moment he slides gracefully down the length of your body and gently parts your legs once more.

This time he is far more mindful about what he's doing, tongue gently lapping at your center before dragging slowly across your opening. You moan and writhe beneath him as before, rolling your hips to press your clit against his nose. You don't expect how cold his fingers feel against your opening as he presses one gently inside you, waiting for you to encourage him for more before he coaxes you open.

“Astarion…”

He returns your whine with a groan, teasing your clit with his tongue as he guides a second finger inside you. Your arousal coats his fingers as they dip and curl inside your cunt, stoking the roaring fire inside your body. You're helpless to do anything but be swept up in the current, safe in the knowledge that Astarion will guide you exactly where you need to be.

Your orgasm doesn't slowly build as much as it roars to life, and you have only a moment to tell him before you're coming hard on his fingers and his tongue, trembling like a leaf in the wind as unrivaled ecstasy suffuses through you. Your throat constricts around the syllables of his name, the pace of his fingers and tongue gradually slowing as your euphoria finally fades.

The next time you open your eyes, Astarion is hovering over you, his face still coated in the evidence of your arousal. You pull him in for another kiss to taste yourself on his tongue, sighing contentedly into his mouth. His lips are no less insistent than before, but they lack the same urgency. But you certainly don't mind, letting him kiss you until you're left breathless and panting.

“Are you hungry, Astarion?” you ask, pressing his face against your neck. “You can feed on me, if you'd like.”

Astarion's fangs are an immediate presence against your skin before you even finish making your offer, his hands pinning your arms above your head just before he punctures your flesh. What little blood escapes his lips is quickly gathered on his tongue, and each long, steady pull of your blood is taken in time with the beating of your heart. His fangs dig deep, but you can feel his restraint behind the hands that pin your arms and his legs as they bracket your waist.

As he drinks, you gradually become aware of his cock against your thigh, heavy and full and so enticingly warm as your blood courses through his body. Astarion's hips shift as though he's seeking relief, and you oblige him by untangling one of your arms from his grasp and reaching for his cock, wrapping your fingers around his hardening length. He grunts in appreciation and snaps his hips forward at an increasingly desperate pace.

“Darling…”

Astarion's voice is slurred against your neck, made clumsy by his own arousal and the heady taste of your blood. 

“I think…” A pause, another few thrusts, another low groan. “I think I'd like to be inside you now.”

You instinctively squeeze his cock, nodding your ascent.

“I think I'd like that too.”

Crimson coats his lips when Astarion tears himself from your neck, a thin trail of your blood running down the side of his mouth. His tongue flicks out to gather it and he sighs heavily with satisfaction as he sits back on his calves. You feel the blunt head of his cock glide through your slick folds as he coats himself in your arousal, eyes trained reverently on your face. He notes each subtle change in your expression as he enters you, moving with more patience than either of you have to spare.

Your cunt pulses around his cock as Astarion thrusts himself deeper, the thin line between pleasure and pain blurring with every inch he buries inside you. When at last he bottoms out, you watch each other for a moment, listening to the sound of one another's panting breaths. 

Astarion's hands move to your legs, tucking beneath your knees as he lifts them up and presses them against your chest. 

“I'm going to move now, darling. Is that all right?”

You nod, breathing a shaky “yes” as you will yourself to relax. The first thrust has you throwing back your head with a strangled sob, and Astarion must find it encouraging because he wastes no time rocking into you again shortly after, and then again with even more force. He sets a steady pace, slamming his hips into the backs of your thighs with each punishing thrust. You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in the grass as you turn your head to the side, letting the sensation of him on top of you and inside you flood your senses.

Astarion digs his nails into your skin and growls your name. It sounds almost possessive, sharpened to a razor thin point as it cuts through the fog inside your mind. With monumental effort you open your eyes and search for his face somewhere on your periphery, mouth falling slack as a series of undignified whimpers and moans tumble from your lips.

“Eyes on me,” he commands in a tone that leaves no room for rebuttal. Your gaze finally catches sight of him and Astarion leans close, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. “That's it. Let me see you, sweet girl…”

“Astarion…”

Your mind is empty of all other thoughts but those of him, as it should be. How could it be otherwise, when you are full of him in every sense of the word? The feel of him inside you, the touch of his skin on yours. The scent of him that addles your senses and the sound of his voice that mirrors your own pleasure? Beyond it – beyond him – nothing else matters.

“Again,” he says through gritted teeth, and you follow the path of his gaze towards the arch of your neck and the blood you feel trickling down over your shoulder. You slip your legs around his waist, inviting him closer.

“Astarion.”

His mouth is on you again, eager for another taste of you. You acquiesce gladly, craning your neck to allow him better access.

“Again.”

This time when you cry his name, his fangs pierce your neck again, and his thrusts grow even more frantic as he drives his cock inside your quivering cunt. You tighten your legs and cling to him as closely as you can, each snap of his hips intense enough to lift you off the ground. Your tadpoles link, and Astarion's thoughts pour into your mind as liberally as you share yours with him; for a few, blissful moments the sensations you feel are neither entirely your own nor entirely his. 

The pressure inside you builds to a roaring crescendo, crashing over you like waves breaking on the shore as you fall to pieces beneath him with a shout that leaves your throat raw. Astarion holds you down as he pistons into you, the tight, inviting warmth of your body pulling him over the edge when he finds his own release. 

The absence of his weight as he extracts himself from the tangle of your limbs is a loss you mourn with a whine of protest, and you roll over onto your stomach with an ache in your thighs you know you'll be feeling in the morning. After a moment, you hear the rustling of clothes behind you and find Astarion half dressed already, tugging his pants on with an indecipherable expression on his face.

“I guess it was a bit silly of me to think this could last forever,” you say with a sigh, offering him a sad smile. Astarion approaches you and extends his hand to help you to your feet, and you try not to feel too embarrassed as you wobble like a newborn fawn.

“Not if you and that feeble mortal constitution of yours don't want to catch cold,” he says flatly.

“Hey!” You scowl at him in mock offense. “Fair enough, I guess. Rude, but fair.”

Astarion waits for you to pull your clothes back on before turning back the way you came, and you follow him in silence as you make your way to camp. The moonlight filtering through the trees sometimes catches on his form and you note what appears to be a series of intricate marks carved into his back, a sight that leaves you both curious and filled with a sense of dread.

“Astarion?” you ask, “What's that on your back?”

A bitter laugh leaves him and he turns to offer you an equally humorless smile, his eyes distant in a way that makes your heart twist in your chest.

“A story for another time, darling,” he says, and there's a finality to his words that broker no more room for discussion. You nod in understanding, stepping over the threshold of the woods that circle the clearing where you and the others set up camp only a few hours prior.

Returning alone to your own tent is not something you're looking forward to, but as you turn to look at Astarion he's already pulled his tent flap aside, sparing you one final glance as if he's anticipated the question you no longer have the courage to ask. You feel your lips tug into a small smile, one that Astarion only mirrors after a moment of hesitation.

“Good night, Astarion. Um… thanks. For tonight. I enjoyed spending time with you.”

“It was my pleasure, darling. Sleep well.”

As you watch him slip inside his tent, you have the sudden feeling that whatever happened between the two of you tonight has only further complicated your already curious relationship with Astarion. But like so many other things about the man, it is only one more of the many mysteries surrounding him that you hope one day to unravel. You curl up in your bedroll, unable to keep your mind on anything else as you drift off, eager for whatever awaits you tomorrow.

[meanbossart]

A personal headcanon of mine is that Cazador had a special interest in Astarion before turning him into a vampire possibly a romantic obsession.

I was curious about what your personal thoughts were on the relationship between Cazador and Astarion?

Let me stop you right there - Yes.

Now, I'm a little reluctant to elaborate on this one, because I think it can be seen as a little reductive of the characters and their stories to condense what could be a political plot into something as superficial as another "if I can't have you, no one will" storyline - not only would that be less interesting to some people, but it once again reduces Astarion's character to his attractiveness - while the former, for once, actually made him "desirable" for his achievements and influence - even if it doomed him after all.

But at the same time, this theory compels me for that reason exactly. It sets the origins of the whole issue and what would, overtime, erupt into this complex he has of himself and how others perceive him.

I'm not a stickler for details as long as you can tell me a good story, but it's notable to me that the reasons why Cazador set his eyes on Astarion so early in his reign are never really elaborated on further. How much influence did he really have as a young magistrate, and what kind of rulings could he be passing that would affect Cazador so much for him to take such a risk in abducting someone of his standing right as he had himself come into power? Cazador is an idiot, but he's an idiot who managed to say alive and hidden for two centuries - this move was either exceptionally well thought-out, or Astarion wasn't that liked as a magistrate, or Cazador had far pettier motives to take such a risk.

Not to mention, Astarion is awfully elusive whenever you inquire about the hows and whys of his abduction. Dismissive, even. Like it's something he doesn't want to talk about. I could take that down the boring route and say "oh, the writers just didn't care to develop this part of his story", or I could do the far more fun thing and read into it.

Then, of course, there's the vague suggestions that Astarion stood out among the spawn for one reason or another - he's referred to as the runt of the litter, and yet as Cazador's favorite as well. Going through Cazador's journal following Astarion's disappearance, there seems to be something besides frustration about him leaving just as he's about to ascend - there's resentment, there's desperation. Why the fuck does Petras act as if Cazador would ever do anything good for them if they were treated as Astarion describes? How the fuck were any of them under the impression that this ritual would benefit them whatsoever, while Astarion seems to have always known better? While I have no doubt that they all suffered under Cazador's control, there seems to be indication that Astarion suffered specially badly. The question left is why.

I don't think they were ever lovers or anything like that, I don't think Astarion ever even knew Cazador well enough to give him a passing thought, but I think it would be absolutely rich for a newly born, still spite-fuelled vampire lord to make very emotionally-driven decisions. The type of decisions that he looks back on and curses himself for. For having ever had such a weak mind.

Think of it, you come into all this power after years of pain, sorrow and suffering. You set your hungry, lonely little eyes on the prettiest girl at the ball - she turns you down spectacularly. She laughs you off under thinly veiled pleasantries. You are beside yourself - you were supposed to have everything you ever wanted, to be untouchable, to be desirable, to have some sort of supernatural allure about yourself - you were under the impression that now, all of your problems had been solved and everything that life has to offer would be thrown at your feet, like you perceived it to be like to your own, deceased masted; then the rug gets ripped from under your feet. But, a moment after, you realize: when you want something very badly, you can now just take it.

So you do. You get a shiny new toy. Fresh off your dull, painful past-experiences it seems like this toy is all you need to bring the long-lost zest back into your life, it is your first taste of true power and control, your dear beloved, your reluctant companion, and you paint a picture of what life will be alongside it (though slightly stooped beneath you - you can't be equals, of course) decades, no, centuries into the future.

But the toy doesn't ever grow to like you. In fact, it hates you for what you are, what you chose to become and what you chose to make of, and to it. For a few years, you try. Then eventually you get bored of it.

In a few more, you begin to not be able to stand the sight of it. It reminds you of a time when you were naive, when you were stupid. Worse yet, it is now your ball and chain as you made it. The only use you see remaining for it is to tear it apart again and again and again until you've forgotten why you're even doing it. You don't even want to touch it yourself, you get others to do it for you.

I don't think Cazador harbored anything but that indifferent resentment towards Astarion through the vast majority of those two centuries, and, horrifically enough, I don't think Astarion even knew why for a good deal of it himself. I can picture him going over and over any passing interactions they ever had (if they even had any) desperately trying to piece together why me, what could I have done differently, how could I have avoided this hell.

Then, at some point, in the brief moments when his mind is somewhat cleared and after he has heard enough vague, cryptic remarks out of Cazador's mouth about his looks, about his attitude, about how he must think he's too good to do what he does, it hits him: If I had just said yes, none of this would have happened. It would have been a brief moment of disgust, but then it would have been over.

And you beat yourself over it almost much as you feel shame. You're embarrassed. Because you've now had to endure all this torment just because you said no to the wrong man - a matter of picking the bad choice at 50/50 odds. Not only that - but you were apparently so worthless to the world that this small mistake was enough to doom you for all eternity: It was, apparently, all you were worth. And he has made that abundantly clear by what he puts you up to now.

So, when someone asks you why it happened, you give them a better reason. One that at least highlights other things you were good at. They probably wouldn't believe you if you told them the truth, anyways.

[kenganbreeder]

Raian x F!Reader + — "Condoms and Contraceptives" What does he think of them?

Headcanons include; Breeding/Pregnancy kink (addiction), mentions of contraceptives such as birth controls, pills, and condoms, male dom, 18+ ONLY

(Non-proofread)

Contraceptives? For someone like him who gets off on breeding? Pray tell. Contraceptives are non-existent to him and probably the rest of the Kure clan. Pills are acceptable but the thought of needing to wrap a rubber around his cock before fucking you takes the fun away from him and he'd rather just not proceed to sinking his hips into yours. Unless you allow him to go raw and use the pull-out method.

Condoms are such an annoying piece of shit for him, Not only because he can't cum inside, but also because he's unable to fully enjoy each spasms of your warm walls around his cock. He just really hates the tight rubbery feeling that's stopping him from feeling the sopping wet warmth when he's obsessed with ur pusshy, it's like you're forbidding him from having fun (And he gets turned off pretty easily too)

If you won't let him slip out of the condom, Raian will, and I mean, he would, free himself off of the condom while you and your pussy is busy being fingered or eaten out by him as a distraction. In some instances, he will sometimes just pull out and slip out of it but that rarely happens because you're persistent as well.

Endless spurs of curse words will be the only thing you'll be hearing from him when he fucks you with it. "Fuck! This thing's annoying as hell. Are you even feeling anything down there? I'm not. So let me go raw, Y/N, come on.." "I don't feel anything at all, I'm gonna rip this fucking thing off and you're not stopping me." *Pulls out and messes with the rubber*

Instead, he'll purposely slip the rubber on first before doing things that he certainly knows how to distract you with and keep your mind off of his hand sneaking down to slide the rubber off of his length. Then once you're ready, he'll sink his cock inside all raw, without any rubber protecting it. You won't be able to tell the difference by then now that he knows your pussy's too drunk to even notice it, taking advantage of your pleasure-driven state.

Raian would sometimes accidentally cum inside and it doesn't make it any better that he blames it all on you for any unrelated reason he has. Would blame your pussy for being too "tight" it ate the condom away while in reality he was fucking you even harder after slipping out of the condom himself because he couldn't stand having his dick in that rubber. He thinks it's pathetic as hell to have his weapon trapped in that shit.

Cumming inside is the best feeling for him though, the only part he loves about pulling out is seeing you smeared with his cum melting on your skin while you whined about him pulling off that shitty trick again. He loves seeing your pouting face sticking with his cum all over while you complain to him.

He won't apologize for it though, and nor will he stop so you have to suck it up at any point, he'll just do it over and over again until you finally resort to taking the birth control pills instead so you can let him hit it raw once again.

If you finally gave up on condoms and resorted to the pills, Raian would simply "punish" you by cumming inside as much as he wants as payback.

[kakashixhatakesxwhore]

Love Language Headcanons

What I imagine the love languages of Iruka, Kakashi, Itachi (w bonus Hashirama and Madara) to be. GN!Reader, until Madara.

Warnings: lil bit of sexism from Madara (nothing new), fluff, lmk if this sucks

Masterlist💿

Iruka

Words of Affirmation

While he's giddy around lunchtime when he sees the note you left in his box, Iruka much prefers to hear the words of love come from your lips

After a long day, sharing his knowledge and wrangling children, the only thing on Iruka's mind is the sweet, little nothings you would soon be whispering against his ear as you two lay in embrace

Some nights, Iruka would even be known to fall asleep before dinner, in your arms, lulled and comforted by your tone and your words

There's something in the constant reminders of your love for him that keeps him spry, his adventurous spirit engaged

With every syllable of 'forever', Iruka can feel his heart thrum in his chest

Likewise, he will be the first to compliment every outfit, any touch of makeup, or even just your sleep-coated face in the early mornings - he wants you to hear his voice every time you look into a mirror, praising you and adoring you

Nothing will ever stop Iruka from telling you exactly how he feels in a given moment, no audience or situation too embarrassing

In fact, he adores telling you how devoted he is to you with an audience - he wants everyone to know you are completely and utterly his, and he goes weak in the knees when you return his words

Kakashi

Physical Touch

When you're sitting with him, his hand is lightly gripping your thigh, reminding you and everyone else who you came with

He finds he cannot walk without touching you, his arm needs to be over your shoulders or your arm locked into his - even when moving through a crowd, Kakashi will hold onto a bit of your clothing as to not lose you

Every night is spent completely tangled together, a jumbled mess of legs and arms, in and out of the sheets, with you practically on top of him

Even while asleep, if you roll away, Kakashi will lock his arms around your waist, pulling you close for a warm cuddle

He's always kissing you while you're within the sanctity of your shared home, and when he's not, he's rubbing his nose against yours, putting his forehead against yours, or nuzzling against your cheek

Will come to the bathroom with you, if you let him, just to sit on the edge of the tub and shoot the breeze while you pee

Never stops getting tingly and bashful when you touch him, especially in public, so aware of the declaration of together-ness that your touch brought

Kakashi cannot stand when someone else touches you, even your close friends - he's got quite the jealous edge, and you know his hands will be all over where the other person touched you, soon, vying to erase the memory of another from your skin

Itachi

Quality Time

He hasn't got a lot of spare time on his hands, but he feels like he might go insane if he doesn't spend every available second with you

The kind memories warm Itachi in the cold nights, so he is especially keen on making a million with you

Comfortable silence is common, which relaxes Itachi immensely

He wants to be with you fully every time you are together - reading is fun, but he prefers to do anything that distracts from you at, quite literally, any other time

Knowing his hours were numbered, Itachi curses the universe for letting the time spent with you slip away like sand in an hourglass

I suppose time flies when you're having fun, and he has never had such an abundance of fun as when he's by your side

Any activity is a good activity when done together, even ones that Itachi didn't particularly enjoy like laundry or mending clothes - he found he could watch paint dry with you and still enjoy himself thoroughly

Lingers heavily when it's time to say goodbye; he can't do it if he doesn't need to it

Itachi plans three months in the future at the crack of dawn - he can't help but try to optimize the length of the periods he spends with you, somehow being able to schedule entire days to be together

Hashirama

Gift-Giving

Knows exactly what you want, in what colour, in what shape, in what size - to the exact dot.

Hashirama can think of no better way of proving his love for you than proving he knows your material desires inside and out

Some way, some how, he never runs out of ideas of things to get you, and absolutely no price is too steep for something he knows you'll love

His favourite part of showering you in presents is the face of shock and sheepishness, telling you he would go to the Edge of the World if it had the only tree with the fruit you craved

Enjoys giving you things that can be used by both of you, like books, rare spices, hair products, but loves giving you things to wear

Who else can procure a silk dress, with yards of intricate embroidery? Who else can find jewels so large and sparkly? Only Hashirama, thusly marking you as his to anyone with working eyes

But truly, your favourite gifts aren't the adornments, or spices, or a massive house - the gifts that truly enraptured your heart were the handmade cards and drawings Hashirama spent hours perfecting for your eyes only

Madara

Acts of Service

While Madara rarely humoured you with a walk through the sunflower fields, he would consistently ensure that you could go through life without the slightest hint of discomfort

He'll make you a tea in the morning, bringing it to you with a gentle shake of the shoulder to wake you up - it's how you start every day, with a small smile and a steamy drink, reminded that Madara would strive to wake you like this even if the world were actively burning

Going both ways, Madara deeply enjoys it when you prepare dinner for him, and will pitch in with the dishes to show you that he was truly thankful

Women's duties are women's duties, but Madara would do anything you asked of him without hesitation within your home (in public, he'd be much more conscious, however helping you as much as he could while still saving face)

Dotes on you entirely - if you told him you wanted the sky to turn fuchsia, he would be taking to the God of the Skies in an instant

Half the time, you don't even need to ask Madara to do something for you, it'll already be done, and done so perfectly you would be left with no question as to who did it

Every thank you, to Madara, is like you asking for something else, and he will tear the world to shreds until it is just to your liking

[livelaughlovesubs]

Heeeeya, Nini! How's it going? I can't believe its already been a year! I've been here since before that time you accidentally deleted your blog XD. Congrats! you've dominated the sub! bsd tag for forever and I'm living for it XD. For the event, can I please request Fyodor (bsd) with the prompt, 'Keeping their hands bound to make basic tasks difficult or impossible. Bonus: punish them for failing or making a mess'. Bro, I have an inability to be all that sadistic, even in fiction TwT, so for the punishment part, can I request something like tickling? Is that allowed?! LMAO- As always, feel free to delete/decline this if it makes you uncomfy, and have an awesome day. And again, congrats on one year!

AHHHHH DONT REMIND ME OF THAT TIME can’t believe how dumb I was 🥲 but thank you for being a long time follower hehe, the idea with tickling is very cute I love it

Dom!reader x sub!fyodor - reader is gn

Warning: humiliation, teasing, a tiny bit of degrading, tickling >:)

Anniversary event

Thud thud thud

Someone was hammering on your door in the middle of the night, and they just didn’t stop. You’ve been trying to ignore it for the past minutes, but the sound only got louder.

Thud thud thud

“Ahhhh which fucker is it?!” In the end, you gave in and cursed, stomping to the front door before opening a small crack. “What is-” to your surprise you knew the person behind the door, it was fyodor, your boyfriend. “Huh?? Fedya? Why didn’t you use the bell?” You immediately swung the door open and invited him in, he gave you a bashful smile before entering. Then you shut the door behind him.

“You see…” he said, while he let his coat slip from his shoulders, revealing his hands which were bound tightly behind his back. “It proved to be pretty difficult to ring the bell three times, so I thought kicking the door would suffice.” That was the secret code you two agreed on, so that you’d know if it was him who’s standing on your doorway. “Ah…” you stared at his restricted limps, then at him, giving him a questioning glance. He didn’t provide any explanation or answers.

The male turned around to face you, who were still standing next to the door. “Well? Aren’t you going to help me?” He rushed you, but kept his soft smile. “Actually no, not yet.” You replied, crossing your arms in font of your chest. That attitude, were you mad with him? “…y/n, what do you want.” Finally he dropped the good-guy act, seemingly irritated by your behaviour. Normally you’d help without being this difficult, except when you aren’t in a good mood, something that seems to be the case here.

You walked past him and sat down on the couch, making yourself comfortable before saying, “bring me the remote.” Fyodor looked a tad baffled, though he didn’t think too much about it and walked to the shelf to the left of you, pondering for a moment on how to grab it, before using his mouth to bite the object. Then he brought it to you like an obedient puppy, right into your hand and cheeks flushed a bright shade of red. “Good job.” You praised him, scratching the underside of his chin a bit, intensifying his blush.

“Now bring me a scissor to cut those ropes. You can find it in the kitchen.” He glared at you when you didn’t stop ordering him around, especially since he found his actions pretty shameful. Nevertheless, he bit back his complains and went to the other room to get whatever you wanted. Once he found the scissor, he bit the handle of the tool, and carefully got back to your side. “That took you a while.” You chuckled, to which he scoffed, “are you done with the games now?” How furious he sounded, he wasn’t having half the fun you had huh?

You tilted your head to the side, acting like you were thinking about it, then said, “one last thing.” Before giving him a big smile. The male rolled his eyes at that, at least internally. “Bring me a glass of water, that’s my last request, promise.” After you finished your sentence, you raised your pinky finger, then said, “ah silly me, you can’t reciprocate it after all.” Fyodor mumbled, “you are unbelievable.” Then he made his way back to the kitchen. What else was he supposed to do, he needed your help.

Through much resilience and great efforts, he managed to get a cup out of your shelves. And he even managed to fill it with tap water! Afterwards he bit the handle of the cup, finding that to be the easiest course of action, and slowly walked over to you. This was now his third time running a stupid errand for you, and he really hoped this would be the last. On his way back, he accidentally spilled the water in the cup all over himself and the floor, causing him to yelp a little, “hmmm..!”

You turned your head to the source of the noise, giggling at the sight but not helping him. His blush darkened even more, and he closed the last bit of distance between you two. Without any commentary, you took the cup and put it on the table, grabbing the scissors and cutting through his binds. He didn’t expect you to not make fun of him, so consider him grateful.

Though after you were done, you got up from your seat, grabbing his shoulders as you sneered, “gosh, fyodor, you couldn’t even bring me a glass of water?” Guess he jinxed it. Even though considering the circumstances he was in, failing his task was a very possible outcome, he still felt humiliated by your words, or at least embarrassed. He wanted to argue, to try and keep some shreds of dignity when you bested him to it, saying, “shouldn’t you get a punishment for that?”

“A punishment?” As soon as these words left his mouth, you pushed him into the couch and tickled him. Attacking his stomach while responding through a huge grin, “yep! A punishment you can’t evade!” “What- ha- ahaha.. no, wait haha…! Stop!” He laughed involuntarily, kicking his legs around and trying to peel your hands off his body. “Haha.. s-stop, hahh.. really, hahaha~ I can’t-!!” Tears were forming in the corners of his eyes already, his clothes and hair all disheveled. “Hehe.. alright, the punishment is over.” You eventually said, reaching out to his face to wipe his tears away.

As if hit by the realisation, he abruptly stopped smiling, still blushing furiously as he gasped for air. When he breathing calmed down, he pouted, then wrapped his arms around your neck as he gave you a quick kiss on the lips, “you-… you better make it up to me for being mean.”

[momo-minomo]

Fic Fairy Friday: Tim and Jason Brotherhood

I love Jason and Tim, they're hands down the most chaotic and petty people in their entire family. I wish they'd be teamed up more often in the comics because every time they do the snark and sass is everywhere!

Unfortunately the Batfam fandom has developed a lot of misconceptions about their past and relationship. The main misconceptions are thinking Jason hates Tim and what happened during their fight in Titan's Tower. Fandom thinks Jason came there to murder his replacement and Tim was ruthlessly beaten down and begged for his hero to stop. In reality, Jason had grown to hate the very idea of Robin (a child soldier fighting and dying for Batman's neverending war) and came to Titan's Tower to convince Tim to quit as well as to prove to himself that Tim wasn't better than him and that Bruce didn't just trade up for a better Robin when Jason died. When talking didn't work he decided that to save this kid's life (and prove to himself that he wasn't just an inferior failure) he was going to MAKE him quit.

But if Batman, Alfred, and Lady Shiva can't control Tim Drake Jason didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell so Tim put up a hell of a fight and even when he was bleeding on the floor, barely conscious but always happy to be petty and go for the low blow, he went out hitting Jason where it hurt by defiantly stating that even beaten and bloody he is STILL better than Jason. They've long since patched things up between them, tho, and more than once in the comics Jason has made it clear that Tim is his most trusted brother. There was even that period just before Tim became RR where Jason was trying to recruit Tim to be HIS Robin so Jason could be gun!Batman and Tim was so annoyed and done with him lol. I do still enjoy the accidental brother or woobie Tim fics and will probably link a few exceptional ones here and there but I'd love to see more fics with the two being equals that trust and rely on each other, too.

The Fic Fairy Friday Masterpost

This Dark Ceiling Without a Star by Miss_Lazy_Tuesday

Summary:

“For fuck’s sake, your chatter is going to drive me crazy faster than this stupid spell.” “Then you talk!” “There’s no point!” Jason snaps. “I can feel it, okay. It’s—there’s no emotion behind it, it’s not using my thoughts. It’s just a bunch of weird Greek echoing in my brain and a compulsion to act. And it’s getting stronger. Talking isn’t going to slow it down.” “Then what will slow it down?” After five long seconds of silence, Tim gives into the urge and viciously jabs his fist into Jason’s leg for the second time. “Goddammit, why?” Jason snaps, green briefly sparking in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly. “You are not seriously going to just sit there and wait to die.” “The hell do you care anyway?” “Because I don’t want you to die! Obviously!” “You fucking should.”

Momo's Notes: These boys need SO MUCH THERAPY! Tim and Jason are trapped underneath a collapsed building, Tim is slowly bleeding out, and Jason has been cursed to sacrifice himself to help power up a spell. So of course being robins they're going to remain calm, work together, and not spend their precious little oxygen arguing, right? Right? Oh goddammit boys!

Life in the Fast Lane by TheResurrectionist

Summary:

“So, let me get this straight,” Dick said, frowning, “You stole a car, kidnapped Tim, got in a high-speed chase, stole another car, fought a bunch of cartel members, and blew up a chop shop...all to get a minivan back?” “First of all, Timothy was a willing participant,” Jason said, crossing his arms, “And when you put it like that, it sounds bad.” “Jason, it sounds bad no matter how I put it!”

Momo's Notes: It's both refreshing and incredibly funny to see Tim and Jason just being normal brothers that annoy the shit out of each other while they're stealing cars and trying to take down asshole gangs out of costume. This entire fic is just chaotic shenanigans and It's so fun.

Good Fellows by thatcuriouscat

Summary:

After rescuing Bruce from floating around the past, Tim is Not Okay. What comes next after losing everything that really matters? Tim’s got some thoughts. So do the rest of the family. And Ra’s al Ghul. …And the Joker. Jason looks murderous. “God DAMN it, Tim, this was not the situation I had in mind when I generously taught you how to be a younger brother out of the kindness of my heart!” Even more shocked by this, Dick asks incredulously, “You, Jason Todd-Wayne, tried to give younger brother lessons? Where did you even get the audacity?” Jason rounds on him hotly. “Bitch, you wish you knew how to be a younger brother!” “FOCUS,” Tim demands. “We’ve got like, an hour to pull this off.”

Momo's Notes: I know I recommended this one for the Dick and Tim brotherhood recs but this story revolves around the three oldest batbrothers and has equally good characterization and interactions for Jason as it did with Dick. Jason's pov pages are some of the most witty and fun in the whole story and the brotherhood that forms between Tim and Jason over the course of this fic is unique.

The Right Substitution is Key by AddictedApple

Summary:

“The Red Hood has been good for Gotham,” Robin continued. “Crime in Park Row decreased by sixty one percent almost as soon as you showed up, and that’s even taking into account all the crime you commit. Drug overdoses have decreased by twenty two percent in adults and seventy nine percent in minors. Homeless minors are ninety two percent less likely to—” “Kid,” Jason interrupted. “Enough statistics. What the hell is this about?” Robin slowly lowered the tablet with his powerpoint presentation and looked up at Red Hood. “You care about Gotham,” Robin summarized. “Gotham needs Batman. Batman is missing and so is Nightwing. We need you to fill in for Batman.” “You want me to cover Batman’s patrols?” Jason clarified. “No,” Robin said. “I want you to be Batman.” Jason bluescreened. (Or: Batman and Nightwing mysteriously disappear before Red Hood has even started antagonizing them, Robin is desperate, Gotham needs Batman, and Red Hood is Batman-Shaped.)

Momo's Notes: An AU where Jason calmed the hell down before returning to Gotham, both Batman and Nightwing go missing, and Tim doesn't know who this new Red Hood guy is but statistics don't lie, he's making a positive difference in Gotham. That makes him the PERFECT candidate to take over as Batman until they can find him. Jason can't believe ANY of these idiots survived while he was "gone"

a kidnapping a day (keeps the board of directors away) by doingthewritethings

Summary:

And, well. He gets impatient when he’s already in pain. He’s still got fifteen minutes until the meeting is set to begin, and the chances of him slapping Mr. Smith-Harguson so hard that the man’s toupee flies off are rising exponentially by the second. Yeah, that settles it. He needs an excuse to get out of here, and he needs it fast. - for the prompt 'jason todd, lover of fake kidnappings, meets tim drake, lover of chaos', but it... got out of hand. happy pride

Momo's Notes: There are no words for how much I love Batfamily shenanigans and Tim and Jason are always the perfect combo for said chaotic shenanigans! Basically Tim and Jason's version of brotherly bonding is to stage fake kidnappings to get Tim out of whatever soul-sucking responsibility he desperately wants to escape from today starting with a board meeting on a day the chronic pain is especially horrific. This fic also has queer and trans batfam which makes it just chef's kiss

Little Red and the Big Bad Hood by CrzyFun

Summary:

Olivia Draper had been a good idea at first. She could pass for older than Tim could pull off while masculine and women really could get into places easier if they had a pretty face. With makeup and some stylish-yet-inexpensive clothes, Olivia could pull off most undercover ops. She was Tim’s Matches Malone. Then Hood had shown up on the scene. When Jason met Olivia, he hadn't intended to pull a Bruce and take the scrappy teen informant under his wing. She just kept showing up where he was doing business. He had no other choice than to keep an eye on her. And kit her out with armor so she wouldn't accidentally get shot. And make sure she was being treated fairly by her mysterious boss. And, okay, maybe become her big brother.

Momo's Notes: I love a good fic with a genderfluid Tim Drake! This is an au where Tim decided his main alternate ID to gather info would be Olivia Draper rather than Alvin. Cue Red Hood getting very annoyed at the obviously underaged girl sneaking into clubs full of dangerous gangsters. This one is a fun accidental enemy to caretaker with a chaotic and sassy Tim that knows he can get on Hood's every nerve with zero consequences with bonus outraged and annoyed Stephanie!

Last Laugh, First Steps by CloakedSparrow

Summary:

Running a large portion of the Gotham underground as a benevolent crime lord was harder than Jason thought it would be, but still well within the range of what he could handle. All in all, it wasn’t that different from being the type of vigilante Bruce had trained him to be become. He was feeling like he was doing a decent job as part of the Bat Family these days. The Wayne family, he wasn't so sure about. Until he receives an unexpected call from Dick while on patrol one night and the words he hears next change everything. Tim's hurt...the Joker's involved. B and Little D are out of town. Cass is here with me and it’ll take us too long t- “Where?” His death. His anger. His father. His role as a brother, as a son, as a grandson. Jason decides its time to take it all on. If he's going to help his little brother recover, then he's going to have to heal himself as well.

Momo's Notes: This is technically part 42 of a series kind of generically called "Collected Bat-Family Stories" that are actually all set in the same AU. Last Laugh is an amazing entry in the series that can be read as a stand alone fic but I'd honestly recommend going into the series page and starting from the beginning. There are fics in there that aren't Tim or Jason-centric but it's all part of one narrative and Tim and Jason are really the main characters of the whole series and it's so fun to watch their brotherhood grow and deepen. If you're a fan of Wayne Family Adventures I think you'll love this one since the characterizations are very similar imho (aside from Damian but he's slowly growing as a person over the story and will eventually get there).

middle children must unionize by Poteto

Summary: Jason realizes no one is taking care of Tim - not even Tim himself. He decides to do something about it.

Momo's Notes: Jason doesn't like how things went down between Tim and Dick when their big brother gave Robin to Damian and decides if no one else is gonna take care of the 16 year old like the kid he is and not the adult they expect him to be then he'll just have to step up and do it himself.

Playlists:

[average-mako-enjoyer]

Okay, I honestly have to talk about this because this post doesn't give me peace.

I can't reblog it because OP blocked me (for good reason, I'm sure), but I saw it and now I have to talk about it because I found it fascinating.

So this is a reference to the ME3(!) scene that happens after Tuchanka(!!), where Joker and Garrus participate in the joke battle, telling mildly racist jokes about Humans and Turians.

One of the jokes is about Joker himself:

"Why does the Alliance hire pilots with Brittle-Bone Disease?" and the punchline is: "So their marines can beat someone in hand-to-hand drills."

Another is about how to tell when a turian is out of ammo. And the answer is: "He switches to the stick up his ass as a backup weapon."

Personally, I don't think this is a shining example of a failure to criticize racism. In fact, I think it's quite the opposite. Their bonding activity here isn't about being racist, it's about making fun of militant racism among friends. They're literally joking about racist stereotypes here.

Joker: What do you call it when a turian gets killed by a horrible spiky monster? Garrus: Friendly fire. Come on, that one goes back to Shanxi. Joker: Eh, you gotta respect the classics.

I think it's pretty obvious what this dialog is really about, but okay, I could be wrong.

It's like the "you missed the point by idolizing them" meme, but in reverse, I think.

Every single culture in Mass Effect is depicted as xenophobic. The Asari, despite being galactic mediators, have a huge superiority complex. The Turians are a militant empire that believes in striking first and talking later. The Hanar believe that they are the enlightened ones, and they have a subservient intelligent species that they use for their purposes. Salarians believe they can perform inhumane experiments on members of intelligent species because... well, because they can and no one can really stop them. Every Volus we meet thinks they are superior to everyone else. Every Batarian... shall I even talk about the Batarians and how pathetic the excuse is to exclude them from the Council alliance when planets like Illium exist and thrive? How about Krogans?

Everyone here is racist. Everyone. That's the point. You can and should examine how you feel about that.

There isn't a nation on this good old planet Earth that is any different. There's something very animalistic about it, right? We are sort of born with xenophobic attitudes (don't trust people outside your group), and we have to actively unlearn this reaction to people and things we consider dangerous. That's why the portrayal of xenophobia in fiction is so important. It allows us to safely examine these prejudices and unlearn these behaviors. It's not Mass Effect's fault that you see this very clear message as enabling.

Again, it's not the game's fault, it's the fandom's fault. They vilify the Virmire survivor for standing up to this Shepard's decision. But I have to agree that instead of giving us 10 mildly interesting companions in ME2, the game probably should have explored the fuckery of Shepard joining Cerberus and the whole resurrection business much, much further. Still, the VS is right, and the fandom chooses to ignore it.

Let's talk about Ashley first.

Is she really racist? Because she literally goes ballistic when accused of supporting the human supremacist group. She is very, very polite to every alien companion in ME1. She also immediately becomes protective of Tali because of the way she's been treated, and it's pretty easy to tell from her dialogue that she can relate to Tali's experience (Williams' curse, huh?).

Humanity is the dog in the story she tells Shepard, and she's also right in her assessment of the Council and their willingness to help Shepard's cause. Her distrust of aliens is also a very reasonable thing. She's the officer on the super-secret military starship, she knows the protocol, and she should question Shepard's decision to allow aliens near the ship's critical systems. It's literally her job, and if Shepard doesn't want to sabotage their mission, they should be grateful that Ash is keeping them in check. That's what officers do. She's also right about this, because Tali does end up stealing the super-secret information from the Normandy.

So… is Ashley really racist? My answer is no. She doesn't need this thing to be part of her character arc, and it's not part of it at all. Ashley's story is about her family's legacy, about the prejudice and hardship she faced at every step of her career. She treated Tali like a little sister in 1, and she treats her the same way in 3.

Now Garrus.

Yes. He's racist. He was raised that way. Turians really believe in their superiority, and he acts and thinks accordingly. And you know what? You're supposed to be uncomfortable with that. You're supposed to see how fucked up his behavior and his views are. You're not supposed to root for him and his actions on Citadel and with Saleon and later on Omega.

You're supposed to see him for what he is: a broken, lost, traumatized person who can only see the world in black and white. And the most interesting and beautiful thing is that he knows that. He knows his flaws, and he tells them to Shepard, and depending on who your Shepard is as a person, they can reflect on that and see that about Garrus, and they can help him, or they can ignore it, they can actively enable it, they can be so stupid and so caught up in their own shit that they don't even understand it. Shepard's romance with him is supposed to be a little toxic, a little unsettling because of the power dynamics and because it starts when they are both extremely vulnerable. It's not supposed to be cutesy. They're both fucked up.

And there's a real interest in exploring how fucked up that is, how fucked up he is. Him joking with Joker and Wrex is an example. Him finally apologizing to Tali for his previous behavior is another. Him supporting Shepard when they decide to sabotage the cure is also an amazing example.

Again, you're supposed to be uncomfortable with that. Garrus talks to Shepard about the calculus of war. If siding with the Salarians gives the Palaven a fighting chance, he can live with that, and you know what? This is GOOD writing. It's very realistic, and it's something that feels like Garrus.

We're talking about a galactic war that no Council species has won in any of the previous cycles. Everyone is grasping at straws. The Krogan are literally going, "Reverse the genophage or we won't help you." It's everybody's Hail Mary.

In times of crisis, everyone becomes more xenophobic. That's literally what's happening in the world right now. The economic crisis makes people more conservative and more focused on short-term goals. Can we really blame Garrus for remaining xenophobic in such an environment? Is this a time for him to reflect on his biases?

Or would it have been better if Shepard had said, "Stop being racist, Garrus," and he had just stopped? Is that how character development works? We can literally see him letting go of some of his prejudices, but it's a long, long process, and the galactic war is not the best time for it, if I'm being honest.

This is where I agree with this post 100%, because this is a problem for this fandom. People are infantilizing Garrus and being incredibly misogynistic towards Ashley. But these games are begging you to question Garrus' behavior, and I don't think it's the fault of the games or the writers that the fandom just ignores all the not-so-subtle messages and makes posts about how Garrus hasn't really done anything wrong, and posts about how Ashley is racist, and posts about how the narrative isn't interested in exploring how troubling Garrus' racism is, and how this series fails to critique racism at all.

Phew. I'm done.

Honestly, if I were the OP and hadn't blocked me yet, I would have done so by now. I really don't want to be an ass to them, so I won't tag them or anything, but I found this post so interesting that I couldn't help myself. Hope you found it interesting as well. Pls don't send anything nasty to the OP or alert them of this post, I don't want to ruin their day or anything. I'm just doing my reading comprehension duty here.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

damian has a magic girlfriend. you can choose what powers they have. but reader sometimes uses her powers to play tricks and or entertain depending on the circumstances. maybe reader saves him with her powers and idk angst?

Is this Witchcraft?

Older!Damian Wayne x fem!Reader

wc: 0.6 K summary: small prank teehee warnings: none, no use of y/n a/n: loooooove the idea, THANKYOUSOMUCH!!! But I just made a small drabble about it, I'll probably do another part to it, but currently I'm working on something bigger,so....... just wait it out(thanks again for the request)

»Could you pass me the book over-« And the book he wanted to grab is already in his hands. No matter how many times you do that, it never fails to faze him. He tried to figure out the science behind your power, but never got further than researching for telekinesis, reading hundereds of books about it, and learn that there is no possible way of him to fully understand it.

You, however, think it's amusing and also admireable how he tries and wants to figure it all out. Good thing he gave up after a few weeks, but still studies you intensely whenever he thinks you aren't looking.

Once, he got scared because you moved his stuffed animal to another place when he wasn't looking, doing it every time he turned his back to the plushie. He thought he was going insane until you revealed it and had to deal with a grumpy Damian for the rest of the day. But that didn't stop you from pulling pranks on him at all. In fact, it was funny to mess with him in various ways, especially when he doesn't get it at first.

Like now, he is focused on some case, sitting by his computer and currently solving it slowly but surely. Hanging out like this was usual between you two, just enjoying each other's presence like this while doing some stuff. But it does get boring sometimes. Especially when he has been at it for four hours and haven't said much.

You look through his room again, searching for something to distract him with. It won't hurt distracting him a little, right? You focus on his bottle water standing by his desk, carefully moving it up and let it circle around his head. Damian sighs out, trying to fetch the bottle in the air that floats around his head. He fails as you get the bottle out of his reach when he does so, getting a kick out of his attempts to stop your shenanigans. Finally, he turns around in his chair and looks a little annnoyed, while his water bottle still floats around by his face, even doing some small flips and circles right in front of him.

He manages to snatch it from the air, putting it back onto his desk with a small thud. »Are you doing this on purpose?« Bad question, but he still asked it.

»Do what on purpose?« Damian rolls his eyes at your words, standing off his chair and walks over to his bed, where you lay sprawled out on. He doesn't waste any time on laying down beside you, laying on his side to wrap his arm around your middle.

»Sorry for neglecting you. The case is really interesting.« He murmurs softly as you shift to wrap your own two arms around him.

Once he feels like you are getting comfortable to cuddle, the water bottle from before nudges his head gently, but irritating enough for him to curse it out in arabic. He knows it's you who does this all, but it doesn't stop him from getting at least a little grumpy again.

»I swear, if I see or feel this bottle move on its own, I will figure your power out just to make sure you won't be able to use it anymore.« Now, that's a threat. But you know he isn't serious. Maybe.

»You're no fun... can't even annoy you without getting death threats.« You sulk and place the bottle back onto his desk before snuggling closer to his chest.

He huffs out at your words and wraps his arm tighter around you. »That was not a death threat. Just a small warning.«

A small warning. Sure thing. But now with you both cuddled up, you are not complaining or messing around with his stuff anymore. Finally some peace.

a/n: I promise you all, there is going to be more parts to it probably but not now 😭😭 have a few things going on, i'm sure i'll get to it sooner or later. hope you enjoyed it!

←MASTERLIST

[wettvagina]

UNI FUCKBOYS!

description: like we all know geto & gojo are just the infamous duo that everybody and they mama wannna fuck , what happens when you get stuck with the both of them after a stupid dare at a college party?

warnings: threesome , p in v , blowjob ,

You took another sip of tequila as you had lost the second time that night to whatever stupid drinking game your friends were playing at this lame ass party, "Okay, maybe we should stop, I really do not wanna black out." you sighed, crossing your legs as you sat back, "This is so boring, I thought college parties were supposed to be fun." Shoko groaned, "Let's go home." Nanami grunted, his low deep voice barely audiable.

"What? We can't go home now, it's only 10!" you stand up, coming closer to both Shoko and Nanami who were leaning on a nearby counter, "And?" Nanami questioned, "We'll look super lame!" you said, "Well this party is lame anyways." Nanami scoffed, "Listen, this is our first college party, you should be grateful I even scored an invite." you protested, "Let's look around and get the hang of things." you offered.

You and your pair of friends were freshmen in Jujustu College, trying to break out of the boring nerd characters you three had caged yourself in, you presented the idea of a party. The week had just ended, and this whimsical Friday you wore your sexiest dress, and painted on your boldest eyeshadow. Geared up to conquer your first college party.

"Hey! You three down for spin the bottle?" a tall man with piercing blue eyes and white hair asked, "Uhm-" Nanami looked with a face of disgust, "Sure!" you cheered, "Perfect! Follow me." the white haired man's hand found your shoulder as he ushered you to a room.

Upon entering, you noticed that this was someone's bedroom, the music was relatively louder in this room, you assumed it was due to the speaker being in this room. The room was lit by a pair of LED strips parallel to eachother, there were about ten people in this room, two of the ten were gulping down a bottle of beer to use as the bottle in, 'spin the bottle'.

"Shoko?" you whispered, the white haired, pale man barely paying attention to you, walked ahead as you looked back, seeing Shoko and Nanami give you a look. You lightly smiled at them before sitting down, "Alright, finally. Let's start." a blue haired woman begun. "Now, this isn't normal spin the bottle, who ever the bottle lands on has to do a dare, you sure you still up for this?" the white haired man asked, you nodded excessively as you observed the white haired man looking at you up and down.

"Well, I'll let you spin first. And your friend can give you a dare." the white haired man explained, taking a seat next to a larger man with long black hair, and a pair of black circular earrings, you felt yourself blush when the man looked at you, whispering something into the white haired man's ear before giggling.

You wiped your sweaty hand onto your dress before spinning the bottle, sounds of people talking paired with the booming music in the room bombarded your hearing as the bottle spinned, it felt like forever as the neck of the bottle spun in circles, eventually landing between the white haired man and the black haired man.

"Looks like you got both of us." the black haired man snickered, "How lucky, Suguru." the white haired man spoke, three pairs of eyes darted towards Shoko, as she composed a dare in her head. "Uhhh." her brain looked like it had went blank, "Uh, I dunno' go to the bathroom for five minutes.'' she said with a shrug, your eyes widened and your face scrunched, 'oh shit' you cursed to yourself, maybe you really should've just went home when Nanami said to, this is going to be the most awkward five minutes of your life. Thanks so much Shoko!

You bit your lip before standing, "Satoru." you heared the black haired man say as he grabbed something from his pocket and discretely passed it to the white haired man, which you guessed was named Satoru. A puzzled look was displayed on your face, but it was quickly wiped off when the entire room begun talking, you could barely make out the conversation since everyone's voices were layered but by the looks of Shoko's and Nanami's face you knew it wasn't something good.

You watched as Nanami quickly arose, before a door was shut in your face, you didn't even notice that you had already entered the bathroom along with two georgous looking men, the room smelled like vanilla, the room was simple, a toilet there, a sink here and a shower in the corner. You nodded to yourself before facing the two men infront of you.

"Uhm, nice house." you muster up some sort of courage to say, "Oh." the dark haired man said as he looked at Satoru, "This isn't our house." he mentioned, "I'm Geto Suguru." he said with a generous hand out to shake, you quickly took his hand, his warm skin felt somewhat comforting as his eyes raked your body.

"And I'm his way better looking ,best friend, Gojo Satoru." Gojo said with his eblow resting on Geto's shoulder, you giggled as the white haired man introduced himself, "But I suppose you already know who we are." Gojo said with a wide grin, "Uhm, no actually, I'm a freshman here." you inform them, "Ah- makes sense." Gojo mentioned, "If you weren't I would've noticed you way earlier. Your face is just..." Gojo explained, "Eye catching." he continued.

"Oh, thank you." you smiled, blush heating your face. "You're quite the looker as well." you began, "You both are." you say, and now both of them looked at you smiling before looking at one another. "This your first party?" Suguru asks, leaning on the sink, "Yeah, well my first college party." you announce with a soft smile, "Oh, I see." Geto nods to himself while Gojo looks a bit hyper as he leans on the door behind you.

"Say, you wanna try something?" Gojo asks while his hands ghost over your waist, "Huh?" your eyes widen and your heartbeat fastens.

And there you were, getting your pussy pounded from the back, and taking dick down your throat. You decided five minutes ago that this topped every single highschool party and every future party to come.

Gojo stood behind you, hips rutting into you at a brisk pace, as he held onto your waist, Satoru stood infront of you, hand grabbing at your hair as he fucked your throat, your moans clogged with his cock, "Suguru, I want to hear her scream my name." Gojo groans as his cock slides in and out of your welcoming pussy, Geto's cock slides out of your throat, and you watch as he palms himself in front of you.

You pant before you began moaning in pleasure, you batted Geto's hand away from his own cock as you stroked it yourself, groaning and whining as Gojo slapped your ass, "Shit!" Gojo grunted as his hands dug deeper into the flesh of your hips, you felt Geto's hand hover over your head, before grabbing onto it, shoving his cock down your mouth.

Tears began forming in your eyes, you felt like if you were seeing stars by the stomach folding strokes Gojo was thrusting into you, you almost had asked him to take off the condom so you could feel his dick raw. "Feel good?" you hear Gojo say from behind you, you could only murmur onto Geto's cock as it occupied your mouth, Gojo pulled out his cock from your pussy, then re-entered with one hard thrust, causing you to jolt forward, slipping Geto's cock deeper into your throat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" you heard Geto groan, Gojo continued to ram his cock into your weeping pussy at an astonishing pace, Geto pulled his cock out, leaving the tip resting on your lips, your hand circled Geto's length as you pumped his cock, "Gonna' come all over your fuckin' face." he groaned and you begun stroking his cock faster.

"Oh- fuck! Right there." you whined out when Gojo bullied his cock into your g-spot, hitting all the right places, earning sweet noises from your mouth, to shut yourself up, you took Geto's cock back into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip as you looked up at him.

Gojo pressed down onto your back, causing you to arch as his cock moved in and out your pussy, "Gonna- come! Fuck!" Geto says and you feel his cock tensed as thick, white ropes of his come sprays onto your tongue, you look up at him with his eyebrows scrunched as his mouth made an 'o' shape, he panted heavily as you continued to stroke him while he was coming.

You moaned as you felt Gojo's dick tensed inside of you, Gojo buried his cock deep into your pussy with one final thrust as he came, groaning and grunting and the hold he hand on your hips intensified. "Shit." he panted, drawing his dick out of your pussy, removing the condom and discarding it in a nearby bin.

"You've been a good girl, you'll get to come." Geto coos as he gets on his knees, pinning you against the counter before swiping his tongue on your pussy, licking your puffy clit while his fingers prod at your tired hole. "Oh shit- I'm close." you whine, you hear Geto moan into your pussy as his tongue circles your clit, his lips press onto your sensitive nub and once you feel that you swore you saw stars, coming all over his face as you reached your climax, "Fuck, oh shit!" you cursed as you grabbed onto his hair, "Mhm, good job, princess." he praises as he watches your juices drip down your thigh.

[dracowars]

Hello!! I just found your blog and I love your writing style 💖💖

I was wondering if I could request headcanons for the Harry Potter boys (or just George Weasley!!) about forgetting their crushes birthday? Totally okay if not!!

george weasley forgetting your birthday

pairing: george x reader

a/n: headcanons are so much fun, but i never have enough different ideas for more characters so i stuck to george only with this one 👉🏻👈🏻

warnings: cursing

universe: harry potter

George knew he fucked up, totally and utterly screwed up

He already had a feeling that he forgot something important

But the moment he entered the Great Hall, he was doomed

There you were, laughing and talking with your friends

They hugged you and handed you small wrapped gifts with even smaller bows on top

And he knew then: he forgot your birthday

Out of all the things he could have forgotten, he forgot this ?!

And the worst part: he already had the perfect idea for your gift

But now he doesn't have anything and just stands there like an idiot, completely frozen

It's a wonder no one has noticed or bumped into him yet

George's fight or flight instincts are kicking in and he comes to the conclusion that he needs to get out of there to think of a last minute gift idea

But too late, your eyes locked with his in that exact moment

Oh, how he would love to dissolve into thin air right now

Or to apparate out of here, but Hermione's voice tells him "You cannot apparate inside Hogwarts!"

Yeah, that becomes evidently clear this second

You smile at him from the distance, sending him a gentle wave

George decides that it is time for the fight mode to be activated and he puts on his best poker face before casually strolling towards you

When he reaches you, his heart beats against his chest, something that only you are able to do to him

For a moment it is very awkward

George is too stunned by your beauty that he can't even formulate a coherent sentence

Your hair is adorned by a cute bow, in the colors of your house, and your hair is made into a beautiful hairstlye, your stunning eyes looking up at him

Finally, he manages to congratulate you and you hug each other tightly

Before you can sit down again, however, he grabs your hand and leads you a bit further away from the table and - specifically - your friends

"Do you want to go out with me?"

George would very much like to slap himself the moment those words leave his mouth

And apparently, you are just as stunned as he is

"O-On a date, I mean."

Good save, he thinks to himself

Only now does he notice how his heart is going crazy inside his chest and his hands are getting sweaty

But the smile you answer him with makes him forget everything

The loud voices around you? Gone

"What?"

You giggle, squeezing his hands a bit tighter

"I said that I would very much like to go out with you. On a date."

You are teasing him, he knows that

And he absolutely loves it

He can't stop a big smile from spreading on his face now and he notices a slight blush on your cheeks as well

Only after you left to go back to your friends does he realize the meaning behind your words

George actually has a date with you

Now he needs to make sure it is the best date the whole Wizarding World has ever witnessed to make up for the lack of an actual gift

What he doesn't know, however, is that you immediately saw through him and knew that he forgot

But he couldn't have given you a better gift

[bon2bonn]

Weathering your Storm

° The winds are howling

With summer break around the corner , it's just one weekend . What could go wrong ?, Well........ , Seb , Lewis and Daniel are about to find out.

*The start of the 22!23! Grid!AU !

*requests and questions are open so don't be shy ! ✨

2022!F1 grid X female!driver!reader

Sebastian vettel , Daniel Ricciardo, Lewis Hamilton X female!driver!reader.

Words count : around 1.4k

Warnings : grammar, cursing,sad girl hours, mercedes slander(not really), McLaren, I'm missing up the timeline but it's fun , not proof read nor edited .

leaving the media pen brought y/n relief as she's finally able to stretch her legs and get some fresh air away from the bustling reporters asking the same questions over and over again and buzzing teams finishing interviews and packaging garages after the race .

She avoided her team's garage like a plague , having to witness as the engineers pushed her car back in was more than too much for her to handle , so she opted for walking around trying to clear her mind before it goes on to a spiral.

Spotting Sebastian's green team shirt alongside Lewis and chatting among themselves down the pit wall she made a beeline for them . "Hello gentlemen . seb, Lewie " she greats them cheerfully as she gave each one a hug as they congratulate her before settling back beside Seb as he nudged her shoulder teasing " p3 , not so bad huh? " causing her to smile bashfully at him , Lewis pumped his fist with her's " great driving out there " , "thank you " she said with a beaming smile " yeah those last 3 lap were from hell , Sainz almost got my ass " both looked amused at her ranting post race as she always dragged them to listen , not like they were complaining as they adored how she went on giving them her full review with them giving her input here and there .

after a while of catching up they noticed how uncharacteristically quite she got while looking around searching for something or rather someone but before they could ask she perked up as Danny barged over lifting her in a tight hug shaking her around while exclaiming loudly "demon spawn!" And she returned the hug letting out a loud "Ricky Martin!" The other just stood there used to their antics same as everyone around them as they love to tease (bully) eachother around the paddock .

She turned to Danny giving him a wide grin" you're right on time , I was about to send out searching party " he nudged her shoulder " awww , I didn't know you'd miss my charming personality and handsome face that much " she scoffed at him " as if " he stepped back hand on his heart dramatically whining " you've wounded my delicate heart !" That got him a kick in the shin from her before she grinned back at him " stop with you theatrics , I have a great idea , we should start our own F1 support group !" mildly amused he threw her a wide grin " I'm all in baby , but what for?" So she looked at the other two drivers maintaining her wide grin as she lowered her voice to avoid any preying ears "well , mainly for you , Mick and Seb , but I'll be needing it too . my lovely team pulled a McLaren because guess who's mercedes dropping during the summer break ? , to give you a hint it's not Lewis" .

The three of them stood still staring at her as if she'd grown a second head , Danny was the first to snap out laughing "nice one mate ! That Almost got me" after a moment of silence Sebastian signals to him and he immediately reached to cover her ears as he cursed loudly "that's fucking bullshit , why the fuck would they ?" As she just stood there waiting for him to finish , Lewis just stared at her bewildered " what do you mean they are dropping you ? They can't do that , you're competing for the championship in that tin can excuse of a car incase they've forgotten about the standings ! Hell ! We both got a contract till 24 _ 25 they can't just drop it".

she just shrugged " well , they sure can and already did so ....." Danny's eyes couldn't get wider "what?!" So she gave them a nonchalant hand wave "starting from tonight I'm officially an unemployed F1 driver , they bought my contract and sent me out the door" Lewis interrupted " but Toto...." Only for her to shake her head " he sat me down along with the team management , PR and legal team which explains why they were lurking around lately , and both my lawyer and Manager out of nowhere and went on about the team and the drivers , how the last two years were great for the team bonding building a solid foundation and all of the usual pe-race briefing no big deal right ? , He went on talking about my contract which was odd because I knew wouldn't be up till 24 at least with great possiblity of extension , and how I have a promising future in the sport but not with them and I honestly just zoned out after that ,up until they gave me an offer out of of guilt or pity I guess to drive for Williams alongside Albon " that got Danny's attention "what about Russell?" So she whispered to him to subtly hold both Lewis and seb back as they both were close to marching over mercedes demanding answers after her declaring " they finalized singing him today for the next three seasons so starting from SPA he'll be driving full time for mercedes , that's net even the worst part , apparently they were discussing the position since the beginning of the previous season but they wanted me out with the least PR damages so now is the best chance to do so after most teams got their seats confirmed for next season so here I am " .

"Wait so you're telling me that everyone knew except us ? " she shrugged "pretty much, yeah " , "bono?" , " He knew" , " sussie?" , "Nodding "yup" , "James?" , "Uhuh , he was all in for the change" , "fucking hell!", "Exactly" she shrugged " they even decided they won't even announce any of it till Spa " . Daniel whistled in astonishment " wait until Nando hear about this " causing them to grimace only thinking what he'd possibly do " oh he already know ! Found him this morning cornering Toto in the garage , don't know what he said but by the time I got him he was done , talking about too many witnesses " , that got seb to realize as he voiced out concerned " that's why he seemed so cryptic , well more than usual, he asked me to get ready to head out to Brackley headquarters for some urgent business had to talk him out of it " she snorted" Don't be so sure , He asked me to join too right before quali so I reckon that talk didn't do much , Kimi is in it too so .... Yeah ".

Silence overtook them as their somber faces took her demeanor in , her now fidgeting fingers , tense shoulders , and strained smile , seb stepped up giving her a tight hug whispering " are you okay?" And she reciprocated with a strained voice " yeah , it's just didn't hit me yet so I would give it two to three days to fully set in but right now, everything is shitty and I want to cry but I'm too angry to cry so now I'm hungry , I want ice cream ". That earned her a sympathetic smile from Lewis as he pulled her next " I known darling , let's grab our things and I promise you we'll get you as much of ice cream as you want okay? ", " Okay , but I'm not going there , I can't , they're taking down my name and number off of everything" she let out with a small voice as he sighed heavily "already!? They couldn't wait?" Shaking his head while heading up to their drivers rooms .

Danny put his arm around her shoulders swaying them as he reminded " it might be so shitty and as bad as it seems , but we've got you okay? You'll find us there whenever you need us , you're stuck with us for good , and if you wanna burn down you know what , you know where ........." Seb snapped. " no one is burning anything!" Only for him to carry on pretending to whisper " we won't tell him " causing her to let a loud giggles at how serious Daniel was and how seb was trying to tell him off of it ." Just know you won't be alone in this".