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sovonight · 2 years ago

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undone, part 3 (end) | atton/exile, sith exile au, kotor 2

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

✧ — ✧

"Whinu claims he had nothing to do with it," Cela says, as soon as the door closes behind her. She moves to pull her cloak off her shoulders, before remembering that her cloak is gone, and abandoning the movement. Jaq is at her desk, leaning against the edge of it, leaving the chair free for Cela to take with a tired sigh.

"And you believe him?" Jaq asks.

Jaq's tone is neutral, leaving the judgement solely to her. Whinu had been insulted by her accusation, and had insulted her in turn, saying outright that Cela had plenty of other enemies at the academy to accuse instead. Beneath her anger, Cela had felt in that moment that she'd burnt her last, tenuous bridge at the academy, but she'd had to persist. The access codes, the timeline, the motivation, everything pointed to him. And yet….

"I don't know," Cela says. "I'm no longer sure of my judgement of him. But… Jaq, you've been on many interrogation assignments, haven't you?"

A strange look passes through Jaq's eyes, before he forces a casual laugh.

"Yeah, but breaking a Sith's different from breaking a Jedi," Jaq says, "And I'm out of practice, anyway. I'm just a pilot, now, remember? You need any ships flown, I'm your guy."

"Of course," Cela says, not so taken by the mystery of her assassination attempt that his somber air passes her by. She nods to his jacket. "A pilot who carries a small arsenal with him wherever he goes."

"Hey, old habits die hard," Jaq says, with an easy shrug, and Cela is glad to hear his tone is light once more.

Perhaps she can set this mystery aside. She had feared that Whinu or another Master would take advantage of her absence to claim her title, but nothing had happened. And for all that she's been through in these last few days, she's emerged better for it: the academy is still against her, but she's now assured that Jaq stands by her side.

"Jaq," Cela begins slowly, casting her gaze down to her cold hands, "Do you remember the last shipment you collected for me?"

Cela has never asked for Jaq's help in rounding up hopefuls. At some point, he had just begun doing it, offering them to her of his own volition. Cela had interpreted his help as some jab at her own weakness, but beneath her doubts towards him, she had long grown grateful for his silent devotion.

"I find myself in need of another," Cela says. "The sooner, the better."

Instead of the immediate yes she'd expected, Jaq frowns to himself, shaking his head.

"I can't. Nothing's coming in right now," Jaq says. "Word is, recruitment efforts are waning now that most Jedi are dead or dying. The academy's still getting students, but they're coming direct from the torture chambers."

"And the academy would be expecting them," Cela finishes for him, and Jaq only nods.

Cela falls silent, unable to suppress the cold in her chest. She had always known Korriban's supply would run dry, but had never thought it would happen so soon—not when she truly needs it. With the state she's in, the most she could do is mind-trick a gizka. She can feel the Force around her more acutely than ever, flowing throughout the academy, winding through its inhabitants; it drifts so near, and yet denies her grasp, taunting her.

"There are other ways to let off steam, you know," Jaq says.

"I'm not stressed," Cela says, her tone harsher than she intends it to be, and Jaq just gives her a raise of his brow, as if to say, And you were saying?

"I'm not!" Cela insists. "I'm—I'm just—"

There's just Korriban, bland and bleak and threatening, all around her again. There's just the academy, so full of plotting minds and jealousy and vehemence. There's just the vacuum in her chest, chilling her to the bone, threatening to eat her alive.

And there's Jaq, who's watching her now, who's closer to her now than she has ever let him be before, and yet—for all that she wishes he would reach out and help her—can do nothing.

"I'm just… not used to feeling the weight of the academy again," Cela finishes, hollow. "It is a temporary thing."

It's a familiar wall that she reaches for—so familiar that Jaq's body language closes off in response, taking her words as a push away.

"Right," Jaq says, subdued. "Well, I just remembered some repairs I have to do anyway, so—"

"Wait!" Cela says, and it's only when Jaq looks to her with a mixture of puzzlement and astonishment that she realizes that she's snagged the edge of his sleeve as he turned to leave.

"Yeah?" Jaq says, his tone edged with hope. "What is it?"

"Perhaps a moment at the cantina would help us both," Cela says, "If you're willing to join me?"

—

The cantina is a bright light in Korriban's dusk, filled to the brim with the liveliness of the evening crowd. Cela's gaze passes across the room, recognizing the mechanics from the hangar; workers and archaeologists from the dig; and guards from the academy. The only person she doesn't recognize is the woman behind the bar, who stares at her in open shock before spinning quickly away to wipe down more glasses. Jaq leads her towards the booths lining the back wall, where the din of the cantina is quieter, sinking into the backdrop.

Cela stirs her drink idly, the ice within it long melted so that it no longer makes a sound. She doesn't remember what Jaq had gotten her—it doesn't sharpen the mind the way Jaq claims juma does, at least, she needs her wits about her—and it doesn't matter, as such trivialities are far from her mind right now. The soft light around the booth melts against Jaq's features, leaving a touch of gold upon him that softens his sharp smirks and scowls as he talks over the day's work at the hangar. His grey eyes shine amber, like setting suns through the haze of dusk, and a sigh escapes her as Jaq continues on, oblivious.

"So I looked into it," Jaq says, "And yeah, if it's going to take that long to go through official channels, we should keep the junk ship for now."

"And our rogue repair droid?" Cela asks, resting her cheek on her hand, only to be startled by a cold sensation as she nearly sticks the stirring spoon to her. Thankfully, Jaq doesn't notice, and Cela quickly sets the spoon on the table, a safe distance away. Surely she's stirred enough.

"I didn't catch its serial number, so I sent them all in for inspection," Jaq says. "Mechanics weren't happy with that, but we're past the busiest part of the month, anyway. It does mean I'll be working on the junk ship myself for the time being, but it's worth the trouble. With the way cargo ships only stop in periodically to deliver supplies, we could be left trapped here if any brave Jedi decide to ambush u…"

His gaze drifts over to hers, and he interrupts his words with a smirk.

"Oh, so it's the idea of us all dying gets you smiling, and not a single one of my jokes?" Jaq says. The smile on her lips surprises her, disappearing as soon as she notices it—but Jaq doesn't tease her further; his gaze only softens.

"No, it's just…" Cela hesitates, wondering if she might be saying too much, but that ease and lightness in her shoulders guides her to continue, "We're on Korriban, and yet it feels like we're together for one of our old missions. As though we could step out of here and be... anywhere."

"Yeah, I miss it too," Jaq says, and she notices then just how wistful she had sounded, for him to respond in the same way.

"Why don't you go back?" Cela asks; she's long been curious. "The work here is tedious and unchallenging; I see how this place stifles you. They would take you back, easily."

Jaq only shrugs, glancing down at the table.

"It just isn't the same without you," Jaq says. "I don't want to work with anyone else."

I came here for you, he'd said. A sentiment that would've sunk sweetly into her heart if it weren't for everything keeping her here. If he had hoped to convince her to return with him, he'd sought her out in vain.

"Don't think of me," Cela says, quietly. "I am glad for your company, but Korriban has a way of wearing its inhabitants down to shadows of themselves. I would not want to see that happen to you, when you could thrive somewhere else."

"Funny," Jaq says, "You took the words right out of my mouth."

Cela looks at him, and realizes what he's saying.

"Jaq—I can't leave," Cela says, stunned, and Jaq shrugs.

"Why not?"

"I'm the headmaster."

A couple heads turn from the tables beside them. Cela hushes herself a moment too late, but Jaq replies, unfazed.

"Last I checked, you have twelve replacements who'd happily kill to take your place," Jaq says. "Besides, once you leave, it's not your problem anymore."

She has long dreamed of throwing up her hands and telling the Masters to sort the academy's troubles out amongst themselves, rather than turn on her—but….

"I still have a duty to Revan," Cela says, quietly. "It's her wish that I remain here."

"Yeah, but Revan's not watching this place anymore, is she?" Jaq says, meeting her eye. "If she doesn't care about it, you shouldn't either."

It could all just... go away. Without explanation, without logic, she and Jaq could escape into the night, and leave the Masters to fight amongst themselves over the empty title she'd left behind come morning. No one would notify Revan of the change in command—and with Revan's frequent turning wheel of projects, it could be a year or more before her personal attention returned here.

"You could go anywhere," Jaq says. "An army's not the only place that could use a Dark Jedi like you."

"A rogue Jedi who had abandoned both sides would soon be found and dragged back," Cela points out. "If I am to walk free, I would never be able to use the Force again."

"Not necessarily," Jaq says, "You're a healer. People would be willing to cover for you."

In that one word, this hypothetical escape crashes back down to the earth. A bitter smile takes her lips, holding back more complicated emotions that she hasn't touched in years.

"I'm no healer," Cela says. "It was a pleasant thought exercise, Jaq, but my place is here."

"But why not? You heal me all the time," Jaq says. "Just do that for other people."

"It doesn't work like that. You're—different. A special case," Cela says, and Jaq chuckles, giving her an amused look.

"Alright, I know an excuse when I hear one," Jaq says. "I've never been a special case in a good way in my life. What's the real reason?"

"I'm serious!" Cela insists.

"Sounds like a Jedi lie to me," Jaq says, though his tone is teasing—and Cela's face warms, both out of indignance and what she's about to say.

"Force healing isn't like kolto," Cela says. "I can't use it whenever and however I want. I need to feel a certain kind of genuine emotion towards the receiver—emotion that I can no longer muster towards most people."

Cela watches for Jaq's response, and wonders if her burning face and beating heart might reveal to him the full implications of what she's just confessed, but Jaq's lips quirk to the side in confusion.

"What does that mean?" Jaq says. "Cela, can't you just drop the cryptic Jedi talk and tell me?"

She lets go of her breath in a frustrated sigh.

"No," Cela says adamantly, and turns away from him, taking a long drink from her glass. In their silence, the din of cantina roars back into her awareness, bringing her pieces of conversation that float past:

"—so I say to him, look, you find me another pair of power converters, and I'll—"

"—can't stand these Hssiss, we're running out of antidote packs—"

"—still making preparations, the Dark energy readings are overwhelming—"

A pair of archaeologists walk past their table, leaving Cela with that last shred of their conversation as they leave. Beside her, Jaq plays with the empty shot glass in his hand, muttering, "Something she feels towards me but no one else…."

"Jaq," Cela interrupts, too pulled by urgency to wonder what guesses are going through his head, "Those archaeologists. Do you know what site they're talking about?"

Jaq blinks, brought out of his subdued and thoughtful state.

"Oh—yeah, I've heard about it," Jaq says. "It's another tomb they've been digging out for weeks now. It's got some kind of strong stench around it. I say it's just the dead guy inside, but they say it's Dark energy, and they're making all these preparations and requests for it. I bet the forms are going to cross your datapad soon, if they haven't already."

Cela is on her feet before she fully registers her movement, and only glances back at Jaq when he calls her name, puzzled.

"It's getting late," Cela says, by way of explanation. "I'm returning to my quarters."

She doesn't address her abrupt action, or the way that this is hours before she would usually turn in; and thankfully, Jaq points neither out.

"Alright," Jaq says, "But you're not going to stay up all night working again, are you? Because you know those forms can wait."

There's that concern in his eyes again; now that Cela knows his sincerity, it's hard to push it away. Jaq is always looking out for her; he wouldn't want her to head into the tomb alone. Perhaps… she could tell him—

But as Cela looks at the lively flush in his cheeks, and the bright gold in his eyes, her uncertain words die in her throat. The Force is dangerous in her hands. She's only just opened her heart to him again; she fears what would happen if he walked in.

"I'm not," Cela lies. "Good night, Jaq. Take your time without me."

—

When Jaq leaves the cantina at last, the sky is long dark, and only a couple stragglers remain inside, their silhouettes hazy in the dimly lit windows. He hadn't meant to stay so long, but something about a lively room leaves just enough space for his thoughts, and he'd had many to sort through.

His hand has gone absentmindedly to his temple, touching the very spot Cela had healed just days earlier. Jaq pulls his hand back to his side, curling his fingers closed. He has all the pieces to understand what she'd said. Healing is an ability of the Light side—she'd told him this—and he's seen the Light. It had left him shivering, drowned in the vastness of it, haunted by the way the world looked through the eyes of the other side. But… he had felt none of that at Cela's hands. What she'd shown him was anything but grand and unknowable, it was... familiar. It was as if she'd known he was afraid to see the Force again, and had eased it for him.

Gratitude curls up in his chest, but guilt is there to meet it. She hadn't known. And it's precisely because he's kept all these secrets that Cela—Cela, who faces all challenges with a cold determination and set shoulders—had broken down and cried in front of that wreck of a ship, not from the pressures of Korriban, but from a fear of him. A chill grips his heart at the memory; he never wants to see that look on her face again. He had always thought that she walked beside him knowing the way in which she marked his limits. Anyone, but her. No one, but her.

But that small, troublesome voice in the back of his head pipes up: he has never wanted to let Cela to know just how far he'd go for her. He's had his moments of self-justification—it's more noble, isn't it, to serve her quietly from the shadows—but he's long known that his reluctance is due to pure cowardice, tied up in that itchy sense of self-preservation that's kept him alive all these years. Even that glimpse he had shown her of his uncovered heart had taken all his willpower to hold open. And Cela… and Cela….

Cela had given it back to him. His affection, still wrapped within his fear and his guilt. The Light, tamed to fit into the palm of her hand. He's back at the start: an emotion that she feels for him, but no one else. He's close, but he's afraid. Because if he wants it, then all these tricks and shadows and lies he's built up around himself have to go, to leave room for her.

"Easier said than done," Jaq says to himself, then pauses, looking up. "Wait, where the hell am I?"

He'd been heading towards the hangar, but a glance around shows him that he's wandered onto a dig site, his boots upon the gradient of a shadow cast by an entrance dug into the cliff face, within which lies a path that only seems to slope down. Jaq looks cautiously in, reaching a hand out to the side of the entrance to support his lean in, but the moment he makes contact, an overwhelming wave of emotion hits him: urgency, wrongness, danger.

"Cela," Jaq says, because his responding pull of protectiveness would emerge for no one but her, "You didn't go back to your quarters, did you?"

Sparing only a second for a steadying breath, he heads in after her.

—

Jaq knows he's entered the tomb proper when the dug-out soil of the cave fades into tiles of dusty ceramic, which run alongside carved reliefs that line the wall and stretch into the shadows ahead. It takes a moment for Jaq's eyes to make out the entrance to an interior chamber ahead; the workers had installed lights in the cave, running wires down from the surface, but none hang here. He runs a hand along the wall, following the lines of ceramic down the path, and that feeling of foreboding crawls up his fingers once more.

There's just enough light to guide him into the chamber—into the empty chamber. For a brief moment, Jaq's heart drops, but he's heard stories about these tombs: about the ones that torture their trespassers, and the ones that don't want to be entered. Surely this is one of the latter; and surely Cela had left her touch here, had marked the way ahead, even though she had been foolish enough to go on her own.

A thought bothers him, nudging at the back of his mind—what is she looking for in a place like this?—but Jaq waves it away. He needs all his focus to make out the reliefs on the walls in this terrible, dim light, and that foreboding is still—

That foreboding is still guiding him. His eye catches on some text on the wall, probably some sort of ancient Sith riddle, but he doesn't need to play their games when he has her. Jaq places his hand on the wall once more, closes his eyes as he's seen Cela do for her use of the Force so many times, and holds still as that danger, alarm, fear crashes over him, sending spikes up beneath his skin. She's so close, he can almost feel it—

—And a low, grinding sound comes into his awareness. Jaq opens his eyes to see a carving in the wall, a piece of which has been depressed by a push of his fingertip—a hidden switch. With a step back, it's released, and the wall that had pretended to be a dead end before begins to pull away from the ceiling, sinking into the floor. Jaq grins to himself in relief, but relief soon becomes confusion as the light in the room begins to fade, cut by a rising line of shadow cast along the falling wall. He turns back in time to see the last gap of light between the chamber and the hall outside disappear into the ceiling, as a second wall slides into place.

Of course: a trade. With these people, there's no give without take. Jaq shakes the residual shiver off his shoulders. Whatever—he doesn't need that door open anyway, not until he finds Cela. But... that feeling he's been following is gone.

Thoughtlessly, Jaq clutches at his heart, as though emotion were a physical item that could be lost then found, but it's vanished. That can't be right. Jaq doesn't know much about the Force, but he doesn't think it works like this. He can't run out of awareness. That'd just be stupid.

A nervousness tugs at his lips, a reassuring smile that has no one to see it, alone and sunken into darkness as he is. Cela's here… right? Unless he'd just imagined it. Unless he'd just been tricked. It wouldn't be the first time, but it hurts more now, now that he's walked into it. Something gives in Jaq’s chest, and when he sways slightly, finding a wall behind him when he takes a step back to steady himself, he just lets himself slump against it. What is he doing? Assuming that Cela's here, based on one bad feeling? Assuming that Cela needs him, when he'd been left behind?

Take a hint, Jaq. Cela knew what she was doing when she left him for Korriban. She'd seen enough in their time together to see through him, to all the ways in which he's weak. And she'd been right: when he'd seen that Light without her there to make sense of it—without her there to prevent him from ever seeing it at all—he'd ran, afraid, in the direction of the closest safety he knows. He'd told her he was here for her, but the truth is in a twist of the words.

A ragged breath escapes his lips, and horrified, he clamps a hand over it, silencing himself. This tomb is mired in Dark energy, whatever that is, but like the others scattered in the valley, it could hold all manner of creature inside, from a common mynock to a wandering Hssiss. Jaq doesn't have any antidote packs on him; for all the supposed precautions that line his jacket, he'd rushed in after all.

Then he hears a shuffle of fabric against the floor... a step of a boot. When a light shines through the darkness, in the familiar vivid red of a Sith lightsaber, all Jaq can feel is relief.

"Cela," Jaq says, quickly wiping the dampness from his eyes, "You're alright."

"Yes, but are you?" Cela asks. The light rises to illuminate half of her face—oh, how he's missed that half of her face—and she extends a hand to him, helping him up. "You look shaken."

"You know me. I'm fine," Jaq says, though the quick grin on his face has never felt more like a lie. "What are you doing here? I felt—I mean, I thought, that you were in danger."

"Ever vigilant," Cela comments, with a small, fond smile that lifts his previously leaden heart. "There is no more danger here than there is in one's mind. This is a proving grounds, of sorts. I came here to conquer my doubts."

Cela holds her lightsaber aloft before them, revealing their surroundings in its red glow. Rather than a wider version of that chamber he'd stood in, what lies before them is some kind of underground arena, with stands that stretch out to either side, circling a pit in the center. Jaq steps forward for a better look, doubting his eyes; he's sure he would've seen hints of a structure this grand before that wall sealed the way behind him. But all thought escapes him when Cela places her hand on his shoulder and draws in close, the fabric of her robes moving in a whisper against his back.

"I'm glad you're here," Cela confesses. "I was waiting for you to follow me."

"Well—you could say something next time," Jaq says, turning to her, but Cela rests her head against his other shoulder, and her hand moves into a loose embrace across his chest, holding him; he stills against her softness.

"Do you truly not know what I was trying to tell you?" Cela asks, softly. "In the cantina."

Her breath ghosts past the shell of his ear, a kiss of warmth against the cold; he holds back a shiver.

"I think I do," Jaq admits.

"Then what will you tell me in return?" Cela asks. "A confession for a confession."

But an unease crawls up his neck, and he has the distinct sense that they should get out of here.

"Look, Cela, I feel the same way," Jaq says, "And I'll say it, properly, as many times as you want, but—can we leave this place? It's giving me the creeps."

He still has too much to tell her, too much that might change her mind, and he'd rather not rush it here and now, not inside this tomb. But Cela laughs, low and drawn out, tipping her forehead against his shoulder. Jaq wonders if the bartender had gotten her drink wrong, if Cela weren't drunk after all, but when he turns to face her, her eyes are dark and unreadable in the lightsaber light, and hold no amusement anymore.

"Not that confession," Cela says. "The other that you owe me."

"What are you talking about?" Jaq is aware of now of another, building nervousness under his skin, layered upon the unease; different from what he'd followed for Cela, it's a portent for himself. "You know, relationships are built on—"

"Relationships are built on respect," Cela interrupts him, and takes a step forward; with her lightsaber drawn before her, all he can do is step back, startled, dropping down a stone step. "A respect you refuse to show me when you continue to hide the truth from me."

"Uh—Cela, I—" Another step, and another, steadily pushing him away from the entrance. "I'm lost. Help me out here. What—what truth are you talking about? Because I—"

"This is about the Jedi," Cela says, low and serious. "I know all about your last interrogation assignment. I know how you almost left."

Speechless, his veins run cold, and he stumbles down the last step, backing away until the arch of his boot rocks over the edge that separates the stands from the pit below. For a split second, his balance is gone, until Cela reaches out and grabs a fistful of his collar.

"You ran to me like a coward," Cela says, coldly. "You think I can't see the way you cling to me? How you hope to use me? Not just as a distraction from the spark of the Force that lies in your heart, but as something more?"

"That's not true," Jaq says, desperate even to his own ears, but Cela only holds him further out from the edge.

"Be honest with yourself, Jaq, in a way you have never been with me," Cela says. "What else did you seek of me?"

"I…" His voice fails him, breaking upon his words, "I wanted it to be you. If anyone was going to train me... I wanted it to be you."

"Finally," Cela says, with a cold satisfaction, but Jaq can't stop looking for the warmth in her eyes.

"But I didn't come here to use you," Jaq says, his words as rushed as a plea, "I came here because I couldn't leave you behind. They're destroying you here, you know that—"

"And a coward that can't even bear the Force can save me?" Cela asks.

"I can bear it now," Jaq says. "I can bear it, if it's you."

"Then prove it," Cela says, and in an uncurling of her fingers, lets him go.

Weightlessness is followed by impact far too soon, and he groans in pain, finding himself upon the dusty floor of the pit. Cela's figure swims in his hazy vision as she looks down at him from above, and he watches as she deactivates her lightsaber and tosses it over the edge after him; it strikes the dirt next to his hip.

"Pick it up," she commands. "Stand and face your opponent."

"You're crazy," Jaq says, pushing himself off the ground with a wince. "I don't care what's going through your head—I'm not going to fight you."

But Cela ignores his words, folding her hands behind her back, and looking out into the area behind him. Jaq realizes that there's more than one red glow illuminating the place—and there has been, for some time.

"You must take his place," Cela says. "There is only the Dark side, or death."

Jaq feels like a mind trapped as his body moves for him, turning to face the figure behind him. Twin lightsabers rise to reveal their wielder: his own corpse, staring back at him.

—

Revan's reinforcements are late, and with their forces struggling, the Mandalorians may yet turn the tide of battle. Cela knows she must give the order—and Jaq, beside her, gives her a solemn nod, prepared for the sacrifice—but she isn't. Somehow, Jaq wears the robes of a Jedi; somehow, his heart beats next to hers; and she would trade the galaxy to spare herself from feeling not only her wound created anew, but the agony of the Mass Shadow Generator tearing through him, tearing through her.

"I can't," Cela says, betraying the Light for her attachment to him, betraying the Dark for her unwillingness to complete the test. "I can't do it."

"And the sacrifices you've made to stand here?" Jaq says. "Your kyber, your family, your Order. What are they worth if you don't commit to your path?"

"It's not the same," Cela says. "I haven't lost you yet."

"You will," Jaq says, his eyes cold and unkind, "When I see you for what you are. When that time comes, do you want to face me with the Force, or without it?"

"You..." Care about me, she wants to say, but the words catch in her throat, "You'll understand."

Jaq sneers, cruel.

"And I joined Revan for my generous sense of understanding, did I? You're a Jedi, Cela. You'll always be one of them, looking down on the rest of us. Even if you spare me now, one betrayal is all that stands between my blade and your throat."

Jaq advances, and Cela steps back, maintaining a buffer of distance between them.

"Will you walk away from here with the power to keep up your act—or will you show me what you really are?" Jaq says, low and mocking. "Lost, and broken. Worthless without the Force."

Cela's back hits one of the consoles on the bridge, having backed away as far as she can, and yet Jaq still advances, gripping her jaw in his hand, twisting her face up to look at him.

"Love is fleeting," Jaq says. "There is only the Dark side, or death."

Jaq's eyes are on hers, their grey as opaque and uncaring as the sharp edge of a vibroblade, and Cela shuts her eyes, no longer able to stand his gaze.

Power is what kept her going, but in that time when she had believed that she stood alone on Korriban, lost in a sea of hostility, what use was her power then? Cela had never felt more unlike herself—and until she had healed Jaq of his injury, she'd forgotten what she'd once held in her heart.

And yet Cela cannot fathom turning away. She's never known how one could bear it: to hear the Force and never be able to grasp it again; to feel like this, forever.

But before she can voice anything, Jaq's cruel touch is pulled away. A sensation of falling lifts her heart to her throat, and a gloved hand grips hers, pulling her through—and Cela's eyes fly open, seeing not the bridge or the stormy skies of Malachor, but the mundane and familiar interior of the headmaster's ship, the one that she and Jaq had left in flames on that pale speck of a planet.

Her hand is still held, tight, and her gaze trails up her rescuer's arm, to the shoulders of a familiar jacket. Jaq's back is turned to her as he scrolls quickly through the screens at the pilot's seat, and scenes fly past in the front viewport: sandy dunes, barren land, a cantina interior, a forest floor.

"Jaq?" Cela says, and hears in her voice a trembling, fearful shadow of herself; with a breath to gather herself, she tries again, firmer. "Jaq, what is this?"

"Hold on," Jaq says, "I'll find it—any moment now."

"Find what?" Cela says, pulling away. "If this is another trial, I—"

But when Jaq turns at last to face her, his eyes hold none of the cruelty of the tomb’s trials, bearing only concern and warmth—he’s real. With a shaky breath, relief drives her forward, and Cela finds herself throwing her arms around him, pressing herself to his chest.

"Wow, you're really glad to see me, huh?" Jaq sounds relieved, relaxing and wrapping an arm around her in return. "For a moment there, I thought I'd never find you."

"Wait," Cela says, pulling away to look at him, "How did you find me? How are you here?"

"It's a long story," Jaq says. "You know, I almost got fooled by this other version of you, but then I saw myself, and—well, you have no idea how many places I waded through to find you."

"You're navigating inside this place," Cela says, disbelievingly. "But you shouldn't have been let in. These trials, the Force, it…"

"I guess now is as good a time as any," Jaq says, and with a hollow smile he shrugs and says, "I'm Force sensitive."

"What?" Cela says, faintly, pulling away from his grasp, but Jaq steps forward to meet her step back, reaching out to her.

"No, I know," Jaq says. "That's what I thought, too, but Cela, it's okay—"

"What part of this is okay?" Cela says, pushing his hand aside. "What possessed you to follow me? You should have stayed where I left you—far away from this place!"

Cela regrets her words when hurt flashes in Jaq's eyes, but his determination soon replaces it.

"I heard you," Jaq says. "You were calling for me—I didn't imagine that."

"You fell for a trap. You shouldn't have listened," Cela says, even though she knows he's telling the truth—the truth, for once, she doesn't want to hear. "I was fine where I was. I was in control. I always am."

"Then you have a funny way of showing it," Jaq says, sarcasm coloring his words. "Were you fine when you panicked at me rounding up hopefuls for you, trying to help you? Were you in control when you crushed that creature guarding the ship?"

Cela opens her mouth to answer, when the ship trembles, and she looks up quickly, eyes wide and afraid to find Malachor in the viewport again. Nothing fills it but dark, vast space; and when her attention returns to him, all the harshness in Jaq's demeanor is gone, leaving only the hurt beneath.

"Cela," Jaq says, "Please—I know something's happening to you. I thought it was just stress, but—whatever it was that overcame you, whatever it is that you're scared of—that's why you're here, isn't it?

"If you just tell me what's happening, maybe I can help," Jaq says. "Maybe this touch of the Force inside me can be good for something for once. Whatever you need of me, if you show me, I can—"

"You can't. I can't let you help me," Cela says, pulling away from him before he can take her shoulders in his hands, blanket her in more frustratingly gentle words. Though the Force can't be manipulated here, she pulls something like it to her hands to hold him apart from her, fearing that her resolve will break—and the ship shudders in response, protesting the barrier, but Cela ignores it, her voice strengthening in conviction.

"This isn't some monster we can kill, some night terror. This is the Force itself," Cela says. "After Malachor V, they called us all ghosts for witnessing so much death that day, but I was one who felt it. I held a tie to every last Jedi, every last sacrifice, and I felt their deaths scream across the Force, magnified tenfold in the intimacy of my mind.”

"I couldn't bear it,” she confesses. “I couldn't listen anymore. I cut them all from me, severed every last tie, including mine to the Force. But the Force must run through all living things, and the price I pay to live is to steal what shreds of it I can from others. I drained it from every Jedi we hunted, every doomed hopeful you brought to me, and now—"

She laughs, helpless.

"Now I can hurt you in the same way," Cela says. "You've seen the kind of death I deal; it had disturbed you. Aren't you afraid?"

She expects Jaq to look upon her as what she is: a shambling disaster, a tragedy past its ending. The metal of the ship around them strains, and the stars in the viewport begin to melt and marble into space, becoming the lightning of Malachor V once more—and yet, when Cela raises her gaze to Jaq's at last, the look in his eyes is fierce and determined, centered only on her.

"I’m not," Jaq says, “But you are. You’re just trying to scare me away.“

"Jaq," Cela says, despairing, "You don't understand—"

"Maybe I don't," Jaq says. "Not yet. I haven't known all this as long as you have. But there's something that you don't understand either."

Somehow, that not-quite-Force begins to slip from her fingers, the barrier between them buckling.

"Because I remember Malachor, too," Jaq says. "I remember all the anger and hatred I felt as the war was dragged out for nine long years, because the Jedi council refused to join it. I remember feeling that for so long that every other emotion in me grew dull. But you were part of what woke me up again, Cela; you were why I stayed. I've been afraid of the Force for so long—Light, Dark, it didn't matter—but you showed me another way."

The barrier is gone now; Jaq could approach, but he doesn't, leaving the space between them merely empty. Outside, the stars have become not the surface of Malachor V, but coalesced into plain sunlight; the ship, having accomplished its task, simply disappears from memory. All that remains is a tree, a wall, and a field of green, familiar to Dantooine. Light passes through the canopy above, falling dappled upon her shoulders, and unlike the memories the tomb has shown her, this one holds nothing but calm.

Cela runs her fingers through the sunlight, watching the flickers of gold play across them. Jaq, who despite taking her here, seems completely new to their surroundings, looks around with some confusion.

"The wall, it just… fades away," Jaq says. "I know none of this is meant to be real, but…."

"It's all I remember of home," Cela explains. "From before I joined the Jedi."

"Oh," he says, changing his tone in that single word; Cela gives a slight smile.

"It's alright," Cela says. "I'm told my family was proud to let me go. I was proud, too, of all the things I'd been told I could learn to do…."

A leaf flutters in the breeze on one of the branches above, and drops, spiraling into a chaotic fall. Cela holds out her hand, and though its path appears unpredictable, it lands perfectly into her palm.

"The world felt different then," Cela says. "Unknown, but knowable. Vast, but finite. The whole world is simple when you heal; there's nothing else to pour your love into but the wound before you."

This time, she doesn't pull away when Jaq steps forward to close the distance between them. His hand finds the curve of her face; his thumb is gentle as he brushes her cheek, and she realizes that, at some point, a tear had fallen there, betraying her.

"Can you show me how?" Jaq asks.

"So you can heal the wound in me?" Cela says, with a weak laugh. "It's futile. You could keep trying for years upon years, an eternity, and never make a mark."

"That's alright," Jaq says, "I've got nowhere else to put my love. The Sith Lord it belongs to doesn't want it."

"I'm no Sith Lord after this," Cela says; though no one else need know about the tomb and its test, she'll forever know she failed it. "And… you don't know that."

"I don't?" Jaq says. "Does that mean you'll come back with me, now?"

Cela lifts her gaze to his.

"I will, but... do you understand what you're asking?" Cela says, stilling his hand. "If we're to love each other, we'll inevitably form a Force bond. You'll be able to feel my pain, my sadness—"

"—And your love, and your relief," Jaq says. "And the same goes the other way around; I know. I remember my training. I always thought a bond like that would weaken me, but now it sounds like what we already have."

"But it's stronger," Cela says. "Unbreakable, unless one of us dies, or wounds ourselves to sever it."

Rather than match her seriousness, Jaq only smiles, and the fluttery, warm thread laced through the tangle of his emotions reveals the love beneath.

"Cela," Jaq says teasingly, "Are you proposing to me?"

Her words play back in her head, her face burning with warmth—but her response is cut short. Dantooine is fading: the tree bark has grown stony and jagged, the land barren, and the wall translucent, a window back into the trial she’d left behind. Cela pulls Jaq close to her.

"We can't dwell here any longer," Cela says. "You've shown me a way out; now take it."

It's no different from waking from a dream. Cela's eyes open to the ancient, dusty tomb floor she had fallen upon, and Jaq, slumped over her previously limp body, begins to rouse as well. His eyes catch hers, and she's pulled forward.

"Cela," Jaq breathes in relief, pulling her into a crushing hug. It's uncomfortable yet calming at the same time; his heartbeat is strong against hers, reminding her that she's still alive. When the embrace relaxes, it's only so Jaq can pull away slightly to look into her eyes. "No more creepy Sith tombs, please—at least not without me."

"Y—yes," Cela says, and it's only now that she's experiencing the real thing that she realizes how muted Jaq's touch was in the tomb's illusions. Had he always been so warm? And had she really said all those things—been so honest with him... shown him the parts of herself she'd long sought to hide?

Somehow, Jaq seems to know exactly what's running through her mind.

"I guess they're not all bad, though," Jaq says. "I finally know how you feel about me."

The look on Jaq's face is smug, satisfied—but just a touch uncertain, as though a trace of doubt lingers that their earlier conversation had ever happened at all. Cela could deny it now, put him back at an arm's distance—but after all the pain it took to get here, there's something freeing in pure honesty.

"You do," Cela admits, and for all her embarrassment and flushed cheeks, finds it the easiest thing in the galaxy to say, "I love you."

It's one thing to know, and another to hear it outright: Jaq turns red, as well.

"R—right," Jaq says, and clears his throat awkwardly. "And the bond, well… I think you know what my answer is."

A warmth glows in Cela’s heart, and she takes his hand, interlacing their fingers.

"I do," Cela says, "Though I wouldn't mind hearing it."

"I'll spill everything once we get out of here," Jaq says. "We've had a long enough heart to heart in some dead Sith’s resting place."

Cela laughs, and with that, they leave.

—

"So, Nar Shaddaa?" Jaq asks.

"Nar shaddaa," Cela confirms. "It will be easier to hide you there than on Korriban."

"I'm sorry," Jaq says, and Cela wonders what the apology is for when she's already come to realize that she has only ever suffered through this place, but he continues, "I know what you gave for your place here."

That, out of everything, is what constricts her throat, with something not unlike sorrow cinching it shut. She grips the sill of the ship’s viewport; the pressure against her fingertips grounds her.

She looks out across the cracked and barren land, to the academy, standing high on its cliff, a lofty structure that well represents its place in Revan's army. It had seemed so crucial and all-encompassing, holding all the crushing weight of Revan's influence… and yet now that she's prepared to leave, it appears small.

"It's alright," Cela says at last, turning away from the sight. "It never suited me."

#sovo writes #*locks jaq in a dark room and makes him confront himself*#cela: i *could* ask for help... OR i could keep hiding what's wrong with me #cela: i'm dropping subtle hints that i love him | cela to jaq: stop helping me. leave me alone

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just-miru · 2 years ago

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i love the silly little details a.rasen puts through out his comics. i am very normal about them

#so so normal (lying)#rn is the cameleon pin Pao mother's wearing #she's finally showing off her true colours let's gooo #well not really actually #she's still keeping her act up #but Pao knows (most) of the truth now #so her mother's act doesn't work on her any more let's gooo #anyway #it's silly details like these that make me wanna combust #i remember in Melvina's Therapy when he would design the characters shirts to leave subtle hints and stuff #also also!!#the way he would leave leave hints about others chapters!!#they would either be hidden in some background painting or on the notes Melvina takes #even in his announcements and author notes at the end of some chapters #hngngnhng hhgnngngb #i wanna re-read Melvina's Therapy again now-

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gregmarriage · 2 months ago

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someone left a lovely comment on my fic and now i’m 🥺

#night made #but now i can’t focus on anything bc nicey words #i need to remember to reread comments whenever i get insecure about my writing #bc so many nice ppl in my inbox and i never delete them and i always reply to them #this is a not so subtle hint to read my fics/leave comments 👉🏻🥺👈🏻#gwen rambles #gwenposting

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sttoru · 23 days ago

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clan leader!satoru, whose smile isn’t actually a. . . smile. it serves as a gentle (yet not-so-gentle) threat to whomever it is dedicated to. a lot of the gojo clan members, as well as members from other noble clans, have heard of that infamous smile and know of its true meaning.

ever since marrying you, that smile often finds its way onto his lips. it’s not because of you, but rather because of the ones interacting with you. satoru didn’t ever expect to feel so possessive about someone he initially didn’t care for.

a marriage of convenience is all that your relationship was for. it purely existed for the sake of a connection between two famous families. your first weeks together have been awkward. any form of affection - any touches or loving words - were for the sake of his image.

however that all was fated to change: satoru eventually found himself falling for his wife.

your kind personality, your subtle smiles, the embarrassed expression on your face whenever he teased you in front of others even if it was all a faux display- an act of being all lovey-dovey. your inner and outer beauty was slowly becoming more apparent to the white-haired man.

you don’t know when it started. you can’t recall why satoru is suddenly acting affectionate even behind closed doors. usually, he’d drop the act the second you’re in your chambers. now he continues to compliment you, pepper you with chaste kisses as long as you allowed him to… even refer to you as his ‘dear’, ‘pretty girl’ or ‘sweetheart’ to your face like it’s nothing.

you shrug off your own guards and maids when they curiously inform you about their lord’s sudden change of personality, which was supposedly all because of you.

“ah, my wife,” satoru’s voice echoes above the loud chatter in the main hall. you turn your head and find your heart racing for some reason as he addresses you in that gentle tone.

he makes his way through the crowd, eyes never leaving your face, even as other important figures try to catch his attention to talk business. “i was greatly worried about you,” your husband sighs.

a gloved hand cups your face and satoru leans in, his glossy lips inches from yours. you’d think this was part of the fake arrangement, but there’s this genuine hint of adoration behind his cerulean eyes that you cannot ignore.

“i— my apologies,” you murmur softly, eyes darting around the room while you try to ignore the loud thumping of your heart. “i was simply talking to one of the guards,” you explain and nod your head to the bulky man standing next to you.

the guard respectfully bows to satoru the second you introduce him. your husband doesn’t respond for a single second, his fingers twitching lightly at his side. he can’t stand the thought of you talking to another man while he isn’t around.

is it for your own safety? or is it because he’s jealous and immediately wants to get rid of any man who dares speak to his precious wife? perhaps it’s a mixture of both.

“i see,” satoru replies. his eyes darken for a second before he catches himself. the corners of his lips curl upwards, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

that familiar sight makes you nervous. you’ve seen it before, when your husband would subtly threaten others for whatever reason, while hiding his true feelings behind that smile.

“well,” satoru continues, his arm wrapping around your waist. he pulls you against his side and places a kiss on top of your head while glaring at the guard through his white eyelashes.

“thank you for keeping my wife safe,” the clan leader says through that tight smile, trying to keep it as ‘genuine’ looking as possible. he has a reputation and image to uphold after all.

you’re about to say something, but are cut off as satoru adds another comment. “i’m here now, so you can return to your post.”

it isn’t a suggestion. it is an order— a command. a disguised threat.

the guard immediately picks up on the subtle hint and nods without saying a word before walking back to his spot at the doors. you can hear the faint whispers from others as they also seem to recognise that change in satoru’s demeanour.

it’s not like you’re totally oblivious to what’s happening either. you look up at satoru and place a hand on his chest, trying to catch his attention. “satoru,” you whisper his name.

the white-haired man immediately snaps out of it and excitedly shoots you that boyish smile of his instead of the fake, cold one he wore on his face just a second ago.

“you called, my dear?” satoru tilts his head, bringing a hand to rest over yours on his chest. your eyes widen a bit at the way he seems to relax and look at you with that same devoted gaze.

you don’t think it’s an act anymore. the words die on your tongue and you can’t recall what you wanted to say anymore. those sparkling blue eyes and charming smile have you rendered speechless.

“…it’s nothing,” you mutter under your breath. you have no clue how you’ve managed to turn that once, cocky, overly confident and cold-hearted ruler into a total softie for you. it’s something you still need to process yourself.

satoru doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, glaring at the men who pass by, shooting them that fake, threatening smile if they looked like they desired to converse with you.

you’re his wife, and that’s that. he silently wonders when you’ll realise that he actually fell for you. perhaps you are already aware of it, but hide it from him on purpose.

whatever the case is, satoru will make sure that you know his true feelings for you. one day he will tell you those three words explicitly— if it wasn’t obvious enough through his sudden change of behavior.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x you #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk x female reader #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #is this a tease to my other clan!leader gojo fic? perhaps.... :D

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rafecameronssl4t · 5 months ago

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Tell ur girl || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Topper’s new girl being a bitch so you just have to remind her where her place is.

Warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 431

a/n: send me requests pleaseee 🫶

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

Posted up with my dogs, Scooby Doo type shit. She grippin’ all on my balls, I gotta move type shit. Diamonds, they cover my flaws, I got that brand new type shit.

You step into the dimly lit space of the party, left hand sporting a red plastic cup, your other holding your purse as you move amidst the chaotic atmosphere. The pulsating bass of Future’s ‘Type Shit’ reverberating through the air, the scent of alcohol and sweat mingles with the thrum of excitement, creating an intoxicating ambiance that electrifies the senses.

You navigate through the crowded room, your gaze fixed on Rafe, sat on one of the couches with a few people around, his presence commanding attention wherever he goes. You catch glimpses of familiar faces—like topper and kelce—their expressions a blend of excitement and indulgence, but your focus remains on Rafe.

He hadn’t noticed you as he was talking to a guy standing behind the couch, but Topper did, and he tapped Rafe on the shoulder and cocked his head to your direction. He watches you as you come closer with that grin you knew all too well. He let his eyes wander down your figure as you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks burn up.

Without even setting down your purse or cup, you immediately leaned over to Rafe as his hand rests on your hip, your lips meeting in a kiss. All while this was happening, you could hear Topper ushering the girl beside him to move to his other side. Your eyes move to an unfamiliar girl, her blonde locks cascading around her shoulders as she’s pressed up against your boyfriend’s arm, her expression one of casual indifference.

Your eyes then flicker towards Topper’s hand resting on her thigh. So this must be Top’s new girl, Cassie I think her name was. “Yo Top, tell your girl to move over yeah?” Rafe leans back on the sofa manspreading as his eyes lock with Topper’s behind the blonde girl’s head.

You notice the subtle change of demeanour in Cassie as she looks down at her painted nails. “Babe, just move here,” Topper pats the free space on his other side as she scoffs. “Why should I? I was here first,” she scoffs, glancing at you as she dismissively tosses her hair.

Rafe watches Cassie with a measured gaze, his eyes betraying none of the amusement that flickers in their depths. “Cassie, right?” The blonde blinks up at you, “Could you just please move over? You’ll still be sitting next to Top,” You assert, your tone firm but composed. Rafe’s lips quirk up in a barely contained smile.

“Nothing,” She shrugs, “I’m just not moving,” she declares defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture of defiance. In your peripheral vision, Topper closes his eyes briefly before letting out a breath, “Cassie, it’s not a big fuckin’ deal, just move and let Y/n sit there.” His tone agitated.

Your patience wears thin at her stubbornness, frustration simmering beneath the surface. With a sigh, you shoot Rafe a pleading look, silently urging him to intervene. But Rafe merely watches the exchange with a hint of amusement, his lips quirking up in a barely concealed smile.

Before you can respond, Rafe’s deep voice slices through the thick tension in the room, calm yet imbued with an unmistakable authority. His eyes lock onto yours, his expression firm but not unkind. “Come on, Cassie. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he says. His words resonate with a weight that leaves no room for argument.

“Fucking forget about it,” your voice cuts through the air as the three of them watch you set down your things on the glass table. Then, without missing a beat, you settle onto Rafe’s lap, his arms instinctively wrapping around you. Your boot-covered feet find their place on Cassie’s lap, causing her eyes to widen in shock

Topper stifles his laugh as Rafe smirks, his large hand resting on your exposed stomach. Topper’s laughs become audible, drawing a sharp glare from Cassie. “Fuck you all,” she snaps, pushing herself off the couch and shooting you a withering look before stalking off into the crowd.

“Jesus Christ, Top, where are you finding these girls? Bitch island?” You shook your head at him as he rolls his eyes, leaning back on the couch. “Fucked If I know. Maybe I should steer clear of blondes,” Topper grumbles. Rafe snorts, “That’s about the smartest think you’ve said in a long time.”

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thef1diary · 23 days ago

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Sit On It | L. Norris

Kinktober 7/11 - Cockwarming

Summary: Quality time, he told you, but you didn’t realize that your seat while watching a horror movie would be Lando’s cock.

warnings: 18+ smut, cockwarming ofc, dom!lando, filthy filthy words.

wc: 3.1k

kinktober masterlist

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Lando’s voice is a low, teasing murmur against your ear as you’re seated in his lap, your back against his chest.

His breath is warm on your skin, the heat of his body pressing into yours from behind. His grip on your waist tightens as he adjusts himself beneath you, making the shift seem casual, but you know better. The slight motion causes him to sink deeper, splitting you open, every inch of him pushing against your walls, filling you so completely that it borders on overwhelming.

Your eyes are fixated on the TV screen in front of you, mirroring his line of sight, but the images and sounds barely register. Whatever horror movie he put on is a distant blur, completely overshadowed by the way he’s filling you, the dull ache of being stretched around him that threatens to unravel you with every passing second.

Lando knows exactly what he’s doing—knows that with your back pressed against his chest, you’re acutely aware of every breath he takes, every subtle twitch of his hips. The cocky smirk on his face tells you he’s in no hurry to give you what you crave.

You clench around him, your body instinctively trying to pull him even deeper, to feel every last inch of him, but his hands keep you still. His fingertips press into your skin, leaving little crescent imprints, keeping you pinned to him in a possessive hold.

“Lan…” you mutter, barely managing the single syllable, your voice trembling with frustration and the faintest hint of need.

You can feel his amusement radiating from him, the vibration of a low chuckle rumbling through his chest as he keeps you pinned against him. His hand slides possessively over your hip, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s making sure you stay exactly where he wants you—right there, on his lap, wrapped around his cock without so much as a hint of mercy.

“Not enjoying our little movie night?” he taunts, his tone dripping with mock concern as he lets his other hand wander lazily up to your lower stomach, stroking the skin just above where he’s buried inside you, making your breath hitch at the contact.

You bite down on your lower lip, trying to stifle the frustrated moan that threatens to escape. You’re almost starting to regret agreeing to this, wondering what made you think you could handle it. The moment he suggested “quality time” on the couch with a movie, you should’ve known there’d be a catch. Now, you’re trapped in a torturous game of stillness, your body pulsing with the ache of being stretched to its limit, every shift or breath causing a fresh wave of heat to coil low in your belly.

“Pass the popcorn,” Lando says suddenly, his voice maddeningly casual, as if you weren’t trembling in his arms and desperate for him to do something—anything—to give you relief.

He nods toward the coffee table, where the bowl sits just out of reach. It’s a simple request, spoken so casually it almost seems innocent, but you know better. He’s toying with you, pushing you just far enough to see how badly you’ll need to break.

For a moment, you consider protesting, but his hand tightens around your waist, guiding you forward. As you lean to grab the bowl, his cock eases out of you until only the thick tip remains nestled inside. The sudden emptiness hits like a shock, and you can’t help but clench around him, your body tightening in a desperate attempt to hold onto what little is left. The sensation is maddening, the emptiness almost unbearable as every inch that you lost leaves you aching and hollow.

You suck in a breath, reaching out for the popcorn, your fingers trembling slightly as you fumble to grasp the edge of the bowl. The second your fingers close around it, you feel his hand press firmly on your hip, guiding you back down.

His cock pushes back inside, stretching you open inch by inch until you’re completely filled again, buried to the hilt. It’s an unrelenting stretch, the sensation of being so deeply impaled that your legs start to tremble.

A small, unintentional whimper slips past your lips, your body betraying just how deeply it affects you. Lando’s smirk widens, and you can feel it against the back of your neck as he takes the bowl from your trembling hands, setting it aside.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his tone a mix of mock praise and raw satisfaction, his hand drifting lower to trace the curve of your inner thigh. “Did you miss having me inside you, even for those few seconds?”

You give a shaky nod, your breath hitching as you settle back into his lap, feeling the full, deep stretch of him inside you. The weight of his cock buried so completely makes your pulse quicken, every inch of him filling you to the point of delicious, unbearable pressure. You don’t trust your voice to speak, so you bite your lip and just nod again, hoping it’s enough of an answer to satisfy him.

“Thought so,” Lando murmurs, his tone dripping with that cocky satisfaction as he leans closer, letting his lips brush lightly against your ear. “Then we’ll stay just like this until the movie’s over.” He lets the words sink in, his hands settling on your hips, his fingers splayed possessively across your skin as if to ensure you don’t even think about moving.

You stiffen slightly in his grasp, realizing with a mix of frustration and need that he’s serious. The movie, still playing in the background, might as well be a world away for all you’re aware of it. You don’t even know what’s happening on screen, and other than hearing constant screams of bloody murder, your focus is completely swallowed by the way he fills you, every inch of your body screaming for him to move, to give you more. But then you hear him shuffle as he picks up the remote, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“And since you weren’t paying attention,” he continues, his tone dropping lower as his breath grazes your neck, “we’re going to start it over.”

With that, he presses the button, and the movie rewinds back to the beginning. His cock remains buried inside you, thick and unyielding. You can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat through his chest against your back, each breath you take making your body clench instinctively around him.

Lando’s hands slide up to your waist, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin as if to soothe you, but the grip is firm enough to keep you pinned exactly where he wants you. “Relax, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, “we’ve got all night.”

You try to relax, but the fullness of him inside you is maddening, a constant reminder of how badly you need more than just his cock sitting still inside you. You draw in a deep breath, hoping it will ease the ache between your legs, but all it does is make you more aware of the way he stretches you, every inch of him throbbing against your sensitive walls. It’s a sweet kind of torture, and Lando’s not giving you any mercy.

He shifts his hips slightly, just enough to make you gasp, but not enough to truly give you what you crave. The smallest of movements sends a jolt of pleasure through you, the pressure building with every passing second.

The movie restarts, its opening scenes flickering on the screen, but your attention is glued to the sensation of being completely filled, stretched so deep it almost feels like you can’t take it. Your body is tense, your hands gripping the edges of the couch as you struggle to stay still, every muscle in your thighs quivering from the effort.

“Come on, now,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening on your waist as he feels the way you’re fighting to keep from moving. “You can do better than that.” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice, a knowing edge that tells you he’s enjoying every second of this little game. His hand slides up to your chest, his touch imperceptibly light as he brushes over the curve of your breast over your shirt.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “And neither are you.” He pauses, placing a kiss on your cheek. “So just sit there and take it, sweetheart,” he adds, his lips grazing your neck. “Because you’re not getting anything else until the credits roll.”

Your pulse races as you realize just how long he plans to keep you like this. The movie stretches ahead of you, nearly two hours of being held in place, filled to the brim, with nothing to do but feel every single inch of him.

“Unless…” His voice trails off as his hands slide down to spread your legs, effortlessly hooking them over his thighs. The new position makes you gasp, every inch of him shifting deeper inside. He chuckles softly at the sound, his fingers drifting to trace slowly over your slit, teasing the sensitive skin.

“Unless you can cum just like this,” he murmurs, dipping his head close so his breath fans over your ear. “With my cock stuffed deep inside you and my fingers playing with your pretty little clit.”

He drags his fingers lower, circling your entrance where you are stretched around his cock, before moving back up to your clit, brushing against it with the lightest touch. “If you can manage that,” he continues, his tone low and husky, “I might not make you wait until the end of the movie. I might just fuck you properly right here and now.”

His fingers swirl slowly, never quite giving you the pressure you need, just enough to make you ache for more. “But if you can’t…” he adds, a mischievous glint in his eye as he meets your gaze, “then you’ll just have to stay right there, sweetheart, filled and desperate, until those credits roll.”

His fingers continue their lazy circles over your clit, the teasing touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body that only intensify the ache deep inside. His gaze locks onto yours, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he watches every twitch, every shudder of your body. “Do you want that?” he asks, his voice a low murmur. “Do you want to be my good girl and cum just like this, with my cock buried so deep inside you?”

His fingers press just a little harder against your clit, a delicious contrast to the slow, steady throb of being stretched around him. “Or…” He lets the word hang in the air, his thumb now joining the motion, brushing against your swollen bud. “Would you rather keep struggling, knowing you’re not getting anything more until this movie is over?”

The way he’s looking at you—like he already knows the answer, like he’s daring you to beg—sends a fresh wave of heat curling through your belly.

You try to find the words, but they catch in your throat, your breath coming out in shallow pants. The pleasure thrumming through your body is too much and not nearly enough all at once, and the way his fingers move so leisurely over your clit is driving you to the edge of desperation. Without thinking, you lean back against him, seeking more contact, your head falling into the crook of his neck. The heat of his skin seeps into you, grounding you even as your pulse races.

Your hand lifts to his cheek, a quiet plea in the touch as your fingers trail along his jawline.

He hums in satisfaction at the way you press against him, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he takes his time with you. His fingers slide down, teasing your entrance again, feeling the way you stretch and pulse around his cock, before drifting back up to your clit, this time with a bit more pressure. The shift is subtle, but it’s enough to send a bolt of pleasure straight through you, making you gasp.

“I need words, love,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your back.

“Please, Lando,” The words slip out, breathless and unsteady, your legs trembling where they’re draped over his thighs, spread open and exposed for him.

“There we go,” he hums, “now watch the movie.” His fingers pick up a slow, deliberate rhythm, pressing down just enough to make you keen for more, but still holding back from what you truly crave.

You arch your back, pushing your hips forward as you pant against his neck, your body seeking every ounce of friction you can get. His other hand slips under your shirt, his palm finding the curve of your breast, and he rolls your nipple between his fingers, sending another wave of pleasure through you.

He returned his gaze to the TV screen, but you can feel his focus remain solely on you, his fingers working expertly between your legs. He pinches your clit, hard enough to make you jolt against him, a breathy moan escaping your lips as you body arches.

He gives a small chuckle, the vibration against your back making your skin tingle. The casualness of his attention on the movie while playing your body like an instrument is maddening, only heightening the intensity of each pulse of pleasure.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice soft with a trace of amusement. “So needy.” He rolls your clit between his fingers, the motion slow, deliberate, and oh so devastating. You can’t help the way your hips buck up, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

His other hand slips away from your tits to tighten his hold on your hips, keeping you pinned against him, your legs splayed over his lap and unable to close.

“Stay still, love,” he instructs, adding a little more pressure. The sound of the movie plays on in the background, but it feels like a distant hum, utterly irrelevant next to the sensation of his fingers circling you again and again.

Your breaths are ragged, each one catching as he changes the rhythm, just enough to keep you on edge but never quite letting you fall over it. When his hand stills altogether, you whimper, your fingers curling against his arm in a wordless plea.

He drags his lips down the side of your neck, nibbling the sensitive skin there as his fingers resume their torment, rubbing over your clit in tight, firm circles that send sparks of ecstasy coursing through your veins. You can feel your release building, that familiar tension tightening with each stroke, threatening to break at any moment.

“Beg for it,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “Beg for me to let you cum.”

You can feel the subtle pulse of his cock as you clench down on it, matching the rhythm of his fingers as they torture your clit, rubbing with just the right amount of pressure.

His other hand slips up to cup your breast underneath your shirt, fingers teasing the sensitive peak. He pinches your nipple, rolling it between his fingers in time with the circles on your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. The double assault on your senses makes you gasp, your body trembling in his lap as he toys with you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” you whimper, the word coming out breathless and broken. “Please, Lando, I need to cum.”

He hums in approval, his voice low and velvety in your ear. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his fingers working faster, rubbing your clit in tight, insistent circles that send sparks shooting down your spine. “Let me hear those pretty sounds,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction as he listens to your desperate moans, each one rising higher as you get closer to falling apart.

You can’t hold back any longer, your body arching into him as your release crashes over you, a wave of pure ecstasy that leaves you gasping for air. His fingers don’t stop, prolonging the pleasure until you’re a quivering mess, your walls clenching rhythmically around his cock as your climax wrings you dry.

The sensation of you tightening around him draws a deep, guttural groan from his throat, his breath hitching as he feels every pulse and flutter of your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the sound rough and strained as your release squeezes him from the inside, each wave of your pleasure making his cock throb. His hand on your breast tightens instinctively, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he savors the way you come undone for him, the way your body trembles and clings to him, desperate for more even as you’re falling apart.

“That’s it, love,” he groans again, his voice thick with need, the sound vibrating against your ear. “Just like that… feel so good wrapped around me.” His hips twitch subtly, the movement causing his cock to press even deeper, making your body jolt with the lingering aftershocks as his fingers finally begin to slow, drawing out the last delicious pulses of your release.

A sudden scream from the movie startles you both, breaking the heated moment. You can’t help but chuckle, your voice still a little breathless. “I think we should turn that off,” you say, glancing toward the TV.

“Really?” Lando’s teasing tone makes you smile. “Thought you said you liked horror movies.” He’s still inside you, and you playfully clench around him, earning a low groan that rumbles through his chest.

“Not more than your cock,” you reply, arching an eyebrow as you throw the challenge back at him. “Now, are you going to properly fuck me or not?”

Without missing a beat, Lando grabs the remote and switches off the movie, the room plunging into quiet anticipation. His hands find your waist as he lifts you off his cock, leaving you momentarily empty and aching for him again. Before you can protest, he swiftly throws you over his shoulder, a hand coming down to smack your ass playfully as he heads toward the bedroom.

You laugh, the excitement bubbling up inside you as he carries you with ease, your fingers digging into his back for support. “You’d better not keep me waiting,” you warn, your voice filled with playful impatience.

“Don’t worry, love,” he replies, a grin evident in his tone. “You’re about to get everything you’ve been begging for.”

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omgeto · 1 year ago

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☆ COVER UP — tattoo artist!GETO SUGURU

summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.

wc: 3k

cw: afab!reader, geto gives you backshots, he's kinda obsessed w/ your ass here, unprotected sex (since I forget condoms) BUT he's a gentleman pulls out </3 your kinda a meanie. he's kinda a meanie so light angst (?) but barely. MDNI

an: haven't posted a longer work in a hot minute, but here is how you meet tattoo artist boyfriend!geto soooo give this one a chance big fanks to my lil twat @kazushawty for helping me out and reading bits of it.

as you push open the heavy glass door of ‘cursed ink studios,’ a subtle bell chimes softly, announcing your presence. instantly, the atmosphere inside crackles with an electric charge. the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of ink, mingling with the sterile bite of antiseptic. the walls are adorned with vivid flash art form a chaotic tapestry, while the rhythmic hum of a tattoo gun echoes through the room.

and there he is, geto suguru – a tall, enigmatic figure with jet-black hair and sleeves of mesmerising tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. he sits at his workbench, surrounded by an array of ink bottles and tattoo machines, his piercing eyes never leaving the art he's creating. a carefully curated playlist of music plays softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional buzzing of the tattoo gun.

he glances up from his intricate work as you enter, his gaze slowly travelling up and down your form. there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he's wondering why you, of all people, have ventured into his sacred space. his expression, however, suggests that he's far from thrilled about the interruption.

"need something?" he asks, his irritation evident.

"i need a cover-up” you swallow your nerves, holding your head high, your voice steady, ”my ex's name."

geto raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your request. "ex's name, huh? you people never learn."

your jaw clenches at his condescending tone. "well, i'm here now, so can you do it or not?"

he continues to scrutinise you, his gaze feeling like a judgmental weight. finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. "fine, show me."

with a sigh of resignation, you turn around, your heart pounding as you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to reveal the offending name covering your left ass cheek. it's a constant reminder of a relationship gone wrong, and you're more than ready to be rid of it.

"this won't be easy," he mutters, his fingers cool against your skin as he traces the outline of the name. his touch lingers, just a little too long, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. his fingers, skilled and confident, continued to trace the inked letters of your ex's name on your skin — almost toyingly. and you could feel the chill of the tattoo parlour's air-conditioning contrasted by the warmth of his touch.

his voice, though still gruff, held a trace of disgust "who did this?" he asks, not looking up from the tattoo.

you hesitate, your memories of that past relationship flooding back. "my ex-boyfriend," you reply tersely.

geto's fingers stop their tracing, and he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "you let your boyfriend do a shitty tattoo on you, and you let him make it his name," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you practically let him brand you."

“is it your job to be such a bitchy artist?” you snap, already fed up by his comments. you’ve heard it from your parents, your friends, ever since you got that trashy tattoo. but couldn't disagree with that sentiment — you knew it was a shit tattoo. “i thought i was paying you for your artistry, not your smart mouth.”

"listen," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "you walk in here with that god awful mess on your skin, and you've got the nerve to criticise my attitude? if you want to be rid of it, you'll do well to keep that attitude in check, sweetheart."

you bite back a retort, realising that you've indeed crossed a line with your comment. there's a palpable tension in the air now, a simmering anger beneath the surface, and it seems that geto has no intention of backing down.

with a deep breath, you swallow your pride and offer a reluctant apology. "i'm sorry," you mutter, a touch of remorse in your voice. "i shouldn't have snapped at you."

he continues to hold your gaze for a moment, his expression still stern, before finally nodding. "apology accepted."

you didn’t actually have an idea of what you wanted for the cover up, you just knew you needed it gone. geto was a highly sought out cover artist so you had no doubt that he’d be able to do you good. with your initial meeting being heated, you thought it was best to leave him to do his thing.

with a sense of relief that the confrontation has subsided, you decide to give geto some space to work his magic. "i'll leave you to it," you say, your voice quieter now, and you turn away from him.

"good," he mutters, his focus fully on his ipad as he starts to sketch, not even looking as you leave the shop.

geto usually was quick to draw up tattoo sketches for clients, but when it came to you he was stunned — too busy thinking about how your ass looked rather than what he was meant to tattoo on it. from the moment you stepped in his shop, he was intrigued, you didn’t see the type to get work done by him and the marking stretched on your ass didn’t seem like it would belong to someone with an attitude like yours.

his mind was anything but focused on the design. he couldn't help but replay the encounter with you in his thoughts, your brashness and the way you'd stood your ground, even under his scrutiny.

"why the hell did she get that shitty tattoo?" he mutters to himself, his fingers deftly working his pen. the sketch was beginning to take shape, but his mind kept drifting back to the curve of your ass. he couldn't deny the attraction he felt, and it frustrated him. he was supposed to be a professional, detached from his clients beyond the art he created on their skin. but something about you had thrown him off balance.

“so you ready to get this tatted on you?” is the first thing he asks when you return the following day. you inspect his sketches in awe, of course you never doubted his talent but you didn’t think he’d be able to draw something you wanted without you even having to say.

“well it seems you do live up to your reputation,” you comment with a neutral facade, but you both know that you were downplaying your excitement — you were pleased. and like with any client, that made geto satisfied that he was doing his job correctly. but when he saw the way your eyes lit up when he initially showed you the sketches, it was a sight he wanted to see again. “i guess we can start the tattoo.”

“okay i’ll get my stuff set up, get rid of those,” he says nodding towards your jeans, “and lay down when you’re ready.” you slip yourself out of your bottoms, leaving the itty bitty thong that you knew you’d need for the appointment and that a small part of you hoped he liked.

he pauses when he sees you laying down on the seat in his station, your head resting in your arms, your ass slightly raised. ‘this is gonna be a long session,’ he thinks to himself as he smirks, shaking his head as he works his way to his seat.

as he sits down, he places the stencil over your ass, and you berate yourself for getting giddy at the feeling of him rubbing over the design to make sure it was in place — wishing that his hand stayed for longer.

“how are you with pain?” he asks, and from the way you were laying you weren’t able to see the way he was gawping at your ass.

“what type of pain?” you retort.

“y’know the type of pain where someones drilling into your ass for hours,” he comments as if it’s obvious but you both knew his words were hinting at more than just the tattoo.

“choice words there,” you muse, “but any type of pain i’m alright with, so give me your best.”

geto's needle hovers just above your skin, poised for action. "you sure about that?" he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive.

a coy smile tugs at your lips as you respond, "I can handle it if you can."

with a deliberate, almost tantalising slowness, he lowers the needle to your skin. the first touch is a sharp, stinging sensation, but you refuse to flinch. you're determined to hold your own, to meet geto's challenge head-on.

he continues to work, the needle dancing across your skin with a practised precision. the room is filled with the rhythmic sound of the tattoo machine, creating a hypnotic backdrop to your growing tension.

as minutes turn into hours, you find yourself lost in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. the pain is undeniable, but there's something oddly exhilarating about it. you steal a glance at geto, his intense focus on his work, and you can't help but wonder if he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"still doing okay?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and something more primal.

you bite your lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. "i told you, i can handle it."

geto smirks, his gaze locked on your ass as he continues to tattoo. "you've got quite the threshold for pain. impressive."

“is it really? i'm sure you’ve worked on a lot of other clients with higher thresholds for pain.”

“but none of them have had an ass like yours though,” he mumbles to himself — but you hear him loud and clear, a grin forming on your face at the confession. “anyways, we’re all done now, go ahead and look in the mirror.”

you stand in the full length mirror, your head slightly turned at an angle as you gawp at your ass. your eyes widen seeing what was once your shitty exes name, now turned into a piece of true art.

“so what d’you think?” he asks, and you didn’t even notice him coming to stand behind you until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, “this shit is hot right?”

“you can say that again,” you agree, keeping your eyes focused on the tattoo, trying to ignore the quickening of your heart beat at the presence of him, “this is really great though, like i couldn’t imagine my ass could look this good after having that tattooed on on it all his time.”

“well no need to imagine anymore,” geto’s face forms a smiling grin, you can tell he was admiring way more than just his artwork, “you mind if i take a picture… for my instagram?” he says, barely asking as his phone is already out of his pocket and is in his hands, he looks up at you for permission and you give a slight nod before he’s snapping away at your ass.

“are you sure this is for your instagram,” you tease, as he continues to take photos crouched down, as he circles your ass with his phone, “or is this just for your personal wank bank?”

“would you like it to be?” he retorts back swiftly, there wasn’t even any mischief in his eyes as he looks up at you, just pure lust.

“um i–” you stutter, only now feeling exposed — as if he hadn’t been working on your ass already for the past six hours.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he coos, standing up to face you head on, “y’gonna let me finish off making you forget that ex or yours or what?”

“be my guest,” you respond, trying to come across as nonchalant, but the eager look in your eyes gave geto all he needed to know.

he pushes you softly, as he commands, “hands against the mirror and spread your legs.” and you do just that, as he comes behind you, fitting in between your legs perfectly. his hand forces ur back down, deeping the arch of your spine before both of his hands grab onto your ass.

geto really rubs and digs his thumbs into your cheeks, biting his lip at the sight at the way his fingers mould into your ass. “fuckk man,” he groans out, he’s not even in you yet and he was already obsessed with every inch of you.

he frees his dick from his pants, and pumps it quickly before sliding it across your already gushing slit. you hiss at the contact, a pleased smile working its way on your face as the tip of his dick edges into you.

“s-shit,” you stammer, as he inches himself into you deeper, “w-what about the rest of the shop?”

“what about them?” he shrugs, “you don’t want them to hear naught you’re being right now? HEY GUYS—”

“oi,” you hiss out, your eyes widening as you turn your head to look directly at him.

“i’m just playing, i’m not ready to share you quite just yet,” he retorts, his dick moving in you at an achingly slow pace, “now, keep your eyes focused on the mirror, and you better not let those hands slip.”

before you can respond, he thrust his hips into you as deep as he could, his dick slamming into you. you moan out at the surprising force, trying your best to keep your palms flat on the surface of the mirror, as you stare straight at him — watching how he works his hands from your ass to your hips so he can drive into you with all of his force.

“this pussy is s-so fucking good,” he praises, the sloppiness of your cunt making it easy for him to slide his dick in and out of you. “oh and this ass,” he continues giving a hard spank on your ass cheek, to emphasise his point, “c’mon throw your ass back on my dick, i wanna see it bounce.”

you fuck him back, doing exactly as he says, your ass meeting his hips with the same amount of force. his spanks encourage you to be quicker, to give him everything he wants. his repeating, strong strokes, have you feeling weaker, your hands slipping as you try to stay up right, when all you want to do is collapse and cum everywhere.

“f-fuckk it’s too much,” you whine, as he drills into you.

“nah,” he says, shrugging his head, “it’s not enough,” he lifts up his legs, his digits pressing into your deeper, as he now angles his strokes even further into your pussy, hitting your spot with ease. “give it to me harder, i know you can” he encourages, another two swift spanks landing on your ass.

with his continuous contact of your ass and his hips, and the way his dick pushes into you deeper, you felt like you were splitting in two. but you kept going, thinking back to your earlier conversation, you didn’t want to prove him wrong, you wanted to show him that you can handle it, handle him.

geto was practically beaming, licking his lips feverishly at the sight of your fucked out face through the mirror as he watches himself plough into you, your body rocking forward with every thrust. his eyes concentrate on your ass, as he says, “d’you see how your rocking my work on you now?” and you nod dumbly, too busy trying to reach your climax to string a sentence together, “so fuck that ex of yours and his shitty ass tattooing, from now on you only can me on your body, you got that?” he asks and you nod again, but he shakes his head, his hand moving from your waist to your chin as he grips it making your eyes stay locked on his through the mirror, “i said do you got that?”

“ahhh s-shit yet i do, i do,” you say, mirroring his words, “i will only have you on my body, ‘promise.”

“good girl,” he approves, giving your chin a squeeze before letting go, “now cum.”

with those simple words, you release all over him, your stance getting weaker, as you shoot out cum all over his dick. he’s quick to pull out of you though, stroking his dick as he sprays his cum all over your ass, with a deep groan.

your hands are still on the wall, as you take deep breaths, trying to recollect yourself. but you turn around swiftly seeing a flash of a camera behind you, and geto is back to crouching down, with his phone out, taking pictures of your cum covered ass.

“you mind if i keep these in my wank bank forreal this time?” he asks, smirking as you nod, “i’ll take some more later, but i got two questions to ask.”

“and those are…” you say, prompting him to continue.

“first, let me take you out after this?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer. after the way he just dicked you down, you’d be a fool not to let him wine and dine you, “second, y’gonna come suffocate my face with that ass of yours or not?” you couldn’t even answer the second question since he’s pulling you down to the floor with him, with a joyous grin on his face.

AN: IGNORE THE FACT THAT HE CUMS ALL OVER UR FRESH TATTOO. LIKE JUST IGNORE IT. just focus on the fact that you have a lovely ass and geto loves it too. but yes do you want to see more, I HAVE ENOUGH IDEAS TO EVEN MAKE A LIL MASTERLIST FOR IT. I love tattoo artist boyfriend!geto so so much, like when u guys become an established relationship it actually gets so good. BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE THIS ONE, BUT IF U GUYS FW IT I PROMISE ILL ACTUALLY WRITE AND POST THE ONES I LOVE. BUT I FELT LIKE I HAD TO WRITE THIS FIRST SO YOU COULD SEE HOW U AND GETO STARTED. LMK UR THOUGHTS

#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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valetoria · 6 days ago

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HE'S JUST YOUR 'TUTOR' .ᐟ ft. 𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾.

৻ꪆ synopsis. unannounced, your tutor shows up, his praises beginning to sound oddly lewd . . . and it leaves you wondering if it’s all in your head or if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

৻ꪆ tags. afab!reader. ⋆ raw sëx. ⋆ praise kink. ⋆ body worship. ⋆ corruption kink. ⋆ taboō cw. ⋆ doggystyle. ⋆ slight impǎct play.

you shift your drowsy weight on the oak chair, your spine slumping against the backrest as a groan escapes your throat at the sight of bulky curriculum binders lying lifelessly. you clench your teeth around the end of the stylus, the bitter aftertaste of ink soaking into your taste receptors. glancing at the clock, you realize your tutor still hasn’t shown up, and waiting alone at this hour isn’t exactly the best way to escape your misery. the stylus between your digits lands with a click on the blotchy-marbled countertop and as though the universe had heard your silent plea, the doorbell rings.

the noise splits through your apartment complex, making your attention snap to the hallway. with a sigh, you reluctantly rise from the comfortable spot on your chair, the cushion springing back to its original shape. your lips curl into a grimace at the loss of warmth, and you walk to your front door, leaning up on your toes. you take a quick peek at the lens. rotating the lock, you open the door to find your tutor standing there, completely drenched from head to toe in the rain. “suguru?” you snort, a laugh escaping your lips as your eyes run down his figure, taking in the sight of his jet-black tresses clinging to his face, with droplets of condensed water dripping from the tips and trickling down his nape. “what are you doing here?”

“good evening,” geto reacquaints, his chest heaving, a hint that he was merely out of breath. “my apologies for being so late. we had a session at seven although, i’m late . . . as you can see,” he explains, his hand cupping the back of his neck.

you blink, staring at geto with a look of disbelief. “you could’ve called considering you were arriving later than anticipated, i thought our session was canceled.” you reply, your hands fiddling with the door knob behind you.

geto suppresses a chuckle, his large-calloused hand wiping away a few goblets of water dribbling down his face before his fingers card through his wet, tousled black locks, “i called, but you didn’t answer. i��m guessing your phone was on dnd since it’s so late.” his presence stirs your carnally prurient thoughts, and the only thing your attention is drawn to is how soaked his top is—and if anything, you were no better than a man to check him out like that. is it really a surprise ? it’s in your nature to eye something you want - and for you, it was geto.

the diaphanous fabric of his shirt molds to the slim curves of his torso, offering a brief outline of the hard planes lying beneath the thinness of the material. the first few stubby buttons of his top were messily undone, sleeves rolled up halfway, revealing prominent veins trailing along his girthy forearms. your eyes wander down and lands on the subtle bulge in his groin, the tightness of his slacks accentuating his size and making it nearly impossible for you to sneak a glance unnoticed.

a rush of embarrassment surges over you, painting your cheeks a crimson hue—and that is how you realize, with a start, that you had been staring. you gulp, “i guess i missed that memo,” you force out as a response, your voice hesitating as you attempt to underplay your reaction with another feigned laugh.

“mmn,” geto calmly hums, arching a brow as he catches you staring at him longer than what have might been considered polite. “very well,” a sleazy grin spreads across his face as he clicks his tongue, subtly shifting his weight while his voice remains monotonous. “may i come in?” taking a small step forward, his eyes gleam down on you, his own stare roaming over your body before taking a glance back up at you, awaiting a response.

you instinctively step aside, trying to hide the rosiness spreading on your face as you fumble, “y-yeah, of course, come in.” your gaze lowers, and you don’t pick up the little glance he gives you.

as he enters, your welcoming space engulfs his figure. familiar, neatly arranged furniture and soft lighting come into his view, with the neatly made bed adorned with stuffed animals, a vase of perlite flowers, and a small stack of literature books atop the coffee table. “do you have anything i can dry off with?” he then asks, running a hand through his wet hair.

“right,” you pause, mentally facepalming yourself for not offering a towel any sooner. “let me get you a towel,” when you return from the quick bathroom trip, he takes the towel, thanking you with a sweet grin that tugs at your heartstrings and you can’t help but continue to stare, admiring the way he was so gentle with patting his face, and you admire the way he scrunches his dark obsidian tangles.

“quite the view, isn’t it?”

“what?” you query, snapping out of your little day dream and realize you’ve been caught red-handed. “no- just surprised to see you here, that’s all.” you shot back defensively—perhaps a little too quickly for your liking. with another gulp, you avert your gaze as your hand sheepishly rubs the back of your neck.

the corner of his lips curls into a smile, “can’t help but play around with someone like you," he chuckles, and you hesitate, momentarily second-guessing what he meant by that, but before you could even thoroughly process your thoughts, he swiftly changes the subject. "how about you show me what you’ve been working on, hm?” geto proposes, raising a brow and pulling you out of your musings.

your mouth quirks, and you plaster a smile on your face before your attention pivots, and you guide him to the countertop where you were working as your pearly-white acrylic hovers over the written numeral. “okay, so i’m stuck here,” you begin, moving your finger as you point to the equation on the sheet of homework that had you almost yanking your hair out in frustration.

geto bends closer to you from behind to study the problem, and you feel his warm breath brush against your nape, his fingers incidentally brushing against yours as he reaches for the textbook. your eyes fall towards his lengthy digits, and your lips press into a hard line as those deluded thoughts came rushing back.

“this is a classic limit problem,” his reverberating tone tore through your raunchy fantasm, and you had to remind yourself the two of you were still in session. “it’s about finding the value something approaches as we get closer to a specific point—these can seem tricky, but they often involve breaking things down to see the bigger picture.”

as he spoke, you tried to concentrate on his explanation, but it felt like your brain couldn’t come to comprehend his answer with the way his words were going through one ear and out the other. “think of it this way,” your tutor adds, “imagine you’re baking a cake, and you want to know how it’s rising just as it comes out of the oven. now, in this case, we’re trying to understand what happens as we get really close to that perfect moment.” he picks up the pencil and suddenly pauses, and you momentarily wonder what’s going through his mind before he resumes, writing down the nodules along the side of your paper.

“so . . how do i apply that to this problem?” you ask, trying to follow his guidance as you move your finger on the problem hesitantly.

geto crows softly, his calloused hand settling over yours to steady your movements. “here, let me show you, sweetheart.” the sound of the pet name rolling smoothly off his tongue makes you shift slightly in your chair, biting your lip to keep your smile at bay as your lips threaten to curl into a grin. guiding your hand over the numbers and symbols on the page, his fingers press firmly against the dorsal of your hand, correcting your work with gentle precision. “here’s a little secret,” he hums, writing out the steps for you to get a better understanding of, “when you encounter an indeterminate form, there’s a clever trick you can use.” with his hand still cupped over yours, geto’s burly fingers contradict the softness of your own - and with a click, the pencil falls against the wooden surface. “just take the derivatives of the top and bottom parts separately, it simplifies the limit.”

you then try on your own, still a little apprehensive, yet, you pick up the pencil, summarizing the information before attempting to replicate the steps he had just shown you. “mhm, doing so good for me, love. keep going, and you’ll get the hang of it.” a subtle tremor runs through you, and your body goes rigid at his sudden praise. his validation sending a rush of heat straight to your core that unravels a school of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

you swallow hard, realizing your throat had gone as dry as sand. “right . . the limit,” your eyebrows furrow in concentration, but your thoughts are as vague as static playing on an old television screen.

his digits encouragingly graze your skin, and it only serves to leave your mind consumed by his subtle caresses. “here,” he murmurs, again, maneuvering you with a firm grip—a disparity to the tranquilizing discourse that accompanies his actions. “uh huh, just like that,” geto’s voice softens in a way that has you shifting slightly, rubbing your legs together as you suck in your bottom lip. with a slight nod, you put on a facade—acting as if you understood everything even though his words barely registered.

“alright, just one more step,” geto continues, manipulating the stylus in your hand as he assumes you understood his instructions, though the math was slipping out of your grasp faster than you could keep up with. “substitute the value into the simplified function to find the limit, you’re almost there, and you’re doing it all so well, better than you realize.” his breath fans your ear, and you began to question just how much of this was actually about calculus . .

another sharp inhale slips through your flared nostrils as you adjust your hips, aligning with the seam of your shorts. you consider it. consider whether or not to say something and break the tension between the two of you, but — “geto, i . . i’m not sure i’m getting this,” you finally admit. your voice pushing out and breaking barely above a whisper. when those words come loose, you sense him his corporeal frame leaning against your back, the damp fabric of his fractionally wet dress shirt against your skin sends goosebumps rising along your arms, and the close-contact throws you off.

“let me show you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as he leans in. “sometimes, the best way to learn is through a visual demonstration.”

“geto,” your voice quavers with confusion, “w- what are you doing?”

a smirk flattens near the outer corners of lips, and he notices you catching onto his little comments, “what’re you talking about?"

a flush of embarrassment crept up your neck as you realize just how how weird your question might have sounded, and you quickly try to retract your words, but the damage was already done. “i—i didn’t mean it like that,” you stammer, feeling your face burn as you fumble for words to contradict yourself. “i just . . . i guess i’m confused about what’s happening here.”

his expression shifts, the initial act of surprise fading into a smug grin, of course he knew what was happening, after all he was making those comments to get a rise out of you. “you think i’m doing something else than just tutoring?”

“i . . . don’t know,” you confess, your brows merging as you overthought the situation in a matter of milliseconds. “it just feels like . . more than just a tutoring session.”

several intervals slip by hearing the soft rustle of clothes shifting slightly behind you before he finally responds. “is that so?” he soothingly hums, his fingers passing your soft hair aside and away from your neck. “i wasn’t aware i was giving off that impression.” before you could piece together another lame reply, geto’s free hand glides past your knuckles and down your thigh, and your legs part with little resistance, the movement feeling almost instinctual.

“i think you’re the one misinterpreting things,” geto croons, the side of his digit drifting under your chin as he tilts your head back to meet his gaze, “you’re soaked, sweetheart.” you immediately open your mouth to interject suguru’s embarrassing testimony, but he seizes the opportunity to cut you off again. “oh my, i didn’t think my little praises could get you like this . .” he teases, his warm breath hovering against your lips. as you struggle to form a coherent reply, he captures your lips in an upside down kiss, silencing any protest with the heat of his mouth.

a low whimper escapes your mouth as geto groans, the wet muscle of his tongue sweeping across the supple curve of your lip before he plants another open-mouthed kiss on you. his tongue slides along the seam of your lips, savoring the faint aftertaste of your cherry-flavored lip gloss. fingers tangling in your hair, he pulls your head back, cock hardening within the confines of his pants at the cacophony of your unexpected yelp. suguru’s lips form into a teasing smile as his hand drifts lower, digits ghosting over the sensitive skin just below your ribcage as he traces lower, teasing patterns along your waistline before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“you’re so eager for just a taste of affection, aren’t you?” a low sadistic chuckle escapes his twisted grin, tugging at the edges of his mouth as he quiets your muffled mewls with kisses. suguru continues to rub you through your panties, digits tracing soft, endless loops over your aching nub and adds pressure to feel your wetness seep through the cloth which draws a helpless moan from you that he swallows, deepening the kiss.

your mewls grow louder as you melt into his embrace, your fingers intertwining around his shirt to pull him closer, desperate for more of anything he has to offer. his kisses become feverish, his sloppy tongue overruling yours while ragged breaths escape the both of your lips as you squirm in your chair, whimpering against him as he relishes the small noises managing to slip from your throat. “that’s it,” geto whispers, that same smug grin spreading on his pretty face. “let me hear you, let me hear just how much you want it.”

the bedroom imbues with soft shared pants, the rustling shuffle of clothing, and the steady patter of rain thumping against the window, and his fingers lazily tease the hem of your panties. the damp fabric smacks against your cunt and another faint whine falls from your lips the second he peels your panties to the side. “fuck me—please . . . just do something,” you shamelessly plead, lasciviously spreading your legs to grant your tutor better access.

and just like that, you find yourself sprawled out on the bed, hips perched up on all fours while geto rams into your slobbering hole, the warmth of your mound fully exposed to the cool bedroom air. geto rests his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your sensitive skin as his calloused fingertips trail and mark teasing little lines over your soft flesh. his lips press against your neck’s curvature, leaving a kiss that escalates into a bite, sending shockwaves through your throbbing bundle of nerves as bliss transmits you spiraling into a delicious short circuit.

“just look at you,” he rasps, his tone hoarse, “doing so well, you’re an absolutely a fucking—mess,” geto tightens his grip on your hips, pulling you flush against his groin as your honeyed nectar coats a glistening sheen over the lower expanse of his abdomen. the pillow wedged beneath you is sandwiched flat against the mattress under your weight, his cock stretching you out as he eases himself inside deeper, the warmth of him melding with your heat. each of his curved inches sinks closer to your sweet spot, stretching you taut until he’s fully embedded, leaving you feeling stuffed as your face buries into the pillow. your eyes flutter shut as his mouth falls open, the sensation almost too much for him to bear, and it drives him to the edge of his sanity as the pressure of your grippy walls tightly clamp around his bulging length.

a ragged whimper tumbles from your slightly parted lips as he shifts his attention to the sight of the hickeys dotting the back of your shoulders, a satisfied smirk flattening on his features as he runs his hands over your luscious contours, “such a good girl, takin’ everything i give you so well, hm?” his fingers sweep along your thighs and the swell of your tummy as he roughly pulls you lower on his pulsating shaft, “you’re fucking perfect, baby, pussy's so perfect.”

your assignment lies forgotten, abandoned—looonnngg discarded on the counter as your cunt flutters around geto’s thick cock, stimulated by every praise leaving your tutor’s mouth. geto pulls back just enough to tease your entrance, only to sink right back in again as he thrusts in slower, allowing you to feel every ridge, every vein dragging against your wet, rigidly soaking walls as you bite down on the sheets in between your clenching teeth.

“such a greedy little pussy,” he scoffs, squeezing handfuls of your plush backside. ssslaaapp! “such a pretty little thing, mhm, so pretty," suguru praises, his palm colliding with your rear again as you yelp into the pillow. the tips of his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist as he holds you steady. his veiny cock plummets into your rippling ass, the creamy plaps audibly loud within the four walls of your apartment’s bedroom as you could evidently hear your own arousal. every pull of his cock creates a lewd, syrupy suction that only makes geto go rabid—the friction almost agonizingly good to fathom, the stretch too much and still somehow not nearly enough.

geto’s hands roam over your body, admiring your soft curves and delicate angles that make you undeniably gorgeous. “beautiful ‘lil hips,” he murmurs, “plump ‘n lovely.” he draws you closer, tilting his hips to thrust deeper as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck. his lips find the hickeys he left on your nape, and he kisses over them with a reverent care. “you’re mine, all mine,” he breathes, totally dumb-fucked with the way your body responds to him, the way your curves mold against his hands.

a low growl rumbles from the back of his throat as his hand reaches for the fat of your ass, giving it another smack as his mind goes hazy at the sight of your recoiling ass bouncing off his thighs. your squelchy pussy shudders around his thick shaft, a white ring contorting around his girthy meat—the added touch of your mixed juices forms a thin string connecting the base of his pelvis to your slick cunt, and it drives him beyond his limits. his rhythm falters, and his breaths grow uneven.

with another shaky groan tearing from his lips, your drenched walls cling tightly to every inch of his length, shattering whatever ounce of self-control he has left. the pressure begins to unknot, and he loses it—that thin thread of restraint unravels as he picks up the pace, the wet, squelchy slap of your pussy hitting against his groin and echoing in his ears. “shit, you’re dripping everywhere,” he moans, his teeth nipping at your neck as the pad of his fingers draws lazy patterns across your swollen bud.

his nails pierce into the plush meat of your butt cheek, and his rhythm slightly falters between deep strokes as your body instinctively takes over, pushing back against him. you’re chasing your own release now, desperate for that sweet, maddening high as you thrust back, meeting his hips with a sensual, sloppy plap. geto groans through gritted teeth, and hands grips your waist tighter, your slick pussy enveloping and coating his cock in your dripping juices.

"mhm, fuck yourself on this disgusting cock," he moans, and you subconsciously raise your hips. your cunts a slick, syrupy mess, and his arousal dribbles down your folds, the trail of your mixed juices oozing from your bundle of nerves.

“you’re so deep,” you whimper, gripping the bedsheets beneath you as your thighs flutter, “right there, hah!” good god, the way you were recklessly throwing your ass back, desperately grinding against his cock with his name spilling from your parted, sheen coated lips like a prayer, drawn-out and slurred had him coming undone. your fleshy vice clenches down on his shaft, and your pretty glossy eyes roll back as bliss floods into your senses.

he lets off another filthy moan, “you’re so good f’me, yeah? this dick hittin’ that sweet spot?” he purrs, voice slick with awe as his hips continue to snap into yours, colliding in a catastrophic turmoil as his girth stretches you open deliciously deep. “so desperate for this dick, huh baby?” he murmurs, his pace becoming frantic as he buries himself to the hilt, over and over. swirling his digits around your clit in messy circles, you find yourself breaking beneath him—and his praise turns into a string of curses, his composure beginning to slips. “feel how deep you’re taking me?” he quieres, his thumb encircling your clit. “who’s my good fuckin’ girl, yeah, uh huh, you are.” you moan helplessly, his lewd praise leaving his lips as your legs kick in the air, his cock relentlessly pounding into you as the top brushes against your cervix sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“so fucking, ngh—good!” you squeal, and the sound of your bodies ravishing each other becomes symphony of wet slaps and breathy gasps.

“you’re making such a mess, fuck darling, come for me, come for me, sweetheart, you deserve it,” he pants, your whimpers grow louder, turning into needy moans as you push back against him, desperate for more—a whine spills from you upon feeling him pulse inside, paired with a slight upward roll of his hips. his bulky tip kisses your g-spot, and your body trembles when he bottoms out completely, tip burying to the hilt.

“fuck, just like that, good girl,” geto groans, his words laced with praise as he comes undone watching his cock vanish again and again into your snug, gummy walls. in an instant, your body pulls you into a suspending trance that scratches at your nerves. your mouth falls open in a silent scream, and he feels it—your velvety interior clutching around his cock and pulsing wildly. your pussy spasms, your back arching forward with your vision wiping out completely. a kaleidoscope of colors swirl behind your eyelids—bright hues flickering with flashes of light as you’re caught in a sweet surrender. gasping for breath, your body trembles as warmth floods into your womb.

#valetora 𑣿.#art creds: @sakuranotomuri on twitter!#divider by cafekitsune.#geto suguru smut #geto suguru #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto x you #geto smut #jujutsu geto #getou suguru x reader #anime smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #doujinshi

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nottsangel · 20 days ago

Text

sweet relief — t.n.

pairing: best friend!theodore nott x toxic!reader

warnings: smut 18+, modern au, unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, creampie, oral sex (m. receiving), praise, toxic and obsessive behaviour, mentions of threats, mentions of taking/using explicit photos

word count: 4.7k

summary: best friends is all you and theodore were, but the jealousy of seeing him with someone else was suffocating, driving you to take matters into your own hands.

♪ madison beer — sweet relief. moodboard. nav. more.

“Theo?” you softly called out to your best friend, who was too fixated on his phone, grinning uncontrollably at the bright screen as he quickly typed away. Fresh from Quidditch practice, his brown tousled locks looked even darker than usual, still damp from the shower he took, and his handsome face flushed from the warmth. You studied every single detail of his face, from his ocean-blue eyes to his soft, pink lips.

Lost in admiration, you nibbled on your bottom lip, picking at your nails as he simply hummed in response, not even glancing up from his phone. Normally, you’d get annoyed, moping about how he didn’t pay enough attention to you, but before you even could, your eyes were then drawn from his face to his quick fingers—swiftly moving over the glowing screen—leaving you with a strange, unexplainable feeling.

You caught yourself fantasising about filthy thoughts that made you feel a rush of shame, but still, you couldn’t help it. It was hard not to imagine how your best friend’s long, deft fingers would feel deep inside of you as they—

“Alright.” Theo abruptly mumbled, causing you to flinch, snapping you out of your trance before your thoughts could wander further. He locked his black, metal phone and quickly stuffed it into his pocket as he rose to his feet, your eyes intently following his every movement, frustration clear on your face.

“I’ve—” “gotta go, yeah.” you finished his sentence, a hint of disappointment evident in your voice, yet he couldn’t help but grin at your pouty expression, only finding your clingy behaviour endearing. He stepped closer, gripping your jaw affectionately and tilting your head up until your eyes met his, the innocent, doe-like gaze you gave him made him weak in the knees.

“We can hang out later if you want, alright? Just text me, bella. I’ll make time for you.” he murmured in a soothing tone, unconsciously causing a small smile to tug at your lips and your furrowed brows to soften, eventually nodding in agreement.

“Good girl.” He nonchalantly gave you a quick wink that made your stomach flip as he gently rubbed his thumb over your warm cheek, and you so desperately wanted to keep him close to you, his absence weighing heavy on you each time, yet, you watched him leave the room, making you wonder what he was up to.

But you had your suspicions about where he could be. It wasn’t a secret that he was a player, just like all his friends, with some different girl in his room almost daily. And fuck, it drove you crazy. The thought of him being with someone else filled you with heartache. It was difficult for you. He was yours.

A few hours passed of you aimlessly scrolling on your phone in the common room, but you already missed his comfortable presence around you. His warmth, the subtle touches, and his charming Italian accent that never failed to make your heart skip a beat— you needed him close to you again, so you opened your messages.

You : Are you free? I’m bored! :(

Teddy 🧸 : Busy.

Yup. That was all the confirmation you needed. The short, cryptic text said it all— he was with a girl right now. Fuck fuck fuck. Your relaxed, bored state instantly shifted into rage as sheer jealousy rushed through your entire body, causing you to unconsciously clench your jaw and ball your fists.

It honestly baffled you how girls still dared to come near him, especially considering how many of them you’d already threatened. Yes, threatened. It was no secret among your fellow female students that you were crazy possessive over Theodore— you’d go to great lengths to keep them away from him. He was yours, for fuck’s sake, and you’d do anything to keep it that way.

Take last week, for instance, when you subtly slipped a menacing note in a girl’s bag after seeing leave Theo’s dorm the night before, sternly warning her that if she ever dared to come near him again, she would deeply regret it.

Or the week before that, when you somehow got a hold of nudes—through Lorenzo, of course—of a girl who had been hooking up with Theo, essentially blackmailing her with them. Don’t worry, you weren’t going to spread the nudes anyway— no, you weren’t that cruel. And you knew it didn’t even have to get that far because they always seemed to back off instantly, leaving you satisfied and happy.

And those weren’t the only times you threatened or intimidated girls that have slept with Theo, and it most likely won’t be the last either if he keeps sleeping around like that. Dickhead.

And although you explicitly told every single girl not to mention it to Theo whenever you ‘warned’ them, you were certain he had gotten wind of it somehow, considering how fast news spreads in hogwarts. But surprisingly, he had never confronted you with it, still treating you the same way like he always did. You didn’t know why or how, but you also didn’t care. The only thing you cared about was protecting your friendship with him.

You quickly rose to your feet, your hand gripping your phone so tightly, it was a wonder it didn’t shatter in a million pieces by the force you were holding it before hurriedly making your way to the Slytherin dorms, your heartbeat rising with each determined step bringing you closer to Theo’s room.

With your head held high and tension furrowing your brows, you strode through the chilly hallways, the cold air forming goosebumps on your exposed arms and legs, but you didn’t even seem to notice as you stomped your feet forward, your resolute steps echoing as you neared his door.

When you finally stood in front of it, your hand reluctantly reached for the handle, but you hesitated, pausing for a moment before eventually pulling back. Instead of opening the door right away, you pressed your ear carefully against the wood, trying to catch any sounds coming from inside his dorm room.

As you closely focused on listening, a group of younger students caught your attention, slowing their pace as they noticed you with your ear pressed against a male student’s dorm room door, their puzzled stares lingering on you.

“What are you looking at? Go!” you whisper-yelled in an urgent and stern tone, dismissively waving your hand in the air as they snap out of their trances and quickly rush off, a smug smile forming on your lips at how easily they obeyed.

Letting out a sigh, you pressed your ear to the door again, your eyes narrowing in concentration as you were holding the doorframe for leverage. Your grip gradually tightened as the sounds from inside grew clearer— loud, high-pitched moans, and a string of ‘Fuck, theo!’s resonated through the wooden door, and you were fighting the urge to punch a hole right through it, but instead your hand drifted down to the door handle.

Without thinking, you pulled it down, and your eyes widened in shock when you realised he hadn’t even bothered to lock it. You impulsively swung the door open without a second though, your heart pounding in your throat as a sudden scream filled the air.

The scene in front of you made your blood boil. A blonde girl—one you recognised from shared classes—frantically grabbed the white sheets to cover her completely naked body while Theo was hovering above her, his eyes locking with yours, yet surprisingly, he didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

Your eyes were irresistibly drawn to Theo’s throbbing erection, widening in shock when you realised he was bigger than you ever imagined, desire twisting in your stomach. But you were quickly snapped back to reality by the girl’s shrill, grating voice, pulling you out of the daze.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” She screamed, her baby blue eyes narrowing in anger, her tousled blonde locks framing her flushed face and her chest heaving rapidly beneath the sheets. Oh, this fucking bitch.

“Teddy, I’m—I’m so sorry but do you have my dress in your closet? You know, the red one? I just really need it right now…” You lied, biting your lip with your brows furrowed, putting on your best act. A small chuckle escaped his lips, amazed by your terrible timing, yet still finding it adorable, his relaxed demeanour only infuriating her more.

“Yeah, sure. Hang on a second.” The girl scoffed, glaring at Theo, and you could practically see steam coming out of her ears— but Theo didn’t even acknowledge her, his eyes fixed on you as he flashed you a warm smile that made your face heat up.

“Seriously?! You’re helping her? Now?” Theo simply ignored her, quickly pulling on his boxers as he nonchalantly walked to his closet, his back turned to both you and the girl. For the first time, your eyes locked with her blue ones, and you flashed her a mocking, sly grin. The sweet, innocent facade you put on instantly faded, shifting into one of triumph.

“Here you go, amore.” Theo’s stunning eyes met yours, offering a sweet, sympathetic smile as he handed you the dress, his hand brushing against yours and it felt like time stood still for a moment, gazing up at him through your eyelashes with sparkling eyes until—

“She’s being fucking annoying, can’t you see that?” Lost in Theo’s eyes, you nearly forgot she was in the room as well as she scoffed once more, shaking her head with a sneer, her lip curling and her brows furrowed, “This bitch is doing this on pur—”

“Don’t you fucking dare talk about her like that, you hear me?” Theo suddenly spat, taking quick steps towards her, pointing a threatening finger right into her shocked face.

His demeanour shifted in mere seconds. It even shocked you for a moment— it wasn’t a side of Theo you’d seen before, at least not with girls. He always stood up for you when guys mistreated you, but this… This was different, and ohhh, it made your heart swell. The way fear flashing in her eyes sent a thrilling rush of warmth and affection through you.

“But… Teddy—” Teddy. That was your nickname for Theo. By now, your fists were gripping the dress so tightly that your sharp nails had punctured the delicate fabric, your jaw clenched in sheer anger, barely holding back the rage simmering beneath the surface. Still, you fought to maintain the facade of the sweet, oblivious girl.

“Get out.” Theo ordered in a low, stern tone, a tiny, mischievous smile tugging at one of the corners of your mouth as you watched the scene unfold in front of you with great satisfaction. The girl’s eyes darted from Theo to you and back to him in utter disbelief.

“Are you fucking serious? You’re gonna kick me—”

“I said… get the fuck out.” Theo repeated himself, and you could tell each emphasised, stinging word hit the girl like a slap to the face as she briefly stared at him before hastily putting on her clothes. She quickly left the room, her shoulder deliberately bumping into yours followed by aggressively slamming the door behind her.

Theo then turned to you, his fierce expression instantly softening as he approached you and brushed his thumb over your heated cheek, causing your head to slyly turn away. It worked. He actually fell for it.

“Sorry about that, cara mia. Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, she was just… so mean. I—” Theo let out a light chuckle, clearly amused by you. He shook his head in disbelief, his eyes momentarily leaving yours before landing back on your face, his gaze darting from your left eye to your right eye and down to your lips, causing you to squint. Is he doing the fucking triangle metho—

“You can drop the act, bella.” He growled, his voice deeper and darker now. You tried to focus, to regain your composure, but you felt lightheaded, your breathing shaky and weak as he stood before you in merely his tight boxers, the outline of his semi-hard cock visible through the thin fabric and his body from years of Quidditch muscular and sculpted.

When you realised that you were staring, you then quickly looked up at him with a faux puzzled expression, your head slightly tilted and your eyes widened in surprise.

“What? You think I didn’t know?”

“I—, uh, I don’t know what—” you stammered, trying to lie your way out of this mess you were in, but it was no use.

“Oh come on, baby. I’m a bit offended that you think I’m that dumb.” He taunted, and you felt your heart drop. He knew.

“You think I don’t know about you threatening all these girls? Huh? You’re so adorable.” You blinked rapidly, unsure if you’d heard him right. You had been convinced that if he ever found out what you’d been doing behind his back, it would be the end of your friendship. For good.

“Listen, alright? I just— I didn’t have a fucking choice! All these girls were all over you, trying to steal you from me… from me! They had no fucking respect for us and—“ You frantically spewed out words a thousand miles a minute, desperate to defend yourself, but you were abruptly cut off when he reached behind your thighs and lifted you up, drawing a surprised squeal from your lips. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his bare upper body as he carried you and pressed your back firmly against the cold stone wall.

You felt his steady heartbeat against your body from how close he was to you, and you were certain he could hear your own heart pounding out of your chest as his fingers dug into the skin of your thighs. This was the closest you two have ever been, and it left you breathless.

“Is this what you wanted all this time, tesoro? For me to fuck you like I fuck all these others girls?”

It was.

He drew his head nearer to yours until his soft lips were merely inches from your ear, his warm breath on your heated skin sending electric shivers down your spine.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fuck you even better.”

Before you could even react, he walked you over to his bed and tossed you onto it, your body bouncing slightly from the impact. Without hesitation, you spread your legs, inviting him in, and he immediately climbed on top of you, his towering frame completely covering your entire body as his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your head, his crotch pressed against your throbbing core.

Your panties were absolutely drenched as your breath hitched, his hips grinding in slow, deliberate movements against yours, and god, you were floating on cloud nine, desperately trying to savour every intoxicating second of this moment. His hand found your jaw, fingers gliding sensually up your soft skin before tilting your head to the side to expose your neck.

Instantly, he latched his lips onto your flesh, sloppily sucking dark love bites that made your heart race. You gasped at the sensation of him biting, nipping, and kissing your sensitive sweet spots, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your eyes gradually fluttered shut, arms wrapping tightly around his neck— but then, an uncontrollable sound of disgust escaped you as your nose pressed into his satin sheets, pulling you sharply out of the heated moment.

“What’s wrong, amore?”

“It just— it smells like… her.” Theo couldn’t help but laugh, slowly pulling back from your neck, clearly amused by your endearing yet possessive behaviour, his lips quirking into a playful grin.

He bit his lip as he intently stared at your annoyed expression, his face merely inches away from you, a combination of his aromatic cologne and smoky cigarettes flooding your senses. The scent was so distinctively him, causing you to take another subtle sniff.

“Let me distract you.”

His soft lips were suddenly pressed against yours, completely catching you off guard as your eyes momentarily widened, but you gradually melted into the heated kiss, your hand slowly trailing up his toned, bare back before landing on the back of his head, desperately pulling him closer. You felt blood rush to your core as your tongues danced against each other so effortlessly and so perfectly, your fingers running through his dishevelled, brown locks as he gently tilted his head, deepening the kiss further.

At the same time, his firm hand wandered down your body, fingers gliding over your silken skin until they reached your clothed core, his hand pressing against one of your inner thighs to spread your legs further apart. Teasingly, he toyed with the elastic waistband of your skirt for a moment, eliciting a frustrated, impatient groan from you before finally sliding it off, carelessly tossing it to the ground.

His roaming hand then found its way back between your legs, gently rubbing your aching cunt over your soaked panties, a teasing, devilish smirk playing on his lips that you could feel through the passionate kiss before he slowly pulled back, leaving you breathless.

“This wet already? You know you could’ve just asked me to fuck you, tesoro. No need to threaten all those poor girls.”

“Yeah… right.” You scoffed, finding it hard to believe as your eyes briefly flickered away from his, a wave of scepticism washing over you.

With intense eyes locked onto yours, he slid your lace panties down, mindlessly tossing them to the floor as well before peeling away the rest of clothing, leaving you fully naked under him, surrounded by a chaotic pile of fabric on the wooden floor.

He paused for a moment to admire your breathtaking figure, eyes hungrily scanning every inch of your body, from your dripping cunt to your tits and hardened nipples. He bit his lip as he felt his painfully hard erection pressing against the thin fabric of his boxers, forming a damp patch of precum.

“Oh, c’mon bella.”

Theo’s fingers hovered tantalisingly over your core, causing you to instinctively buck your hips upwards, desperately craving to feel them inside of you as he crawled on top of you again, piercing, lust-filled eyes staring right into your soul.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment.”

Oh, fuck. He slowly pushed his long fingers into your dripping cunt—two at a time—stretching you until he was knuckles deep inside of you, causing you to arch your back at the overwhelming sensation, your lips parting in ecstasy. The tips of his digits found your g-spot in no time, swiftly rubbing against the spongy surface as you desperately gripped his flexed arm, your sharp nails digging into the skin.

“Every time I was fucking one of those girls, I closed my eyes and imagined it being you, cara mia.”

His words rushed straight to your core, causing you to clench tightly around his fast fingers as every muscle in your body tightened in response. He couldn’t help but smirk at the instant reaction, only egging him on to increase his pace. His fingers curled up so perfectly, pumping in and out of your dripping cunt with slick, wet sounds along with your breathy moans echoing through his dorm room.

You were so close to the edge, the intense pleasure building as his fingers quickened their pace, until he suddenly came to a halt and pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness.

“Theo! What the f—”

“Ah, ah, ah; don’t whine. I need to feel you cum around my cock, alright?” He growled, his voice dripping with raw lust at just the thought of you wrapped around his cock. In one swift motion, he quickly removed his boxers, his throbbing cock springing free against his stomach, the tip slick with glistening precum as you nearly drooled at the sight.

He pressed his strong palms against your inner thighs, spreading your legs wide as he positioned himself in front of you, but you unexpectedly stopped him, making him raise a curious brow.

“Wait… just— uhm… let me suck your dick first… please?” you begged, your voice laced with desperation as his surprised eyes shifted into dark, lustful ones. He immediately beckoned for you to move in front of him as he leaned back on the bed, his back resting against the headboard, his hands casually tucked behind his head.

“Well… you don’t have to ask me twice, pretty girl.”

Finally. It felt like a dream come true. You positioned yourself on your knees in front of him, your eyes intensely fixated on his huge, pulsating cock, practically begging for you to suck it. You slowly drew nearer, teasing him as he felt your warm breath ghosting over his sensitive skin, his hips impatiently bucking up in response.

With one hand wrapped firmly around the base and the other resting on his flexed thigh, you began to give it gentle, playful kitten licks, your tongue flicking delicately against the tip, earning a low hiss from Theo as you tasted the salty precum. It didn’t take long before you took him fully into your mouth, slowly moving down until your lips made contact with his balls and the tip touched the back of your throat. One of his hands unconsciously travelled to your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Oh, fuck, baby. Just like that.” Theo praised, a deep sense of pride swelling in your chest as you lightly gagged on his length before pulling your head back up. Your tongue swirled over the most sensitive parts of the tip as you retracted, a combination of drool and precum coating your swollen lips, trickling down onto his balls.

“Give me your phone, please.” you suddenly asked, catching Theo off guard. He tilted his head in confusion, yet without further questions, reached for it from his nightstand and handed it over to you with a hint of curiosity.

“My password is—”

“Yeah, I know.”

You mindlessly unlocked his phone, his lips parting to speak, but before he could utter a word, you had already wrapped your lips around his pulsating cock once more, causing him to throw his head back in pleasurable surprise. As you swiped across the screen, you finally found the camera app and held the phone up high in the air, angling it towards your face while simultaneously bobbing your head up and down, eyes staring directly into the camera lens.

“Oh, shit. You’re— you’re fuckin’ crazy, cazzo.” he let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, his voice thick with both admiration and raw desire, staring down at you through half-lidded eyes and a cheeky, lopsided smirk dancing on his lips.

Snap. Snap. Snap. You took several pictures from different angles, your mouth stuffed full with Theo’s cock as he now held your hair back in a ponytail, guiding your head up and down his erection, making you gag each time it hit the back of your throat. You quickly locked his phone again and tossed it aside, your focus snapping back to his cock as you immediately increased your pace, causing Theo to grip your hair tighter, desperately trying to stop you.

“Ah, ah, careful… you’re gonna make me cum, baby, fuck.” he warned, insinuating that he wasn’t ready to finish just yet. You slowly pulled away, giving him a teasing smile, your lips slick and swollen.

“C’mere.” he growled, taking your hand and dragging you effortlessly on top of him, his wandering hands trailing possessively over your back to your ass, before he flipped you over in one swift motion with Theo ending on top of you, a predatory grin plastered across his face.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he taunted, a lustful gleam sparkling in his eyes with his aching erection pressed against your thigh. His warm breath ghosted over your skin as his lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers racing down your spine.

“Listen… I will fuck you until you’re dripping with my cum. Until you’re screaming my name. Until you can’t fuckin’ walk anymore.” His words gave you chills all over your body as your arousal began to trickle down your thighs, leaving a messy trail over your legs.

“‘Cause that’s what you wanted all this time, isn’t it?” Theo moved back and pumped his cock a few times, his impatience evident in every motion. He positioned himself between your legs and finally pushed into you, his arms caging you under him as he hissed at the feeling of you wrapped around his cock. He gave you a moment to let you adjust to his size, his cock completely filling you up as he was buried balls deep inside of you.

Him, inside you, felt so intoxicating, better than anything you could’ve ever imagined, both of you consumed by tremendous levels of passion and lust. He started slow, dragging out each deep thrust, making you feel every inch of him as he stretched you completely, massaging your inner walls so perfectly.

“Baby… you look so beautiful like this… So fucking sexy.” he managed to mutter in between ragged breaths, making you moan loudly as he gradually increased his pace, relentlessly pounding into you now.

“My. Favourite. Girl.” he praised, each word punctuated by deep thrusts as his lips captured yours in a heated kiss, moaning into your mouth. And you— god, you felt better than he ever imagined, so tight and warm, perfectly wrapped around him, as if you were made for him.

“So fucking big, oh my god” you moaned breathlessly, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him closer until your sweaty bodies were pressed together.

You hooked your legs around his muscular torso, giving him an angle to go even deeper as his cock hit your g-spot over and over. Theo clutched the sheets, his knuckles turning white with his head buried in the crook of your neck, desperately trying to hold back, to not cum too soon— but fuck, you felt incredible, squeezing him so perfectly.

“Yes, yes, yes, right there!” you cried out, your voice shaking from pleasure and your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pure bliss.

“Taking my cock so well, amore, fuck” he growled, his voice deep and strained and his pace brutal, causing you to cling onto his broad shoulders, nails digging deep into his skin. His lips moved frantically across your neck, planting wet, sloppy kisses all over your skin as his hand crept to your core, rubbing fast circles on your swollen clit all while still maintaining his brutal pace.

“Theo, oh- oh my fucking god, I’m almost—”

“Let go for me, baby.” he whispered huskily into your ear as his fingers worked faster. It didn’t take long before he pushed you over the edge, causing you to arch your back and moan his name over and over again, your nails dragging down the length of his back, leaving red trails all over his skin.

“Atta girl. Doin’ so good for me.” He groaned through gritted teeth as his thrusts grew sloppier, less controlled. He breathlessly moaned your name so beautifully as his orgasm hit him, emptying himself inside you and filling you to the brim with his cum. He slowed his movements, gently riding out both of your highs, before carefully pulling out and collapsing next to you, his arm wrapping around you, both your breathing ragged and uneven.

You sluggishly grabbed his phone from the nightstand again, unlocking it with determined fingers, your chest heaving up and down as you scrolled through his messages. The screen lit up with dozens of texts— girls asking to hook up, sending him nudes. The anger you’d felt before instantly surged back, tightening in your chest.

“What are you doing?” Theo questioned, his eyes narrowing as he followed the movements of your fingers across the bright screen, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Making sure none of these girls ever talk to you again.” You smirked with a mischievous glint in your eyes as you scrolled through each chat, sending the pictures from earlier to every single girl in his phone. A self-satisfied, smug grin stretched across your lips as you watched the messages go through, one by one.

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” Theo chuckled, shaking his head in both disbelief and amusement, yet clearly turned on by your boldness.

“That's why you’re my favourite.”

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

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