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starmapz · 10 hours ago

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what you know - ch3: grade a(sshole) || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.1k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

The sounds of metal clanging and engines revving are somehow more grating than usual as Sukuna hangs the phone back on the wall. His head rests against the smooth surface beside the phone and he lets out a deep sigh, thankful you can’t see the frustration strewn across his face. Of fucking course Uraume’s in class right now and really, why had he ever expected his uncle to pick up? If he were good for anything, Sukuna wouldn’t be a parent to his siblings while in college.

“Ryomen! I need a hand!”

He rolls his shoulders in an effort to relieve the tension in his body from having no other choice but to call you, the source of all of his problems as of late, before pushing off the wall. He doesn’t say a word as he makes his way to his colleague, ignoring the man’s questioning. Just like everyone else in his life, his colleague doesn’t need to know anything about him.

The day drags on for Sukuna. He’s sluggish and worn out, covered in a sheen of sweat and grease and he can feel the oil he accidentally combed through his hair without thinking while speaking on the phone with you.

And then there’s you. Why the fuck won’t you leave his head? Why the fuck did he have to loosen and re-tighten the bolts on a set of tires because the thought of you had distracted him so much he’d tightened them a few too many times? Why had he done it on multiple tires?

As the day wraps up and he leaves the shop, the cool night air is welcome on his skin. He lets out a sigh as he begins to walk home, running a hand through his tousled hair once again. The feeling of oil coating his bare hand leaves him with a scowl and he wipes it on his coveralls, but they have enough grease on them that it hardly helps. His lip curls in disgust as he shoves his hands into his pockets, staring at the sidewalk as he makes his way back to his apartment.

The walk is too short to deliberate what the hell he’s even gonna say to you when he knows for a fact he owes you. Again. Yet that’s hardly the issue, when he knows he hurt you when he saw you last and now here he is asking for a favor. Fuck, how it pisses him off.

His hand pauses over his front door before he knows it, letting out a sigh as he unlocks the door and pushes through. He’s met immediately with the sight of you, dressed in a skirt and a beige knit sweater sitting on the couch. He goes to drop his keys on the table beside the door but pauses before they can clatter on the wood as he realizes Choso is sound asleep on top of you.

He sucks in a sharp breath, meeting your gaze. The world seems to hold its breath as you both stare at one another, completely silent.

“Hey,” your voice is smaller than you intended as you decide to break the tense silence. Sukuna’s piercing gaze flickers between you and Choso before he finally shuts the door behind him, his expression unreadable.

“They fell asleep?” He grunts.

Grimacing as he blatantly ignores your greeting, you nod. “Yeah. Choso wanted one more movie, but-” you pause, casting a glance at the young boy. “He didn’t make it long.”

Sukuna takes a step forward to look at the TV, quietly playing The Iron Giant. “That’s his favorite.”

You nod slowly, but your eyes never once leave Sukuna. He looks tired as ever again, like he hasn’t had a break in a long time, but you know better than to offer help now. That, and the way he hurt you still hangs over your head even if you aren’t upset with him.

“He really likes sad movies,” you comment in an effort to cut through the tension in the air, but it hardly helps, enveloping you in its grasp once more.

A puff of air leaves Sukuna’s nose in an acknowledging laugh. “You watched The Land Before Time didn’t ya?” There’s a hint of a smile on his face that you mirror back at him despite the lingering unease.

“And Pokemon.”

Sukuna’s brow raises as he nods. “Yeah. Dunno why, he’s always liked those three.”

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you offer a teasing smirk. “Maybe he takes after you. These are all your movies, aren’t they?”

Sukuna looks between the TV and you again, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. Staring down at his hand that he forgot was covered in oil, he huffs at the realization that it’s now on his face. “They were,” he mindlessly answers, turning back towards you. He gently sets his keys on the table, noting the fact that you have a little smirk and are very obviously staring where he just wiped his hand. Yeah, he has oil on his forehead. “D’ya mind staying while I shower? I’ll be ten minutes. I’ll carry Cho to his room after.”

“That’s fine, you could use a showe-”

“Shut- your mouth, Prom Queen,” he quietly hisses, his tone lacking the aggravation of someone truly frustrated.

You shoot him a small smile, laughing quietly as a semblance of normalcy finally returns. When he kicks off his shoes and pads quietly further into the apartment, disappearing into the washroom, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

It’s not like you weren’t expecting this to be uncomfortable, but you’d expected Sukuna to be as brash and vexing as usual, not whatever this is. The palpable tension, the somber silence and the complete and utter lack of frustration from Sukuna- it’s like you’re treading through a potential minefield, yet now you have no clue what could set him off this time. Do you even owe him that given how he snapped at you when you last saw him?

Throwing your head against the back of the couch, you sigh, deciding to give your attention back to the movie to force yourself not to get overwhelmed by your own overthinking. Choso shuffles in your arms, snoring softly as his hair falls over his face.

The sounds of doors opening and closing only a few minutes later makes your heart speed up when Sukuna emerges after a moment, dressed in a tight black tank top that hardly leaves anything to the imagination and gray sweatpants. You blink a few times as you make a conscious effort not to stare at his abs but god is it hard.

It’s almost like your mind forgets that you’re upset with him because he’s just that attractive, and that only makes your cheeks heat up because, come on. You’re better than this. Swallowing, you force yourself not to look at his bulging biceps or the veins in his forearms or the obvious six pack that the tank top doesn’t hide one bit. Why is it so tight anyway? Is he showing off?

But Sukuna hardly seems to notice your turmoil, his usual frown plastered on his face as he runs a hand through his hair, now oil-free. He closes the distance between you as he crosses the living room in two easy strides, standing tall in front of you.

“How’s Yuji?” He asks, clearing his throat.

“He’s been asleep most of the day but he didn’t throw up after I got here. He had a couple of spoonfuls of soup but he’s not hungry.”

He nods. “Good. I think.” Tense silence settles between you and you have to avert your gaze as you grow uncomfortable. “I’ll take Cho to his bed,” Sukuna mumbles, effortlessly lifting the young boy into his arms. Choso doesn’t so much as shuffle as Sukuna carries him to his and Yuji’s room. Fiddling with your neatly manicured nails, you stare in the direction Sukuna left. He’s back in only a few moments, looking relieved as ever that the day is over.

“Um, are you o-” you begin, realizing too late that both you and Sukuna have begun talking at the same time.

“You can go home.”

You stare at one another with wide eyes as you both speak over one another. Laughing uncomfortably, you chew on your lip. “You don’t want to talk about…?”

Sukuna’s brow furrows. There’s his irritation. Of course he would think the best thing to do is avoid the subject entirely.

“What do you want to talk about?” He asks in an impatient tone as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Your lips part as you search for words, treading carefully now that you have Sukuna’s attention. “You were a dick,” you offer as a starter, knowing that of all of the things you could say, this wouldn’t actually bother him that much.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Sukuna mutters with a roll of his eyes.

“You’re still being a dick.”

He pauses this time, narrowed eyes observing the way you’re fiddling with your nails and chewing on your lip. He sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’m an asshole,” he agrees. “I-” he pauses, rubbing his fingers over his eyes in exasperation. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, somewhat muffled as he rubs his hand over his face.

Your eyes widen, blinking once, twice, three times at him. In your experience with him, he usually avoided apologies and thanks, as though they taste bitter on his tongue. Even now, he seems to be avoiding the subject as best as he can, muttering it behind his hand like the weight of the word is too much to bear.

“I didn’t get everything handed to me on a silver platter, you know.”

Sukuna stares out the window across the apartment. “Didn’t think ya did.”

“Then why did you say it?” You ask, tilting your head.

“‘Cause I was pissed, okay? I apologized already,” he grumbles, wanting to be done with this conversation. Everything about it makes his skin crawl between the way your brows are knit together and the hurt that glimmers in your eyes to the way you look so small and uncertain in front of him. God, the way his throat tightened when he saw his little brother asleep on top of you too, his hair stood on end in discomfort at the feeling.

He doesn’t know what to make of you and he hates that he pushed you away only to need you. To need your help. To embarrassingly need to call you three times and grovel for you to look after his brothers that only you know about because you just keep slithering your way into his life. He wants to blame it so badly on you being a pain in the ass, but you’re not. You’re kind. You’re kind and thoughtful and you’re only here because you’re a good person.

You’re still here even after he treated you as though you were replaceable, because you’re a better person than he could ever be.

Sukuna sighs loudly in exasperation, rubbing his temples. “Just… fuckin’ ignore me, okay? I was just taking shit out on you.”

“Like a dick.”

Sukuna lowers his hand from his face, staring at you with narrowed eyes. “Do you just really want me to say I was a dick?”

You tilt your head with a saccharine sweet smile. “Mhmm.”

“Does it really make that much of a fuckin’ difference?”

“I want to hear you say it.” Your tone has a teasing sort of charm to it that has him huffing and puffing in front of you.

“You gonna forgive me if I do?”

“I’ll think about it,” you grin back at him.

“Fuck, fine. Fine. I was a dick.”

You giggle as the burly man scowls at you, crossing his arms over his broad chest again. Once your laughter subsides, you offer a more sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry too, Sukuna. I shouldn’t have pushed you to begin with.”

His brow twitches as you apologize. He can’t in his right mind figure out why you think you would need to apologize for his outburst when really you weren’t all that pushy. The last thing he needs right now is to get stuck in this conversation that feels as though it’s physically bringing him pain for any longer than necessary, so he lets it go with a hum.

“Did the brats give you a hard time?”

You shake your head, relieved as the tension fades and Sukuna takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch, legs spread as he slumps into the cushions. “Yuji was crying when I got here, but he quieted down pretty quickly. Choso seemed a bit worried but he helped me cook and just wanted to watch movies,” you twist your body to face him as you speak.

He sighs, an elongated curse falling from his lips as he stares at the ceiling. “I owe ya. I already paid the sitter, but I’ll-”

“Don’t worry about it!”

He stares at you like you’ve grown another limb. “What? This shit took up your whole day.”

“I like spending time with them,” you insist with a shrug. “They remind me of simpler times.”

“What if you get sick?” At this point, Sukuna is reaching for something, anything, so that you’ll give in to him. But that’s just not who you are, is it? You’re selfless and kind, and you won’t accept anything he throws at you and that thought absolutely wrenches his gut. It twists in a type of discomfort that’s becoming entirely too familiar and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Then I get sick. Oh well,” you shrug again, shooting him that same sweet smile from earlier.

A muscle in his jaw tightens as he stares at you. “Are you always this much of a pain?”

You scoff humorously. “I don’t take your money and I’m a pain?” Your tone is teasing as you lean towards him.

“A pain,” Sukuna emphasizes the word as he stretches an arm along the sofa, his fingers draped along the back near your face. “That’s how shit like this is supposed to work. I pay you, you look after the brats.” He looks expectantly at you.

Your eyes soften as you realize just how different your views of the world are. Of course Sukuna wouldn’t expect someone to help them out of the goodness of their heart if it was just something he’d never experienced before. In his eyes, everything is transactional. You know he hates the idea of asking for help as well, so you can only assume that he would want to return the favor if it means it isn’t a plea for help. It’s an exchange of services. It makes it easier on his ego.

“Consider it a thank you for turning in the visual portion of our project on time,” you insist, trying to worm your way carefully between the thin line that separates this being help and this being an exchange.

“What?” He lifts a brow in disbelief, crimson irises narrowed as he observes you. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense. That’s my project, too.”

“Well-” you pause, staring down at your manicured nails. “I honestly just thought you hadn’t made it on time.”

His finger taps the back of the couch by your head. “What gave you the idea I just wouldn’t turn my own project in?”

“Well you didn’t show up to our second meeti-”

“Y’know what?” He flicks your forehead with a mischievous smirk, all thoughts of repaying you gone from his mind. “Forget I asked. Don’t answer that.”

You pout at him, bringing a hand up to rub your forehead although it didn’t hurt. “Dick.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whine about it,” he grumbles, but he’s smirking as he eyes you. You can’t help but giggle at his behavior, something about it comforting as Sukuna relaxes into the cushions. He mindlessly rolls his neck, leaning back as silence falls over you.

The sound of cars outside and the quiet dialogue from The Iron Giant is nothing but background noise as you bask in the comfortable air of the still apartment. Being around Sukuna feels almost nostalgic in a sense- sure you had only been apart for a week and a half, but after ‘getting over him,’ as Shoko put it, it almost feels like a warm hug.

It’s a shame it can never last as long as you’d like, as you catch a glimpse of the window and realize it’s dark. Afraid of intruding, you get to your feet and make your way to the door. “I should head out,” you tell him. His eyes follow you, though he gives no other indication of hearing your words. “Will I see you in class on Friday? We get our grade for the project.”

“Nah, not if the brat’s sick. Just email me our grade.”

Your lip twitches downward, and you can only pray Sukuna doesn’t notice. He gives no indication that he does, so you do your best to plaster a look of understanding on your face. “See you around?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t say anything more, still spread across the couch. He’s so tall and bulky that somehow the three-person couch looks too small for him, it may as well be a feat.

“Later, Kuna!” You trill in a sing-song voice as you make your way to the door.

“Night, Prom Queen,” he huffs, a humorous sneer to his tone.

–

Although he’s stuck at home with Yuji, Sukuna sends you a couple of emails updating you on him. The first one caught you off-guard but it warms your heart that he seems to want to talk to you beyond the project. Each email causes your chest to flutter a little more but you don’t entertain the thought that it’s anything more than physical attraction. There’s no point, really, when you can’t seem to go a single day without upsetting him in some manner.

Not that Shoko seems to agree with that sentiment.

“Hey!” She calls as you wait at your usual spot to make your way to the lunch hall.

“Hey, Sho!” You reply cheerily.

“So are we not best friends anymore, or…?” She asks, narrowing her eyes.

Incredulously, you blink at her. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t text me to tell me how last night went.”

“Oh, with Sukuna?”

With a deadpan stare, she sighs. “Girl, don’t act stupid.”

Harsh. “Sorry, it was pretty late when I got back, I would have otherwise!” You apologize with a wry smile. “It’s not all that interesting anyway. I just looked after the kids until he got back and then I went home.”

“You’re impossible. That’s obviously not what I’m asking about,” she groans, pushing you further as you beat around the bush of the situation. “You literally haven’t seen him in like a week and a half because he was such a prick, puh-lease tell me he apologized. You better not let him step on you.”

You sigh, giving in to her nosiness. “Yes, he apologized. I think it caused him physical pain,” you giggle to yourself.

“Good,” she snorts, “he deserves it for hurting you and he’s lucky I haven’t smacked him yet for breaking your heart.”

“He didn’t break my heart,” you roll your eyes as the two of you find your way to your usual table at the lunch hall.

Shoko takes her usual seat across from you. “No of course not, you were just sulking for fun.”

“I thought you were supposed to be my best friend?” You ask in an effort to derail the conversation as Haibara and Nanami take their seats beside you.

“That’s why I’m grilling you over that asshole in the first place,” she grins.

“That’s why you shouldn’t be giving me a hard time,” you counter but she just shoots you a sweet smile as Gojo and Geto arrive. Even she won’t subject you to their form of torture when it comes to teasing.

Nanami clearly catches on to what’s going on from where he sits beside you. Leaning over, he keeps his voice down as his observant mahogany eyes take in that you seem fairly bright today in comparison to the last few days.

“He apologized, yes?”

You nod.

“Good. Don’t be afraid to ask for my help, okay?”

“I’m fine, Ken, I promise,” you insist. Satisfied, he smiles and pulls out his lunch. You do the same, pulling out a container of fruit and a panini sandwich. For the first time in just under two weeks, you don’t feel a miserable wrench in your chest as you stare at the sandwich.

–

It’s no surprise when Friday rolls around and Sukuna doesn’t show up to class. Yuji is sick, and that’s his priority, as it should be. You feel a pang of disappointment but it’s heartwarming just how much he cares for his little brothers when he comes across as cold and indifferent a majority of the time. Even if he’s a bit rough around the edges, there’s a certain charm to the quiet and docile moments you’ve shared since working with him.

You can hardly sit still through the class as you await your grade, easily the most stressful part of projects worth this much. Your entire scholarship hinges on each of these massive projects and tests and you can’t risk the consequences of failing.

Ten minutes before the end of the lecture, just as the professor is about to go over the project, the door slowly inches open, and a tall and broad-shouldered student slips in with his hood up. The professor is used to it by now and doesn’t say a word. Rather than heading to his usual seat, the student quietly slips into the seat beside you, nudging you softly. He pulls down his hood and your eyes light up at the sight of your project partner.

“You made it!” You whisper, grinning up at him. Your stomach flutters as he smirks, setting his forearm on the back of your chair as he leans closer to you. Heat radiates from his body as his breath fans your neck, warming your skin despite the shiver that runs up your spine.

“You looked like a kicked puppy when I told ya I needed to stay home, so I pulled some strings.”

You tilt your head to look at him, feeling your breath hitch when you realize just how close he is to your ear. Your cheeks undeniably heat up as you force yourself to stare at the front of the class. “I didn’t look like a kicked puppy. I was just… hoping you could make it.”

“Yeah, well, can’t have the Prom Queen thinkin’ I don’t show up now, can I?”

Your cheeks are burning so hot you think your head might be spinning and it’s only when he finally leans back into his own chair that you realize you were holding your breath. Rubbing a hand over your face in an effort to cool your cheeks down, you cast a glance at Sukuna.

He’s manspreading right into your personal space, leaning back into his chair as he listens to the professor with a look of indifference. In a rare circumstance, he looks more well-rested than usual and seems fairly at ease. His leg isn’t subtly shaking and his eyes aren’t darting down to his watch as he debates when to leave for his next shift. For once, he isn’t Sukuna with two jobs, two dependants, and the world on his shoulders, he’s just a student.

Your heart aches at the realization that he’s so drained from the weight of the world that it’s only in rare moments like this one that you see more of the real Sukuna. A man who smirks and teases, who relaxes into his seat and simply lets life go on. He’s not always cold and tense, there’s a side to him that only those lucky enough to get close to him get to see and the worst part about this realization…

… is that you want to see more of it. Not out of the goodness of your heart and a want to do something nice for someone deserving, although that is a part of it, but for selfish reasons.

Fuck. Shoko is right. Shoko is right and you’re hopelessly crushing over the notoriously hot campus asshole.

You swallow hard, pulling your gaze forward as you realize you’ve been staring. Chewing on your lip, you hardly put together that the professor is passing out project grades until he stops in front of your seats. You blink a few times to reorient yourself.

“You two surprised me immensely as a pairing,” he begins. Although you weren’t paying attention, Sukuna is well aware of the fact that the professor had been dismissing other students as he passes out grades, opting to bring yours up last. He can only assume that means one thing and he’s already smirking. “Although I would prefer you keep the in-class chatter to a minimum-” he pauses to shoot a glance at Sukuna, who’s now huffing with a glance to the side as the smirk falls from his face, “-this is by far the best iteration of this project I’ve seen in all my years of teaching.”

Your jaw hangs ajar, eyes wide as you process his words. Sukuna’s smirking again, hardly seeming shocked.

“Your thesis is worded eloquently and explores the depths of the meanings of each painting, while your visual portion is stunning and displays an understanding of the importance behind each piece to the artist,” he explains. The cocky grin on Sukuna’s face doesn’t leave as he outstretches his arm onto your chair. “This is the first time I’ve ever given out a perfect score, and for that reason I’d like to have you both present your work in front of the class.”

You pale, shooting a fearful glance at Sukuna. He seems mildly irritated by the thought, but shrugs, returning your glance. “Whattaya say?” He asks, his calm facade faltering as he takes in your expression. Crimson irises flit between your eyes as you slowly shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you hesitate meekly, not loving the idea of standing before a lecture hall of students, under far too many pairs of watchful and judgmental eyes.

His gaze drops to the way you’re fidgeting with your fingers, just as you had when you were nervous a couple of nights ago as he puts together that this isn’t something you’re comfortable with. It’s not like that isn’t written across your face right now, but it’s abundantly clear to him through your actions that this isn’t just discomfort, you’re genuinely nervous.

“We’ll do it,” Sukuna says. Your head flips towards him, eyes wide in disbelief as he makes the decision for you.

Before you have a chance to protest, the professor claps his hands together. “Great. I’ll have you present at the end of class next Friday. You don’t have to prepare anything fancy but I will make sure you get extra credit for this.”

You have half a mind to wish he started by mentioning the extra credit portion, you certainly would have hesitated less, but it doesn’t change just how badly you don’t want to do this.

As the professor walks away, you whirl around to face Sukuna. “What the hell, Sukuna?” You whisper-yell, though there isn’t anyone in your vicinity.

He chuckles. “Pick your jaw up off the ground, you’ll be fine. I’ll be there the whole time with you, yeah? I can do as much of the talkin’ as you want.” He leans towards you, setting a hand on the table in front of you both. “‘Sides, you weren’t gonna say no to extra credit. We both know that.”

You chew on your lip, brows knit together as you stare down at your hands, mindlessly fiddling with your nails again. “I guess you’re right.”

The tattooed man lets the silence hang for a moment as he contemplates how shy you’ve suddenly become. You’re meek at times, but this is almost perplexing to him given how bold and saccharine you are towards him when he isn’t purposely pushing your buttons. “So let me get this straight, you were Prom Queen but you don’t like talkin’ in front of people?” Sukuna tilts his head in thought as he shifts to lean on his forearm, edging closer to you.

“That- That felt different,” you insist, leaning forward on your palm as if mirroring his actions. Your eyes trail away from him and Sukuna narrows his eyes.

“I don’t get how that shit’s any different. Aren’t there less people in this class?” He asks, bringing a hand up to scratch his chest. Your eyes flicker over to watch the movement, as though anything is more interesting than actually looking up at him.

“Well, yeah- but-” you pause, your leg now beginning to bounce. Clearly you’re bothered now, but Sukuna can’t wrap his head around what’s made you so shy suddenly- you who so boldly walked your way into his life. He knows people perceive him as scary at a glance, yet that never stopped you. Hell, you hang around Satoru Gojo of all people and Sukuna doesn’t get that either, finding his boisterous presence loud and irritating, but he’s fairly sure that makes you part of a group that would normally be considered popular.

So what in the hell are you so scared of? He doesn’t understand.

“But what?” He pushes, leaning closer to you.

You can feel his breath fanning your face again now that he’s leaning closer to you. It only serves as another distraction and you already can’t seem to find your words. “I- I don’t know, Sukuna!” You huff, pulling back a bit to cross your arms over your chest and put some distance between you.

Sukuna's face twists in confusion, frustration etching itself into his features. “C’mon, it’s easy extra credit. What’s got you so worked up?” He asks with a hint of a sneer as he grows impatient with your avoidance of the subject.

“You wouldn’t get it.” Your voice is firm and there’s a hint of ice forming at the edges of your words that surprises your project partner.

“Try me,” he grunts, leaning as far forward as he can without his chair tipping over.

Your hands move gradually from their position crossed over your chest to hug your frame as your expression turns from one of frustration to a more solemn one. “It’s because I was Prom Queen that I don’t like talking in front of people.”

“Hm?”

“It was a pretty big thing at my school, so some people were jealous, and others were pushy, it’s not like in the movies,” you shrug, as if that’s any sort of explanation in Sukuna’s eyes. Confusion dances across his narrowed red irises and you sigh, letting your guard down. “I don’t know, some girls got pretty jealous, and some people were a bit pushy trying to get my attention and it just ended up being an embarrassment. It was just a lot and I don’t love being in front of groups anymore,” you shrug.

Sukuna sits up straight, staring down at you with a scowl. “Aren’t they supposed to wanna be you or somethin’?” He asks with a frown.

“I mean, they did.”

He supposes you have a point, his observant stare taking in the way you shrink into yourself. “Well this ain’t high school and those assholes aren’t here. Don’t worry about it,” he shrugs in an attempt to reassure you. You finally meet his gaze again, a look of uncertainty painting your wide eyes. “No one is stupid enough to talk about ya like that with me beside you.”

A small smile pulls at your lips and Sukuna’s heart stumbles. He blinks a few times at the feeling in an effort to push it away, focusing instead on the way your eyes brighten. Fuck, that’s not helping him either. He coughs lightly into his elbow, rubbing a hand over his face as you smile shyly at him.

“Thanks, Sukuna. You’re kinda sweet sometimes, in your own way.”

He scowls. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from deep within your chest at his scrunched nose and frown, but you don’t give him an answer, beginning to pack up your bags. Sukuna huffs when you begin to pack up, facing forward with his chin leaning on his palm.

“Hey, thanks for coming in to get our grade.”

He raises a brow. “I didn’t do it for you.”

You pause, gripping your textbook in your bag as you cast a glance at Sukuna. His usual aloof expression has returned, no indication of your prior teasing found on his face.

“What happened to emailing you our grade then?”

Sukuna’s eye twitches as he watches you, returning your stare. “It was a joke.”

Your lips quirk upwards. “Right, how could I forget? It was so funny,” you mock him, reveling in the way he’s on his feet the next moment, the chair scraping across the floor as he glares at you with all the irritation he can muster, that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He sneers, taking a step towards you. He towers over you, shoving his hands into his pockets as your cocky demeanor shifts, your eyes widening when he leans down until his face is mere inches from yours. Your breath hitches as he chuckles darkly when he gets the exact reaction he wants from you. “You were all talk two seconds ago, what happened?”

“I- um-” Getting your bearings, you shove his chest playfully. “You’re a dick,” you mumble.

Sukuna doesn’t move an inch when you shove him, a grin plastered across his face. “Thought we were done with callin’ me a dick,” he teases.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “Yeah, until you decided to be one again.”

Sukuna’s sharp pupils flicker between your eyes for a moment before he stands up straight. Your heart beats in your ears as you’re freed from the close proximity. “Yeah, whatever you say,” he chuckles, calmly smirking at you. He glances down at the watch on his wrist, letting out a breath of air. “I gotta get back home. Uraume only had an hour to watch the brats.”

Tilting your head, you blink up at him, a hand over your chest to slow your thundering heart. “How’s Yuji?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Better than Wednesday. He’s still got a fever, though.”

“I hope he feels better soon,” you say, hesitating as you take a chance. “Let me know if you need me to watch them.”

Sukuna’s expression is unreadable as he examines you, gears visibly turning in his mind. Without another word, he slings his backpack over his shoulder and throws his hood back up, pausing to look at you before he leaves.

Sighing, he pushes his hair from his forehead beneath his hood. “I swear this’ll be the last time. I got offered a shift Sunday.”

He doesn’t voice his question to watch the kids, it’s an unspoken question because he doesn’t want to ask. The question puts him in a position where he’s asking for help and he so badly wants that not to be what this is.

You smile softly. “I’m free on Sunday.”

Pulling his airpods from a case in his pocket and putting them in his ears, he grunts. “Come by mine Sunday at 8:30.”

You purse your lips. “At night, right?” You ask, your gaze following after the man as he casually descends the lecture hall to the door. “At night, right?” You ask, this time louder to get his attention over his music.

Sukuna heard you the first time, shooting you a sly smirk just before he leaves.

Well, fuck that.

–

With a backpack slung over your shoulder filled with textbooks and study materials, as well as your GameCube, you sigh as you click the buzzer button for Sukuna’s apartment. As you wait for one of the three siblings to let you in, you shiver at the chill air. It’s far too early for you to be awake on a Sunday and your body agrees as you find yourself yawning every few seconds.

Between the cool fall air and the early morning, you couldn’t be bothered to dress in your usual preppy style, opting for a cute deep red hoodie with hello kitty on it and a pair of leggings. It’s still cute, but it’s a contrast to your blouses, skirts and heels.

When the door loudly buzzes, you make your way inside with your hood up over your hair, yawning as you rub your tired eyes. Before you can even knock on the door, Sukuna opens it, leaving your fist stagnant in the air. You drop it by your side, staring up at him through your lashes.

Sukuna’s in his polo shirt that seems so out of place on him you would almost assume he was someone else. “Blue’s not your color,” you comment with a yawn. His amused smile at your tired expression twists in offense at your comment.

“Morning to you too, dick.”

You giggle at his teasing. “You got me up early, I’m allowed to be one.”

“Oh, my bad, you fuckin’ princess,” Sukuna scoffs, an air of playfulness surrounding his words that makes you giggle more. He opens the door to let you into the apartment, his gaze trailing your outfit. It’s not your usual attire but something about how different it is on you while still suiting you stirs something within him. The bigger hoodie draping over your body makes him wonder what his own clothes would-

What the fuck is he thinking? He shakes his head, shutting the door and glancing over to the hall where the pitter patter of small feet sounds. Yuji goes running up to Sukuna, a bundle of blankets wrapped around his tiny form. “Don’t go, big brother.” His voice is lower than usual, clearly still sick as he clings onto his brother’s leg.

Crimson eyes flicker down to the little bundle of blankets. “I’ll be back soon, Yu. Play some MarioKart or whatever.”

Yuji’s curious eyes search the room at the sound of MarioKart. You pull down your hood and wave as he spots you. His eyes widen and he gasps, running up and hugging your legs now. You grin down at him, ruffling his unkempt hair.

Sukuna scoffs. “See? You won’t even know I’m gone.”

“Come play with us!” Yuji insists at the sound of his brother’s comment, still clutching your knee as he turns to plead with his brother.

Sukuna’s hardened indifference cracks, something akin to guilt or sadness flickering in his eyes for a split-second. It’s such a short moment that you wonder if you imagined it. He sighs, crouching down in front of Yuji. Even crouching, he’s still monstrously tall and dwarfs his little brother. You suppose that’s what happens when you’re almost seven feet tall and made of solid muscle.

“Maybe later, kid.” He ruffles his hair just as you did moments ago and gets back to his feet. “I owe ya one,” he sighs, brow furrowed as he stares off to the side with a tight jaw.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask-” you pause, a mix of emotions flooding you as you contemplate dropping the question, but ultimately decide it’s worth it. “I could use a hand studying for history.” You chew on your lip. “You know, just if you have time, no big deal if you don’t!” You smile sheepishly.

Sukuna’s eyes flicker between yours, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, sure.” He turns away, trudging to the door. “Be back at 5:30,” he mumbles before he’s gone. You sigh at the sight of the shut and locked door, turning your groggy attention to Yuji, who coughs into his bundle of blankets at your feet.

It’s a miracle you aren’t sick already, and you hope that miracle stays with you again today.

You’re able to study while the boys play games throughout most of the day once Choso wakes up. They’re easy to look after and they add a certain brightness to your day that only they can, reminding you of just how simple life is when you don’t have three projects due and finals on the horizon.

There’s a weight in your chest at the thought of managing that workload alongside two jobs and two kids, something you find yourself pondering often, but if Sukuna won’t accept your help, then what more can you do? Sure, you’re helping him now, but you know he won’t let this go without repayment, which you would happily take in the form of a study buddy. While that’s likely less stressful for him than cash, it’s still another sliver of his already limited time taken up.

“I’m hungry,” Choso mumbles, looking at you as if he didn’t scarf down the lunch you made only a couple of hours ago.

A lopsided smile dons your face as you contemplate making dinner or letting him know to wait for Sukuna, but if he’s hungry, who are you to say no?

“What would you like?”

“Cereal!” Yuji excitedly calls from where he sits on the floor, stifling a cough when his voice cracks.

“That’s not dinner…” Choso mumbles, brow furrowing in thought as he looks at his younger brother, who’s been so picky while he’s been sick that most of their meals have been the same few things that he can stomach. “What about mac and cheese?”

Yuji takes a moment to think, before he decides this is acceptable and nods excitedly.

“I’m sure I can make that happen,” you agree, getting to your feet to peruse the kitchen that you’re growing more accustomed to. Yuji stays in the living room, the sounds of a terrified Luigi echoing throughout the apartment as Choso follows closely behind you. You’ve noticed over your time with Sukuna and his brothers that Choso seems to have a penchant for cooking and loves to help. It’s too cute and your heart swells each time he finds a way to lend a hand while you cook.

Plus, you get a helper, which means less work. It’s a win-win situation, really.

As you work your way through the kitchen, boiling water and letting Choso salt and stir the noodles before pouring them into a casserole dish, you sprinkle cheese between and over the noodles as you wait for the oven to eat up, explaining each step along the way for Sukuna’s brother. Stirring the cheese into the noodles along with some herbs and spices, you tilt your head at the dish.

It’s almost ready for the oven, but not quite.

“Do you have breadcrumbs?”

Choso stares up at the pantry shelves. “Uhh…” He pushes around a few boxes before shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you have bread?”

“Yeah, but it’s old.”

“Old like mouldy or old like stale?” You ask with a thoughtful expression.

“Stale.”

“Perfect!”

Choso wrinkles his nose as he hands the loaf of bread to you. It’s in moments like these that his resemblance to his older brother really becomes apparent.

“I’ll show you how to make breadcrumbs,” you grin. Choso doesn’t seem to have a grasp on what you need breadcrumbs for when mac and cheese’s ingredients are literally listed in the name, but he still watches with intrigue anyway. You cut up the slices of bread into tiny pieces, throwing them in the oven until they’ve dried out, and then tossing them over the mac and cheese and placing the extra crumbs aside.

“Trust the process, Cho.”

He tilts his head curiously as you place the mac and cheese on a rack in the oven. “Trust the process?”

“It means… it may not make sense to you in the moment, maybe it’s messy or confusing, but the end result will be more than worth it.”

“Oh. Okay. Trust the process,” he parrots, before making his way back to the living room just as his brother is sucking up a ghost with a vacuum in Luigi’s Mansion.

While the meal bakes, you grab your history textbook again and get some more studying in. It doesn’t take long for the timer to go off and Choso comes running up with wide eyes to stare at the prepared meal. Yuji follows slowly in his bundle of blankets, happily taking a bowl as you warn them both it’s hot.

“So?”

With a mouth full of macaroni, Choso smiles. “Trust the process,” comes his muffled happiness. The boys chow down on what you assume will be their dinner given that Sukuna should be home soon, and Choso returns to help you clean up.

He grabs a ziploc bag to place the extra breadcrumbs in, holding it open for you. Just as you’re pouring the food into the bag, the front door swings open and you jolt in surprise, causing bread crumbs to go flying.

Sukuna drops his keys on the table by the door, his eyes scanning the room as he spots Yuji before his aloof expression crumbles when he arches a brow at the absolute mess that his kitchen is. Your cheeks heat up as you and Choso stare at him with guilty expressions.

Really, you should be blaming Sukuna for scaring you.

“I’m not fuckin’ cleaning that,” he grumbles, walking slowly over the mess of cables in the living room as he pulls his shirt up over his head in the most ungodly slutty way you could possibly imagine and you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes from the sight of his toned back.

Of course, you always knew Sukuna was muscular, but seeing it first hand makes it hard to shake the image from your mind. He could be hung on the wall of a museum, his muscles are so sculpted, rippling with every movement and decorated in tattoos that suit him so well he could be an actual god and you wouldn’t even bat an eye.

Choso pulls you from your thoughts as they border on inappropriate, by tugging at your sleeve.

“We should clean.”

“Right!” You squeak, shaking the image of shirtless Sukuna as best as you can from your mind as you stare at the scattered mess.

“Okay let’s… start with the counter.”

It doesn’t take too long to clean up the mess and there’s still enough bread crumbs left over for Sukuna to make something if he wanted, so it could have gone over worse.

Speak of the devil, he rounds the corner wearing a black muscle shirt with a metal band logo you don’t recognize scrawled across the front and sleeves cut so deep it hardly counts as a shirt, like he’s showing off or something. You don’t even want to begin to think about the fact that he’s wearing grey sweatpants as well like some sort of tease who probably just threw on the first thing he saw and it didn’t even cross his mind how stupidly hot he is.

You avert your eyes, attempting to keep your cheeks from heating up any more than they already have. Sukuna crosses the living room to the kitchen in a few long strides, peering at the floor in search of crumbs.

“The fuck even happened over here?”

“You scared me when you opened the door,” you mumble, leaning back against the kitchen counter where your textbook is resting.

“So you threw shit everywhere?”

Your brow furrows at his accusation. “I just fumbled a bit and spilled what was on the pan.”

“Mm.” Sukuna’s gaze scans the kitchen until he finds the macaroni and cheese casserole sitting just behind your textbook. With a hint of a smirk, he takes a step forward, so close to you that his body heat warms your skin, his abs and chest just barely brushing against the plush of your breasts as he dips his finger into the dish.

Pulling his arm back, he slyly locks eyes with you, not bothering to take a step back even as you press your spine into the counter. He slips his finger between his lips, sucking the cheese from it with a pop!

Your eyes are wide as you look up at him, caught between him and the hard countertop behind you like a deer in the headlights, frozen. If you move even an inch, he’ll be pressed up against you, and- don’t let your thoughts spiral again.

Sukuna smirks, lidded eyes smug as though he’s got you just where he wants you, amused to pull such a reaction from you. He’s become increasingly aware of the effect he has on you and everything he’s been doing has absolutely been on purpose, even if you don’t know it. He’s making a show out of his muscles, getting close to you, sucking on his finger, all to get a rise out of you.

He’s not sure he understands it himself, but he loves your little reactions. He loves the way your eyes widen, your breath hitches, and your muscles tense as though you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. He’s sure it all boils down to lust, but he’ll make the most of it while he has you here.

He clicks his tongue after a thoughtful moment. “Not bad. The breadcrumbs are a nice touch.”

“T-Thanks,” you stammer quietly. Sukuna chuckles lowly as he finally gives you space, turning to open the fridge and grab a protein drink. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, bringing a hand up to slow your pounding heart.

“You stickin’ around to study?”

“I- um-” you pause, clearing your throat in an effort to calm your flustered state. “If you have time, that would be great. I mean, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure. The brats are quiet while you’re around.” He brings the protein drink up to his lips, downing it in one go and tossing the bottle into a bucket in the corner of the room as though he’s done it a thousand times.

With the boys distracted by the GameCube, Sukuna sits down at the table in the back of his apartment with you and a bowl of macaroni and cheese. Scooting his chair closer to you, his eyes scan the page you’re on.

“Is this for History 209?” He asks, briefly flipping to the textbook cover.

You nod.

“Mm.”

Sukuna briefly scans the upcoming pages before diving into explanations of the textbook, from memory. He clearly has a fondness for history that seems to come naturally to him as he explains anything you ask questions on without needing to even glance at the textbook. It’s like second nature to him.

“What years did the cold war take place?” He quizzes without so much as glancing up at you as he flips through the textbook pages without reading at all as though it’s a picture book.

“Uh-” You stare up at the ceiling. “1952 to 89?”

“47 to 89. Tell me about the Cuban Missile Crisis.”

“Um- Cuba felt like the US was about to invade, so they asked the Soviet Union to install missiles in-”

“Who asked?”

“Cuba?”

Sukuna glances up at you, his expression unimpressed. “No shit. What leader?”

“Oh. Castro.”

Hours pass by and you hardly even notice until your eyes begin to grow heavy and your yawning sets in. Sukuna gradually begins leaning further on his knuckles over the table, launching question after question at you without even a lick of help from the textbook. It would almost be impressive, if you didn’t already know how smart Sukuna is.

“How did the modern revolution affect the environment?”

You chew on your lip, the last bit of energy you were working with fizzling out suddenly as you’re left staring blankly at the table, completely burnt out.

Sukuna’s been only half paying attention for the past few minutes, growing equally as worn out and unable to focus as you are, though he hasn’t noticed just how spent you are given his inattention. It’s not until you don’t respond that his attention snaps to you, staring off into space.

He glances over your features, eyes dropping to your oversized hoodie. His thoughts stray to places they shouldn’t be again, so he wills himself to look back at your eyes, but the way you’re chewing on your lip-

It’s then that he realizes how close you are. Over the course of the past couple of hours, Sukuna has leaned further forward in his chair and you’ve scooted closer in an effort to look at the pages of your textbook while he explains. It’s weird, the way the close proximity seems to draw him in, as though he belongs in your space, but he knows better. He knows you exist in different worlds.

Still, as you space out further, a piece of your hair falls out of place, blocking the blank and tired expression on your face, and Sukuna doesn’t even have a moment to process his actions before he moves. It’s almost delicate, the way he slowly moves the hand he isn’t leaning on to tenderly brush the strand of hair behind your ear.

His action draws your attention, and along with it a steady heat that rises to your cheeks, reaching your ears and down to your neck. Sukuna doesn’t even seem phased by what he’s done, as if it’s completely natural and something the two of you just do. As though he isn’t pushing the balance of your strange friendship, if it could even be called that.

You lick your lip as you will your thoughts to stop bouncing all over the place, trying not to read too much into his actions, but it’s hard not to when his pupils dart down to follow your tongue as it swipes your lower lip. His pupils grow suddenly, and you don’t know how not to read into that, and now your thoughts are spiraling, and you’re wondering if all of Sukuna’s actions today are premeditated or-

As if Sukuna’s only just become aware of what he’s doing, he clears his throat and sits back. His pupils shrink and he crosses his arms over his chest, placing distance between you.

“You should head home before it’s too dark.”

In the endless sea of your thoughts, all you can do is nod. Snapping yourself back to reality, you begin packing your bag and make your way out to the living room where the two boys are excitedly playing an old copy of the board game Operation after Sukuna had told them no more video games, much to their dismay.

You smile at the sight of poor bundled up little Yuji and his older brother, who clearly cares a great deal for the little salmon-haired boy. The three of them are a sweet little family. Sukuna has a funny way of showing it sometimes but he clearly adores the two boys, or he wouldn’t be doing everything that he is.

At the end of the day, he could have left them to their own devices, thrown them into the fostering system. He could have used legal means to shove them into a relative’s care. He could have done a lot of things, but you can see the way he adores them. The way he loves them so deeply and genuinely that he can’t bear the thought of seeing them thrown to the wolves like that. He’s put a great deal of his life on hold and put his health, both mental and physical, on the line to see the two boys thrive, and it fills your heart with joy.

“You know, I could just leave the GameCu-”

“No.” Sukuna gets to his feet, standing a few feet away.

Yuji and Choso’s heads simultaneously whip around as though they’ve heard the biggest betrayal of their entire lives.

At five and twelve, they very well may have.

“Awwww!”

“Pleaaase, Kuna!”

“No, that’s final.”

You shoot Sukuna an easy smile, giggling to yourself at the sight of his scowl and frustrated huff.

“Don’t get ideas into their heads,” he grumbles at you, brushing past you as you clean up the GameCube and stuff the games into your bag. He grabs some more medication for Yuji, who doesn’t complain as he swallows it with a miserable frown at the bitter taste.

You wait at the door with your bag packed as Sukuna moves around the apartment, putting the medication away before he joins you at the door.

“Thank you so much for your help with studying, Kuna,” you say as you twist the handle and make your way out the door, turning to face him just outside his apartment. He leans on the doorframe, shutting the door slightly behind him and blocking the boys’ vision of you to give you both some privacy. He’s grimacing at the nickname, but he doesn’t complain.

“It’s whatever. Just paying you back for lookin’ after the brats.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile. Of course that’s all it is. “Email me if you need me to look after them while Yuji’s still sick.”

A puff of air escapes Sukuna’s nose in a makeshift laugh. “This your excuse to have more time to study?”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the way he so obviously is denying that he’s getting help from you. “Yeah. Yeah, it is,” you agree.

He smirks, nodding. “Tuesday at three.”

“Better be in the afternoon this time,” you tease.

“God forbid I take a night shift,” he scoffs, turning to shut the door. He pauses for a split second, turning back to you. You almost think he’s about to thank you, but either you read the situation wrong or he second-guesses himself because- “You better remember who Allen Dulles is on Tuesday.”

Your face contorts as he references the cold war and chuckles at your expression before closing the door.

Dick.

–

Friday comes sooner than you can possibly imagine as you find yourself spending late nights studying with Sukuna after looking after Yuji and Choso. Yuji returned to school on Thursday and Choso on Monday, so you’d gotten into the habit of picking up Choso from school and going back to watch them play games while you studied or worked on projects.

You couldn’t know whether Sukuna would still need help now that Yuji was feeling better, but that was the least of your concerns, because it’s Friday.

And you’ve been dreading this Friday in particular. Worse still, it felt like the world was against you all day too.

You woke up to the first snow of the season, opting to dress in a cute, white knit sweater that was fairly warm, as well as some beige leggings- not to mention all your winter gear.

And that was only the tip of the iceberg, you had to redo your eyeliner after somehow messing it up not once but twice, and then you managed to step in a puddle of mud and get your usual winter boots completely covered in dirt.

With your clean high heeled boots adorning your feet, you make your way to the school and quickly fall into step with Nanami who shares your first class of the day. He’s bundled up warmly in a long coat, a grey scarf accenting his coat. His sharp eyes turn to you as you join him, softening at the sight of you.

“Good morning,” he greets you, a kind smile pulling at his features.

You return his smile half-heartedly, giving him a brief wave. “Hey, Kento. How’re you feeling about finals?”

He hums thoughtfully. “Prepared,” he decides after a moment. “Though I don’t believe there’s such a thing as too much studying.”

“Yeah… I get that,” you agree, watching the snow condense beneath your feet with each step. Comfortable silence falls over you as the crunching of snow and the sounds of passing students fills the air. The warmth of your breath surrounds you as you mindlessly stare at the sparkling coat of flakes across the ground.

After a few moments, Nanami hums again, interrupting the silence and pulling your attention back to him. His gaze flickers between your face and your hands.

“Are you alright?”

“Hm? Yeah, why?”

Again, his watchful eyes flicker down to your hands. “You’ve been zipping up and unzipping your jacket since we began walking.”

You purse your lips, finally following his gaze down to your jacket which must have been making a grating zipping noise the whole time that you hadn’t even noticed with how caught up in your thoughts you were.

“Sorry Kento,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Just a bit nervous.”

His head tilts. “What are you nervous about?”

“I have to make a presentation in Art History at the end of the day. No one else in class is presenting.” With a sheepish smile, you proceed to subconsciously begin playing with your zipper again, too caught up in your thoughts to realize you’re doing it.

“I see. Is that what Sukuna was working on this morning?”

“You have a class with him?”

“Yes. He’s in my Accounting class early on Tuesdays and Fridays,” Nanami explains, subtly watching the way you’re messing with your zipper again, though he keeps his mouth shut.

“Oh. He was working on things this morning?”

“I believe so. It didn’t seem like he was paying attention,” Nanami shrugs. “I assumed he was working on something else.”

You let out a breath. “That’s kind of a relief, honestly.”

Arching a brow, Nanami hums questioningly.

“I still don’t like public speaking,” you quietly mumble, zipping your jacket up fully and burying your face into the fabric as your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Hm. I see,” the blonde hums, having been there during your Prom alongside Haibara. He’s well aware of the fallout that came with being named Prom Queen. “Well, you’ll have Sukuna with you, and I highly doubt anyone would comment with Sukuna at your side.”

“Scary dog privilege,” you agree.

“Sorry?” Kento’s brow furrows in confusion, leaving you giggling.

“Don’t worry about it.”

With a shake of his head, Kento opens the door to your next lecture and puts his focus into his notes as usual. You do your best to follow suit, but if your bouncing leg is any indicator, your focus isn’t long for this world and Nanami knows he’s in for a long study session in the coming week.

–

You did debate just not showing up, but if Sukuna was working on the presentation at an early morning class, you don’t have the heart to not show up at least for him. Still, your nerves are frayed at the seams in downright unease at the thought of being the only group to present your project.

The concept of being one of the only two people at the center of everyone’s attention all for being named the ‘best’ at something brings back too many memories for you to care to admit. Taking a deep breath, you do your best to keep your eyes on the prize: the extra credit.

Sukuna was right when he said you wouldn’t turn down extra credit. You would definitely think about turning it down when it came at the cost of your dignity and sanity, but with Sukuna at your side, you think you just might be alright.

At the end of the day, you know you need to keep your grades up if you want to keep your scholarship, and more importantly your parents happy, so with a deep breath, you focus on the class to the best of your ability, pushing aside your mess of anxiety and worries.

That is, until you glance back at Sukuna’s usual seat, only to find it empty and your heart damn near stops. Your eyes widen and in the least subtle way possible, you whip your head around the class in search of him. He has to be here. He promised to handle all the talking, you aren’t prepared, you… You can’t do this alone. Surely the professor will understand that too, right?

“Before I dismiss you all, I’d like to have a couple of exemplary students come up to present the Meaning in Art project I had you all submit a couple of weeks back.”

Your heart is thundering, your breathing growing shallow as panic sets in.

“These students displayed an impeccable understanding of the art and artists they chose to study, demonstrating this understanding through both their written and visual pieces.”

Your mouth is dry, your throat tight. Where the fuck is he? He wouldn’t throw you to the wolves like this, would he? You didn’t prepare anything, you were relying on him.

“With that being said, I’d like to invite these students up to the front of the class to give a short breakdown of their project.” Your name follows this statement, along with Sukuna’s, and the class goes silent.

Your hands are trembling as you stare in dismay at the desk sitting at the front of the room where Sukuna’s art is sitting, alongside your written thesis. You swallow hard, forcing down your nerves as all eyes fall to you.

On shaky legs, you slowly make your way down to the front of the class, quietly making your way up to the professor. “I- um-” you take a breath in an effort to calm your nerves. “Can we present next week instead? Sukuna- um- isn’t here,” you quietly whisper.

“Finals are in two weeks. This is the last class for this semester.”

Fuck.

“Right. Sorry, yeah. That’s fine,” you whisper, chewing on your lip as you turn to face the class. Dozens of pairs of judgmental eyes stare back at you and if the ground opened up and swallowed you whole, never to be seen again, it would be a better fate than what you were about to do. Alone.

“Um-” You mumble, clearing your throat as you pick up the printed thesis you wrote together with Sukuna. Surely he would walk through the door in just a few seconds, right? He would show up for you just like you did for him when Yuji was sick, right? This has to be a cruel prank.

“Speak up, please.” Your professor’s voice pulls you from the delusion that Sukuna was ever going to show up. The delusion that Sukuna ever cared.

Fuck, you just admitted to yourself that you like Sukuna.

You just came to terms with the fact that your attraction to him is more than just physical.

You’ve spent weeks defending him, even when he was a dick, but this really takes the cake.

Your chest tightens as you realize just how much he’s let you down. You want to cry, it’s a fight against your own body not to show just how nervous you are.

“For our-” You pause, staring down at the page with your name scrawled alongside Sukuna’s and a perfect score circled in red. “For my project,” you begin, taking a deep breath in an effort to push down the swirling anger, disappointment, and anxiety all threatening to suffocate you.

You launch into an explanation on the three pieces you and Sukuna had chosen, summarizing your thesis while fighting the tremble in your voice, putting every last ounce of effort you can into masking how nervous you are and avoiding the stares of your classmates.

Picking up the art Sukuna drew is when the last shreds of your dignity fall apart and tears prick in your eyes. Your voice wavers and you know everyone can tell. You can hear the whispers, the quiet giggles. You don’t know whether it’s directed at you or if they’re even paying attention to you at all, but each and every noise seems to drag you one inch closer to your own personal hell and you shrink into yourself as you attempt to explain Sukuna’s art.

Alone.

You can’t even say for sure if your words made sense towards the end of your presentation, the whole thing a blur behind tear-filled eyes and the ringing of anxiety in your ears. The only thing you do hear is your professor dismissing you. You don’t even grab your bag and you leave your project on the table, you just need out. You need air.

Your feet carry you out the door, your eyes trained on the ground as you do your best not to collide with anyone as you run for the doors. You don’t hear someone call your name in confusion and you don’t see them chase after you. So focused on fresh air, you forget how cold it is as the freezing air shocks your skin and chills your lungs.

Finding a spot beside the door outside, away from prying eyes and out of the way, you wrap your arms around yourself and wipe your tears, taking deep breaths to slow your racing heart.

“There you are. What happened?”

You blink a couple of times, trying to wipe any evidence of your tears as you lock eyes with familiar mahogany ones.

“Ken?” You barely manage to whisper his name, your breath stolen from your lungs by the anxiety rocking your body.

“What happened?” He pushes again, eyes traveling down to your trembling hands. He can’t tell whether that’s from the cold or your nerves, but like the gentleman he is, he pulls his coat off and throws it over your shoulders, zipping it up over your arms in an effort to keep you from freezing.

“He didn’t show up.”

Nanami’s lips press into a thin line, taking in your expression. You’re barely keeping it together, though the freezing air flooding your lungs is keeping your mind distracted.

With a sigh, Kento sets a hand on your shoulder. “Come back inside. Let’s get your coat.”

Slowly coming back down from your panicked state as his hand on your shoulder grounds you, you pause for a moment to take in the blonde in front of you. He’s in just a knit sweater and slacks, visibly shaking from the cold air now that you’re wrapped in his jacket.

“Shit, sorry Kento,” you mumble, letting him guide you back inside and to your lecture hall, where he takes his coat back and grabs your bags for you to avoid any prying eyes. Handing you your coat, followed by the bag he’s packed up for you, he sighs and leads the way to a secluded area of the History and Science building of the college. You don’t say a word as he sits you down on a bench.

“Are you alright?”

You nod.

“Are you lying?”

Your mouth opens to say no, but one glance at his sharp gaze tells you he sees right through you. “Were you outside my class?”

“Mhm. I wanted to make sure things went well.”

“That’s… Really kind, Nanamin. Thank you.”

He hums quietly, leaning back against the wall behind the bench. Someone walks past mumbling something to themself about failing a test, but it’s otherwise silent in the halls.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better. People were laughing.” You chew on your lip, rubbing your hands over your face.

“I’m certain they weren’t. Students laugh throughout class constantly, they likely weren’t paying attention,” he points out.

You know he has a point, but it doesn’t make the situation any less frustrating and disappointing.

“I don’t know what hurts more,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to Kento, “that he promised he’d be there with me and wasn’t, or having to relive that stupid moment in high school all over again.”

Your friend grimaces. “Yes, I can imagine that wasn’t pleasant. I’m sorry.” It’s about all he can offer in the moment, but mentally he’s thinking of mentioning what happened to Gojo and Geto and watching the drama that unfolds. The white haired frat boy would relish in the idea of having an actual reason to have beef with Sukuna.

“Why don’t we go grab something to eat?” Nanami suggests in an effort to get your mind off of your horrifying presentation and, more importantly, the man that’s managed to break your heart twice now.

“I’m okay. I think I just want to go home.”

“I would prefer if you weren’t alone,” Nanami protests.

“We just ate, though.”

“We can grab dessert, then. My treat,” he insists.

Silence follows as you look up at Nanami, finding comfort in the concern swirling in those deep mahogany irises. “Fine,” you sigh, relenting finally.

With a sympathetic smile, he gets to his feet and offers you his hand, helping you get to your feet as he leads the way back out into the cold with one goal in mind.

Keep your mind off of Sukuna.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

❦ a/n ; sorry for the delay on this one!! i had a work conference all last week but had a ton of fun writing this when i got back, so i hope you all enjoyed it <3 as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated <3

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

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misswynters · 2 days ago

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Impenetrable Fortress

featuring. cait x black fem! reader

a/n. this is so real, not the same but i have curly hair and i can’t even run my fingers through it either. hopefully you like this. wrote this quickly because of thanksgiving 🦃 let me know if there’s any mistakes <3

requested. by anon

There was a soft glow of the fireplace that bathed the room in a golden hue, its flickering flames casting shadows that danced on the walls. Rain tapped against the large windows of Caitlyn’s study, the storm outside creating a soothing backdrop to your cozy evening together. The smell of old books and tea lingered in the air, mingling with the faint lavender of Caitlyn’s perfume. Wrapped in a plush blanket, you were curled up on her lap, the world outside feeling like a distant memory. Caitlyn, with her usual precision and poise, had one arm securely around your waist while the other rested against your thigh, her touch gentle yet grounding.

“Comfortable?” she asked, her voice soft and velvety, a hint of amusement tugging at her lips as she watched you burrow deeper into her embrace.

“More than,” you murmured, closing your eyes and leaning your head against her chest. Her heartbeat, steady and strong, was a soothing rhythm against your ear. The warmth of her body seeped into yours, chasing away the slight chill from earlier.

Caitlyn’s fingers, always so careful and deliberate, drifted upward, brushing against your hair. “Your hair is so beautiful,” she murmured, her tone softer than usual. “I’ve always admired how it seems to defy gravity.”

You chuckled, cracking one eye open to glance up at her. “Admired it, huh? Is that what you’re calling it?”

She raised a brow, a playful smirk on her lips. “Yes. Admired. I’d like to explore it.” She slid her fingers into your thick hair, her movements careful and reverent, as though afraid to disrupt something sacred. Almost immediately, her fingers met resistance.

“Hmm.” She paused, furrowing her brows in concentration. “It’s… denser than I expected.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your body shaking against hers. “You mean it’s thick.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Caitlyn teased, her voice tinged with mock frustration. She tried again, her fingers attempting to glide through but getting caught halfway. “This is… strategic. Like a fortress.”

You grinned, shifting slightly to meet her gaze. “A fortress?”

“Yes. Impenetrable. Impressive. But I might need a roadmap to navigate it.”

Her attempts grew increasingly more amusing, her usually steady hands faltering as she tried to maneuver through your curls. The combination of her frown and the determined look in her eyes made you laugh even harder. “You’re so out of your element right now.”

Caitlyn exhaled dramatically, leaning back against the cushions with a defeated sigh. “I’ve faced Zaunite rebels, corrupt enforcers, and scheming politicians, but this…” She gestured to your hair with a flourish. “This is my greatest challenge yet.”

You snorted, grabbing her hand to still her efforts. “Stop before you hurt yourself. It’s not something you can just… glide through like your own hair. There’s a technique to it.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, curiosity lighting up her eyes. “Teach me, then.” The earnestness in her voice made your heart pound. You reached up, taking her hand and guiding it slowly through your hair, showing her how to be gentle, how to move in sections. Her focus was intense, as though this was a task of utmost importance.

“There,” you whispered as her fingers finally moved smoothly through a section of your hair. “See? Not so impenetrable.”

She smiled, her expression softening. “I stand corrected. It’s not a fortress. It’s… art. Complex and stunning.”

The sincerity in her tone made you blush, and you hid your face in her chest to avoid her gaze. Caitlyn chuckled, her arms wrapping more tightly around you. “Don’t hide now. I’ve only just begun my exploration.”

You tilted your head back, meeting her gaze again, this time with a teasing glint in your eyes. “If you’re so fascinated, you could always help me wash it sometime. That’s when the real adventure begins.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “I accept the challenge. But for now…” She pressed a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering against your skin. “Let me enjoy the view.” The rest of the evening passed in quiet comfort, her fingers tracing idle patterns against your scalp while you melted further into her embrace. The storm outside continued, but in her arms, you felt safe.

#caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn x you #caitlyn imagines #arcane x gender neutral reader #arcane x black reader #arcane x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane masterlist #arcane fluff #arcane fanfic #arcane fic #arcane fandom #arcane x female reader #caitlyn x fem! reader #league of legends caitlyn #banner by anitalenia

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drewsephrry · 2 days ago

Note

Hi!🥳🎉Congrats on 2k! Can you please do 💋 smut using prompt 10? 💗💗💕😫

hey lovie!! thank you so so much!! 🤍🤍

2k celebration!!!

warnings: smut, 18+, airplane sex

“Rafe..” you warn as you watch him unbuckle his seatbelt

“Come on, sweetheart. You know you want it too.” He murmurs, his tone dripping with mischief. Rising from his seat, approaching your own. You bite your lip, looking out of the window before sighing, your resolve wavering as you unfasten your seatbelt too.

You were currently inside the Camerons’ private jet, on your way to the Bahamas for a business deal Rafe needed to close. He invited you to tag along, insisting you spend a few days together soaking up the sun and of course you agreed. A break from the Outer Banks was exactly what you needed.

He grabs your hand, his grip firm and guides you to the small bathroom on the back. Once inside, he closes the door, he wastes no time before immediately latching his lips on yours, catching you off guard.

“I…I am not sure.” You stammer, pulling back slightly and your eyebrows furrow in worry. “The flight attendants might hear us!”

“Don't worry about them.” He reassures you before leaning back down on your neck. His warm breath fans against your skin as he finds your sweet spot, nibbling gently and making a soft groan escape your throat.

“Rafe…” You whisper and close your eyes, your resolve melting completely as his hands begin to wander.

“Mmm, say my name, baby. Let me make you feel good.” He murmurs in your ear, his voice thick with desire, as his hands roam all over your body. His large hands cup your breasts through your tank top. His thumb and forefinger find your nipple, rolling it between them with practiced ease, drawing a soft moan from your lips. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his impatience grows.

With one swift motion, he grabs the tank top and tugs it over your head. His lips blaze a trail down your neck to your naked shoulders. You lean back on the wall, your breath hitching as his mouth continues its path, claiming every inch of you.

“God, I can't get enough of you” He whispers, his lips continuing the sweet assault across your chest. You bite down on your lip, trying to stifle your moans, your back pressed firmly against the door as Rafe works his magic. He straightens, his fingers gently hooking under your chin to tilt your face towards his. His lips capture yours in a deep, hungry kiss.

Your hands trail over his firm chest, sliding up to wrap around his shoulders as the kiss deepens. You tug at his hair, pulling him closer while his arms encircle your waist drawing you tightly against him.

"I thought you didn't want to do this." He murmurs, pulling away just enough to flash you a teasing, playful smirk.

“Shut up.” You whisper, a smirk curling on your lips to match his. You tug at his shirt and with a sly grin, he pulls it off in one motion. Your hands roam over his bare chest and chiseled abs, your touch gentle yet deliberate. His breath hitches under your fingertips, betraying the effect you have on him.

Your hands trail lower, stopping at the edge of his waistband and belt. You glance up at him, wide-eyed, silently asking his permission. He meets your gaze and gives a subtle nod, his expression filled with anticipation. With steady hands, you begin to unbuckle the belt, your movements slow and gentle.

“You're killing me, sweetheart.” He whispers, his voice low and ragged. You smile sweetly, your eyes meeting his hungry gaze.

“We don't have a lot of time.” You murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. He nods, understanding the urgency and strips off his pants and underwear in one fluid motion. His hands find your hips, gripping you firmly through the fabric of your leggings as his desire intensifies. He tugs your leggings down and slips them off with a rushed yet careful touch, his urgency balanced by his tenderness.

His gaze lowers, lingering on the delicate lace of your underwear, his fingers trailing lightly over the fabric. The contact sends a shiver through you and you gasp softly at the sensation. His lips curve into a smirk as his fingers press and rub against you through the lace, his teasing touch igniting a fire within. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your underwear, exploring you with a tantalizing touch. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you lean back against the door, your eyes fluttering closed. The world melts away as his fingers find your clit, drawing a deep and shuddering breath from you with each movement.

“Fuck, Rafe…” You gasp, biting your lip to muffle the Moan threatening to escape as his skilled fingers tease your entrance, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The tension builds rapidly, your body teetering on the edge.

“You like that, princess? Want to come all over my fingers?” A deep husky chuckle escaped him as he quickens his movements, his voice dripping with cocky satisfaction. Your mouth falls open, unable To contain the overwhelming sensations from the way his fingers expertly rub your clit.

“Mmm, baby…” You manage to murmur breathlessly. But just as the words leave your lips, he withdraws his fingers. Before you can even open your eyes to question him, he's gripping your thighs and lifts you effortlessly, pressing you firmly against the door. His hands hold you securely, his heated gaze leaving no doubt about what's coming next.

He pulls your underwear aside, then adjusts himself, stroking his member twice before aligning with your entrance. He presses in slowly, each inch of him causing your breath to catch more sharply. When he's fully inside, he pauses, allowing you to adjust as a deep sigh escapes him, savoring the warmth and comfort of your walls surrounding him. Your arms slip around his shoulders and with a subtle nod, you signal him to move. He begins with slow, gentle thrusts, giving you time to adjust. Gradually, he finds a rhythm, carefully building it to ensure both of you reach your peak together. You bite your lip, trying to stay as quiet as possible, as you let him establish a steady rhythm and pace, feeling yourself draw closer with every movement.

Within minutes, he feels you clenching around him and he slides one of his hands between you, gently stroking your clit. A soft moan escapes your lips and he groans in response.

“I want to hear you Y/N. Come on.” He urges, maintaining his steady moves. You tug gently at the hair on the nape of his neck, letting out a soft moan once more.

“I'm close, baby” You whisper and he leans down, kissing your sweet spot again. The steady rhythm of his thrusts, the gentle pressure of his fingers and those tender kisses are enough to leave you feeling lightheaded. Your body trembles as you finally reach your climax. You sigh, ready to relax, but before you can Rafe thrusts a few more times, ensuring he reaches his own release. He closes his eyes, groaning as one of your hands trails down his chest while the other tugs at the hair on the back of his neck.

“Cum inside me.” You whisper and that's all it takes to push him over the edge. You feel him fill you and a sigh of pleasure escapes your lips as Rafe rests his head in the crook of your neck. You caress his back tenderly, placing a gentle kiss on his temple.

As you both catch your breath and your bodies slowly relax from the intense orgasms, Rafe pulls out making you hiss softly before he gently lowers you to the ground. He steadies you by the waist, helping you stand as he grabs some tissues to clean you up. After cleaning you up and helping you into your underwear, he kisses your forehead gently.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice laced with concern, worried he might have hurt you. You smile at his thoughtful gesture and nod.

“Better than ever.” He smiles, giving your lips a quick peck before pulling away to put his clothes back on, helping you with yours as well.

“We’re doing this again when we fly back.” He says with a grin, and you chuckle in response.

A/N: truth is i am not really good at writing smut so really hope you enjoyed this!! also very sorry for the wait, i had classes and i am preparing for a dance comp, everything is so chaotic rn 🤍

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bandsofmarv · 2 days ago

Text

Shadows and secrets

Will you and mattheo give in to the desire?

TW - smut, angst.

The dim light of the library’s enchanted candles cast flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls. You leaned against a bookshelf, your wand clenched tightly in your hand. Across from you stood Mattheo Riddle, his dark eyes glittering with a mix of challenge and amusement. You hated that look. You hated him.

And yet, here you were, locked in detention together. Again.

“I don’t need your help,” you snapped, gesturing to the tangle of cursed chains coiled on the floor between you.

Mattheo smirked, leaning lazily against a nearby table. “Clearly. You’ve been standing there for twenty minutes and haven’t done a thing. What’s the plan, genius? Stare at it until it feels guilty?”

“Shut up, Riddle,” you hissed, kneeling down to inspect the chains. You ignored the way his chuckle sent a shiver down your spine.

“Careful,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Wouldn’t want you to get yourself killed before I have the chance to beat you in next week’s duel.”

“You wish,” you muttered, focusing on the runes etched into the metal. They pulsed faintly, whispering promises of mischief and pain. Typical Riddle handiwork. “What’s your deal anyway? Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be off brooding in some dark corner?”

Mattheo didn’t answer immediately. When you glanced up, he was watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Maybe I like the company,” he said softly, the mocking edge gone from his voice.

Your heart skipped, but you forced yourself to scoff. “Oh, please. You’d drive anyone else insane.”

“Not you, though,” he said, stepping closer. His tone was still light, but there was something searching in his gaze. “You keep up. You fight back.”

“Someone has to keep your ego in check,” you muttered, standing up to face him. He was too close now, the heat of his presence unsettling but not unwelcome.

“You think you know me, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “The big bad Riddle, always scheming, always dangerous.”

You swallowed hard. “Aren’t you?”

His lips quirked into a small, almost predatory smile. “Maybe. But I’m not the only one who likes to play with fire.”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, invading your space entirely. His hand came up, brushing your wand aside and pressing it against the bookshelf behind you. The gesture was deliberate, taunting.

“What are you doing, Riddle?” you asked, your voice coming out steadier than you felt.

“Proving a point,” he said, his gaze dipping to your lips. His breath was warm against your cheek, and suddenly the cursed chains were the furthest thing from your mind.

You should have shoved him away. You should have said something sharp and biting to wipe that smug look off his face. Instead, you found yourself standing frozen, caught in the magnetic pull of his dark, stormy eyes.

“I hate you,” you whispered, though the words lacked conviction.

“Funny,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was rough and desperate, a clash of teeth and tongues as he pressed you firmly against the bookshelf. You gasped into his mouth, your hands flying up to grip his shirt as his slid to your waist, pulling you closer. His lips were hot and insistent, stealing the breath from your lungs and setting your skin on fire.

“Mattheo,” you breathed when his mouth left yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. His name felt foreign on your tongue, but the way he groaned in response sent a jolt of heat straight through you.

“Say that again,” he demanded, his voice rough as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

“Mattheo,” you whispered, this time softer, more vulnerable.

His hands tightened on your hips, dragging you against him as if he needed you closer than physically possible. You felt the hard press of him through his trousers, and a thrill shot through you at the realization of just how much he wanted you.

You tugged at his shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons. “This doesn’t mean I don’t still hate you,” you muttered, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips swollen and his eyes blazing. “Good,” he said, his voice low and full of promise. “Hate me all you want, Y/N. Just don’t stop.”

And then he was kissing you again, and you decided that for tonight, you could forget everything else.

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moonmaiden1996 · 1 day ago

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Bound By Fate Chapter 7

I know I usually update on a Friday or a Saturday but I couldn't help myself. I am obsessed and this chapter has been my favorite to write!

Chapter 1,2,3,4,5,6

For the most part, in the coming days you’d managed to stay in the shadows, keeping out of the crew’s way as they took inventory and prepared the provisions you assumed were stolen goods from their latest raid. The scent of saltwater mixed with the sharp tang of sweat and the ever-present burn of tobacco that lingered in the air. It was a familiar, chaotic scene—one you’d long since grown used to. But then, the sound of footsteps behind you sliced through your thoughts, halting them in their tracks.

Beckman stopped a few paces away, his cigarette glowing faintly in the dim light. The steady rhythm of his boots on the wooden deck was deliberate, a cadence that commanded attention without a word. His eyes met yours—sharp, assessing—as if reading you like an open book with a single, piercing glance.

“Evening,” he said simply, his voice low, almost too neutral, but there was an undertone to it that you couldn’t ignore.

“Evening,” you replied, keeping your tone steady, despite the unease creeping up your spine.

He didn’t speak immediately, his gaze still fixed on you. His eyes were cold—like shards of ice—peeling back layers you didn’t realize were there. You felt exposed under that scrutiny, as if he could see straight through you.

Finally, Beckman took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up and dissolving into the cool night air. It hung between you, lingering like a barrier, adding to the stillness of the moment.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, his voice flat, but there was something else there—an edge, or maybe a warning. You couldn’t tell.

You shifted slightly, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Is that a problem?” you asked, your voice deliberately calm. Was he making conversation, or was there something more behind his words? You weren’t about to indulge him.

“Not yet,” he answered, his tone colder now, sharper. “Just an observation.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He wasn’t one to speak without purpose, and this didn’t feel casual. His words were deliberate, measured—as though he was testing you in some way.

“If you’ve got something to say, just say it,” you said, irritation bubbling up despite your best efforts to keep it in check. You didn’t want to stand here in silence any longer, didn’t want to keep playing these unspoken games.

Beckman didn’t flinch. His gaze never left you as he took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke with controlled ease. He spoke again, his voice deliberate and measured, each word like a stone dropped into water, rippling with consequence.

“You should stay close to the crew when we reach Westrow to restock,” he said, his tone casual, but the words carried unmistakable weight. “Shanks... won’t take kindly to you wandering off. You know he’s always watching.”

The words struck harder than you'd expected. Beckman didn’t need to say it, but you understood. Shanks wasn’t just protective. The way Beckman phrased it, it felt like a warning—like a promise that if you stepped out of line, there’d be consequences. The thought of being watched, of being kept so tightly under his control, made you feel small and trapped.

You nodded, throat tight, and for a moment, it felt like the whole air had grown heavier, more suffocating. You weren’t sure if it was Beckman’s words or the weight of the growing realization that something was about to shift—something you couldn’t control.

Beckman studied you for a moment longer, his sharp gaze still fixed on you, before he flicked his cigarette away into the darkness. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small leather pouch, tossing it toward you. The faint sound of coins inside rattled as it landed in your hand.

“Here,” he said, his tone unchanged. “You’ll need this. It’s for new clothes. Clothing tends to... disappear on a ship this size. One shirt looks like another. Least now you can get women’s clothes. Won’t be so many mix-ups in the laundry.”

The weight of the pouch felt heavier than the coins it held, settling into your palm with an eerie finality. It meant you were staying. Beckman’s words sank in slowly, and you felt the chill creep up your spine.

You swallowed hard, the urge to question him rising in your throat, but something in Beckman’s eyes stopped you. There was no room for defiance here. No space for argument. This was the way things were, and you were too small to fight it.

Beckman gave you one last, unreadable look before turning away, his boots clicking steadily on the wooden deck as he walked off.

“Stay with the crew,” he called over his shoulder, his voice carrying the weight of a final warning. “Shanks is... protective. You don’t want to see what happens when he feels threatened. Be on deck in five.”

The words hung in the air, thick with menace. Protective? It felt more like a cage—one you couldn’t escape from. Possessive, you thought. That was the word. And it suffocated you, tightening with every step. Honestly, you were surprised you could leave the ship, but if Shanks was always watching, what could you do? Where could you go?

xxxxxxxxxx

As you wandered the deck, trying to find some peace, you overheard the low hum of voices from a few of the crew members. Hongo, Lime Juice, Yasopp, and Lucky Roux spoke in hushed tones, but their body language gave them away. Their eyes flickered to you when they thought you weren’t watching, but as soon as you noticed, they quickly turned their gazes elsewhere. There was a tension between them, a silent understanding that didn’t quite reach you, but you could feel it, just beyond your reach.

You approached the railing, resting your hands on the cold wood. The rhythmic rocking of the ship beneath you did little to calm the unease coiling in your stomach. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him approach until his voice rang out across the deck, full of life.

Shanks’s laugh shattered the stillness, loud and carefree, a stark contrast to the knot of tension in your chest. He was at the center of a small crowd of men, his presence undeniable. As always, he radiated power, but tonight something about his laugh felt strained, like a mask hiding something darker underneath.

You didn’t know what to make of it. His fingers brushed against your arm in a casual touch, but there was something deeper there—something possessive. You shuddered involuntarily and took a step back, though you didn’t dare pull away completely. You couldn’t.

“We made anchor,” Shanks said with his signature grin, but there was something behind it—something off—that you couldn’t quite place. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. “Are you ready to disembark?”

Westrow. The word itself twisted in your stomach. You had no idea what awaited you there, but the idea of walking into it blind made you feel even more trapped than you already were.

You nodded, giving him the answer you knew he wanted. The one you had no choice but to give. You would follow him, just as you had no choice but to follow everything else.

The ship creaked as it docked at the bustling port of Westrow. You stood at the edge of the deck, your eyes scanning the town as the crew disembarked, the familiar hum of the market and the salty breeze from the sea mingling in the air. It was a town alive with energy—a far cry from the isolating weight of the ship. Shanks was quick to join the crew on the docks, his magnetic presence drawing attention, his laughter already rising above the sounds of the market.

You stood near the edge of the gangplank, hesitant to take the first step, but Beckman’s eyes lingered on you—silent but watchful. His presence always made you feel like you were being measured, even when he didn’t speak. The crew scattered quickly in all directions, their mission clear—to stock up on supplies. You were left to follow, keeping close to the familiar faces, the ones who didn’t look at you with discomfort, even if it was thinly veiled.

As Shanks turned to lead the way, you fell into line behind him. The others joined in, and you let yourself be swept along.

xxxxxxx

The marketplace was alive with color and sound, but to you, it felt like a maze of chaos—one where you were an unwilling player. The crew went about their business, laughing, haggling, and making deals that could just as easily be for treasure as for mundane trinkets. You kept your distance, walking a few steps behind them, moving with the ebb and flow of the crowd but never truly part of it. You were out of place in the frenzy, your body tense and on edge, trying to make yourself invisible.

Shanks had disappeared into the crowd, his absence like the silence before a storm. It never went unnoticed. You could feel the absence of his presence in a way you couldn’t explain—like an invisible thread pulling at you, always drawing your attention. You tried not to look for him, tried to ignore the gnawing sense of unease that crept into your chest every time he was out of sight.

You hadn’t intended to stop at the stall, but something drew you in. The vibrant fabrics, the colorful dresses, the soft texture of the material as your fingers brushed against them. The merchant, an oily-haired man with a lopsided grin, immediately took notice of you. His eyes roved over you, not with the curiosity of a typical merchant, but with something darker, more calculating.

"Quite the lovely lady we have here," he said, his voice smooth but laced with a familiarity that made your skin crawl. "Need help picking something special, love?"

You recoiled slightly, your stomach twisting at the unspoken implication in his words. You wanted to pull away, but he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His gaze traveled down to rest on your chest, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

"You’re the only woman aboard, aren’t you?" he mused, his voice dripping with false warmth. "Bet you’re a right little goer, especially to serve all those pirates. I imagine you could use some proper clothing. Something... more fitting for someone like you."

You took a small step back, but before you could retreat further, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a painful grip. His fingers were cold and rough, and his breath smelled faintly of stale liquor. "What’s the rush, sweetheart? I’m sure we could work out a special discount," he purred, tugging you closer, his body invading your space.

You yanked your arm, trying to break free, but his grip tightened. "Let go," you snapped, your voice sharp, but he only smirked, unfazed.

"Oh, come on now," he laughed lowly, his eyes narrowing in a way that made your pulse race. "You don’t have to pretend. I know what women like you do on board those ships. Why don’t you let us landlubbers have a go... or maybe you need to be treated the way you used to."

The force of his words made you stumble back, but his hand was relentless, dragging you toward him. Panic surged in your chest, and you felt for the first time an electric charge sizzle under your skin—powerful, moving from a dull hum to a sharp, searing hiss. But before you had even a moment to think about your vibrating skin, his palm collided with your face in a sharp slap, the impact sending a jolt of pain through your skull.

The crack of the slap echoed in your ears. You felt the sting of it, your lip splitting open, blood spilling from the cut, warm against your skin. You gasped, taken aback, but the merchant didn’t release you. His fingers tightened around your arm, pulling you closer again, his breath hot on your ear.

"You’re just like the rest of them," he sneered, voice low and venomous. "All the same. But you’ll come around. You’ll see."

Everything felt blurry in that moment, the edges of your vision spinning with the sting of your split lip. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, a mixture of fear and fury, but before you could react, you heard it—like a distant rumble that sent a chill down your spine.

Shanks’s voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the noise. "What the hell is going on here?"

The merchant froze, his eyes flicking to you, then to the source of the voice. But the moment he smelled the blood, something in him changed. He didn’t release you. Instead, his eyes hardened, and his grip on you only grew stronger.

Shanks didn’t need to say another word. His aura alone sent a ripple through the crowd, sending the spectators crashing to the floor in unconscious heaps. His Haki. You saw it in his eyes—the shift from casual disinterest to something darker, something dangerous.

His gaze locked on yours for a moment, his eyes flicking down to your split lip, and the air around him seemed to crackle with rage. A growl rumbled from his chest, low and threatening, and you could see the change in him, the primal fury that burned behind his gaze.

"Let her go," Shanks’s voice was low, but it carried an unmistakable threat.

The merchant hesitated, his bravado faltering as he looked between you and Shanks. "I—I didn’t mean no harm," he stammered, his voice shrinking under the weight of Shanks’s fury.

"You did mean harm," Shanks snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "And you’re going to regret it."

In the blink of an eye, Shanks was on him. His fist blurred with movement, striking the merchant’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man stumbled back, crashing to the ground, but Shanks wasn’t done. His rage was unrelenting, each punch landing with brutal force, a fury unleashed with no intention of stopping.

"Shanks, stop!" someone shouted from the crowd, but no one could move. No one dared intervene. The force of his blows continued, each one fueled by the fury of someone who had just witnessed something precious to them harmed.

You stumbled back, shock flooding your senses as you watched the destruction unfold before you. The violence was raw, a side of Shanks you had never seen before, and yet, in that moment, you understood. You were his. To harm you was to hurt him, and that was something no one could get away with.

The chaos in the marketplace seemed to freeze. You tried to flee, to escape, but before you could make it far, two strong arms wrapped around you. You barely managed to gasp before you were lifted off the ground, carried away from the scene.

"Move!" Beckman barked, his voice commanding and cold. The crew parted like a wave, making way for him as he pushed through the stunned crowd. Hongo and Yasopp flanked you, their hands firm on your shoulders, guiding you away from the storm that raged behind you.

"We’ll protect you, don’t worry," Hongo murmured, his voice low but steady, his eyes glancing nervously over his shoulder.

But no matter how far you moved from the scene, the roar of Shanks’s fury followed you. Burnt in your eyes. His face was distorted, muscles bulging, staining underneath his skin, fist painted in blood as it repeatedly collided with something that was once a head. The violence echoed in your mind, the image of his rage still burning in your memory. You were safe from the man but were you safe from Shanks?

Then, the roar came again—louder this time, deeper. "Get away from her!"

Shanks’s voice, ragged with anger and something else—something raw—cut through the air like a blade. Beckman turned quickly, stepping in front of you, his hand raised to block the approaching threat.

“No,” Beckman’s voice was sharp, filled with authority, unyielding. “You need to calm down.”

The two men locked eyes, and for a brief moment, there was silence. No words, only the crackling tension in the air. Then Beckman spoke again, his tone colder than the chill creeping up your spine.

"You gave us an order, Shanks. The old order. Do you remember?"

Shanks’s eyes burned with fury, but there was hesitation in them. He was torn between the power he wielded and the depths of his desire. “Screw the old order. She’s mine. Give her to me!” His words were a growl, hoarse with longing and anger.

Beckman stood his ground, his gun now drawn, aimed directly at Shanks’s chest. “No one touches her,” he said coldly. “Not even you.”

The crew, ever loyal, moved to form a protective barrier around you, their faces set and unyielding. Yasopp, Hongo, Lime Juice—each of them standing between you and the storm that was Shanks.

“You gave us an order, Shanks,” Beckman repeated, his voice unwavering. “We’re here to protect her. Even from you.”

Shanks’s fists clenched. His anger burned bright, but for the first time, he seemed unsure of how to proceed. The crew had chosen their side. And it wasn’t his.

Hongo stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "Time to go, let’s move."

And as you were guided away, your heart thundered in your chest. You could still hear Shanks’s voice, a fury like nothing you had ever imagined, but in the midst of it, there was one thought that clung to you like a shadow.

Please please please let me know what you think!!!!!

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xuchiya · 2 days ago

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"stuck in this fairytale" || choi san || series || [last chapter] sixteenth part

| genre: prince! san. fluff. angst. adventure | mentions: cursing. | here's the first part

back to masterlist | epilogue

As the first rays of sunrise swept over the Kingdom, the land seemed to hold its breath. The once-darkened skies shimmered with hues of gold and crimson, a stark contrast to the curse that had plagued the kingdom for so long.

In the clearing, San’s dragon form was bathed in a radiant light so intense that it blinded you for a moment. Instinctively, you raised your arm to shield your eyes, feeling the heat of the glow even from a distance. Just as the light reached its peak, a warm hand settled gently on your arm, pulling it down with deliberate tenderness. You turned, heart pounding, and found yourself staring into soft, human eyes. San stood before you—not the towering, fearsome dragon, but a man. His features were striking yet gentle, his lips curved into a small smile that carried the weight of gratitude and relief. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, your mind struggling to reconcile this transformation.

And then it hit you—he was completely bare.

Your cheeks burned with an intense heat, and you quickly averted your gaze, eyes darting to the ground as if it were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “Oh damn dorito—San!” you stammered, voice cracking as embarrassment coursed through you.

A rich, warm chuckle rumbled from him, and the sound was so human, so utterly him, that it sent a strange comfort through your chest. There was a soft rustling sound, and your curiosity got the better of you. Peeking cautiously, you found him now draped in a flowing red-wine cape, the fabric catching the light in a way that made it almost glow.

The cape confused you. Where did it come from? It hadn’t been there before. But as San adjusted it, securing it around his shoulders, you found yourself silently grateful for its appearance. Anything was better than him standing stark naked before you.

“Better?” San teased, his voice smooth and slightly amused. You huffed, trying to regain your composure, and handed him the bundle of clothes you don’t know where it came from either. You felt San pulling your hand towards his bare chest. Your eyes widen, the sudden intimacy leaves you speechless as your eyes settle on his warm ones. A smile was still on his lips, as he brought your hands to his lips, leaving a chaste kiss on your palm.

“Thank you…” His words spoke so many intentions, his heart speeding up underneath your hold. One of them is saving him and the entire story from ending. His story. Their story. Your fingers place softly on his cheek, eyes as soft as how his cheeks were smooth, “No need to thank me San.”

You didn’t mean to break the tension but as you glanced down, your eyes widened and retreated your hand to squeal rather loudly that it alerted San in a way his eyes looked around for any danger.

“What? What?!” You point at his naked legs. He follows your hand before he himself squeals in embarrassment, covering his legs.

Find a disregarded cloth close to your place and hand it to San without looking at him. As he reached for them, your hands froze, your breath catching as your fingertips grazed the hem of the dress pants. The fabric was achingly familiar.

Your chest tightened, and your hands trembled as you traced the fine stitching. San sensing your stiffness, glance at you worriedly.

“What is it?”

“These…” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I—I saw Jongho in these. But I don’t remember…” Your words faltered, choked by a sob that escaped before you could stop it.

San’s expression shifted immediately, replaced by deep concern. “Brigid?” he asked softly, stepping closer. His gaze followed yours to the fabric in your hands. As realization dawned, his eyes widened, the color draining slightly from his face. “Jongho…” His voice was barely audible, a whisper wrapped in pain. “Where is he?”

Your grip on the cloth tightened as tears streamed freely down your cheeks. “He…” Your voice cracked, and you clutched the pants to your chest as if they held the last piece of him. “He sacrificed himself,” you whispered, your words trembling. “When you unleashed the last of your flames, he used his power to shield us. He—he gave everything.”

San’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he was utterly still. His gaze dropped to the pants in your hands, his fingers hesitantly brushing the fabric. The memory of Jongho choosing the material flashed through his mind—Hongjoong laughing as he claimed it matched Jongho’s skin tone perfectly. The thought was bittersweet, a fleeting joy now drenched in sorrow.

“He knew,” you continued, voice breaking. “He knew what it would cost, but he didn’t hesitate.”

San’s jaw clenched, and his shoulders shook with barely restrained grief. Yet beneath the sorrow, there was a spark of determination in his eyes, as if Jongho’s sacrifice had etched itself into his soul.

“We’ll honor him,” San finally said, his voice steady despite the tears glistening in his eyes. “For everything he’s done—for the kingdom and for us.” You nodded, your tears falling silently now as the sunrise bathed the two of you in its golden light. For a moment, the world stood still, and the weight of Jongho’s sacrifice hung heavy in the air, binding you and San in a shared promise of remembrance.

When San found something that could be more appropriate looking before he took you back inside the palace. His hand extends to you as he helps you down the broken staircase, even going in front of you in case small accidents happen. As you approach the backyard of the palace, you notice how some things are burnt and broken. It was still destroyed yet some were being fixed up slowly like a magic is wrapping itself inside the broken walls. Your eyes roam as the hue of the palace returns and the chandelier hangs perfectly, lights back together as if the rumble and rampage didn’t half destroy everything.

The palace seemed to heal itself. Slowly, as though in response to your presence, the cracks mended, the chandeliers pieced themselves back together, and the walls glowed with renewed vitality.

“Woah …” When you stepped out of the palace, you were instantly greeted by the wind. It was not harsh cold nor irritating hot, it felt more like a person greets you after not being able to see for a long time.

Then you remember Wooyoung. As you think about him, the wind picks up and a small twirl of wind creates in front of you, as the same flare of light beams at you and San and you are greeted immediately by an enthusiastic Wooyoung.

“Nerdy girl!” Wooyoung’s voice rang out, brimming with his usual energy as he barreled toward you, throwing his arms around your shoulders. For a moment, you stood frozen in surprise, your mouth slightly agape. Then, the warmth of his embrace broke down the walls holding your emotions at bay. Your arms hesitated but soon tightened around him, your hands clutching at the fabric of his dress shirt as you broke into an uncontrollable sob.

“Wooyoung…” you whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of relief and heartbreak.

He held you close, his grip firm yet comforting, as if anchoring you to reality. “Thank goodness you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Then, he pulled back just enough to meet your tear-streaked gaze, concern etched into his features. “Where’s Jongho?”

Your body stiffened. The question felt like a blade twisting in your chest. Wooyoung noticed the shift instantly, his brows knitting in worry. Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as you shakily shook your head.

“Jongho…he…” The words lodged in your throat, a sob escaping instead.

Confusion clouded Wooyoung’s face for a heartbeat before realization dawned on him. He staggered back a step, his eyes widening in shock, hands gripping the railing of the staircase as if to steady himself. “No…” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, your tears falling freely. “He sacrificed himself,” you choked out, each word heavy with grief.

“Sacrificed?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked, disbelief and anguish mingling in his tone. His eyes searched yours for any trace of denial, but all he found was the painful truth.

“Just like King Jeoyoung,” you added softly.

At the mention of the name, Wooyoung’s breath hitched. His gaze turned distant as memories of old tales and whispered legends resurfaced. “King Jeoyoung,” he repeated, his voice trembling. “The hunter who fought with San’s great-grandfather?”

You nodded, glancing at San, who stood silently beside you, his expression shadowed with grief. “Yes,” you confirmed, your voice steadying slightly. “But he wasn’t just a hunter. He became more—a man of change and love. He gave his life to protect the gift Brigid left for this world. He wanted her legacy—her kindness and love—to endure.”

Wooyoung’s eyes filled with unshed tears as the pieces clicked together. His lips parted, but no sound came, the realization hitting him like a wave. Slowly, he sank onto the staircase, his legs giving out beneath him. His hands ran through his hair as he grappled with the weight of the truth.

“So that’s why Jongho…” His voice faltered, his head bowing as tears slipped down his cheeks. “He gave everything to save San—from Brigid’s pain, from her misery.”

You nodded, your heart heavy as you watched Wooyoung crumble under the weight of loss. He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with silent sobs. The sight broke something in you, and you let out a trembling sigh.

San moved closer, his presence grounding you. He placed a comforting hand on the small of your back, his other hand gently cradling your head as you leaned into him, your tears soaking his tunic. The three of you stood together, bound by a shared grief so profound it felt like the air itself had stilled in mourning.

You clung to the warmth of San’s embrace, his strength silently reassuring you. Wooyoung, though shattered, reached out, his hand resting lightly on San’s arm. The gesture, though small, spoke volumes—a quiet acknowledgment of their shared pain and determination to honor Jongho’s sacrifice.

As the three of you walked toward the town square, the weight of the aftermath settled heavily in the air. The smell of charred wood and damp earth lingered, mingling with the faint metallic tang of lingering magic. The town, once vibrant with laughter and life, now lay in ruin. The cobblestone streets were cracked and smeared with mud, while homes stood as hollowed-out shells or crumbled piles of stone.

The townspeople gathered in small clusters, their faces etched with sorrow and exhaustion. Some wept openly, clutching shattered heirlooms or kneeling by the remains of what had been their homes. Others stood frozen, their gazes distant as if unable to process the destruction before them. A mother cradled her child close, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, while an elderly man dropped to his knees, his trembling hands brushing over the rubble of a home he had built with his own hands.

San’s steps faltered as you neared the square, his body stiffening with each passing second. His hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white against his trembling fingers. His usually sharp gaze was fixed firmly on the ground, avoiding the piercing stares of the crowd. Their eyes—fearful, angry, and accusing—seemed to pierce through his very soul. The weight of their collective judgment bore down on him, forcing his shoulders to slump further.

You noticed his breath hitch, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Guilt clung to him like a shroud, suffocating him with every step. This wasn’t just a moment of reckoning for the town—it was for him as well.

“I’m sorry…” His voice, though soft, carried through the square like a stone dropped into still water, rippling outward. It was heavy, trembling with the burden of everything he could never undo. He exhaled shakily, his words faltering. “I’m truly sorry. My family—we’ll pay for your houses and business. We’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.”

For a fleeting moment, the square was silent, his apology hanging in the air like a fragile thread. But that thread snapped as a sharp voice tore through the quiet.

“No! Tell us the truth!”

San flinched at the outburst, his head snapping up in alarm. His wide eyes darted to yours, seeking reassurance, but the shock in your expression offered little comfort.

“Yeah!” another voice shouted, louder and angrier. “We’ve lived in fear for years because of this cursed mud flying around! My children can’t even play outside anymore!”

“You and your father! Always bringing danger to us!”

The cries multiplied, a storm of fury building with each voice added. More people stepped forward, their faces contorted with anger, their words flying fast and sharp like arrows.

“We trusted you!” “This is your fault, all of it!” “Why should we suffer for your family’s sins?”

The crowd surged closer, a suffocating wave of indignation and despair. San stumbled back, his figure seeming smaller and more fragile with every step. His arms trembled at his sides, and his head bowed as though he were trying to shrink away from their wrath.

“Please, calm down—” you tried to interject, stepping in front of San.

“Enough!” Wooyoung added, his voice rising in frustration. He stood beside you, his arms raised in an attempt to pacify the mob, but it was no use. Their anger was relentless, drowning out every word.

San’s knees buckled slightly under the pressure of their accusations. You reached for his arm, steadying him, but your heart broke at the sight of his tear-filled eyes and trembling lips. This wasn’t just guilt—it was the crushing weight of an entire town’s suffering laid squarely at his feet. You mouthed his name but it left in deaf ringing ears.

Then, a voice boomed over the chaos, deep and commanding.

“Silence!”

The crowd froze, their collective anger dissipating like smoke in the wind. Heads turned in unison toward the source of the voice. King Choi stood at the edge of the square, his imposing figure flanked by guards who cleared a path for him. His royal robes, heavy and dark, seemed to amplify his already formidable presence. His eyes, cold and resolute, swept over the crowd, silencing even the boldest of voices.

He approached slowly, his footsteps echoing in the stunned quiet. When he reached the center of the square, his gaze fell on his son. San, though taller, seemed to shrink under the weight of his father’s scrutiny.

“My family,” the king began, his voice steady and measured, “has carried this curse for nearly a century. A curse born of my father’s mistakes…”

The weight of his words pressed down on everyone present, filling the air with a heavy, somber tension. The townspeople, once raging, now stood still, their anger tempered by the raw truth in the king’s tone.

He sighs, it seems like the weight of the truth had beat the odds of keeping it. He looks at each of the townspeople, “We were too, suffering under the goddess' pain.” He looks at his son, the absence of his mother had burdened him in his chest and failed one thing as a father: acting like one. He had failed to protect his people— and he also failed to protect his son.

“My son and I have endured this curse—searching endlessly for answers, only to find them too late. Too late for me to save my son from its burden, and too late to stop it from spreading and consuming everything in its path,” King Choi said, his voice trembling slightly, though he tried to maintain his composure. “I delayed action, thinking I could fix it alone. That delay cost more than I ever imagined—it cost all of you.”

His words, heavy with regret, hung in the air, each syllable laced with a pain that resonated deeply. Then, in a move that stunned the crowd—and even you—King Choi knelt. The proud and imposing figure of the king, brought low before his people, was an image none had expected.

But what shocked you even more was San. Without hesitation, he mirrored his father’s actions, dropping to his knees beside him. His head bowed low, his voice steady but weighed with sorrow as he spoke.

“We deeply apologize for the harm we’ve caused and for destroying so much of what you held dear,” San said, his voice breaking slightly at the end.

The square fell silent. You glanced around at the townspeople, their anger now replaced with stunned disbelief. Even Wooyoung, always quick with words, stood frozen beside you, his mouth slightly agape.

Your gaze shifted back to San and the king, their kneeling forms striking a chord deep within you. This wasn’t just an apology—it was an act of humility and accountability. It reminded you of the San you knew in your own world: a man of kindness, understanding, and quiet strength. And now, seeing him beside his father, it was clear where those qualities came from.

Both men carried the same sense of honor, the same willingness to own their mistakes, no matter how heavy the consequences. In this moment, you realized that despite the differences between worlds, they were still the same men—gentlemen in every sense of the word. Yet, you couldn’t ignore the burden they bore. Even with the curse now lifted, guilt still lingered in their eyes, a shadow of everything they couldn’t change.

King Choi raised his head slightly, addressing the crowd. “We will compensate for what you have lost. We will do everything in our power to rebuild and restore what remains.”

The silence that followed was deafening, a collective pause as the townspeople grappled with the weight of the king’s words and the sight before them.

Then, breaking through the stillness, your voice rang out, clear and resolute.

“Nothing will pay for what cannot be restored.”

The crowd turned toward you in surprise, their eyes wide. Even Wooyoung stared at you, his usual confident demeanor replaced with shock.

King Choi’s gaze met yours, his expression unreadable. There was no anger, no dismissal in his eyes—only something deeper, something you couldn’t quite place. It was as if your words had touched a part of him he hadn’t expected, a truth he couldn’t deny.

You stepped forward, kneeling in front of them. Your voice was calm but firm as you addressed King Choi.

“Your Majesty, if I may,” you began, meeting his gaze steadily. “Life isn’t about carrying the burden of your past alone. It’s not a punishment you have to endure in isolation. You have a son beside you—a family to lean on. Sharing the weight of your burden can bring healing, but keeping secrets only deepens the wounds.”

The king’s eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise and contemplation. You took a breath, your tone softening as you gestured to the crowd around you.

“Your people trust you. These aren’t just individuals who stayed here out of obligation. They came from different kingdoms, unified under your leadership. They believed in your vision, in the promise that this place could become a home, a sanctuary.”

His surprise grew, his stoic demeanor cracking as he listened. You offered him a small, reassuring smile.

“You and your brothers, along with your youngest sister, are the key to breaking the cycle of this curse. The pain stopped because healing has begun. And healing requires care—it’s like tending to a wound. You don’t cover it with gold or silver; you cleanse it, nurture it, and give it time to mend.”

You let out a soft chuckle, turning to San, who looked at you with a mix of confusion and curiosity. His father shared the same expression, but neither interrupted.

“What I mean is this: paying for damages won’t erase the hurt. True healing comes not just from compensation but from rebuilding trust, showing that you care for more than just the material losses. It takes patience and time to restore what was broken.”

You rose to your feet, looking out at the gathered townspeople. Their faces, once filled with anger, now reflected quiet contemplation.

“It’s only natural for things to feel dark right now,” you continued, your voice carrying over the hushed crowd. “But darkness doesn’t last forever. In the end, time will bring light again. The sunrise always comes.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep orange and lavender, you found yourself amidst the bustle of the evacuation. The atmosphere was thick with urgency, the soft cries of children and hurried commands from the adults blending into a chaotic symphony. You worked alongside Wooyoung, gently guiding the children into the carriages destined for the Jung Kingdom, where they would be safe.

The children clung to small belongings—wooden toys, worn blankets, and even a few curious items that spoke of simpler, happier times. As you lifted a small girl into the carriage, she reached out, her tiny hand stopping your movements mid-action.

You looked at her, startled. Her appearance struck you—the soft blonde hair, bright inquisitive eyes, and a small dragon plush cradled in her arms. Something about her felt familiar, yet you couldn’t place it.

“Yes, princess?” you asked softly, kneeling to meet her gaze.

She giggled, leaning forward to wrap her tiny arms around your neck. The sudden embrace startled you, but you instinctively placed a hand on her back to steady her. Her grip was firm, almost as if she were trying to convey something through touch alone.

As her cheek rested against yours, she whispered in a voice far too mature for her age, “You did great, dear.”

Your breath hitched. The voice was familiar, not that of a child but of someone you’d encountered before—Lucy, the enigmatic woman who had once cared for your injured ankle in the woods. Your mind raced as you tried to piece it together. The little girl pulled back, her playful giggle at odds with the gravity of her words. Before you could ask her anything, the carriage began to move.

“Wait—Lucy?!” you called, running after it.

The girl turned, her expression shifting to confusion. “I’m not Lucy,” she said, her voice now that of a child.

You froze mid-step, watching helplessly as the carriage disappeared down the dirt path. For a moment, just before it faded into the horizon, you thought you saw faint, shimmering images of Lucy and Minerva waving at you. But it was fleeting, like a mirage, and soon there was nothing but the distant sound of wheels against the road.

A heavy silence settled over you as you stood there, your thoughts spinning.

“Something caught your attention?”

San’s voice broke through your reverie, and you turned to see him standing beside you, his dark eyes filled with quiet concern.

You hesitated before shaking your head, a faint smile pulling at your lips. “Just... a little girl hugging a dragon,” you murmured, the words feeling hollow even as you said them.

San followed your gaze toward the departing carriages, his brow furrowing. “Did she say anything?”

You turned your focus back to him, studying his features—his furrowed brows, his strong jawline, the faint weariness in his posture. Placing a hand on his arm, you gave it a reassuring squeeze. “She said, ‘You did great.’”

San’s expression flickered with confusion, his lips parting slightly as if to question you further. You continued before he could speak, your voice gentle but firm.

“You’ve carried so much pain, San. But even in your darkest moments, you didn’t let it consume everything. You still held on to who you are, even when it hurt.”

San’s gaze dropped, his shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of your words settled over him. The memories of his transformation, the searing fire that had burst from within him, and the helplessness of being trapped in his own body came flooding back. He remembered the agony, the terror in Jongho’s eyes as his younger brother clung to him, desperate to reach the San he knew beneath the fire.

“I couldn’t stop it,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I saw everything, but I couldn’t stop it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said firmly, stepping closer to him. “And it wasn’t anyone else’s, either. The pain wasn’t yours to bear alone—it was a burden passed down through generations. But now, that chain is broken. Let this be a lesson, not a punishment.”

San’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes misting as he looked toward the horizon. “Why did it have to happen at all?”

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his in a gesture of comfort. “Sometimes, the mistakes of the past demand to be seen. It's a hard lesson to understand and accept but it is what shapes us. Your great-grandfather’s choices carved pain into your family’s history, but they also taught a lesson—one that not only you but everyone could learn. Now it’s your turn to carve something new into that history.”

San turned to you, his expression softening. There was still pain in his eyes, but also a glimmer of hope.

“Come on,” you said gently, guiding him toward the carriage where King Choi sat waiting. Bowing respectfully to the king, you nodded toward San. “Go ahead and rest.”

San hesitated, his hand lingering on the door. “What about you?”

Before you could answer, a hand rested on your shoulder. You turned to find Yunho and Yeosang standing beside you, their familiar presence instantly soothing.

“She’ll come with us,” Yunho said, flashing a teasing grin.

“Yunho!” you exclaimed, exasperation lacing your tone as he ruffled your hair. He simply chuckled before stepping forward to greet San and the king.

Yeosang took your hand, his touch gentle but firm. “Let’s go,” he said, leading you to another carriage. “Where are we going?” you asked as he helped you inside.

“Back to the kingdom,” he replied, closing the door behind you. Through the small window, he added with a smirk, “It’s been a long day, and you need rest.” You leaned forward, your brow furrowing with concern. “Will San be okay?”

Yeosang’s lips curved into a teasing smile, his tone light but reassuring. “He’s the toughest of us all. He’ll be fine.” As the carriage began to move, Yeosang gave instructions to the driver. “Mingi, make sure she gets to the palace and takes a proper rest.”

You shot Yeosang a look, but he only grinned, unbothered by your protest. Sighing, you leaned back in your seat, watching as the ruins of the once-majestic palace faded into the distance.

“Hey,” Mingi called from the front of the carriage.

“Yes, Mingi?”

He turned slightly, his dimpled smile lighting up his face. “Thank you for saving them.” A soft smile spread across your lips. “It’s my duty, isn’t it?”

Mingi’s gaze softened as he replied, “It’s more than just a duty, Brigid. It’s who you are.”

taglist: @passerbyforfun . @seongwars . @candied-czennie . @ffenjoyerdazme . @jiwoongsblondehair

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez choi san #san ateez #ateez san #choi san #ateez san fluff #ateez san x reader #ateez fluff #ateez atiny #choi san fluff #choi san x reader #choi san ateez

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pbaz7 · 7 hours ago

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It’ll Always Be Her Part IIII

AN: I was going to wait to post but a lot of people actually like the fic so I want to keep things going :). Please let me know what you think when you’re done reading!

TW: Suggestive language (that’s all I think)

Word count: 4k

The late afternoon sunlight poured in through the window, filling Azzi’s room with a warm, golden glow. Paige and Azzi sat side by side on the floor, textbooks open, quietly working through assignments and occasionally sharing a laugh over something silly in the film they had started watching earlier. For the first time in what felt like ages, they were just two people sharing space in a comfortable, relaxed way—no pressure, no tension.

It was a small but peaceful moment, the calm before the storm.

Then Paige’s phone buzzed, interrupting the quiet. She glanced at the screen, her eyes lingering on the name that flashed across—Jess. Her heart skipped a beat. They hadn’t spoken since Jess left, and though they’d agreed to return with clarity, the silence between them had only grown heavier. Now, the weight of unresolved emotions sat uncomfortably on her chest.

Azzi, ever perceptive, caught the subtle shift in Paige’s demeanor. Her sharp eyes flicked to the phone, then back to Paige. She didn’t say anything immediately, but the slight tilt of her head spoke volumes. She was watching, calculating, waiting.

“Are you going to answer it?” Azzi asked finally, her tone casual, though her curiosity was evident. She leaned back slightly, her hands resting on the floor behind her, exuding a quiet confidence.

Paige hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I guess… yeah. I should. It's been a while.”

Azzi nodded, her gaze lingering. “Take your time,” she said smoothly, her voice low and even. It was an invitation, a reassurance. But her eyes never left Paige, as if gauging every reaction.

Paige swiped to answer the FaceTime, pasting on a polite smile when Jess’s face appeared on the screen. “Hey, Jess.”

“Hey! How’s it going?” Jess’s voice was warm, but there was a hint of something else beneath it—uncertainty. “How’s everything?”

Paige forced a casual tone. “Everything’s good. Same old stuff, you know.”

The conversation stumbled awkwardly forward, Jess filling the gaps with updates about her family. Paige listened, nodding occasionally, but her responses were clipped. Her mind was elsewhere. Azzi’s presence beside her was a constant pull, a reminder of the complicated feelings she hadn’t fully sorted through.

Jess’s voice perked up suddenly. “You’re not in your room? Where are you?”

Paige’s stomach tightened. She glanced at Azzi, who raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying Paige’s discomfort. Paige tried to deflect, her voice light. “Oh, just out and about. Needed a change of scenery.”

Jess wasn’t convinced. “Out? Are you with someone?”

Paige hesitated for a fraction too long, and Jess’s tone shifted, more probing now. “Paige?”

With a quiet sigh, Paige decided there was no point in dancing around it. “I’m at Azzi’s,” she said, her voice steady but guarded.

“Oh.” Jess’s response was immediate, the change in her tone unmistakable. “So you’re with her now, huh? That’s... great.”

Azzi’s smirk deepened, and she stretched lazily, her movements deliberate. Her leg brushed lightly against Paige’s, a casual touch that seemed anything but accidental. Leaning in slightly, she whispered, her breath warm against Paige’s ear, “You know, you’re cute when you’re all serious like this. Too bad I can’t distract you more.”

Paige stiffened, a spark of heat shooting up her spine. She fought to keep her expression neutral, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her with the slightest twitch of a smile.

“Yeah, Jess,” Paige said, her voice carefully neutral. “I’ve been spending time with her. She’s my best friend and teammate.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered with amusement hearing the terms used to describe her. She shifted closer, her presence unmistakable. Her fingers brushed lightly against Paige’s shoulder, a fleeting touch that lingered just long enough to test the waters. Paige didn’t pull away, and Azzi took that as a silent green light.

Jess’s voice crackled through the phone, tinged with frustration. “I don’t know why you’re so defensive about her, Paige. Is there something special about her? Is this what it’s like now? You’re always with her, and I’m... just supposed to accept it?”

Azzi leaned in again, her lips hovering close to Paige’s ear. “She’s fishing for something,” she murmured softly, her tone dripping with playful malice. “But we both know where your head really is.”

Paige swallowed hard, her gaze darting between the phone and Azzi. She wasn’t sure how to navigate this minefield, especially with Azzi so deliberately blurring the lines.

Jess’s voice, now sharper, broke through the tension. “I don’t want to be the clingy girlfriend, Paige, but this… doesn’t feel right. I’m out here trying to fix things, and you’re—”

“Jess,” Paige interrupted, her voice firmer than before. “I’m not trying to make this harder than it has to be. I’m just... trying to figure things out, okay?”

Azzi watched, her eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. She leaned back against the bed, letting her hand rest lightly on Paige’s lower back, tracing small, deliberate circles. Her touch was steady, grounding, but it carried a weight of suggestion that Paige couldn’t ignore.

Jess’s sigh crackled through the phone. “You don’t even sound like you care. Every time we talk, it’s like you’re somewhere else.”

Paige’s grip on the phone tightened. “That’s not fair. I do care,” she says absentmindedly.

“Do you?” Jess challenged, her voice rising slightly. “Because it feels like I’m the only one trying.”

Azzi’s smirk widened. She leaned forward again, her lips brushing just below Paige’s ear, her voice low and teasing. “You’ve got more important things to focus on right now,” she murmured, her tone dripping with intent. “Don’t let her guilt you.”

Paige closed her eyes briefly, the combination of Azzi’s touch and Jess’s words pulling her in two directions. When she opened them, her resolve had hardened. “Jess, I think we need to stop pretending like this isn’t hard for both of us. I can’t give you answers right now and I told you that before you left.”

Jess went quiet for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, tinged with frustration and hurt. “Fine. Maybe I’ll call you later, when you’re not... busy.”

The line went dead before Paige could respond.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint sound of the movie still playing in the background. Paige lowered her phone, staring at the screen as the weight of the conversation settled over her.

Azzi broke the silence, her voice light but pointed. “She didn’t take that well.”

Paige exhaled slowly, setting the phone down beside her. “No. She didn’t.”

Azzi shifted closer, her arm brushing against Paige’s as she leaned in. “You okay?”

Paige gave a small, rueful smile. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

Azzi studied her for a moment, then reached out, gently tilting Paige’s chin so their eyes met. “Hey, don’t let her get in your head. You’ve got enough going on without carrying all that too.”

Paige chuckled softly, but her smile quickly faded. She glanced down at her hands, her voice quieter now. “Why can’t I just break up with her?” she muttered, almost to herself. “Before she comes back, before this gets worse.”

Azzi’s smirk softened, her expression calculating yet understanding. “I’ve already told you. She’s dealing with enough back home. Doing it over text or a phone call would only make it worse. I want you to do it in the best way possible because honestly she’s not going to handle it well at all. Maybe it’ll soften the blow if it’s in person”

Paige sighed, her head leaning back against the wall. “Yeah, I know. But…” She paused, a small smile tugging at her lips as she looked up at Azzi. “What we’re doing right now isn’t exactly the best option either.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered with amusement, her lips curving into a teasing grin. “True. But here we are,” she said softly, her voice filled with playful certainty. “And we both know we couldn’t stop even if we wanted to.”

Paige chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re really not holding back today, are you?”

Azzi’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Why should I? Life’s too short to play it safe.” Her thumb lightly grazed Paige’s jawline, her touch both comforting and electrifying. “Besides, you don’t seem to mind.”

Paige felt her cheeks flush, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned slightly into Azzi’s touch, her smile softening. “You’re impossible, you know that?” The familiar phrase slipped off of Paige’s lips.

Azzi grinned. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment longer before Paige finally sighed, breaking the spell. “We should get back to the homework. Distractions aren’t going to help me pass this class.”

Azzi leaned back, still smirking. “Fine. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head as she flipped open her textbook. “Of course not.”

As they settled back into their work, the tension from the call began to fade, replaced by the familiar rhythm of their banter and the steady comfort of each other’s presence

…

The soft hum of the movie playing in the background was the only sound in the room as Paige and Azzi sprawled out on the floor, phones in hand, lazily scrolling through social media. The comfort between them was easy, familiar—there was no rush to say anything, no pressure. Just the quiet shared space that had become their routine.

Then, Paige’s phone buzzed with a notification, drawing her attention. She swiped across the screen and paused, her eyes narrowing.

Azzi, still sprawled beside her, glanced over casually. “What’s up?” she asked, her voice light but laced with curiosity.

Paige didn’t answer at first, too distracted by what she was seeing on her screen. A TikTok edit, this one of them—a fan-made video of Paige and Azzi, the tension between the two of them in the video evident. The caption flashed up in bold letters: “They need to get a room.”

Paige’s mouth curled into a half-smile, and she let out a soft, amused laugh.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny?” she asked, scooting a little closer to Paige.

Paige hesitated, but then shrugged with a teasing grin. “Just some ridiculous TikTok edits… People shipping us.”

Azzi’s lips twitched in amusement. “Oh really? What are they saying about us?” Her voice was playfully sly now, a mix of interest and mischief.

Paige laughed, rolling her eyes as she scrolled to another video. “It’s the usual stuff—saying we’re ‘meant to be,’ blah blah.”

Azzi leaned in a little more, her voice dropping low, teasing. “Meant to be, huh?” she repeated, the words lingering in the air as she glanced at Paige. “Guess that’s what they think. You agree with them?”

Paige turned to look at Azzi, her face a little more serious now. The flirtation in the air was palpable, hanging between them like an unspoken promise. She shrugged again, but her smile held a playful edge. “I mean… I’m not exactly opposed to the idea.”

Azzi’s expression flickered with something unreadable, a subtle challenge. “Is that so? Because you know… people are always saying how hard it is to resist a person like me.”

Paige’s heart skipped a beat. She met Azzi’s eyes, the teasing now pulling her in. “I don’t know,” she replied slowly, a bit bolder now. “You make it hard to focus. But I guess that’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?”

Azzi’s lips curled into a smirk. “It’s definitely one of my talents,” she said, leaning in just slightly, her tone low and deliberate. “But I’m curious… what else are you good at?”

The flirtation was unmistakable now, charging the air between them with an intensity that neither of them was willing to acknowledge, but neither could deny. Paige’s mind raced, and before she knew it, her body was moving closer, a magnet pulling her in.

“I could think of a few things,” Paige said, her voice softer now, almost teasingly coy. She let her gaze drop to Azzi’s lips, her breath quickening, but she wasn’t pulling back. Instead, she let her hand brush against Azzi’s stomach, her fingers lightly grazing the other girl’s skin.

Azzi’s eyes darkened, just a little, but her smirk only deepened. “Careful,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “You’re getting dangerously close to what we’ve been avoiding.”

Paige’s pulse quickened. She couldn’t tell if she was testing Azzi or if she was being tested herself. All she knew was the heat building between them. She moved even closer, her breath just a little uneven. Her knee brushed against Azzi’s, and her face hovered above her best friend’s, the closeness unmistakable.

“Maybe I want to cross that line,” Paige said, her voice low, challenging. Her hand rested lightly on Azzi’s chest now, as though to hold her there.

Azzi’s breath hitched slightly, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The tension was thick enough to cut through, both of them teetering on the edge. Azzi’s fingers twitched, as though she was fighting the urge to pull Paige closer, but the moment was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Knock. Knock.

Azzi and Paige both froze.

KK’s voice floated through the door, breaking the stillness. “The rest of the team will be heading to Morgan’s soon.” she called, her tone casual, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.

Paige exhaled sharply, blinking as she pulled back. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to steady her breath. “Yeah, okay we’re just finishing up studying.”

Azzi grinned, clearly more at ease now, but her eyes still sparkled with amusement. She leaned back slightly, her voice low and teasing as she glanced at Paige. “Guess you’ll have to save that ‘line crossing’ for later.”

Paige could only shake her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, her heart still racing. “Guess so.”

KK knocked again, louder this time, her voice more insistent. “You guys still alive in there or what?”

Paige and Azzi exchanged one last look before they both burst into quiet laughter, the moment slipping away, but the heat of it still lingering in the air.

“Coming!” Paige called, shaking her head as she sat up fully, her mind still spinning with what just almost happened.

Azzi sat up beside her, her eyes lingering on Paige with an almost knowing look. “Next time,” she said quietly, as if daring Paige to take the plunge.

Paige’s heart still thudded in her chest. She didn’t answer, but her smile said it all.

…

The energy in the suite was chaotic, the noise from the party nearly deafening. Laughter and music filled every corner, the sounds of beer pong balls bouncing off cups and the occasional shout echoing through the space. The team had gathered for Morgan’s birthday, the freshman was too young to drink at Ted’s, so they’d moved the party back to their suite, where no one had to worry about rules.

Paige was caught in the whirlwind, but her focus wasn’t on the games or the people around her. Her eyes kept drifting toward Azzi, who had ditched her oversized sweatshirt for a tight crop top that showed off her toned stomach. Every time Azzi moved, the silver belly piercing she wore glinted in the light, and Paige couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away. The more she looked, the harder it became to ignore the tension building in her chest.

Azzi, for her part, had noticed Paige watching her all night—lingering glances that never seemed to end, a slow burn to the way Paige’s eyes tracked her every movement. She tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the party, but the pull between them felt almost magnetic. Every time Paige whispered something in her ear, Azzi felt a shiver race down her spine.

At first, Paige’s words had been innocent enough—light-hearted and playful, barely more than teasing.

“Think you can sink that shot?” Paige whispered, referring to the bear pong game, leaning in so close her breath ghosted over Azzi’s ear. “Maybe I could teach you a few tricks if you want.”

Azzi suppressed a smile, but the warmth spreading through her chest was undeniable. There was something in the way Paige said it, something that made it feel like more than just a passing comment.

Later, as they all gathered near the kitchen, Paige slid next to Azzi, her body brushing lightly against hers. The music thumped loudly, but Paige’s voice was soft, just above a whisper, as she leaned in, her breath warm against Azzi’s ear. "You look so focused," she murmured, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Maybe I can help you put that energy towards something else."

Azzi’s breath caught, and her heart thudded harder. She bit back a smirk, trying to keep her composure, but the teasing was getting under her skin. Paige was playing with fire, and Azzi wasn’t sure how much longer she could avoid the flames.

But it wasn’t until much later that Paige’s whispers grew bolder. As the night wore on, the drinks began to hit harder, and Paige’s restraint started to slip. Azzi was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen when Paige found her, standing a little too close, her hand brushing against Azzi’s backside.

“You look sexy tonight,” Paige whispered, her voice low and velvety. “Really sexy.” Her lips almost brushed Azzi’s ear as she spoke, sending a ripple of heat through her body. The words felt too intimate, too loaded for the setting they were in.

Azzi's body reacted before her mind could, a jolt of desire rushing through her veins. She leaned back slightly pushing herself against Paige, her pulse quickening, but she couldn’t pull away. Not yet.

Paige, emboldened by the alcohol and the closeness between them, took a step closer, her breath warm against Azzi’s neck. “You know,” she said, her voice dropping even lower, “If I get too close, you’re not going to want me to stop.”

Azzi’s heart raced as the words hit her like a wave. She was dangerously close to losing control, to crossing the line neither of them had dared to cross. But it was hard to stop when every part of her wanted to close that gap between them.

Finally, unable to stay away, Azzi slipped out of the suite and into the hallway, hoping to find some space, some air to clear her head. But Paige was right behind her, not letting her escape so easily.

“Where are you going?” Paige’s voice was low and insistent, as if she already knew the answer. The quiet intensity in her tone made Azzi’s breath catch.

Azzi glanced over her shoulder, offering a brief smile, but the hunger in Paige’s eyes stopped her cold. “Just need a break,” Azzi said, trying to sound nonchalant, but her pulse was racing. “I’ll be back soon, don't worry.”

Paige wasn’t having it. She followed Azzi down the hall, staying close, her steps firm and purposeful. “I’ll come with you.”

It wasn’t a question.

The tension crackled between them as they reached Paige’s room. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, the atmosphere shifted, thick with the unspoken words that had been building all night. They were so close now, every breath shared, every movement charged with heat.

Paige stood inches from Azzi, her chest rising and falling slightly faster as she slowly took a step closer. The room felt small, too small for the desire curling in her stomach, too small for the way Azzi was looking at her.

She whispered, her lips grazing Azzi’s ear. “I think you’re testing me.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. “Maybe I am” she murmured, her voice thick with the same longing. But she could feel herself slipping, the alcohol making it harder to think straight, harder to stop herself from giving in. “Paige… we shouldn’t” she says although it’s hard to tell which one of them she’s trying to convince.

But Paige’s eyes were dark, the distance between them closing with every word, every breath. Her hand reached up, brushing against Azzi’s jaw, fingertips grazing the smooth skin. “What if we just stopped pretending we don’t want this?” she whispered, her lips so close Azzi could feel the heat radiating off them.

Without thinking, Paige’s other hand slid up to Azzi’s neck, lightly gripping the soft skin just below her jaw. The pressure was gentle, but it was enough to send a spark of desire coursing through Azzi’s body. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a flush of heat spread across her chest, her breath hitching as her body responded instinctively.

Azzi gasped, her eyes fluttering closed as the sensation overwhelmed her. Her fingers curled into the front of Paige's shirt, yanking her closer, pulling their bodies flush against each other. The warmth of Paige’s body against hers sent waves of electricity through her, and her breath became shallow, shaky with need.

"Paige," Azzi whispered, her voice thick with desire, her lips dangerously close to the blonde’s. The scent of her skin, intoxicating and warm, drove Azzi wild. She slid her hands down to Paige’s back, pulling her even closer. “God, I want you. I need you.”

Paige’s chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, her hand tightening slightly around Azzi’s neck. The closeness, the urgency between them, made her skin burn, craving more.

With a surge of raw desire, Azzi wrapped her arms around Paige’s waist, guiding her backward toward the couch. The movement was swift, uncoordinated, their lips still grazing each other as they stumbled in the direction of the cushions. In one swift motion, they tumbled onto the couch, Azzi landing on top, their bodies a tangled mess of heat and hunger. Paige’s breath hitched, her body pressed against Azzi’s as they both struggled to steady themselves, the air between them electric, charged with longing.

However, as she suddenly realized just how far the two were going, Azzi slowly eased herself back, pushing gently on Paige’s chest. “No,” she said, her voice trembling. “We’re not doing this like this. Not now.”

Paige froze, her breath coming fast, eyes searching Azzi’s face for any sign of what she was thinking. Frustration bubbled inside her, wanting so badly to give in, but she understood. "Right," she muttered, her voice strained, as she leaned back, still close enough that their bodies almost touched.

Azzi’s hands slid away from Paige, reluctantly breaking the contact, leaving a lingering emptiness between them. "I want us to happen," she said quietly, her words heavy with sincerity. "But not like this. Not when we’re... like this. Not when you’re still not fully mine."

Paige swallowed hard, the desire still burning in her veins, but she nodded, trying to steady herself. "Yeah. You’re right. We... we’ll do it the right way."

Azzi took a deep breath, stepping back toward the door, but before she could go any further, Paige reached out and grabbed her wrist, her grip firm but gentle. Azzi turned back to her, and Paige’s eyes were filled with something deeper—admiration, trust, longing. She stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper but full of conviction. "I do belong to you," she said, her gaze unwavering. "Only you."

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat at the words, the sincerity of them settling over her like a warm embrace. Without thinking, she cupped Paige’s cheek with one hand, leaning in just enough to place a soft, tender kiss on her cheek—a promise, a silent understanding.

Pulling away, Azzi smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Paige’s face. "Come on," she said, her voice steady now. "Let’s get back out there."

Paige stood there for a moment, her heart racing, feeling the weight of the moment, before finally following Azzi out of her room. As they stepped into the hallway, their eyes locked for a fleeting second, a shared understanding passing between them. Just like always they both knew that things were far from over, but for now, they had to hold back.

#pazzi

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soulfullofold · 10 months ago

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smash or pass feat. random wikipedia articles from my bookmarks folder: stromatoliths, the mythological motif of the world-egg, baklava, apollo's belt, mithridatism, Benten Kozō / 弁天小僧, nubecula minor.

STROMATOLITHS SMASH

WORLD-EGG PASS

BAKLAVA SMASH

APOLLO'S BELT SMASH

MITHRIDATISM PASS

弁天小僧 thank you for the kanji SMASH

NUBECULA MINOR SMASH

#asked and answered #lore #ask box meme response #smash or pass #THANKS this was fun!!!#no deliberation needed these were immediate

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jellogram · 7 months ago

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One time in 7th grade a boy gave me a love letter and I showed it to my friend and she pulled out a love letter from the SAME BOY so we went to tell someone else about this insane situation and she ALSO got a love letter from him. This boy gave three girls (who were friends) all love letters.

You might think this would end with us fighting over him, but nope. We were PISSED at this boy. We fucking CHASED HIM DOWN and tackled him into the grass and cussed him out.

Imagine you are a 7th grade boy and you decide to maximize your luck by declaring your love to three different girls but instead they figure it out and team up and you get absolutely football tackled by them in full view of your classmates while they call you a little bitch.

So ladies if your man ever two-times you, just remember that aligning yourself with the other girl/s and taking him the fucking ground IS in fact an option.

#i am proud of this tbh #we really got his ass #it was immediate too #there was no deliberation about what we should do #we put two and two together and we were like. we need to take this motherfucker down a peg #i dont think we even hit him it was just like. humiliation more than violence

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neverendingford · 2 years ago

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#hmmmm. the game night was very underwhelming. I committed to playing Catan and then other people showed up and played smash bros #and ngl I kinda wanted to just throw in my cards and play smash bros instead #got called 'he' IMMEDIATELY by some dude so that was hmm and then someone noticed and was like 'let's all say our pronouns #and several dudes were visibly uncomfortable about saying pronouns and made jokes about it and were deliberately obtuse #so honestly pretty meh vibes overall. I really don't want to make a neckbeard gamer bro stereotype but ummmm. sorry those were the vibes #anyway not for me I think #also there was zero chaos energy at all. I need manic energy to feed off of #I did my best to sow a bit of chaotic fun and no one played off it either.#honestly just very boring. I lowkey shoulda stayed home #I learned what app people use to coordinate groups though. so I guess I'll look at that now. maybe find some other groups #the city I live is really is kind of a dead end though. so not a lot of opportunity. I'll keep hunting though #I just want to find wildly adhd people is that too much to ask. I need chaos and jokes and laughter and objects thrown through the air #I cannot take boring small town talk around a small table.#and like. I've met neckbeard gamer bros who I loved and got along with super well. they were mad adhd. but like. ugh. I can't stand boring #I can't stand calm. I need them to be hopped up on neurodivergence #I wish it were socially acceptable to get up and go 'sorry you're all very nice but you're very boring I'm going home now'#like. no offense but I hate it here bye #tag talk

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heritageposts · 1 year ago

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I'm reading about how Israel, in the immediate aftermath of the 1948 Nakba, deliberately replaced olive trees and other indigenous flora with European plants. This ecological disaster, which is now proudly hailed under the banner of 'making the desert bloom,' was done to 'de-Arabize' the landscape, and to cover up - often with fast-growing European pine trees -the ruins of Palestinian villages that were destroyed by Zionists forces.

And I just need everyone to read this passage from Pappé, because the symbolism of what happened to those European pine trees in the desert speaks for itself:

The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine, by Ilan Pappé (2006, p. 227-228.)

#free palestine #israel #gaza #this is under ch 10 'The Memoricide of the Nakba' - > 'Virtual Colonialism and the JNF'#''olive trees had popped up in defiance of the alien flora planted over them fifty-six years ago.''

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gibbearish · 3 months ago

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huh. having now understood reaching my target audience of one i think i now get why certain artists have gone batshit, and its because no matter their audience size or how explicitly they state things, no one gets what theyre actually saying

#crazy=genius is the primary example that comes to mind #like. the immediate association there is that its bragging #and maybe to some degree it is‚ that doesnt discount the rest of what im going to say #but like. the order of words there is very important. its not 'it genius = crazy then im insane because im sososo smart'#its 'if crazy = genius then im albert einstein‚ because i am going fucking insane'#its not bragging‚ its bravado. there is a crucial difference between the two.#its a cry for help wrapped in enough arrogance to ensure plausible deniability #and we all just. brushed him off. me included #it's sebastian all over again #if no one takes what you say seriously then you can say your most serious thoughts and have no one blink an eye #and brush it off as yeah yeah emo boy we all had a bad time in highschool.#ajr too im legitimately tempted to see if they have a public email that i can write and send a full analysis to #theyre all just saying it. these people are all so lonely and surrounded by people who see them as a commodity #can you imagine being surrounded by thousands of people who know the words to your songs by heart and didn't understand a single one #sending out flare after flare saying 'this is not a bit i am crumbling to pieces and need help' and having articles written #about how its just music and doesnt mean anything and youre a terrible person #its just for the bit‚ its just to pull your heartstrings to make it hit harder‚ its just art. its doesnt mean anything. right?#nevermind that theres a reason they know which strings to pull. nevermind that none of those are mutually exclusive. nevermind how #directly they say that that is not the case in the song. it doesnt mean anything. it cant. because if it does and if theyre all telling the #truth about how fucked up they are then ding ding ding it seems yet again society is broken #and its easier to say it doesnt mean anything than to face the scale of the everything of it all #origibberish #yknow what come to think of it i think using specifically 'crazy' is also deliberate plausible deniability as just being an asshole too #like 'oh well if you were aaaaactually going through a mental health crisis then you would use more respectful language'#much to consider much to consider

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erwinsvow · 5 months ago

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do you think shy reader is still a bit skittish and shy when her and rafe are fucking?

hundred percent, but in a good way.

rafe had been thinking you were getting better at the whole skittish thing when you and him were in bed.

there was at least improvement from when you two had first started dating, even though you were the one constantly asking him to be rougher. at first when he tried, it was clear it was way too much for you.

that made sense to him—you were mentally interested in all kinds of shit that your physical body couldn't handle. but he knew it wouldn't always be like that, and the one he had learned best in this relationship with you was patience.

rafe hadn't expected that he would have to constantly be reminding you about that word though. horny and impatient as you are, rafe knows better than to give in and push your limits. things with you are sometimes one step forward, two steps backwards, and so he's decided for both of you how to proceed.

unfortunately, sometimes you make it hard to stay patient. a well-timed short skirt or pretty dress, even the way you flutter your eyelashes and smile shyly at him has him reconsidering.

like today.

your skirt was pushed up, panties somewhere between your knees, while your boyfriend railed into you from behind. this is one of those things you wanted, one of the times you were actually begging for it—which had resulted in cutting lunch short early and driving back home at double the speed limit.

you're folded over, hands gripping rafe's headboard and face pressed into his bed. all around you, the scent and feeling of rafe overwhelms every sense, and mind unable to think, you let out moans muffled by his pillow.

your stomach tightens with every deliberate thrust, walls clenching around rafe and making him groan from behind you. rafe's stretching you out exactly how you need, in such a way that it's almost too much. all of it is, his hand gripping your hip and the other on the back of your neck, holding you in place. the way you know if you looked back, you'd see your boyfriend looming over you, face twisted in pleasure, probably grunting dirty words that will make you blush.

"y'like that, kid? i bet you do-" it comes out in grunts, between thrusts. you moan out an answer, but then you realize what rafe is really talking about, feeling his hand on your sensitive clit, rubbing you roughly while your body spasms.

it's too much now if it wasn't already. you pull away from him, trying to crawl up the bed and escape the overstimulation. you grasp at sheets when you feel it.

rafe grips both your hips tightly and pulls you back to him, your hand loosening immediately as you're yanked back. holding you down, he keeps pounding into you.

"don't run from it, baby. you're fine."

and if rafe says you're fine, then you're fine.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

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hussyknee · 1 year ago

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People seem to think this is fake because it's written in English. Apart from the racism in believing that Arab doctors and nurses aren't fluent in English (a second or official language for half of Asia), Palestinians have deliberately been addressing their audience in English on every social media, from journalists to children, because they know speaking English to Westerners immediately makes people more human in their eyes. Because language is one of the ways the imperial cultural hegemony conditions us (yes, everyone in the world) to see who qualifies as "people" and who are simply a mass of bodies who were always made to suffer and die. Gazans know this deeply, which is why they have been using English to beg and plead through social media, "We're not numbers! We're not numbers! We're people like you, we speak your language, we deserve to live!" all the while they're systematically slaughtered.

Israeli forces also encircled Al Shifa Hospital yesterday and bombed it for several hours while shooting dead anyone trying to flee including medical staff moving between buildings. Not sure whether it's still continuing because WHO lost all communications with its staff there a few hours after. The last new report said that thirty-nine babies had been removed from the incubators before the power went out. It's extremely unlikely they will survive.

Please understand that these atrocities depend on the war of attrition between governments and public attention. The momentum of public outcry is difficult to sustain through repeated stonewalling and bureaucratic intractability. When we're flooded with these reports and a sense of futility and despair replaces the anger, it allows compassion fatigue to set in and the violence to become normalized. Massacring hospitals, killing sick children and openly targeting humanitarian aid workers (Netanyahu just declared the UNRWA is in league with Hamas) will become simply more news articles that fade into the background, and open genocides will soon become part of the "lesser evil".

Take care of yourselves how you can, take distance where needed, but please never tune out and give up on the two million people for whom we are the only witness and hope. Never stop boosting and sharing the news and posts you find, never stop getting out there and joining every protest you can, however small. Anger burns out, which is why activism must depend on an immovable sense of justice and uncompromising value for human life. It's not just about Gaza, it's about the kind of evil our generation will be coerced into accepting as unchangeable and inevitable hereafter.

#but also like it's a lot about us and especially you in the West #every bomb dropped on Gaza brings us closer to the brink of‚ if not a world war‚ an eruption of regional conflict #with devastating economic and environmental effects across the world #I'm tired of repeating this and my followers are prob tired of seeing it #but someone has to #war of attrition like I said #free Palestine #tw child murder #tw child death #tw baby killing #tw ableism #disability justice #war crimes #gaza genocide #save gaza #gaza under attack #palestinian genocide #israel is a terrorist state #knee of huss

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nottswitch · 3 months ago

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— 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 (𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠?)

summary: your last night in italy, your last chance to remember this vacation forever

pairing: theo x fem!reader

warning: 18+ smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), spanking, choking, dirty talk, degradation/praise, mentions of alcohol, tipsy sex, smoking, broken Italian, modern!au, muggle!au

wc: 3.9k

a/n: it’s been a long time coming!! finally officially writing for theo. inspired by honey (are u coming?) by måneskin <3

۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; theo m.list ; how to request

The air of the summer night was almost chilly, but only almost – the temperatures in the south of Italy are usually high at this time of year. However, it didn’t stop you from shivering as a light breeze of wind brushed against your skin, flushed from all the alcohol you had consumed in the last couple of hours. It wasn’t even that much in quantity – it was more so the mixture between the different kinds of it creating a heady haze in your direct and peripheral vision. And now, you were standing behind the club, having come out for a breather and a brief clearance of your mind. Your friends were still inside, lost somewhere between the dancing bodies, and you didn’t care enough to let them know you were heading out.

“Scusa, signorina, ha un accendino?”

You were shaken out of the blankness of your thoughts by a deep voice coming from somewhere behind you. You didn’t know what it said, since you weren’t the assigned interpreter of the group and knew jack shit about Italian. Slowly and cautiously, you turned your head to look at the source of that profoundly attractive voice. The man was standing a bit further away, still hidden by the shadows, so you couldn’t see his face clearly.

“Ciao?”

In your dumbfounded state, it was the only thing your brain could conjure up. The sole Italian word you knew for sure and could safely produce, besides the pizza names, of course. But if you started spurring them out – that would be deathly embarrassing.

The silhouette let out a low chuckle. He took a step further, and the light of a street lamp finally let you see the face of the mysterious voice. Your mouth was slightly agape as you studied his features: cheekbones that looked sharper than they probably were, emphasized by the shadows of the night; a cap of dark curly hair, messed up by hours of dancing in the club and the breeze that was currently ruffling it; his lips, rather… full and strangely inviting.

“Shit, I thought this line would work.”

Once again, his voice pulled you right out of your reverie. You realized that he was speaking English now, and his accent made the language sound tenfold more charming than it needed to be.

“What?” you asked, immediately feeling sheepish as you said it. It wasn’t hard to notice that you’d been standing there shamelessly ogling him while he tried to converse.

The previous chuckle of his turned into a laugh. The stranger stepped even closer, so close that you could distinguish a couple moles on his face, and his eyes… they were something else entirely. You tried your best to blink away the incoming clouding of the mind – it was simply dangerous to stare into them too much.

“I asked if you had a lighter,” he explained, taking a pack of cigarettes and his own lighter out of his pocket. “This line usually works.”

He lit up the cigarette, taking quick inhales until the tip started burning orange. Then, he took a deep drag, hollowing out his cheeks and making his cheekbones appear even more prominent. You watched in awe as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, deliberately blowing it out in the opposite direction.

“But you-” you tried to say, your voice embarrasingly cracking and making you clear your throat. “You have a lighter,” you finally uttered, rubbing your throat with your fingers and swallowing a lump slowly starting to form there.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just a conversation starter,” he explained with another low chuckle. You felt like you were five and he was you kindergarten teacher, explaining the reason the sky was blue. “And it did start the conversation, no?”

You smiled nervously, fumbling with your necklace. The stranger noticed your tensed up state and his expression softened from playful to friendly and approachable.

“Theo,” he said, holding out his hand. “Well, Theodore, actually, but only my mother calls me that when she’s angry,” he joked, his lips spreading in a wide smile.

You introduced yourself as well, feeling much more comfortable with his gaze warmly resting on your eyes. His hand was bigger than yours, softer than you expected and felt like a pillow. Once your palms connected, he wrapped his fingers around yours and instead of a handshake, lifted your hand to his lips to plant a kiss on its back.

Your cheeks flushed instantly at the feeling of his lips on your skin. They were so soft that a need to feel them on your mouth made itself known in the depths of your stomach. You cursed yourself for being so sensitive, but didn’t pull your hand away when his lips lingered there for a few seconds longer than necessary.

“So, bella,” he started, letting go of your hand, “what are you doing alone outside of a club at…” He glanced at his wristwatch. “…at five in the morning?”

“My friends are still inside,” you explained the ‘alone’ part, “and I just came out for a breather. Our flight is in six hours and we’re probably not going to sleep,” you added with a scoff. At that point, a sleepless night didn’t sound as enticing as it did just a day before.

“A flight?”

Theo tilted his head, taking another drag of the cigarette. You swore you were hallucinating, but you could hear a slight hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Yeah, we’re flying back home,” you replied with a sigh, also feeling disappointed for some reason. It was rather unfair, you thought, that as soon as you met a perfect picture of a man, you had to leave him behind, in a country so foreign to you.

“Damn…”

Theo let out a humorless chuckle, exhaling a plume of smoke and running his hand through his hair, letting the curls gracefully fall on his forehead afterwards. He noticed the curious glance you gave him and shook his head.

“It’s nothing, I just-”

He interrupted himself by taking a long drag of the cigarette and shoving his hand in his pocket, as if to stop it from clenching into a fist.

“I just thought I had a chance,” he finished with a white cloud billowing out of his mouth. “You know, to have your number, to take you out and all that…”

You sighed, lowering your gaze to the ground. You actually really wanted to go on a date with this handsome stranger, and life felt even more unfair than just seconds ago, now that you knew that your sudden desire was reciprocated.

“Life’s a bitch, I guess,” you breathed out, biting the inside of your cheek to stop your voice from shaking. You never knew that a simple one-minute encounter outside of a club could affect you that profoundly, yet there you were, wishing you could stay in Italy for at least a day longer.

Theo watched you intently as he kept on smoking, and silence fell between the two of you for a few minutes.

"Can we…?" his voice sounded in the silence of the night.

"Yeah," you breathed out before he could even finish the sentence. You knew exactly what he was implying, and you would probably die before you missed the chance to skip all the unnecessary steps and just outright go for it.

You could see Theo grinning and tilting his head back a little as another cloud of thick white smoke wafted above him. He threw the cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the tip of his shoe, all while his shining eyes were fixed on you, and you realized that your own lips perfectly mirrored his wide smile. Theo took a couple of steps towards you, the proximity between your bodies’ letting his warmth envelop your front. His hand hovered next to your waist while his eyes searched yours, silently asking for permission. Your nod was more than enough; you barely had time to breathe in before Theo’s lips were on yours, his hand firmly gripping your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. On instinct, your own hands ended up on his shoulders, stabilizing yourself, as your knees seemed to have a mind of their own and suddenly wanted to buckle.

Naturally, Theo tasted like cigarettes and a hint of alcohol; his scent invaded your senses with male cologne and something citrusy on top of that. His hands held you up, one of them leaving wrinkles on the thin fabric of your tank top, and the other one – caressing you flushed cheek with his thumb. You let out a soft, shaky moan when you felt his tongue gliding against yours and got a response in the form of another moan, but lower – from him. It sounded heavenly, and you found yourself wanting to pull more of this out of him.

Both of you were breathless when you mouths finally separated, a thin strip of saliva stretching out between your shiny, sloppy lips. A second later, it was cold and dripping down your chin, and Theo laughed, pressing his thumb to your skin to wipe off the mess.

"There’s a place, not far from here," he whispered, leaning in so that his lips would lightly brush against your ear.

"Whatever you say," you answered, closing your eyes and trying to gather the last bits of self-control not to jump on him right then and there. Maybe it was the previously consumed alcohol, maybe it was just him.

The corner of Theo’s mouth turned up at the sound of your voice, still a bit breathless and, undoubtedly, needy. He placed a teasing, promising kiss under your ear, eliciting a quiet but sharp breath from you, and pulled away, sliding his hand down your body, from your waist to your hand. Your fingers intertwined, and before you knew it, you were getting all but dragged along the cobbled street.

"Theo," you whined, tugging at his arm to at least slow him down a notch. "My heels!" you said, raising your voice a bit when the guy didn’t stop at all, as if he hadn’t heard you.

Theo turned his head, following your downturned finger and noticing your high-heeled sandals.

"Ah, piccola mia," he cooed, shaking his head in mock disappointment. You didn’t know what he said, but in your mind, his amused smile couldn’t have meant anything bad. In a split of a second, you were picked up, bridal style, your body pressed to Theo’s chest, your legs helplessly dangling in the air. You let out a short, surprised squeal, which made Theo bite the inside of his cheek in order to suppress a loud, hearty laugh.

"That’s much better, hm?" he murmured, observing your widened eyes with a small but cheeky smile on his face and a quirked eyebrow.

You didn’t really have any time to answer – the question was rhetorical, anyway – as he started to walk down the street, his pace a bit faster now that you weren’t slowing him down. You decided not to question and instead, wrapped your arms around his neck. Although, as you had come to notice, his arms provided just enough of a safety net.

The lobby of the hotel had high ceilings, leather couches and air conditioning, which was a nice contrast against you flushed cheeks. Theo didn’t bother lowering you to the ground when you entered, so now you were hiding your embarrassed face in the crook of his neck while the receptionist was checking you in. His cologne was filling your lungs more and more with each passing second, so at some point you couldn’t hold back anymore and started placing soft kisses on Theo’s neck and jaw. You heard the incessant tapping of his fingers against the countertop increasing in frequency and grinned into his skin, realizing that your efforts weren’t in vain at all. His relieved exhale rang out along with the clink of the keys to your room for the night.

As soon as you stepped into the elevator, Theo pressed you against the wall, swiftly grabbing the backs of your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. His lips stole a sloppy kiss from yours before latching onto your neck and leaving a trail of saliva down to your collarbone. One of your hands ended up on his shoulder while the other one was eagerly pulling his head into your neck, craving for more of the pleasure his lips were giving you.

The high-pitched sound of the elevator arriving at your floor cut through your lust-filled haze, but Theo was far from willing to let you go even for a minute. He carried you into the corridor and looked around to spot the right number on the door. Thankfully, it wasn’t far. Theo’s pace was hurried, and his lips were stuck to your shoulder all the way, until you heard the key turning and the door opening, at last.

A sharp breath was knocked out of your lungs when Theo pressed you against the other side of door, hungrily swallowing the air coming out of you. His hands immediately went to your ass, firmly gripping the flesh over your skirt. You moaned into his mouth, already feeling the dampness between your legs starting to grow pretty rapidly. Theo smirked against your lips and sneaked a hand up your body, under your tank top. His palm pressed into your breast, his fingers closing around it and giving it a solid squeeze. His lips parted, and you whined in protest when instead of his tongue you suddenly felt just his hot, alcohol-induced breath. You desperately licked into his mouth while he panted, lost in the feeling of your tits and ass sitting so nicely in his hands.

"Cazzo, you feel so good," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse.

At the feeling of Theo’s strong hands kneading your ass and tits simultaneously you started whimpering, wrapping your arms around his neck and trying to move your hips against his, tightening your legs’ embrace around his waist.

"You’re a needy girl, huh?"

Theo pulled away ever so slightly, just enough to have a good look at his face. He chuckled, trapping his tongue between his teeth while his eyes flicked from yours down to your now swollen lips and back.

"Such a desperate, needy slut," he murmured, his hand leaving your breast and cupping your jaw, his fingertips pressing into your cheeks and making your lips form a pout. As a confirmation of his words, a whimper left your throat, and your pussy started pulsating against the front of his jeans. Your hips started grinding again, and you could barely hold in another round of pathetic sounds when you felt a hard bulge between your bodies.

"Fuck," Theo groaned, for a second feeling nothing but the delicious friction your rapid movements provided. He lowered you to the ground, pressing a quick, firm kiss against your lips before guiding you to the huge, king-sized bed. You didn’t protest; you didn’t want to, and your mind was too far gone at this point. As soon as your legs hit the edge of the bed, Theo didn’t let you fall onto it. Instead, he pressed his palms against your lower back and your stomach at the same time, bending you over in one swift movement – you barely had time to stretch out your arms to support yourself.

Theo took a step back, biting his lips as he took in the sight of you, bent over, a tight denim skirt hugging your curves, your ass high up in the air due to the high heels on your feet. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he came closer again, lifting up your skirt to pool around your waist. You breathing grew more erratic as you felt his hands on your ass, grabbing the cheeks and spreading them open. A sharp slap landing on your right asscheek was a surprise, eliciting half a squeal, half a moan from you; your arousal trickled out of your panties in one wet line, which made Theo almost ecstatic. He gave your ass another slap, relishing your moan as he kneeled behind you, your thighs receiving a smack each as a signal to spread further apart.

If he wasn’t gripping your hips at that moment, your legs would’ve given out right when his mouth was pressed against your soaked panties. A shaky whimper escaped your wide-open mouth, making Theo’s cock throb in the confines of his jeans. In other cases, he would’ve taken his time teasing you, getting his fix of your needy moans and the sweetness between your legs. However, right then he was still somewhat tipsy and painfully hard, which is why your panties were quickly moved aside and his tongue dived straight into your dripping folds. A groan made your skin pleasantly vibrate, and your moans never stopped since, only growing louder and more frequent.

Theo’s tongue lapped up the juices from your cunt, his hands firmly gripping the underside of your ass, his thumbs spreading your inner thighs by pressing into them hard enough to leave bruises. You couldn’t help it - you bent your arms and lowered yourself down to your elbows, because you felt like you’d start shaking at any given moment. And you did, as soon as Theo’s skillful lips wrapped around your clit, sucking and making each and every single nerve shoot lightning strikes of pleasure through your whole body. Your moans and whimpers grew into sobs as Theo continued greedily devouring your aching cunt. The moment he gave your ass another slap, you were done for. Without any type of warning, you came, your hands gripping the sheets so hard they could probably rip.

When Theo heard you getting lost in your orgasm, he closed his eyes and groaned, feeling his own need painfully pulsating between his legs. He stood up, towering over your bent over and already spent form. You couldn’t even turn your head to see what he was doing, but you definitely heard the sound of a zipper being undone. You didn’t have time to dwell on that, as two of Theo’s fingers ended up inside your cunt almost immediately. Your whole body jerked forward, the pain of overstimulation mixing with the pleasure of his fingers stretching out your walls. The next sound was that of a wrapper being opened, and for a quick but very empty moment Theo’s digits left your hole. You whimpered in protest, pushing your ass back in search of friction, and you found it: the tip of Theo’s cock, wrapped up in a condom, slid along your folds up to your clenching and unclenching entrance.

"Cazzo," Theo breathed out, momentarily mesmerized by the sight in front of him. "Such a good girl f’me…" he continued murmuring as he rubbed his tip in circles against your entrance, making you squirm. His hand stopped your erratic movements, grabbing your hip to keep you in place. Once he was sure you weren’t moving anymore, that same hand landed on your asscheek, causing your body to jerk forward once again. "Such a dirty slut."

With one thrust he pushed into you, his hips slamming against yours with bruising force. You let out a sharp, high-pitched scream, immediately flowing into a stuttering moan as you felt the tip of Theo’s cock hitting a sweet spot. He moaned along with you, his head thrown back as he savored the feeling of your warmth and heat squeezing his aching dick. Shameless groans left his mouth with each movement he started moving inside of you, his initially slow pace growing into deep, hard thrusts. You buried your face in the sheets, tugging at them with your hands, desperate for some kind of grounding in reality. Theo’s cock kept hitting different spots inside you that you didn’t even know you had, making your pussy drip even more and causing squelching sounds to waft through the room, along with skin loudly connecting with skin. Theo’s hands landed slaps on your ass from time to time, each squeal of yours following it causing him to groan louder.

Your second orgasm wasn’t far off from the first one – with an especially deep thrust, Theo’s cock hit something entirely uncharted inside of you, making your thighs shake and your cunt clench around him. He fucked you through your climax, barely holding on, until you finally stopped squirming so much. His hand was on the back of your neck in a second, lifting your upper body from the bed and pressing it against his firm chest.

"Feel so good, bella," he breathed into your ear, causing your completely overstimulated body to shiver. This reaction brought Theo closer to his own orgasm, and his thrusts became messier with each passing second. "Gonna come soon," he whispered, lightly squeezing your throat and circling the shell of your ear with the tip of his tongue. You whined pathetically, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your walls clenched around Theo once again.

That did it for him. With a low, raspy moan into your ear, he came, his grip on your hip and throat tightening. His twitching cock made your thighs purse together involuntarily, and your body finally went limp against his chest. Both of you stayed like that for another minute or so, stabilizing your staggered breathing. As soon as Theo felt you calming down, he carefully spun you around and lowered you onto the bed on your back.

"That was…" you breathed out, sinking into the softness of the mattress underneath you.

"Yeah," Theo followed, a satisfied smile playing on his lips when he heard you struggling for words.

You let out a breathless chuckle, propping yourself up on one arm and following Theo’s padding to the bathroom with your gaze. Once he disappeared inside for a moment, you threw yourself back onto the sheets, covering your eyes with your hands and shaking your head in disbelief.

"Me… A one-night stand in Italy…" you murmured under your breath, rubbing your temples with your fingers, as if trying to get a grasp of the situation.

"A one-night stand?"

Theo quirked an eyebrow, heading from the bathroom towards the bed, his jeans all done and zipped again. You gave him a questioning look of your own, wondering what that sly smile of his meant. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to you and, in response, turned the screen of his phone to you. You squinted, trying to see what he was trying to show you, and gave him a skeptical look when you did. He seemed puzzled for a moment before understanding washed over him – of course, how would you understand a text in Italian. He physically facepalmed and pulled the phone away, looking at the screen himself.

"It says that ‘due to inadequate weather conditions, all international flights have been postponed indefinitely," he read nonchalantly, the only thing betraying his inner workings being that same smile you saw earlier. He glanced at you, trying to gauge your reaction to the news and see if you were getting the hint.

You bit your bottom lip, furrowing your brows as you were processing the information. Then, your eyebrows went up, and you lifted your head, meeting his playful eyes with those of your own. As Theo crawled up your body, your fingers were already mindlessly tapping a message to your group chat with your friends.

reblogs and comments will be appreciated ♡

#— witch’s works ☾#theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott smut #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #slytherin boys #slytherin boys smut

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