#or plain unreadable.

[st4rsinthenight]

★Em. Thinking about a tiny getting spotted by a giant while they are on a high place, like a countertop or something, and out of their sheer panic or desperation to evade said giant, they absentmindedly throw themselves off the counter so that they giant doesn't capture em or smth.★

[higgsbison]

Can’t log into my ao3 to comment at the moment..

But the chess fic is making me so so happy. I love the description of the carp rain and the two versions of the board so so so much!

When I saw the first image of the board I was surprised and so excited to see where you were going with it.

This image of Vetinari sitting and watching Vimes struggling with the board with the sound of the fish smacking into things in the background before he finally moves one of Vetinari’s pieces absolutely kills me.

Such a creative, well characterized, and wonderfully executed snapshot of them! As always!!

Oh I'm so glad to hear that, thank you!💛

All the chessboards were a bit of a pain in the ass to format into the text, but I had a concrete game progress vision and couldn't imagine how this would work with descriptions alone, so it's really nice to hear they worked

also that's the ideal vision of that scene, the continuous unsettling fish slaps in the background are a must

[flowercrowngods]

anyway, someone please tell me it's not actually bad writing

Something about the person in the mirror scares him. Something about them is… incredibly alien. Alienating, even. Heavy in a way that keeps him from taking a deep breath. 

Steve wants to look away, but he can’t even blink. And neither does the person in the mirror. A moment frozen in time, two boys staring at each other in confusion and repudiation. 

Come on, Dingus. Eyes on me. 

Don’t look down, Steve, close your eyes, come on, kid. 

The sudden sound of a shower startles him, makes him look away from the disfigured image of himself and toward the open door. There is only silence now, but the more he tries to focus on the pitter-patter of water on warm tiles, the more images return to him. Images of Hopper. Of El. Of last night, freezing on the floor, panicked and afraid — in this world and another. 

Another sound cuts through the silence, and it occurs to him that maybe the breath he let out was more of a pitiful whine than anything else. Or maybe he imagined that, too. Maybe it’s just another memory. 

“Come on,” he croaks, barely above a whisper because he still doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know who’s with him, doesn’t know anything. “Come on.” 

It’s a dare. It’s encouragement. It’s something to stop the spiralling, something to pretend that he has a purpose, that there’s something on the other side of that door cracked open that will make his head stop spinning, his heart stop racing, and his eyes stop stinging. 

But in the end, when he pushes open the door the rest of the way, he is alone. It doesn’t really translate to him, but somewhere buried deep underneath the numbness, he feels a new kind of heaviness settle beside the frantic confusion. A voice inside his head tells him he shouldn’t be alone right now. Tells him that he should be here. 

Steve doesn’t know who he is. 

Letting his gaze wander over the old, worn furniture, he spots a makeshift curtain on the far end of the room. He approaches with jarring steps, both knowing exactly what he’ll find there and still too tired, too dazed, too removed from everything to really put a name to it. 

[doomzday-zone]

i should NOT let weird comments abt my art affect me and yet......... sometimes the Worms get me,.

[charmfamily]

(SEMI) CHARMED KIND OF LIFE: EPISODE 3, PART XXIII. “GENESIS IN BLACK”

[lionizehim]

I'm honestly so done with people pretending that RWBY still looks like it did in Volumes 1-3.

Like, I'll completely admit that Volume 1 kinda looks like shit, because they had no budget and were working with nonstandard software that wasn't built for animation.

But come on. Look at this.

Anyone who says this is visually bad is fooling themselves.

[arolesbianism]

Sigh. It begins (being forced to see the worst aro hcs I've ever seen in my life because ppl have a talent for finding the absolute worst characters to be their token aro hc)

[yandere-romanticaa]

"You know..." he trailed off, his voice gruff but cool. Two fingers danced across the countertop as you chopped the potatoes sloppily, as you were still not quite adept with handling a knife.

He continues. "... You would be a really nagging wife, did anyone ever tell you that?"

A scoff escapes you but even so, you chop. It's a little hard trying to focus on cooking all the while this idiot keeps trying to rile you up like crazy. Why was he even here, who even invited him? Yeah, he was popular around town and it wasn't uncommon for him to hop from place to place, regardless of what it may be. Be it someone's house, a bar, a club, a gaming center, it honestly didn't matter.

It just freaked you out how he was slowly morphing into the shadow you never wished to have.

"Is that so?" You ask him sarcastically, your face schooled into an unreadable expression. The smell of delicious spices enveloped the whole kitchen and it made you even hungrier. You were going to kill your friend for allowing this god awful fiend inside here. Refusing to turn to him, you still probed him.

"Don't marry me then, I never asked for your opinion to begin with."

He's stunned for a millisecond before regaining his composure, a booming laugh soon reverberated across the entire room. He clutched his chest a little, as if you had just told him the funniest joke in the whole wide world.

In a way, it was.

He, despite his bravado, wouldn't mind having such crummy a wife by his side.

He was living the good life and nothing could stop him. But there was just something about you, something that would always make him take a step back and think. It was so cute how you were trying to concentrate on making a tasty meal for himself, of course he was going to steal a little later.

He adored your cooking, even if it could get sloppy at times.

The "you'd be a bad/annoying/nagging wife" thing started off as something to humor him, and to piss you off naturally. Nothing brought him greater satisfaction than to see a scowl on your face and just straight up ruin your day. It was exhilarating to watch the light in your eyes crumble the moment he took a breath of air which came from your direction, let alone actually come to you.

It didn't hit him that he was actively interested in you.

He never even realized just how many of your dumb little habits he had picked up on, just how many times he had to stop himself from doing more than he already did because he didn't want to give you the wrong idea.

He doesn't like you, he thinks you're a fool. Plain and simple, just like that.

It doesn't matter that his heart beats so much faster at the mere thought of you, it doesn't matter that he started to fantasize how you would look like if you were his actual wife.... To come home to you, in your soft embrace as a meal was ready for him...

No matter. He'll trick, tease and steal from you as much as he possibly can.

🎀 Gilgamesh (Fate), Bakugo Katsuki, Dabi, Hawks (BNHA), Gojo Satoru (JJK), Guren Ichinose (Seraph of the End), Ayato Sakamaki, Laito Sakamaki (Diabolik Lovers), Satori Tendo (Haikyuu!), Aalto (Wuthering Waves)

[hyewka]

warnings. sub!tyun, noona!reader, desperate shit, degrading, use of whore/slut, handjob

flirt freshman!taehyun who, even if he looks polite and at times would even be described as cute, is definitely a heartbreaker. stringing along, fucking, then ghosting.

you see right through his nice guy act when he subtly hits on you, flashing you his white pearls, blinding smile that show off his dimpled cheeks and the way his eyes form into crescents, his simple charms almost, almost having an effect on you. but you know better, you’ve already passed this chapter of your life, getting yourself fucked over by cute assholes. so you reject any and all advances that he makes on you, even as so far as to completely ignore him whenever he addresses you in a group setting.

you wanted to protect yourself, because again, you knew better. but what you dont realize is how often your blatant rejections have been either straight up cruelly humiliating or just plain harsh to the younger boy. not until you’re stuck with taehyun as you awkwardly wait in the car for your friends.

“why dont you like me?” he starts, quiet as he looks out the window. you turn to look at him, a little astonished that he decided to confront you. then you quickly recollect yourself, clearing your throat.

“who told you that?”

he scoffs, a sneer retching his expression. “you’re kidding aren’t you? i don’t think i know anybody more repulsed with me than you. everyone can see it. you almost jumped out of the car when they told you i was going to sit in the back tonight.”

it’s like hes been keeping all of his thoughts behind a lock with how fast everything spilled out of his mouth and you take in a breath. “okay now that’s an exaggeration.”

“not really.”

then it falls silent again, hearing the distant horns of cars and you awkwardly shift. he’s right, its not.

then suddenly, his eyes shift from the window to you, and the eye contact catches you off guard, you can make out the slight furrow of his brows and the small pout that rests on his lips—you’ve never seen him look like that. you avert your gaze almost immediately.

but he’s still staring. and it has you nervously tapping your finger on your lap.

“i like you, noona.”

your eyes widen a little. not because of the confession, you knew it was coming eventually. something about this variation of gentleness with his voice that you don’t think you’ve quite heard…ever coming from a man has your heart beat just a little faster. noona? its nothing new coming from taehyun, but your hands still slight dig into the fabric of your skirt. “if that wasn’t already obvious enough.” he says bitterly with a non humored laugh.

you spend the entire night, staring at your blank empty google doc, wallowing in all thoughts related to taehyun. it kind of pisses you off that he’s managed to chip a little away from your wall, you usually disperse any thought that comes up in your head that has to do with him. but now you choose to give yourself a leeway, just a little to think over whether he was being genuine, and whatever happened in the car was taehyun serving his heart on the platter to be so…vulnerable, or if it was just the last trick up his sleeve to lure you in like a toy he can’t have.

but then you remember the little features—the way his brows slightly turned up, the way his bottom lip instinctively stuck out, just a tiny bit—the way his eyes twinkled, just somewhat, as cliché as it is to say, it felt genuine, real.

when taehyun sends you a text that night, with a string of other unread messages from weeks or days ago before it—you come to the conclusion that he likes you, really likes you.

sorry, ignore what i said today

i don’t want you feeling uncomfortable around me any more than you do

your heart swells a little, simultaneously feeling the guilt conscience slowly creeping up on you. maybe you really did misread him this entire time.

so imagine your surprise when the next time you see taehyun, a week later, it’s at a frat party, looking down at a girl clinging onto his arms with those same twinkling eyes, smile, dimples, gentle look—eventually laughing then biting down on his lips as he looks away, the red on tips of his ears making you fume more than you’d admit. you don’t know what it was, what exactly made you insane enough to stomp over to him in long strides, wobbly pushing through the drunks, seeing red as you grab taehyun by the arm when he’s of reach—the surprised look on his face only lasting for a second before you furiously turn around, dragging him away from the confused girl that he was getting way too flirty with.

he could’ve easily shaken off your grip, it was weak, but he followed, he let you take him, only when you push him in a non occupied room and lock the door does he finally say something.

“hey, what the fuck was that—”

then you go for it. throwing all logical justifications and reasoning, you pull him into you harshly by the collar of his shirt, crashing your lips onto his. you don’t know what you expected, up to now it felt like you’ve been on airplane mode, but you know it wasn’t what taehyun returns. even if youre the one who came onto him first, he kisses back even more passionately, leaning into you, so quick to be receptive, hands going up to your cheeks as he lets you walk him hard into the door, latching onto your lips as if its a taste of a drug that has him hooked right from the first dose.

he’s so…desperate, it scares you, and turns you on at the same time. every time you try to pull away a little he reels you back almost immediately following your lips, the kiss becoming open mouthed as he breathes in and gets more and more messy, sloppy—he’s so sloppy, it’s the last thing you expected from him.

you finally manage to pull away, both of you catching your breath, with his lips glistening and red, mouth agape, chest heaving, up and down as he stares stunned.

“wha—um, so—fuck, sorry, no wait—” hes stumbling over his words. again, something taehyun never does. whenever hes spoken to you, it always felt so calculated, like every word hes thought over, because it felt so perfect. hes always collected.

you clasp your hand over his mouth, weakly, but he stills shuts up his ramble and jumble of words, blinking at you, with those god damn adorable brown eyes.

“kindly, shut the fuck up.”

his brows twitch a little, but he’s still silent.

your eyes search for something in his, you don’t know what, but it feels like you’ve gotten a green light, sighing. “i wanna fuck you.”

“shit.” he marvels, feeling his breath against your palm, his eyes still just as wide. you don’t know what exactly he’s thinking but if the dick already poking against your thigh was any indication, it was that he wanted it. really bad.

you slip your hand off his lips, then you whisper, fixated on how plump they are, “open your mouth.”

he blinks confused, hesitant until you take it upon yourself to rub your thigh against the tent in his pants, having him almost immediately buckle as he lets out a sinful groan. you should know he’s probably not into what you’re into, so you ease into it, testing the waters as you press yourself flush against him, rubbing your leg up and down against his clothed dick. “feel good?”

“y-yeah, shit, noona, please touch me.”

“i am touching you,” you swipe your hand over his bottom lip, fuck, they really are pretty. and so kissable. you’re shocked you haven’t kissed them sooner.

“no, i want your hand.”

you scoff, he’s so confident with what he wants, and so demanding. bratty. he’s probably so used to dominating. “this isn’t enough? me getting off your crusty dick isn’t enough for you? you’re feeling good, aren’t you?”

you press harder and with no consent of his own, his breaths knocked out of him, a slight squeak by the end that has his ears running red again. your thumb slips into his mouth, easing into it, slowly, before you fully press on his tongue as the friction of your knees against his cock gets more and more frantic and torturous. “you tell me you like me then decide i’m not worth the headache, a week later you run off to another innocent girl you’ll try to break the heart of after getting your fill. someone needs to keep you in check for becoming such an asshole, no? do you have no shame?” you mock, feeding him another finger in his mouth so he can’t retort like you know the smartass in him would do.

he sucks on them, surprising you as you feel his tongue licking eagerly…fuck, how badly did you misread him?

but you can tell with the way his eyes involuntarily water, and the way he shakes his vehemently, he still has the audacity to deny everything.

you scoff, slipping them out of his mouth, string of his saliva coating your fingers and shoving that hand down his pants, promplty grabbing his dick, marveling at the soft, wet feel. he already spilled so much pre-cum—slut. he likes this.

“you don’t like me, you have no right to be jea—hahhh..fuck, you can’t be jealous, you c-can’t. shit, faster, faster please noona, noona…” he whines, delirious as he gets lost at the feeling of your hand, bucking his hips, clearly getting frustrated with how irritatingly slow you’re tugging at his dick.

“i don’t. i don’t like you. i don’t like slutty men who’re bad.”

he whimpers, and fuck does that noise have you pooling your underwear.

“how have i been bad? how? i’m always good to you, i always—”

you twist your hand a little and his head immedietely falls back against the door, mouth hung open as he lets out pathetic, needy pants, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“like it? is it how you imagined it’d feel to have my hands wrapped around your cock?” you press, kissing down his jawline, hand letting out wet sounds as you jerk him off with more speed

“yes, yes, so much better noona, so much—” he chokes on his own words when you suck on his neck, feeling him let out shuddering breaths. cute.

when you use your other hand to trail up under his shirt, feeling up his muscle, you can hear him gulp, and for whatever reason, it turns you on even more.

“fuck, you’ve been trying to dom me, haven’t you?” he breathes out.

you let out an airy laugh out of your nose, grazing your thumb over his nipple, the hitch of his breath being your undoing. “i have been domming you—this entire time. what, don’t like it when a womans in charge?”

he shakes his head immediately, “no, no, i like it. i really do, i like it a lot. i like it when its you, noona.”

even when you have his mind sent to overdrive, he still knows exactly what to say to have your heart racing, it’s dangerous.

“hm?” you hum, throat dry, trying to forget the comment thats repeating over and over in your head. he likes it when its you. you scoff a laugh, “you really know how to get a girl going huh?”

“would treat you right. give me a chance noona, i’ll treat you like a queen.”

“a queen?” you laugh, then pretend to ponder on it as you play with his bud more, his dick leaking through your hand—he’s enjoying it all too much. “think would like goddess more.”

he moans wantonly when you thumb his tip, then transitioning to jacking off his shaft in frantic speed, it gets him delirious. “goddess, goddess, fuck—i’ll treat you like a goddess baby, swear.”

“sure you wouldn’t ghost me?”

his breath hitches again, head dipping into your shoulder, jaw practically hung open, mix of moans and whines spilling out of his mouth dumbly—who would’ve thought, huh? “never. so pretty, you’re so pretty and smart, and and—”

“such a slut, just want your dick touched and you’ll say anything.”

you feel him shake his head, still panting heavily as he grabbles onto you for support. he’s clingier than you expected, he holds onto you so often.

“faster…faster please, ‘m sososo close.” he sobs, his shaky breath fanning on your shoulder.

you chuckle, giving him what he wants, the wet squelching sounds heightening until he breaks. “gonna—gonna-” he spills before he could even finish his sentence, with a high pitched noise he cums in his pants, no doubt creating a big stain in the area of his crotch.

well, shit.

but when he lifts his head, a dopey smile on his face, eyes glazed over still, you think he might not mind all too much.

############

note. long overdue sub taehyun and a noona smut from me 🙏 did they fuck. no. will there be a future continuation of this au. perhaps.

[olive-main]

oooo if you’re interested would love to see your take: reader is Azriel’s mate, nobody knows. The inner circle keeps trying to set him up with females (including Elaine & Gwyn). They like reader but don’t view her as an option for being his partner. Lots of angst, she’s hurting, she overhears them saying she’s not an option for him. Up to you what happens for her and Azriel. Loved your last story, and that you wanted more angst ideas!! And if this isn’t what you’re looking for, all good!

Between Us Alone

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s mate overhears a conversation that shakes her confidence in their hidden bond, but he reminds her that love, even in shadows, is unbreakable.

Wc: 1.2k

A/N: Annndddd welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming. This time I come with the gift of some fluff (with angst ofc bcs duh—who do y’all think I am?) Enjoy the happy endings while they last…..evil laugh

——

The corridors of the House of Wind were quiet, save for the faint hum of conversation that drifted from Rhysand’s office. You’d gone looking for Azriel, hoping he might steal away from his “boys’ night” early and join you at your shared apartment.

A secret, the two of you. Hidden in plain sight. Quite fitting for Rhysand’s spymasters.

It was exhilarating at first—the quiet smiles across rooms, the fleeting brushes of hands, and the stolen glances when no one else was looking. But there were cracks now, small fissures of insecurity that made you wonder if keeping the bond private had been the right choice.

Your footsteps slowed as you neared Rhys’s office, voices clear now, though you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You were about to knock when you caught the sound of Cassian’s boisterous laughter.

“Oh, come on, Az,” Cassian said, his tone teasing. “You’ve been spending all that time with Gwyn. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Gwyn’s sweet,” Rhysand added. “And she clearly enjoys your company. You’d make a good pair.”

Your heart clenched painfully, the words hitting you like a physical blow.

Azriel’s reply was quieter, almost unreadable. “Gwyn is a friend. I’m not looking for… that.”

Cassian scoffed. “You say that now, but it’s been centuries, Az. When was the last time you even tried to let someone in? Gwyn’s perfect for you—kind, strong, clever. She gets you.”

“She’s not the only option,” Rhys said smoothly. “There are others. Nesta’s mentioned a few priestesses who would be good matches.”

Cassian nodded in agreement. “There’s also Y/N.”

You pressed your hand to the doorframe, your breaths shallow as you heard Cassian say your name.

“No, I don’t see them together. They rarely speak to each other outside of missions and a few shared words at dinners.” Rhysand says with a shake of his head as if the thought of you and Azriel together was the most unlikely thing he could think of.

You shouldn’t have stayed, shouldn’t have listened, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. They didn’t mean to hurt you—you knew that. You’d always been on the periphery of their circle, a friend but never a true equal in their eyes. Azriel’s shadows had been your sanctuary, his quiet love a solace you cherished.

But to hear them speak so casually, as if you weren’t even a possibility…

Azriel’s voice cut through, firm and unyielding. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker. I can handle my own life.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Cassian said, clearly amused.

“Drop it,” Azriel snapped, his tone brooking no argument.

The room fell silent after that, but the damage was done. You turned and fled, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step.

—

The space you shared with Azriel was small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Velaris where no one thought to look. It was your haven, the only place you could truly be yourselves without prying eyes or whispered questions.

But tonight, it felt suffocating.

You sank onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around yourself as the doubts clawed at your mind.

This charade was necessary. You both knew that. If they ever found out you and Azriel had been together for months—years, now—it would complicate everything. Not just for him, but for you.

As Azriel’s partner, you worked in the shadows as he did, your work as vital and delicate as his own. Secrecy was second nature to you both, and you’d agreed early on that revealing your bond—to anyone—was too risky.

You’d thought you could handle it. But moments like this, when they talked about Azriel’s love life like you didn’t exist, like you weren’t his, made you question how much more you could endure.

You told yourself it wasn’t Azriel’s fault. He hadn’t encouraged them. He’d even told them to stop. But the weight of their words lingered, stirring fears you’d tried so hard to bury.

What if they were right? What if Azriel deserved someone like Gwyn, someone who could stand beside him without the need for secrecy?

You didn’t hear the front door open, too lost in your thoughts to notice the familiar sound of Azriel’s footsteps until he was standing in front of you.

“Something’s wrong,” he said immediately, his hazel eyes scanning your face. His shadows swirled around him, restless and sharp. “What happened?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”

His brow furrowed, and he crouched in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Don’t lie to me.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly broke you. You looked away, your throat tightening as you tried to hold back tears.

“Y/N,” he said softly, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Tell me.”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But you couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I went to Rhys’s office,” you admitted quietly. “I was going to find you, but… I heard you all talking.”

Azriel stiffened, his jaw tightening. “What did you hear?” He already knew. There was only one part of the conversation that could’ve had you so distraught.

You swallowed hard. “They… they were trying to set you up with someone. Gwyn, mostly. Rhys mentioned others.” You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “They said I wasn’t even an option.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his shadows curling tighter around him.

“They didn’t mean it to hurt me, I know that” you added quickly, seeing how Azriel was ready to go back and pummel his brothers. “They don’t know about us. But… it still hurt.”

He exhaled sharply, standing and pacing the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “They had no right—”

“They care about you,” you interrupted. “They want you to be happy. And maybe they’re right. Maybe you’d be better off with someone like Gwyn. Someone who—”

“Stop.”

The word was a command, sharp and unyielding. Azriel crossed the room in an instant, kneeling before you again. He took your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle.

“Don’t you dare doubt this,” he said fiercely. “Don’t you dare doubt us.”

Tears spilled over, and he reached up to brush them away, his touch achingly tender.

“You are my mate,” he said, his voice breaking. “You. Not Gwyn, not anyone else. You are the only one I want, the only one I will ever want.”

“But they—”

“They’re idiots,” he said flatly. “I’ll deal with them. But don’t let their ignorance make you doubt what we have.”

You searched his face, finding only unwavering certainty in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, his voice softening. “More than I thought I was capable of. And I don’t care if they don’t see it. I see it. I feel it.”

A broken laugh escaped you, relief washing over you like a tide. “I love you too.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the world.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I never wanted you to feel like this. I thought keeping the bond private would protect us, but if it’s hurting you—”

“It’s not,” you said quickly. “Not really. I just… I needed to hear this. To hear you.”

He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “You’ll never have to doubt me again.”

——

Aren’t they just so sweet *sigh*. Thank you for reading <3

Requests are still open ;)

[starmapz]

what you know - ch2: prom queen || 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 ; 12.3k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

The sun is high in the sky, warming your skin in the crisp air. The sounds of chatter and laughter fill the campus and in the distance a student is playing their guitar. Your thoughts, however, aren’t occupied by the warmth or the idle noise that fills the air around you. Your mind is preoccupied with Sukuna.

“Honestly, I just can’t get over the fact that you actually make it sound like you had a good time with him,” Shoko comments as you make your way from your lecture to the lunch hall. Of course, you’d left out any portions of the story that felt private, things Sukuna was likely trusting you with. Even without the shreds of vulnerability he showed you, your time with him is still so uncharacteristic for how Shoko would know Sukuna.

“Well… yeah. Honestly, I did,” you admit with a shrug, casting a glance at your phone to take a look at the time. “Hold on, I need to make a pit stop.”

Shoko hums in confusion, standing at the edge of the pathway as you casually jog to wait at the fountain for Sukuna a few minutes before noon. The autumnal breeze is cool as it hits your face, leaving behind a faint blush over your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Your fashionable but functional auburn knit sweatshirt hangs loosely over your shoulders to protect you from the wind’s bite as you shift from side to side on your heels awaiting Sukuna.

A minute past twelve, you catch a glimpse of him in the distance. His hair is pushed back as usual, his leather jacket hanging over his shoulders with a plain black muscle shirt and a pair of loose jeans hanging off his hips. His hands are shoved in his pockets, expression unreadable as usual.

As he approaches, you wave with a sweet smile. He meets your gaze, barely acknowledging you with a small nod. Coming to a stop before you, he drags his backpack down from his shoulder, digging through it for the GameBoy to hand it to you.

“Thought he left it at yours,” Sukuna sighs as he passes it to you.

Taking one look at the console, you shake your head as you slide your hands over his fingers and wrap them around the device for him. He scowls at you as he realizes your meaning before you can say it.

“You can keep-”

“No.”

You blink at his stubbornness, pulling your hands back to fiddle with the hems of your sleeves. “I really don’t mind. He’s a good kid, I’d rather it go to use than rot in my drawer,” you shrug.

“He stole, he doesn’t get to keep shit,” Sukuna insists.

“Then make it some sort of incentive. Get them to do some chores and if they do, they get it.” You smile at the idea, after all it’s somewhat of a gift for both kids given that they wouldn’t need to share any longer.

“It’s yours. I’m not taking it,” Sukuna stubbornly refuses, holding it out closer to you as though he’s trying to shove it into your grip.

Like that, it clicks and your gaze softens as you look up at the man towering over you. He doesn’t want to feel like a charity case, like he owes you something. He’s trying his best to get you to take it back for the same reason he hated that you paid for dinner. He doesn’t want to feel like he needs help.

“Why don’t we say it’s a gift for you instead of them, then?”

His brow twitches, somewhat taken aback, but he doesn’t say anything, quietly listening to you as you continue.

“As a thank you for saving me from being covered in oil. Now they won’t fight over your GameBoy and you can have some peace.”

You half expect him to boil over and blow up at you for even suggesting to give him a gift when you already paid for his dinner. And really, keeping you out of the hospital is more of a common courtesy than something that’s deserving of a gift. Yet, to both of your surprise, Sukuna just stares at the console, the air between you falling somewhere between tense and comfortable.

He’s fighting an inner battle to keep himself from blowing up, but he can’t bring himself to be upset with you. The part of him that does feel some sort of anger over the situation barely puts up a fight. He knows he doesn’t want to be angry with you just for being yourself. For being kind.

He sighs, shooting you one last look of consideration before he gives in. “Thanks,” he gruffs, shoving it back in backpack.

“No problem!” You grin cheerily. “Why don’t you come grab lunch with Shoko and I?” You ask, shooting a glance at your friend smoking on the path a few feet away as she waits for you.

Sukuna follows your gaze to Shoko before shaking his head. “Nah, I-”

“C’mon Sukuna,” you interrupt what you’re sure will be a meager excuse to not have lunch with you, making a point of not using his nickname in the middle of the campus. “Just for a bit?”

His eyes roll to the side as he gruffs out a “fine,” slinging his bag over his shoulder before shoving his hands in his pockets. He follows after you with a grumpy expression as you bound back to Shoko.

“Wait, is he coming with us?” Shoko asks, more in disbelief than anything else as you nod. She doesn’t mind, but Sukuna isn’t usually seen eating in the lunch hall. More often than not, he can be found with his group of friends tucked away in a back corner of the campus where it can’t be seen that they’re smoking weed.

Then there are the rumors that he’s been seen having a quickie in some girl’s car, something you wish Shoko hadn’t told you. You’re not even really sure why you’re so opposed to that knowledge but it makes you feel some sort of way.

You fall back into conversation with Shoko, trying to include Sukuna as best as you can although he doesn’t make it easy.

When you reach the lunch hall and grab your usual table, you pat the chair beside you for Sukuna to take a seat in as you and Shoko sit and pull out the lunches you’d both packed. You couldn’t be bothered with using one of the campus microwaves so you had meal prepped a bunch of sandwiches and salads for the week.

As more students begin filing into the cafeteria, the seats beside you begin to fill as the rest of your friend group finds their way to your table. Gojo and Geto sit on either side of Shoko, sharing an uneasy glance with one another at the sight of Sukuna at your side, followed shortly after by Nanami and Haibara, who hardly seem phased by the sight of Sukuna.

“Sukuna, right? I’m Haibara!” Yu introduces himself cheerily. You can practically feel the uneasy tension of the table as Satoru and Sukuna seem to have some sort of silent battle of egos. You can’t even really be shocked by it, they’re both about as boldly egotistic as it gets.

“Hey,” Sukuna replies without casting Yu a glance.

Sensing the uneasiness of the table, you do your best to lead damage control. “Sukuna and I have been working on a project together, I thought it would be nice to have him join us!” You introduce the idea to your friends, setting your palm on his bicep. Sukuna’s muscles are tense beneath your fingers, so you squeeze his arm gently in reassurance.

He finally rips his attention from Gojo, flashing your hand a glance before his unreadable expression lands on you. Slowly, Suguru pulls Satoru’s attention to him and the tension in the air dissolves. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you take a bite of your sandwich.

When your hand leaves his bicep, Sukuna leans over the table on his elbow, chin in his hand as he stares blankly at the wall.

“Are you not gonna eat?” You ask with a tilt of your head.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

You pout, eyes filled with concern. Much to his dismay, you shove the rest of your sandwich in his direction. He curls his lip at the thought of taking more from you, shaking his head as he shoves your hand back. He can’t take more from you, not again. He can’t.

“I still have a salad, you can have it!”

Fuck, why are you so kind? And to him? Why are you so kind that he feels like he’s going crazy?

“Stop,” he grumbles, and he thinks if you were anyone else he would just walk away, so why does he tolerate how pushy you can be?

“Please?” You plead, tilting your head. You’re not sure what sort of miracle causes it to happen but with a glare, he snatches the sandwich and turns his shoulders to face the wall. Even as he makes a show of being a prick about it, you’re just glad he takes it at all.

You pull your fork from your bag with a smile and begin shoveling your salad into your mouth as you catch the look Shoko’s giving you. The way her brow is raised, eyes flitting between you and Sukuna says it all as you roll your eyes.

To your disappointment, Sukuna excuses himself shortly after finishing the sandwich, before you have an opportunity to chat with him at all. You call after him, but he doesn’t so much as acknowledge your presence. Sighing at the sight of him walking away without so much as a word to you, you can only hope you haven’t accidentally angered him again.

“What brought that up?” Geto asks curiously as the table focuses their attention on you.

“Yeah, since when does that asshole eat with us?”

“Satoru!” You kick the white-haired man from under the table. He sneers at you, crossing his arms over his chest dramatically as he waits for an answer. “He’s nice. I just thought he might want to join us,” you shrug. “He’s not an asshole.”

“Are we talking about the same guy? The guy who pretends he has charm for a night so that he can get someone to suck his dick at a party and not return the favor?” Satoru asks as he rolls his eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” Shoko teases with a knowing look, trying her best to divert the table’s attention away from your painfully obvious interest in the tattooed man as you fumble with your fork.

“At least I don’t flat out ignore anyone I sleep with afterwards.”

“Oh please, as if you’re any better. The way you greet people like they’re strangers that you didn’t fuck the night before may as well be criminal,” Geto scolds with a frown.

With a scoff and a roll of his eyes, Gojo drops the conversation, not thrilled at the idea of being roasted by the whole table. He may be the school’s heartthrob, but at this table he’s just Satoru.

You expect that to be the end of your lunches with Sukuna, but to your surprise on your way past the fountain the following day, you spot him sitting on the concrete’s edge. Nudging Shoko, you point at him and the two of you make your way over.

You walk past the courtyard fountain every day on your way to the lunch hall and you know for a fact that Sukuna doesn’t sit here. He’s in a baggy shirt and cargo pants, and you note that he looks tired again, his work likely wearing him down.

“Hey!” You greet him, bounding over with a grin. He lifts his head from what you assume is a notebook, his pencil halting as he looks you over and hums as a greeting. “You left so quickly yesterday, I didn’t get to say bye,” you pout, jutting out your lip.

His gaze flickers to your lips and back so quickly that you’re sure you imagined it. “Had somewhere to be,” he gruffs, shutting whatever he was working on.

“You should join us,” Shoko cuts to the chase, too hungry to watch you beat around the bush when clearly you wanted Sukuna to join your group for lunch again.

He contemplates the decision, but nods. When you grin up at him as he gets to his feet, he’s sure he must have gotten a head rush with how his head feels like it’s spinning. He’s not even really sure what he’s doing at the fountain to begin with, his legs brought him here without thinking twice about it.

He trails a short distance behind as you and Shoko discuss the strange lesson you had just gotten out of. Your professor has a habit of going off-topic to discuss his latest interests, which is frustrating enough as is, but on top of that, you have a test next week that both you and Shoko feel horribly unprepared for. Rather than learning about the modern revolution, you instead learned about your professor’s preferred bait to catch sea bass.

“Well if the test calls for the difference between deep sea fishing and lake fishing, I’m set,” Shoko scoffs, pulling a cigarette from a small box in her pocket and balancing it between her lips. She pulls out a lighter, sparking it multiple times to no avail, unable to light her cigarette.

Before she can groan about how her lighter’s about as useful as that class, Sukuna nudges her and hands her a lighter as he falls into step between you. Her eyes widen and she casts a glance at him before her lips quirk up into a grateful smile. Once lit, she hands the lighter back and thanks him as smoke puffs from her lips.

Sukuna hums, dropping the lighter in the pocket of his cargo pants. You don’t expect him to have anything to add to the conversation, but his deep voice catches you off-guard. “I could help.”

You tilt your head to look up at him questioningly.

“I’m a history major,” he reminds you.

“Oh!” You exclaim, lips pursed. “You know the modern revolution?”

“Mhm.”

“I-” You pause, staring straight ahead as you near the lunch hall. Of course you want to say yes, but one sidelong glance at his face reminds you just how little time he already has, and as is you’ve been taking up a lot of it recently. “Um, are you sure?”

He raises a brow as you hum and haw over his offer. “Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

It almost feels foreign to hear the man most commonly known for his shitty attitude and poor attendance offering his help in tutoring, of all things. Yet, if he’s proven anything to you over the past couple of weeks, it's that you shouldn’t be judging anyone so baselessly. After all, he may not be the most eloquent with words but Sukuna is extremely smart and dedicated.

“That would be great, thanks Sukuna!” You beam, grateful that maybe you won’t fail your test next week.

You push through the doors to the student cafeteria just as Shoko is stubbing out her cigarette beneath her foot. You and Sukuna follow her to your usual table, though as you make your way there it occurs to you for the first time that you’re being watched.

Multiple pairs of eyes follow you and your salmon-haired new friend, many giving you strange looks while others regard you with jealousy. You shrink into yourself, suddenly too aware of the eyes on you.

It’s not that you aren’t accustomed to staring on one hand, Satoru and Suguru sitting at your table earns a lot of longing eyes in your direction and you would be lying to say you don’t get your fair share of lingering stares. On the other hand, you can practically feel seething anger and envy coming from the surrounding crowd in droves, because Sukuna doesn’t sit with others at lunch. Sukuna doesn’t offer to tutor people. Sukuna to most, is an enigma. A hot one, at that. To most, he’s a cold-shouldered asshole who people would beg to sleep with.

Clearing your throat, you focus on the lunch you’ve pulled out of your bag as you take a seat. It’s still from the same group of prepped lunches from the day prior, a sandwich and salad, nothing too fancy, though your stomach growls at the sight of it.

Sukuna drops his bag at his feet, leaning forward over the table with his elbow propped beneath his chin just like the previous day. The rest of your friends file into the lunch hall shortly after you, and aside from Satoru’s clear contemptful look towards Sukuna, no one seems to think twice about having him there. Yu cheerfully greets him and Suguru offers a calm wave. Sukuna doesn’t return either, but if either of your friends are bothered, they don’t show it.

Before you can take a bite of your sandwich, you glance over at the man leaning over the table beside you. His expression is tired and distant as he stares blankly at the wall off to the side. Just like yesterday, he doesn’t have a lunch, so you push the container with your sandwich in it towards him until it nudges his elbow and gets his attention.

Sukuna blinks twice before staring down at the container. He shoves it back to you just as he had the day before.

“Take it as a thank you for helping Shoko and I study?” You plead, pushing it back towards him and insistently holding it in place. He sighs a little overdramatically and takes the sandwich, taking a bite of it and returning his chin to rest on his palm.

“You wanna do that now?” He asks as he finishes his first bite, staring sidelong at you.

Your eyes brighten and you grab Shoko’s attention with a nudge of your shoe against her leg across from you. “Come review the modern revolution with us.”

Her eyes, along with several other pairs of eyes at the table, fill with surprise and she nods as she gets up and settles on the opposite side of your new study buddy. Pulling out your textbook and notes, you open to the chapter your professor had seemingly glazed over in class.

You learn quickly that Sukuna isn’t the best teacher. He isn’t patient and doesn’t love repeating himself, but he does know the subject well. In spite of his obvious scowl when you ask him to reiterate a point, he still does so even if it’s followed by a dramatic sigh. By the time lunch ends, you have a surprisingly good grasp on the first chapter of your textbook.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you sigh as Sukuna gets to his feet quite suddenly. He doesn’t say anything, his expression unchanging as he slings his bag over his shoulder. He nods in acknowledgement and before Shoko can thank him he’s already gone again.

“You like one weird guy,” she comments as she slides into the chair he’d been occupying.

Turning your attention in her direction, you raise a brow. “I don’t like him in that way.”

She smiles, eyes shining. “Yeah, alright. You just run to him every time you see him for fun then, huh?”

“I don’t run to him every time I see him,” you scoff, shoving your notes into your bag.

“And I don’t smoke behind the lab,” she snorts, laughing when you shove her.

“Such a bad habit,” you mumble, diverting attention away from you. After all, Shoko’s wrong. Sukuna’s hot, but you aren’t crushing on him.

Not that the following day does anything to prove her wrong when you veer sharply to the right at the sight of Sukuna at his usual (as of 2 days ago) spot at the fountain.

“Hey!” You greet him as cheerily as ever as you stop in front of him. He shuts his notebook at the sound of your voice, his aloof expression shifting to one you almost don’t recognize on him- mirth. He looks well-rested today all things considered, and his shoulders seem to relax at the sight of you.

“Hey,” he replies easily, shoving his books into his bag as he gets up to trail behind you and Shoko without even needing to invite him to join you.

“You know, I’d almost think he likes sitting with us,” Shoko whispers quietly to you, casting a glance at him. He’s watching your exchange although you’re positive he can’t hear you. You do nothing more than giggle in reply.

“Care to share with the class?” Sukuna chides with a raised brow.

Just as you go to shake your head no, Shoko happily repeats herself. “I was just saying I think you like sitting with us.”

Sukuna’s expression is unreadable as his gaze flits to you momentarily before it lands on Shoko again. “I don’t have to help you study if you don’t want me to,” he replies evenly, his tone just as chiding as Shoko’s.

Her eyes widen slightly and she goes silent as she turns to light a cigarette with a new lighter. Sukuna smirks in triumph, his chest rumbling with a teasing hum. She lets you know she’ll catch up with you in a bit as she decides to finish smoking before following after you.

“How are Yuji and Choso?” You ask now that Sukuna falls into step with you as you enter the lunch hall.

He rubs a hand over his face, casting a glance around him. “Exhausting,” he grumbles, stifling a yawn at the mere thought. “Yuji’s been giving the sitter a hard time lately about going to bed when I’m not home.”

“That’s kinda sweet, honestly,” you comment as you catch sight of Haibara and Nanami already seated at the table. “He loves you.” Taking a seat beside Nanami with Sukuna on your opposite side, you quickly greet your friends before your attention returns to your tattooed counterpart. “I still don’t know how you do it all, though.”

He sighs as he leans forward on his hand, the dark circles under his eyes evident. “I dunno either.” There’s something forlorn about his tone that causes your face to fall.

You take in his expression for a moment, wanting nothing more than to offer your help but you think better of it when you recall the way he reacted the last time you offered help. “Sorry, Kuna.”

Sukuna sits pin-straight as you use his nickname, an unspoken warning in his eyes. “Don’t call me that,” he growls, his voice lowering an octave as he shoots a glance at his surroundings.

“Oh, right! Sorry,” your cheeks redden as he relaxes slowly, letting the mistake go as he realizes it wasn’t intentional. You let out a breath as you realize he’s letting it slide, thankful he’s not taking it too seriously. “I think it’s cute,” you comment with a shrug as you pull out your lunch. “The name, I mean.”

“The last thing I need is to be seen as ‘cute’.” The word is sour on his tongue as he scornfully huffs his displeasure at the nickname.

You can’t help a smile at his comment which is somehow equally as cute as the nickname itself. Before you can tease him anymore, Shoko takes a seat beside him, pulling her textbook open to chapter two of the modern revolution. It doesn’t take long for him to dive into explanations of the demise of the military government that begin to make more sense with someone explaining the subject in more broad terms than the textbook states.

At some point in his lesson, you push your sandwich towards him and to your surprise, he seems to subconsciously take and eat it. You’re grateful to see that he doesn’t make a big deal of it either. Sukuna isn’t entirely aware he took it at all, his body acting on instinct as a natural part of the new schedule that came along with joining you for lunch.

It’s heartwarming regardless to know that to some extent, you’re getting through his tough exterior.

As your next class quickly approaches, you begin to pack up and tilt your head at Sukuna. “Will I see you in Art History later?”

The tall man casts a glance at his watch. “Yeah but I’ll only have a couple of minutes after class. Choso has some…” he stares at the ceiling as he wracks his brain for an answer. “I dunno. Some thing at his school.”

“No worries! We only have the visual portion left anyway. Oh! But I did refine the written part a bit, I was hoping to go over that with you.”

“Sure,” he agrees, and just like every other day he’s striding quickly away before you can even say bye. You let out a soft sigh as you watch him leave, staring blankly at the door until Shoko nudges you.

She has a knowing gleam in her eyes as she slides into the seat where Sukuna had been. “So, lovergirl. Care to admit it yet?”

“There’s nothing to admit,” you groan with a roll of your eyes.

“Sure, sure.” She lets the silence hang in the air for a moment as she leans against the table. “So since when have you started lying to your literal best friend?”

“You’re so dramatic Sho, I’m not lying,” you roll your eyes. “There’s just more to him than people think. He’s nice.”

“He’s nice to you,” Gojo butts his head into your conversation, only to receive two glares in return.

“Shut up, Satoru,” Geto scolds the white-haired man with a scowl. You shoot him an appreciative smile, but you’re taking back the smile almost immediately as he follows up with, “I’m listening in to this Sukuna drama, don’t interrupt.”

Idiots, both of them.

“You’re equally as unbelievable,” Shoko rolls her eyes at her friend, shoving her textbook into her bag alongside you as you both get to your feet to head to your next classes. “Listen, all I’m saying is that you’ve been around him a lot lately and it’s pretty fucking obvious at this point. So I don’t know if you don’t want to admit it to the dumbasses at the table, to me, or to yourself, but you aren’t fooling me.”

“Sho seriously, I promise it’s not like that. I just… feel for him. He’s a nice guy and has way more on his plate than any one person can handle,” you insist.

“And you like him.”

“And I like being around him,” you rationalize yourself to her, staring up at the ceiling as you leisurely make your way to your next class.

“You’re lucky I need to go the other way, girl. I could fight you on this all day.”

You brush her off with a wave and smile, sighing as you’re finally blessed with silence. It’s not that you don’t love Shoko, but her incessant teasing over Sukuna is becoming a lot. Not only that, but you don’t want to begin questioning your emotions when it comes to him given that you both have enough on your plate as is. Your attraction to him is surface level, and that’s fine with you.

–

When you’re dismissed by the professor, you quickly make your way up to Sukuna, who’s chewing on a toothpick with his nose in his notebook. You take a seat next to him, knowing you won’t have much time but hoping to at least get something together for the visual portion.

Sukuna casts a glance at you, keeping his thumb on the page of his notebook he was engrossed in as he shuts it and leans back. There’s a scowl on his face as he takes a look at the time. “Y’ got ten minutes.”

He sounds grumpy, so you try to make things quick. “Right, let’s start with the visual portion, since we have about a week left.”

Sukuna hums, sitting up and setting his notebook on the surface in front of him. He taps it a couple of times in thought before he opens the page to the one his thumb had kept a tab on. Curiously, you peer at the page as he pushes the book towards you.

It’s not a notebook at all, but a sketchbook and your eyes widen as you take in the stunning art scrawled across the page. All three art pieces the two of you had chosen have been blended into one piece, with the fallen angel at the center. Your jaw drops as you pull the book closer, examining the details and the way Sukuna has shaded everything.

“You drew this?” You gasp, tearing your eyes from the gorgeous piece Sukuna has drawn to take a look at him.

“Yeah. It’s just a sketch. I’d do it on letter size paper if you’re good with it.”

“Just a- what?” You gawk at him as you stare down at his ‘sketch’. It already looks like a damn masterpiece and you’re certain you could turn it in as it is and still get a high grade. This is better than anything you had in mind, the only thing you feel guilty over is that he’s actually done the whole thing on his own, and you doubt you can do anything to help. “How can I- I don’t know how I can help with-”

“So y’like it?” He smirks, leaning somewhat closer to you.

“It’s amazing! I don’t know how I can help, though,” you admit, looking up at him with a furrowed brow as you examine his features. A muscle in his jaw clenches as he chews on the toothpick that’s still hanging loosely from his teeth, dark eyes set on the page in your hands.

“You could look after the-” he pauses, glancing around momentarily to find that there’s no one nearby when he continues. “-the brats while I work on it.”

“Is that… enough? I mean, I’ll owe a good portion of the grade to you,” you point out.

“It’s fine,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

You can’t help it, but you’re pouting at him, and he can’t help but smirk at the sight. You want to do more to help, though a break from his brothers is more than enough for him to consider the visual portion to be a group effort. Besides, he knows you edited his written portion to sound more formal. He doesn’t realize it only took you five minutes, but that’s besides the point.

“Text me when you’re free? Oh wait-!” You snicker to yourself. “Email me when you’re free?”

In an instant Sukuna is on his feet, shoving his things into his bag as you giggle to yourself. “I’m leaving,” he grumbles, throwing his hood up over his head and popping in his headphones.

“Don’t forget to email me!” You call after him. He flips you off on his way out the door, your continued laughter to yourself met with stares from the few remaining students around the room. You aren’t oblivious to the fact that you and Sukuna are… an odd pair to say the least, but it doesn’t make the stares any less uneasy as you quiet down and quickly slip out of the room not too far behind Sukuna.

–

Sukuna’s email came fairly early in the morning before you woke up. When you checked it, you smiled to yourself.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 6:34 AM off at 4. come over after

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 10:04 AM You gotta make these emails sound less like booty calls. Sounds good though!! I'll be there at 5 :) 

You’re don’t expect to ear back from him given his lack of phone, so you get ready and go about your day while you wait for four in the afternoon to pass.

To your surprise, a bit after he’s off work, Sukuna sends you his address and a teasing ‘don’t threaten me with a good time’ that sends your mind spiraling more than you’d like to admit as you stare at the screen with a pounding heart. You don’t know how to reply to the email, so you leave it be, shutting your laptop for good measure.

It’s just teasing, anyway. It has to be.

So why the hell will your heart not slow down?

You drive over to his address with a bag of takeout given the time. Sukuna’ll likely be irritated by it, but at this point you’re willing to push his buttons to show him gratitude for how much help he’s been on this project, especially if you owe what you can only imagine will be another perfect grade to his art skills.

You dial his unit number in the lobby of his apartment at the buzzer, listening to the shrill rings from the box as you wait.

“Come up!” Comes Choso’s voice over the buzzer and the door beeps as it unlocks. You smile and make your way to the elevator, glancing over each unit number until you reach Sukuna’s door.

“Come in,” Sukuna’s deep voice travels through the door. You twist the knob and realize suddenly why it was Choso who answered the buzz, and why Sukuna had insisted that watching his little brothers would be enough.

Towards the back of the apartment is a table where Sukuna’s seated, clearly trying to work on the project. Choso is leaning over the edge of the table, eyes trained on the drawing as his face is practically blocking Sukuna’s. Yuji, on the other hand, is another story entirely. He’s dangling off of his older brother’s arm, going on about something he saw on TV today. You can’t help a bubbly giggle at the sight of Sukuna’s frustrated glance in your direction. He looks like his patience is hanging on by a very thin thread.

Yuji’s head whips around to face you when he hears the door shut and he cries out your name, dropping from Sukuna’s arm to bound up to you. Choso follows shortly after, waving at you as the youngest brother runs straight into your arms. You pick him up, supporting his weight as he hugs you while you smile at Choso. You kick off your shoes, making your way over to your project partner.

“How’s it coming along?” You ask, taking note that Sukuna seems to be using more than one medium, graphite and charcoal. Peering over his shoulder, you smile at the sight. Sukuna’s got basic shapes blocked out on the page, and the fallen angel’s face started. It looks so professional that you can’t help but wonder what Sukuna’s doing as a history major.

“It’s coming,” he grumbles, leaning forward on the heel of his palm as he eyes the way you’re trying to hold up his youngest brother, while also holding onto a brown paper bag and your backpack hangs off your shoulder. “Yuji, get down,” he scolds, crimson eyes sharp as the young boy clambers down from your arms and immediately begins excitedly prodding at Choso to get his attention.

“It looks amazing so far! I brought some stuff to keep the kids entertained while you work,” you tell him, rolling your shoulder in reference to your backpack. “Oh! I also brought dinner for us all.”

Sukuna’s eye twitches. You know what’s going through his mind right now, you can practically hear it, so you elaborate before he can snap.

“I just thought it would be a nice thing to do since you’re doing the whole visual portion of the project and all I’m doing is watching these two angels.” You make sure to emphasize that he’s doing more work than you are, that this isn’t a favor, this is repayment. All you can do is hope he’ll let it slide.

Your tattooed counterpart lets his gaze trail to his brothers as you call them angels, before it lands on the bag. He frowns, reaching out to take it from you and set it on the table in front of him as he looks in the bag. You know he’s not happy, it’s about as obvious as the sun in the sky, but for one reason or another he’s holding back his attitude, and for that you’re grateful.

“I’ll eat while I work. Leave me be,” he mutters, his voice strained as he shoots you a very obvious dismissive and irritated glance.

Your smile falters as he pulls a meal out of the bag before shoving it back towards you.

“Just let me know if you need anything,” you smile hesitantly before grabbing the bag and turning back to the two boys. They lead you over to the living room, split from the kitchen and small table area by only a counter.

Sukuna’s apartment is nicer than you expected. It seems to be a two bedroom apartment with a small kitchen and living room area. It’s obviously older and a bit run-down in comparison to your apartment but Sukuna’s kept it fairly clean considering how much work he already has on his hands. There’s an old flat screen TV facing a couch in the living room, as well as a shelf of mostly kids’ movies and a couple of horror films.

You take a seat with both kids excitedly peering at you as you open the takeout bag and hand each of them a small plastic bowl with ramen. Yuji takes it giddily and Choso quietly thanks you as they begin eating.

Your night is entertaining as you look after Sukuna’s little brothers. They’re both sweet and excited to see you, and you’re more than thrilled to find them warming up to you even more. When you pulled the old GameCube out of your bag and hooked it up to the TV for them, they were both over the moon and entertained for the rest of the night, making your part of the project beyond easy.

Glancing back at Sukuna as the boys played an old kart racer, you find yourself admiring the way his broad shoulders rise and fall with each breath, sharp eyes focused on his art. His jaw would move every so often as he concentrated on the project, running a hand through his pink hair in an effort to keep it off of his forehead.

As the night closes in on all sides, Sukuna makes his way over to the couch, leaning over the back of the couch on strong arms.

“Time for bed, all of you.”

“All of us?” You tease, peering over at Sukuna. His veins are protruding obviously from his muscular forearms and you need to divert your attention as your cheeks heat up at your own thoughts.

He smirks at you, eyes somewhat lidded. After a moment, he chuckles breathily and rolls his eyes, but his attention is pulled away from you quickly by his brothers. Yuji and Choso protest adamantly with their older brother, neither of the young boys wanting to head to bed ‘so early’ as though nine is early.

“If you two go get ready, I’ll read you something before bed,” you coax in an effort to alleviate any effort on Sukuna’s part. He eyes you curiously, and though you can’t see his expression, he’s relieved that he doesn’t need to argue with the kids.

“Promise?” Yuji’s eyes are filled with wonder as he approaches you.

“Pinky promise,” you reply, extending your finger to him. He wraps his own tiny pinky around yours in a silent agreement before the two boys go running off to brush their teeth and get changed.

Silence settles between you and Sukuna, one that sits somewhere between easy and tense. There’s really no way of knowing with him whether he’s still upset that you brought dinner or not as his expression gives nothing away. You can only hope his chuckle moments ago points towards the latter.

“Are you that shit at MarioKart or did you let them win?”

His gruff voice breaks the silence with a teasing lilt that makes your lips pull into a smirk. “I let them win,” you say with a fond smile as you glance at the screen detailing your seventeen losses.

“Yeah? The Prom Queen’s a gamer?” Sukuna’s got a sparkle in his eye that you don’t recognize from the past couple of weeks of getting to know him, but it suits him. His tone is as teasing as it is cocky and it’s exactly what you would expect from someone with an ego as big as his, at least now that he isn’t so painfully sleep deprived and toning himself down to handle his brothers.

You wonder if this is a glimpse of who he really is.

… Wait, did he just call you the Prom Queen?

“Prom Queen?” You scoff, eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sukuna raises a brow. “You tellin’ me you didn’t try to get elected Prom Queen or however that shit works?”

You open your mouth in an attempt to defend yourself but you can’t manage to formulate a retort. As any chance of sparing yourself from humiliation dies on your tongue, Sukuna lets out a breath somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“Figured. I bet you ate that shit up in high school,” he teases further.

“Whatever, it’s not something to be ashamed of,” you pout, staring down at the indigo controller in your hands as you fidget with the buttons.

“So why’re you actin’ that way if you’re not embarrassed?” Sukuna pushes, smoothly hopping over the back of the couch as he leans close enough to you that your cheeks heat up from the close proximity. His eyes narrow as his smirk turns to a grin when an idea worms its way into his mind. “Holy shit, did I clock ya? You didn’t just try to get elected- you were the Prom Queen, weren’t you?” He pushes.

Huffing, you let out an exaggerated groan. “Yeah, I was. So what? It was fun.”

Sukuna throws his head back against the couch in a laugh. A genuine laugh that makes any amount of embarrassment over how easily he’d read you dissolve. His laugh is hoarse, husky in the way his speaking voice is, and you can’t help but smile despite yourself as warmth pools in your chest at the sight of him at ease and enjoying himself.

“‘Course it was,” Sukuna agrees teasingly with a shake of his head.

“I bet you didn’t even go to Prom.” There’s no way you don’t have him read like a book too, Sukuna wouldn’t possibly have gone to-

“You wanna put money on that bet?” Sukuna’s got a smug grin plastered across his face as your jaw hangs ajar. Shocked isn’t really the right word for what you’re feeling right now, but there’s certainly more to the grumpy history major than meets the eye.

“You went to Prom?”

“Don’t sound so shocked, Prom Queen,” he moves his hands behind his head, leaning back as he spreads his legs like a slut. Not that you’d say that to his face.

“I’m not- I’m just-”

Saving you from the embarrassment of trying to defend your misjudgment of Sukuna, Yuji calls out for you. Setting the controller aside, you flee from Sukuna’s side in search of the room where Yuji’s voice rang out. You disappear from the aloof man’s sight as you peer into the first of three open doors, oblivious to his gaze searing into your back as he chuckles to himself.

After a couple of moments, he sighs heavily, running a hand roughly through his messy locks. What the hell was he doing letting you into his life so carelessly? Fuck, you were helping his brothers fall asleep right now. Even for projects, Sukuna never brought anyone home. He didn’t get friendly with people either. His secrets started and ended with Uraume, his best friend, and now somehow you had wormed your way into his life and the thought of such a thing had him squirming in discomfort.

He rolls his shoulders backwards, staring at the ceiling as he listens to the sound of your voice. You’re speaking softly as you read to the boys, giggling when Yuji begins to tell you you’ve said one of the characters’ names wrong. Sukuna’s eyes flicker mindlessly over small details in the ceiling. A water stain here, a small hole from the rocket toy Choso had gotten for his birthday last year. Small details, small distractions from the real turmoil in Sukuna’s mind that he was avoiding.

You know too much about him. You’re too close. Once this project is over, that’s it. All ties cut loose, he can’t have you so close to him. He’s better off on his own, the way things have always been.

Hell, he’ll even still help you pass your test. But once that’s done and this project is handed in, that’s it. He’ll disappear. You don’t belong in his life and he doesn’t belong in yours. You aren’t two sides of the same coin, you’re cut from entirely different cloth.

You round the corner quietly after several minutes of Sukuna deliberating, smiling softly at him as you plop down on the couch beside him. “So, how’s the project coming along?”

Sukuna looks down at you, an eyebrow quirked. “Did they actually get to sleep?”

Your head tilts questioningly. Cute. Wait, cute? Sukuna shakes his head as if to shake the thought from his mind. Shit, he needs to get laid. Get these thoughts out of his head.

“Yeah, why?”

“Huh.” Sukuna taps his finger on his thigh twice. They never fall asleep without Sukuna there, even if he’s in the apartment. The neighbor across the hall who helps with babysitting always mentioned the two boys would whine and cry until Sukuna returned to say goodnight. So what makes you different?

When Sukuna doesn’t elaborate, you decide not to push, bright eyes moving behind the couch to the table. “Can I see the project?”

“Mhm.”

Your excited grin pierces his chest in a way that leaves him dumbfounded and frozen to the couch, unable to follow you as he stares blankly at the win screen of MarioKart. What the fuck was that?

Skipping off to the table, you stop and peer over the table at the mix of charcoal messily strewn along the edges of the paper in a similar style to ‘All is Vanity’, one of the three pieces your project is on, while the rest of the piece is precisely detailed in graphite. The fallen angel at the center of the piece admires himself in a skull-shaped mirror while clocks melt and litter the surroundings in a subtle manner. It’s so gorgeous and meticulously detailed that it draws your breath from your lungs in disbelief.

“Kuna,” you gasp, eyes wide as you admire the piece that Sukuna did in- what, five hours? “This is beautiful.”

The sound of your voice snaps him from his stupor and he gets to his feet, eyes trailing the length of your body before landing on the art piece. 

“You think so, Prom Queen?”

“Don’t call me that,” you mumble, unable to pull your gaze from his art.

“Don’t call me ‘Kuna’.”

“It’s cute,” you insist, finally looking up at him. He’s frowning, eyes narrowed as he watches you sit down at the table and admire the art.

“I ain’t cute.”

You choose to ignore him, instead admiring his art once more.

“That work for the project?” He inquires.

Nodding eagerly, you grin at him. “There’s no way we don’t get a good grade. This is way better than anything I could have come up with.”

Warmth pools in Sukuna’s chest, unfamiliar as it takes root in his heart at your compliment. He scratches at his chest idly as if to rid himself of the feeling, humming in response.

Silence settles over you as you lean back in your chair. You know you should probably leave, but something piques your curiosity.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you in history?”

Sukuna’s crimson irises flicker between yours in thought. He contemplates whether he wants to bother with the conversation at all but gives in and sits down at the table with you. He runs a hand through his tousled pink locks, sighing.

“My dad was a history teacher, shit’s interesting. It made sense at the time.” He doesn’t look at you, resting over the table with his temple against his palm.

“Why not go into art?” You ask.

He shoots you a sidelong glance, rubbing his hand over his face. “What the fuck am I gonna do with an art degree?” He asks. There’s no malice in his tone, he’s asking genuinely. “Shit’s no better than history for someone like me.”

“I’m not sure…” You deliberate. “Marketing or graphic design?” You offer, blinking at him.

He scoffs a laugh. “Shit’s impossible to get into. No firm wants a delinquent with attendance issues and face tattoos for an intern.”

Though he speaks matter-of-factly, there’s an underlying sadness to his tone, one that’s burrowed between layers of exhaustion and carefully built walls. He rubs his eyes, inhaling sharply.

“It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

“I think you could do a lot with your art.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “Maybe.”

“Really, I mean it when I say-”

“I get it.” He interrupts, a biting edge nipping at his tone as he shoots you a sidelong warning glance. You blink at him a couple of times, nodding slowly as you realize this is clearly a tough subject for him. Really, what subject isn’t tough with him? Sometimes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells around him, never knowing what’ll set him off next.

“Sorry,” you mumble, glancing at the art in front of you. “I just thought-”

“I don’t care what you thought,” he snarls, that last strong of patience for the day snapping. “Shit’s complicated, alright? Not everyone gets everything handed to them on a silver fucking platter.”

Hurt pangs in your chest, piercing your heart in a way you don’t expect. You know his reputation, you know he can be an asshole, but it’s still a side of him that you haven’t seen yet. You bite your lip, nodding slowly. “You really think that?” He doesn’t reply, fire burning behind his pinprick pupils. You scoff out a breathy laugh. “Right. Um- I should go.” Your voice is meeker than intended as you get to your feet and head to the living room to pack up.

Sukuna’s head is still leaning on his palm as he stares at the table, his chest rising and falling with each frustrated breath. He doesn’t say a word as the looping background music from MarioKart cuts out suddenly. You stand uncomfortably on the opposite side of the couch, shifting on both feet as you stare at Sukuna.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” You throw your backpack over your shoulder, turning to the door and flipping the lock. One last glance at your project partner tells you he hasn’t moved. You press your lips into a thin line, nodding as you show yourself out.

When you’re finally gone, Sukuna leans back in his chair, slouching back as he stares at the ceiling. He knows you’re hurt, he’s not oblivious that he snapped at you. Maybe this is for the best though. He’ll be gone from your life before the week even starts, like you never knew him at all.

–

Lunch the following day brings an uneasy feeling that settles in your chest as you walk past the fountain. You need Sukuna’s help, but when you slow as you approach the path that leads to the fixture, he’s not there.

Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach. Had he really been that hurt by your words? You hadn’t meant to get under his skin, you only intended to help- but that’s the issue with him, it always is.

Besides that, you’re not sure what’s worse- the fact that you can hardly bring yourself to be mad at him or that he hurt you in assuming that life came easily to you and you didn’t have your own fair share of struggles. Sure, you aren’t working two jobs and taking care of your younger siblings, but that doesn’t mean life is a free ride for you.

“Where’s your bad boy?” Shoko asks, scanning the clearing for any sign of the man in question as she slows to a stop beside you. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped when you turn to face her.

You chew on your lip, shaking your head. “I don’t think he’s coming.”

Shoko’s brow lifts. “Oh?”

“I think I pissed him off,” you admit, mindlessly tugging at the hem of your skirt. “Sorry. If you fail the test, then drinks are on me,” you mumble, hardly trying to mask the hurt in your voice.

“Are you alright?” Shoko asks, pushing past your insistence on buying drinks.

“Yeah. Yeah! I’m fine,” you shoot her just about the least convincing smile she’s ever seen.

“C’mon girl, I always told you he was trouble. Just didn’t think he’d break your heart before you even admitted to liking him,” she mumbles the last part, earning a scowl from you as she tugs you away from the fountain.

Plastering a smile on your face, you let her lead the way to the lunch hall, taking a seat in your usual spot. Nanami slides in beside you alongside Haibara, with Gojo and Geto only a minute behind them.

“You’re early,” Kento comments, surprising you as his mahogany gaze peers past you to where Sukuna’s been the past week or so.

“We’re always the first ones here,” you cock your head to the side, wishing desperately in this moment that you could be oblivious to the stares from the rest of the table. For all they know, he could just be sick. Or away for the day. Or at work. They don’t need to know you had a petty and stupid disagreement.

“I fucking toooold you he’s an asshole,” Gojo interrupts your thoughts with the most grating comment he possibly can and you have to shut your eyes and take a breath in order to respond evenly.

“Nothing happened, Satoru. We just finished our project and he doesn’t need to hang around anymore,” you attempt to defend yourself.

“Oh? So studying wasn’t a priority, then?” Geto has his own way of being equally infuriating. Although Gojo has a reputation for being a nuisance, it’s a wonder Geto doesn’t share that reputation.

“We-” You pause, chewing on your lip. “Finished. We finished studying.”

“I seem to recall you were only on chapter three,” Nanami comments, though his push is more out of concern for your grades than your personal business, so you don’t let it get to you.

“That sounds right,” Geto agrees, as though the ball has been passed back to his court. “Of five, isn’t that so?”

“Enough, boys,” Shoko scolds in a motherly tone. You let out a breath, thankful for the way she manages to wrangle in Satoru and Suguru. Gojo shoots you one last knowing smirk, entirely too proud of himself for something that doesn’t concern him. Geto’s final glance cast your way is more genuine. Although he enjoys teasing, it’s clear he does care. You don’t spare either of them a glance as Kento speaks up.

“I can help you study, if you need. I’m no history major but I can read a textbook and make cue cards.”

You let out a grateful sigh, smiling half-heartedly at him. “Honestly, I’d appreciate it.”

He nods as you grab your textbook and notebook, pulling it open to the fourth chapter in the modern revolution section and beginning to go over it. As you work through the chapter with Shoko and Kento, you mindlessly pull out your salad and sandwich, your attention wavering and your hunger dying as you stare at the sandwich in particular.

Something stirs deep in your chest, twisting like a knife. Not only had your attention completely faltered, but so had your hunger, and you can only hope the rest of the table doesn’t notice as you quietly return the sandwich to your bag.

–

As Friday approaches quickly, you prepare your project to be turned in, only able to pray Sukuna would bring the visual component on his own terms, otherwise you’d be fucked. Your professor is fairly old-school and prefers everything to be turned in personally, which would be fine in most scenarios, but unfortunately you know Sukuna and you know he has a habit of not showing up to class.

Maybe you should have taken the art for safe keeping.

No, that would be rude.

Sitting in your usual spot with your printed thesis and your face in your hands, you rub your features in an effort to clear your mind. Sukuna needs this grade just as much as you do, he’ll be here. You sigh to yourself, watching the clock as the minutes tick by and Sukuna doesn’t make an appearance. You can’t even bring yourself to pay attention to the professor, too caught up in your own thoughts.

With one last glance backwards, you feel your heart sink to your stomach in dread as you have to turn in your project without the visual portion. You’ve chewed your lip raw at this point from the nerves of Sukuna not showing up and the taste of iron is stark on your tongue. Running your tongue over your lower lip, you wait until the rest of the class has left to meekly make your way to the front.

“Hi, I’m really sorry but I thought Sukuna would be here and he has our visual portion, so I’m not really sure what to do.” Your voice comes out as a mumble and your professor tilts his head questioningly.

“He dropped it off this morning. He let me know he wouldn’t be at class and that you have the thesis.”

“Oh.” You purse your lips, staring down at the thesis as you set it on his desk. You can’t decide whether you’re more shocked he was so proactive, or hurt that you couldn’t talk to him. Shaking your head, you plaster a smile over your features and take a breath. “Well, here’s the rest, then.”

Your professor observes you for a moment before accepting your submission, placing it in a folder with Sukuna’s art that’s been carefully placed inside a portfolio intended to keep charcoal from smudging. Catching a glimpse of the art makes the memory of Sukuna’s frustration pop back into your head and you press your lips into a tight line, excusing yourself.

It’s over. You don’t need to see him again. You don’t need to talk to him again. You can and should forget about him.

Pulling out your phone, you text Shoko in search of some liquid therapy.

–

A full week and a half later, your life has returned to the status quo, which you’re grateful for. Sukuna is little more than a passing thought, just another project partner in another class. Back to how it should be.

You managed to pass your history test and although you owe a good portion of that to Kento, you can’t deny the fact that Sukuna had been a godsend in helping you truly understand at least the first half of the modern revolution. You had wanted to share your grade with him, but at the end of the day, you weren’t friends. You had to keep reminding yourself of that.

“I literally owe you my life, Kento,” you sigh as you stare at your grade on your screen. “I honestly think my parents would have killed me if I lost my scholarship over a bad grade in history of all things.”

He hums, a calm smile gracing his sharp features. “No problem. I’m taking that class next semester, so I suppose I’ll be prepared.” You grin, casting a glance at Shoko who’s scrolling the page in search of her grade.

“Oh thank god,” she breathes out when she finally finds her student ID, leaning forward on the picnic table you’re all at after your last class.

The days are getting colder as fall makes way for winter. Leaves coat the ground, the sound of their crunching a constant as students make their way to their next classes. A crisp breeze bites at the exposed skin of your ankles, reminding you to swap your cute heels for a pair of warm boots.

Pulling your coat more snugly over your body as the breeze nips at you, you barely notice the vibration of your phone in your pocket. Pulling it out, you stare at the caller ID with a furrowed brow.

“Who is it?” Shoko asks curiously as she takes note of your expression.

You shrug, setting the phone back in your lap. “Auto Parts and Services?” You shake your head, leaning forward over the picnic table. “Must be a wrong number. I’ve never used them and my car is fine.”

“Maybe they heard the way you called your car fine even though it rattles whenever you stop,” Shoko teases.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “It’s just a loose screw or something, it’s not a big deal.”

“I would argue a loose screw in a car is a big deal,” Nanami frowns, concern etched across his features.

You open your mouth to defend yourself when your phone rings again. Confused, you pick it up, staring at the screen. “They’re calling back,” you comment, your thumb now hovering over the green button as you contemplate picking it up. Maybe someone hit your car while it was parked? No, then you would be getting a call from your insurance, right?

“They’re probably just trying to sell you something,” Shoko shrugs. “I’d ignore it.”

Taking her advice, you nod and set aside your phone again, letting it ring. If it was important, surely they’d leave a message.

“Anyways,” you continue, “you passed?”

Shoko nods. “I don’t know how you did it, Nanami, but I owe you too.”

He smiles easily, zipping his jacket up. “You don’t owe me anything. I don’t mind.”

“I’m still gonna do something for you,” you insist with a grin.

As your phone rings- again- you start to feel as though you really should pick up.

“Is it the auto shop again?” Shoko asks as you stare at the screen.

You nod, shooting a glance at her with a furrowed brow and, against your better judgment, you finally pick up and bring your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Christ, you have a working phone but just can’t be bothered to use it, or what?”

Your eyes widen at the sound of the gruff voice on the other line. “Sukuna? You know, you could have started with a hello, or-”

Shoko and Nanami exchange a glance at the realization you’re getting a call from the very same Sukuna you’d been moping over the last week.

He audibly huffs on the other line. “Listen, I-” he cuts himself off with another frustrated huff, struggling to get through what he wants to say. “I wouldn’t be fuckin’ calling if I had anyone else to turn to.”

“Did you just call to insult me, or-?”

Another huff. “No. I didn’t mean it like that,” he sighs, shuffling on the other line. “Listen, I need-” he pauses, the silence on the line tense as he contemplates what to say. He harshly rubs his hand over his features as he finally manages to find his words. “I need a favor.”

Your jaw parts and you stare blankly at the picnic table. You should turn him down, you tell yourself. He should reap what he sowed in choosing to be rude to you, but are you even still mad about that? Were you ever mad over it? It hurt, sure, but a part of you hopes he didn’t mean to lash out. Didn’t mean what he said. You knew his boundaries and you’d pushed, even if only a little bit.

Sighing, you wonder if you’ll regret this. “What’s the favor?”

“The woman across the hall usually watches the brats while I work but Yuji just got sick and she’s ancient and doesn’t want to get sick too,” Sukuna begins to explain.

Stifling a halfhearted laugh, you shake your head. “You can’t say that about her, Sukuna,” you mumble over how he refers to the woman.

“What?” His smirk is audible in his tone. “It’s true. The point is, I can’t leave them alone. Choso can’t cook and I don’t-”

He doesn’t have money for them to order and he doesn’t want to leave them alone. You can fill in the details without him needing to embarrass himself any further than you’re sure he’s already feeling.

“I can… I can watch them,” you agree quietly. Shoko and Nanami exchange another glance.

You hear shuffling on the other side as Sukuna lets out a breath of relief. “I’ll owe you one, or whatever,” he grumbles, covering the shop’s phone with his hand as you hear someone call his name. His voice is muffled as he tells them he’ll be right there. “When you get there, just let Cho know it’s you on the call box. He’ll let you in.”

“Oh, um, yeah! Okay. When will you be back?”

He pauses for a moment. “Ten.”

You pull your phone away from your face, blinking at the clock. It’s just past three, you’ll be with them most of the night, which you don’t mind, but the lingering feeling of discomfort over your last interaction with Sukuna is one that you don’t particularly want to face now that you’ve mostly gotten over it.

“Okay, I’ll head over now.”

“Fuck, I owe you.”

“I don’t mind,” you insist. “You’re sure Choso will let me in?”

“He’s a smart kid,” Sukuna shrugs, though you can’t see it. “I gotta go. This is the shop’s number, call if ya need anything.”

“Right,” you barely manage to get out, chewing on your lip as the line disconnects.

“What just happened?” Shoko asks in disbelief, four pairs of eyes glued to you as they wait for an answer.

You glance between Shoko and Nanami. You can’t tell the truth, given that you’d promised Sukuna you wouldn’t tell anyone he was the sole caretaker of his little brothers and Kento didn’t know, so you make your reply as simple as possible.

“I’m just doing him a favor.”

“You just got over him and you’re gonna make me hear about him again? You have such a soft spot for him.” Shoko complains, as if this is about her.

“There was nothing to get over,” you groan, zipping up your coat and getting to your feet. You fumble with your keys in your pockets.

“Be careful,” Kento hums, aware he’s missing several pieces of the puzzle that is your relation to Sukuna, but still caring in the way only Nanami knows how.

You shoot him a grateful smile before making your way to your car.

The drive to Sukuna’s place has grown somewhat familiar as you pull into a guest spot at his apartment. Walking up to the buzzer, you hit the unmarked button for Sukuna’s apartment. It clicks as someone picks up, Choso’s voice sounding tired as he answers your buzz with a ‘hello?’

“Hey Cho, it’s me!” You reply, thankful he lets you in when the door buzzes. You make your way up to the apartment and twist the doorknob, which Choso has already unlocked for you.

The sound of distant muffled crying has you wincing as Choso peers up at you with a grateful expression, immediately clinging to your waist as he hugs you.

“Oh-!” You let out a small noise in surprise as he squeezes you tight.

“I dunno what to do…” He mumbles against you, pointing towards his shared bedroom with his little brother.

“That’s okay, I’ve got you,” you assure him with a gentle hug before making your way into his room with Choso latched to your leg. Yuji’s bawling at the foot of his bed, arms wrapped around his knees as he wipes away his tears.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you coo, gently stroking his hair. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

Tears trail down Yuji’s cheeks as he stops wailing at the sight of you, sniffling and wiping at his face. “Where’s Kuna?”

“Your brother’s at work, honey,” you tell him softly, kneeling down to his level to get a better look at him. You press the back of your hand to his forehead and sigh. The poor kid’s running a high fever and you doubt he can keep anything down. His breathing is uneven as the news of Sukuna being at work goes over less than ideally and he starts sobbing again. “Shh, it’s okay,” you coo with a gentle smile. “Can you tell me what hurts?” You repeat.

He quiets down for another moment, hiccuping as he points to his stomach.

You nod in understanding. “Were you sick?”

He nods, sniffling.

“That’s okay, why don’t we get you in bed?”

Yuji complies immediately, letting you pick him up and tuck him into his bed.

“Choso, do you guys have any medicine?”

The older of the two boys nods from where he’s still stuck to your leg, pointing towards the washroom. He lets go of your leg finally to lead the way, opening the cabinet beneath the sink. There’s a very messy variety of different medications and hygiene products for you to sift through until you come across children’s tylenol. That should work, right?

Returning to Yuji, you pour some tylenol into the measuring cup it comes with and hold it up for him to drink. He makes a face, though over the amount of tears and snot dripping down his face, it hardly comes across as anything but sadness.

Your heart pangs as he takes the tylenol before burrowing beneath the covers and sniffling again. Sitting on the edge of his bed, you gently rub his back. “Are you hungry at all?”

He shakes his head no. “Cold.”

“Do you have blankets, Cho?”

Choso blinks at you with a devastatingly sad look of concern before padding out of the room. The sound of a thump has you wincing and you get up to peek out of the room in time to see a walking pile of blankets. With a lopsided smile, you pick up the top blanket and find the young boy’s hair standing straight from static. Pulling the blankets from his short arms, you glance back at the pile of remaining sheets, blankets, towels, and other linens.

“Can you go put the rest of that back? I’ve got this.” Choso nods, turning away. “Thank you!” You call after him, making your way back to Yuji. With a flick of your wrists, you spread a couple of blankets over Yuji’s bed, tucking them in around him before setting the last one at the foot of the bed. “How’s that, honey?” You ask with a sympathetic smile.

Yuji manages a sickly groan, huddling further under the blankets. You glance around the room, finding a large tiger plush and handing it to him. Like an eel awaiting its prey, he reaches for it and pulls it into his pile of blankets, burying his face into it. You smile at him before shutting off the lights and backing away to the door.

“Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be in the living room with your brother,” you let the young boy know softly before shutting the door.

Choso shifts on his feet outside the door, clinging to your side again.

“Hey Cho, did you have lunch?” You ask, gently rubbing his back.

You can feel him nod against you, clinging to you tighter as you attempt to make your way to the living room, dragging your leg and the boy along with you.

“What did you wanna do?” You ask as you finally manage to drag him to the couch, relieved when he finally lets go of you to plop down on the couch beside you.

“Did you bring your GameCube?”

“No, I’m sorry sweetie,” you frown, “your brother called me while I was at school.”

“That’s okay. Can we watch a movie?”

“Sure! What did you wanna watch?” You beam at him, getting to your feet to head over to the shelf of movies. Scanning the spines of the films, there’s a few that stand out as very obviously Sukuna’s, while the rest seem to be for the boys. That being said, you also notice they’re all older, from the same era as when you were their age and you wonder if they were once Sukuna’s as well.

“Can we watch the Land Before Time?”

Ohhh he wants you to cry. “Of course!” You grin, mentally preparing yourself to watch it. You fumble under the TV for the DVD player until the movie begins before settling down to watch it, thankful to see that Choso seems to relax once it’s on, no longer occupied with worrying about his little brother.

The rest of the evening goes by without a hitch as you make pasta for Choso and soup for Yuji, who manages at least a couple of bites before going back to sleep. The older of the two boys continues to cling to you, insisting on a movie marathon. It’s getting late, but the poor boy’s clearly still concerned and you don’t have the heart to tell him to get some sleep.

With The Nightmare Before Christmas playing in the background and the clock ticking closer and closer to ten, your mind wanders to how your conversation with Sukuna could possibly go. It doesn’t feel as though there’s a world where it goes over well, so all you can truly do is sit and boil in your own thoughts, waiting for the click of the door as Choso slowly drifts off to sleep clinging to your arm.

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❦ a/n ; poor yuji :(( i hope you enjoyed!! chapter 3 will take a bit longer as i'm going to a work conference all week so i won't have much time to work on it. as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are super appreciated <33

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

[jos-has-too-many-hobbies]

One of my favorite metaphors of Glass Onion is the Mona Lisa vs the Glass Onion.

Miles is constantly comparing himself, whether directly or indirectly, to the Mona Lisa. He wants to be “forever remembered in the same breath” as her. He plays up the mystery and the complexity of the painting, the artistry, the skill and the knowledge that went into it; All traits that he wants others to see in him.

But when Miles is describing the painting, who gets the closeup shot? Not Miles, but Helen. Helen is the one who gets multiple shots throughout the movie mirroring the Mona Lisa- same pose, same unreadable expression.

Because Miles isn’t the Mona Lisa, however much he wishes he was. Miles is the Glass Onion. Something trying to look complex and layered on the outside, when in reality, the center is in plain sight. Miles isn’t some enigmatic genius, he is exactly what he appears to be at first glance: an idiotic, rich, egotistical, shithead.

He didn’t make his own puzzles, he didn’t write his own murder, he didn’t create his own art, he didn’t even come up with the idea for his company. His island is filled with things made by other people. He isn’t even the person who did the thing that will forever connect him to the Mona Lisa. The thing that will forever tie him to Helen Brand.

Helen is the one with complexity. Helen is the one surrounded by mystery. Helen is the one who’s more than meets the eye. Helen is the Mona Lisa, and the Mona Lisa destroyed herself to take down Miles Bron.

[azmageddon]

Silence (Part Two)

Pairing: Azriel x Cassian’s twin!healer! reader

Summary: It’s your turn to find the silence deafening.

Warnings: Short section of spiciness, but definitely not smutty. Also, you can pry the angst from my cold, dead, hands. Give me all the angst. Also painfully inaccurate to the original storyline.

A/n: Sorry it took so long! I’m obsessed with making everything perfect. Enjoy! Let me know what you think and what else you want to see.

“I have one for you too, Y/N.”

You looked up from where you were leaning against the wall at the back of Rhys’s office. Everyone’s eyes were on you and you could have sworn that Azriel, who was leaning against the wall next to you, had stopped breathing all together.

“Me?” you asked, confused.

Rhys only nodded, holding the invitation out further in his outstretched hand. You shuffled your way forward, Mor and Amren stepping aside to give you space. When you finally reached his desk and gripped the letter, you gave it a swift tug, but Rhys didnt let go. The two of you stood there for a moment, hands attached to the letter in a quiet tug-of-war over his desk. You caught eyes with the High Lord. They seemed to say be careful before he finally released the envelope.

Worry hummed across the bond, mixing with yours and sitting in the pit of your stomach. Turning back toward your spot in the back of the room, you risked a quick glance up to Azriel and saw concern plain on his face.

“Watch your face,” you reminded him in his mind and he quickly returned to his stoic, unreadable expression. “Wouldn’t want to blow our secret over a silly invitation, would you?” You tried to keep the conversation light and carefree, but it was difficult when dread had crept into your mind. If Azriel felt your nervousness, he didn't acknowledge it.

“You know,” he replied, “I’ve been rethinking keeping this a secret. Don’t you think it’s time they knew?”

“But it’s so much fun sneaking around.”

You could feel Azriel’s metaphorical eye roll through the bond and suppressed a chuckle while you took your place back against the wall. “I just thought it would be nice after keeping it a secret for nearly 400 years. But we can talk about this later. Open the letter so I can read it, too.”

You did as he asked, slipping your finger under the delicate fold of the envelope and pulling at the wax seal until it released with a pop. Slipping the invitation nestled inside, you turned it around so as to read the looped cursive sprawled in fluorescent gold ink across the page. You felt Azriel shuffle closer to get a better opportunity to read over your shoulder.

Y/N,

It is with great pleasure that we request your presence at the Masquerade Ball hosted by her majesty, Queen Amarantha of Under the Mountain. Please kindly reply within a fortnight. Punctuality is of the utmost importance.

“I don’t like the look of this,” came the voice of your mate in your head.

***

“How do I look?”

Azriel’s eyes snapped up from the book he was reading and instantly dragged themselves across your body. A groan from deep in his chest vibrated through the room and you were hit with a wave of arousal across the bond.

“Down boy,” you teased, stepping toward the vanity at the corner of the room to touch up your makeup. You felt Azriel’s eyes glued to you as you moved. Your dress, dark and revealing, was something Rhys insisted you wore to the party. You were used to outfits like this, the fabric accentuating your full hips and showing off your years and years of hard training. It reached up over the curve of your breasts and plummeted, reaching nearly low enough to expose your belly button. The Night Court demanded respect from those outside the bubble that was Velaris, and your High Lord chose to express the Inner Circle’s blind confidence through dress.

“Gods, if I knew you were going to wear that I would have argued with Rhys more to let me accompany you two.”

You sat at the vanity and reapplied your lipstick. From over your bare left shoulder came a lone tendril of Azriel’s shadows. It snaked along the curve of your collarbone and circled around your neck a few times before settling itself snuggly around your throat like the most priceless of necklaces.

A shiver went through you as the shadow gave a gentle squeeze. “Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t insist on you and Cassian to join us. You’d have thought he would use this opportunity to show off the strength of the Night Court to the other courts.”

Quiet as his shadows himself, Azriel’s large fingers slowly replaced the wisp of temporary jewelry. It dissipated at its master’s touch, and his hand gently, but firmly, tilted your head back so as to give him better access to the pulse point currently beating wildly at your neck. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear and you let out a soft moan.

“I’d like to see you out of that dress,” he whispered against your skin.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard at his words. A quick nip at your skin had you gasping out a response. “I can’t,” you managed. “Rhys will be here any second.”

Azriel trailed a rough calloused finger along the membrane of your wing and you felt a flush of desire and pleasure run through your body. The need for him flowed through your veins and it seeped deep into your bones. He could tell your willpower was faltering. Every emotion and neediness that you felt was pouring through the bond into his own soul.

“So tell him you’re not ready yet. I won’t take long.” Another nip at your skin, this time at the cleavage of your breast, had you nearly giving in. Your eyes fluttered closed and your chest heaved as he peppered kisses along your neck. But before you could utter another word, there was a knock at the door.

“Y/N?” came the voice of your High Lord. “Are you ready?”

Knowing neither of you could actually delay your departure, you sprung apart. Jumping up so quickly, you felt your chair tipping backward, only to be caught by one of Azriel’s shadows.

“One minute!” You called through the door and turned back to your mate.

“You have to go,” you whispered in a rush, quickly grabbing your bag from the bed and your shoes from their place beside the closet. “You’re not supposed to be in here!”

In your frantic dash across the room to retrieve your items, Azriel gripped your shoulders, halting you. His lips crashed into yours, passionate, hungry, and hurried. It left you breathless and you gasped for air as he pulled back, traces of your lipstick staining his own lips.

“Later, Shadowsinger,” you whispered as you reached up on tiptoe to place your lips against his again, more gently this time.

“I’ll meet you at the exit to say goodbye with the others,” he said into your mind and, stepping into a swirl of mist and shadow, he was gone.

***

“Az, the Autumn brothers are here.” Across the bond, you felt Azriel perk up. He must have been focused on something, perhaps reading a report or reviewing paperwork for his next mission. But at the sound of your voice in his head, you could feel his attention shifting to your gossip.

“Did they dress up?” he asked. “Please tell me Eris came as something ridiculous. Like a chicken or something.”

“Gods, no.” You suppressed a smile and glanced over at the heir to Autumn Court. The only costume he wore was his flaming red hair and permanent scowl on his face.

“Actually,” you continued across the bond, “It looks like Rhys and I aren’t the only ones who refused to dress up. In fact, the only ones who have costumes are the Spring Court.”

Amarantha was saying something, servants coming around to pass out wine in goblets that rivaled the finery of Rhy’s own private collection. You took one without thinking but hesitated before taking a sip. You recalled the words toast and finest wine coming from your hosts lips at some point. When your High Lord, who hadn’t left your side all night, didn’t drink from his yet, you followed his lead.

You barely paid attention all night, anyway. One arm constantly linked into your High Lord’s, you had to play the part of the mysterious, ruthless, second-in-command of the Night Court. Not many outside of Velaris knew much about you, except that you were an exceptional healer and twin the Night Court General. You played the role Rhys had expected you to, and Gods, did you play it well. Not a male in the room could take their eyes off of you, with your long flowing hair, curvy, yet muscular, body, and strong, unclipped Illyrian wings.

But frequently, you found your thoughts drifting back to your mate and the strong fingers you had wrapped around your throat a few hours ago. You hoped they would find their home there again upon your return to The House of Wind later tonight.

A wave of arousal hit you that wasn’t entirely your own and you realized Azriel must be having the same thoughts.

“Having fun without me, Shadowsinger?”

“Just remembering you in that dress,” came Azriel’s voice, low and sultry. “And all the ways I could take it off of you later.” You nearly choked on the breath you took. Rhys cast you a look out of the side of his eye, but you ignored it because Azriel was still speaking.

“Or maybe you can leave the dress on. It doesn’t offer much coverage, anyway.” His voice was growing darker, deeper, and more sensual with every word. “Or maybe the heels. Just the heels.”

You shook your head to clear it, attempting to focus on whatever Amarantha was saying in her toast. Wealth… happiness… friendship… blah blah blah. You ignored her sentences, picking up only on a few words. You did manage to make out her command to drink! before you caught eyes with Rhys. They portrayed something you couldn’t quite read. Sadness? Regret? You must have missed a part of her speech that was important.

Deciding to ask him about it later, you took a swig of your glass along with all the others in the chamber. The wine was sweet, thick like honey, and coated your throat on its way down. In fact, you felt it coating your entire body like a warm blanket. It worked its way into your bones and after a few moments of warmth, you felt the feeling turn to ice.

Icy tendrils shot through your limbs and you ruffled your wings to try and dispel the feeling. But it only became stronger and stronger until finally you felt a deep, soul crushing, emptiness. Quick as it began, the feeling was gone, and with it, the hum of the bond in your chest.

“Azriel?” you called to him. But no response came. Panic seized you and you clutched at your chest with your free hand, your other wrapping tighter around the arm of your High Lord. He was turning toward you now, saying something, but you ignored him. In fact, the entire chamber had erupted into chaos. Voices were all around you, angry and yelling. But the one voice you called for again and longed to hear was silent.

You didn’t know what it felt like to have a bond that was closed. You only knew that this was far, far worse.

“Y/N.” The sound of your name jolted you from your panicked soul searching. You looked up, catching eyes with the High Lord.

“Azriel,” you whispered out loud to him.

“What?” He asked, hands on either one of your shoulders, steadying you.

“Azriel,” you repeated to him. “He’s my mate.” The truth came tumbling out of you. The secret the two of you had kept for 400 years suddenly seemed foolish.

Rhys shook his head, not understanding your words. “Your mate?” He asked, confused. “For how long? Does he know?”

You nodded, tears suddenly filling your eyes. You pushed against the golden thread that tethered the two of you together, but it only ended in darkness. “We’ve been mates for nearly 400 years. We’ve kept it a secret for… oh Gods, Rhys, what has she done?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it closed. He looked over your shoulder and you whirled, finding Amarantha standing there.

“Oh, my dears,” she began, her voice scraping across your ears like nails against stone. “The two of you are just lovely, aren’t you?”

[tokkiwrites]

summary: joel witnesses yet another fight between you and your dad, and frankly, he's tired of the way you've been talking to your old man. so he decides to teach you a lesson.

tags: pwp, dbf!joel, daddy kink, brat taming, spanking, age gap, p in v (unprotected yikes!), degradation, pet names, dirty talk galore!, creampie, head (f receiving), a short fight scene, family problems kind of, mean joel kind of.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ happy spookytokki kinktober!! the third and most anticipated one i think!! dbf joel wowza! 3.46k words of just pure smut >:) hope u likey! if u see any errors..no u dont.

“You’ve always gotta push every button, don’t you?” he snapped, his words flaring like sparks off dry wood. the kitchen boomed with both your voices. “Can’t you just do what’s best for once?”

You felt your pulse quicken, anger twisting up inside you like a coiled spring. “What’s best?” you spat back, incredulous. “You mean what you think is best, don’t you? God, Dad, you can’t keep treating me like I’m some clueless kid who needs his hand held!”

His face flushed a deep red, brows pulling tight together. “If you didn’t act like a kid, I wouldn’t have to! You wanna run off and live some big-shot life, fine. But don’t you dare act like I’m the one in the wrong for worryin’ about you.”

Before you could bite out a response, the sound of a chair creaking interrupted you. Joel shifted where he sat in the living room, the leather of the old armchair groaning under his weight. He hadn’t said a word since the argument began, just sat there with his arms crossed and a distant look on his face. Now, though, he glanced over, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before sliding back to your father.

“Maybe…” Joel’s voice was low, that drawl he had stretching the word out slow and easy. “Maybe you both wanna step back a bit. Cool down some.”

Your father exhaled, frustration radiating off him in waves, but he gave a terse nod, like he knew there wasn’t any use arguing anymore. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Probably for the best.”

He threw one last look your way—one full of hurt and something else, something that looked a lot like regret—before turning sharply and stalking out of the kitchen. The front door opened and then slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the house.

You stood there for a moment, the silence thick and oppressive. Then, with a growl of frustration, you spun on your heel and stormed down the hallway to your room. The door banged shut with a sharp thud, and you collapsed onto the edge of your bed, breath coming in quick, angry bursts. You hated that he could still get under your skin like that, twist everything you said, and make you feel small, childish.

Minutes ticked by, your thoughts a jumbled mess of resentment and guilt, when you heard a soft knock on your door. It was barely more than a tap, but it sent a jolt through you. You sat up straighter, glaring at the door.

“Come in,” you said, voice flat.

The door creaked open, and Joel stepped inside, the light from the hallway casting his shadow long across the floor. He closed the door behind him, leaning back against it with his arms crossed over his chest.

“He’s gone,” he said quietly, his accent thickening his words. “Gone off to cool his head, like he always does.”

You just huffed, crossing your arms. “Good. Let him stew all he wants.”

Joel’s gaze flickered, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You know, you sure got a smart mouth on you,” he drawled slowly, each word rolling off his tongue like honeyed molasses. “Always did. But there’s a fine line between standin’ up for yourself and bein’ plain disrespectful.”

You stared at him, taken aback. “Disrespectful?” The word tasted bitter on your tongue. “He’s the one who—”

“—who’s worried ’bout his little girl.” Joel’s voice was steady but firm, cutting through your protest. He took a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. “Look, darlin’, I know you’re frustrated. And I know he ain’t the easiest man to deal with. But the way you talked to him back there? That’s somethin’ you oughta be ashamed of.”

Heat flared up your neck, your pulse pounding. “I’m not ashamed. He never listens to me, Joel! No matter what I say, it’s like—”

“Don’t matter if he’s listenin’ or not,” Joel interrupted softly, shaking his head. “There’s a right way to talk to your folks, and that wasn’t it.”

You swallowed hard, struggling to hold his gaze. “So, what, you’re on his side now?”

Joel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his brow furrowed like he was tired of this whole conversation. “Ain’t nobody pickin’ sides here. But I’ll tell you this—you sounded like a brat, plain and simple.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart lurching. “A brat?”

“Yeah,” he drawled, the word drawn out and almost lazy. He took another step closer, his gaze sharpening. “Actin’ like you know it all, like you’re too good to hear what he’s got to say. I get it—you’re grown, got your own ideas. But a little respect don’t hurt none.”

Something about the way he was looking at you—like he could see right through the front you were putting up—sent a strange thrill skittering down your spine. You shifted on the bed, your breath catching as he moved even closer, the distance between you shrinking to just a few feet.

“I don’t need a lecture from you,” you murmured, the words lacking their usual bite.

“Maybe not,” Joel agreed softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “But I reckon you need someone to remind you how to mind your manners.”

Your heart pounded hard against your ribs, the room suddenly feeling too small, too hot. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Joel’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Means you’re actin’ like a spoiled little girl who needs to be put in her place. Someone’s gotta teach you how to behave.” You swallowed, pulse racing as you held his gaze, the challenge hanging thick. “And you think you’re the one to do that?”

“Maybe,” he murmured, voice rough. “Guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” There was something dangerous in the way he said it—something that sent your heart and head into a frenzy. You knew you were treading into territory you shouldn’t, but the pull was quietly simmering beneath the surface.

It was hard to ignore how close he was now, standing just a few steps away, his broad frame taking up so much space in the room. You tried to look away to push down the tension that was building, but your body betrayed you. You wanted to deny it, the way your pulse quickened when he spoke to you like that. The way his presence—strong and steady—always made you feel something you weren’t sure how to handle.

“I don’t need you telling me how to behave, Joel,” you muttered, but your voice lacked its usual edge. His lips quirked up, his eyes dark as they held yours. “someone’s gotta.”

Joel was always calm, always collected, but there was something in his voice that you couldn’t shake off, and it only made the knot in your stomach tighten. He took another step toward you, and you could feel the air shift. “You’ve always had a way of pushin’ boundaries, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice tickling you, “but there’s a fine line between speakin’ your mind and actin’ out.”

You bit your lip, unsure if you wanted to push him away or let this go further. You’d always had a thing for him—Joel wasn’t just any man. He was the kind of guy who was steady when everything else wasn’t. Rugged, manly in a way that most men your age couldn’t pull off, and there was something about him that made you feel both safe and completely off-balance at the same time. It was a crush you’d tried to bury, but moments like this made it impossible to forget about it.

Your heart raced in your chest, a wild rhythm that matched the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. Joel had always been a figure of strength, a constant, rugged presence in your life. you’d always admired him from far, always found yourself drawn to him, even when you tried to deny it. That unspoken crush, the way your gaze lingered on him longer than it should, the way your stomach twisted when he called you "darlin’." It had been easy to brush off before to keep it hidden in the safe corners of your mind. But now, those feelings were too close, too raw, spilling over into the silence between.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumbled, but even to your own ears, it sounded weak. Joel’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, and before you could pull yourself together, he stepped closer. Close enough now that you could feel the warmth of him, his presence filling the space around you until it felt like you could barely breathe. his smell was suffocating, making your lungs burn.

“I think I know exactly what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, "You do too. And since your daddy didn't teach it to you, it seems like i need to take the brat out of you." His gaze didn’t waver, his words deliberate, each one sinking into your heart like they were meant to. Your breath got stuck as his words settled over you, thick and heavy like a weight you weren’t quite ready for. The air in the room wrapped around your throat like a chain.

His eyes bore into yours, and you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. His presence seemed to swallow everything else—the fight with your dad, the anger simmering in your chest, the stubbornness you wore like armor. Now, it all felt fragile, like glass under pressure. And Joel, standing so close, felt like the force about to shatter it.

A shiver rippled down your back, and you felt disarmed. Your body betrayed you—heat rising in your cheeks, your heartbeat so fast and loud you were sure he could hear it too. You wanted to protest, to say something sharp and cutting, to remind him he wasn’t your father and didn’t get to tell you what to do. But the words got stuck.

There was something in the way he looked at you now—unflinching, steady, like he had all the time in the world to watch you break. You’d never felt so vulnerable, so completely exposed. And yet, beneath that vulnerability, a dangerous thrill settled through you, a pull you couldn’t quite explain. It was wrong, wasn’t it? To feel this way, to let his words, his presence, affect you like this.

But you did let it affect you.

Joel scanned your face as if he was waiting for something—for you to break, to push back, or to surrender. You felt exposed under his gaze

And God, the way he stood there—so solid, so sure of himself. You had never felt smaller, more out of control, and at the same time, more drawn to that feeling of submission. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the abyss, knowing you shouldn’t jump but feeling the undeniable urge to fall anyway. fall into him.

"So here's how this is gonna go. While your dad is out to cool off 'm gonna teach you some manners, and when he comes back, you'll be good and ready to apologize." His calloused fingertips trace the side of your face. "How's that sound, angel baby?" You wanted to reply, to say something. this all felt like a dream, granted, a dream you didn't want to wake up from.

"Stayin' quiet now won't save your pretty ass, girl." Joel tuts, fingers slowly tangling themselves around your locks, pulling at them to make you look up. it made it hard to think straight. " I'm sorry.." And he chuckles at your words. "Now that's somethin'...so you can apologize." he said, almost mocking you. truthfully, him talking to you this way made all of your thoughts fuzzy, so you were basically on autopilot. the ends of your brows tie in a frown, unable to say anything more.

"Get up." Joel taps the side of your shoulder, his stern tone deafening the ring in your ears. "W-why?" You stammered. he rolls his eyes and tugs lightly on the blouse you had on. "Cause I'm 'bout to teach you a lesson. So you learn that being a brat has consequences. I ain't as soft as your dad."

Slowly, you shifted, pushing yourself off the bed, your legs shaky beneath you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stood in front of him. As soon as you were upright, Joel’s hand released you, settling himself down on the edge of your bed, the place where you'd just been sitting, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The bed dipped under his weight, his broad shoulders taking up more space than they should, and your eyes couldn’t help but linger on him for a second longer than you intended.

"Bend over." You swallowed hard, eyes widening. "Excuse me?" You could believe what he just saidㅡ" Surely you were dreaming. It's like he crawled into the deepest space of your brain and digged in there to find the exact ways to make you fold. "C'mon, i ain't got all day. And your dad is probably coming back soon. So bend over." Joel said whilst patting his thick thighs, signaling you to settle on them. Every part of you was attuned to him—his voice, his movements, the way he looked at you - so you obey.

with shaky movements, you bend over his legs, your behind perked up and back arched. you feel his palm on the small of your back, spreading warmth through your body, before he fully moves it down to pull on the hem of your pants. "Can I take these off, sweetheart?" Your heart trembles, eyes closing as you mutter a soft 'yes'. Joel drags your pants down to your folded knees, along with your underwear, the sudden cold feeling enveloping your skin. "Look so pretty like this, baby." joel leans in, trailing soft kisses down the curve of your spine all the way to your lower back. your body jolts as you try to remain quiet.

with no warning, he pulls his hand back and settles in with a hard smack on your sizzling skin. the harsh hit priks at your skin as it reddens, and you can't help but let out a soft yelp. "Count for daddy." and it takes you off guard, but you comply.

"o-one." joel hum, rubbing that spot before delivering another slap. "Two -" three slaps, then four, then five more, and you turn into a teary, weeping mess. how beautifully you splayed yourself onto the man's lap, each jolt of your body inviting him further in. for him, it was over in seconds, but for you, it felt like an eternity before you heard his voice again.

"Up. And bend over." in no time, you're bent over the edge of the bed, ass up and face flush with the mattress. the cold air hits your exposed cunt and your skin still hurts where he spanked you. He grips your hips, nails digging into your soft flesh, and you can feel his hardon resting between your legs. "This pussy is crying for me, huh?" he's cocky with the way he says it, two of his fingers gathering up the glistening liquid from your puffy lips, then bringing them to your mouth. "Be a doll." he's playing with you, but you? you do as you're told because he has you so drunk on him, in a way you've never felt before. you lick around his digits, tasting yourself and he delivers a proud slap to one of your asscheeks. "You pretty brat." back behind you, he crouches on one knee before drawing a long strip from your sensitive clit to your entrance with his tongue, the same two fingers you had licked, now slipping inside of you.

your back arches as a wave of pleasure breaks over your body like water on a shore. his licks are now concentrated on your bud, fingers quickening their pace as Joel hums at your sweet taste. You moan and writhe, that familiar warm feeling building up inside of you again. but as soon as you were there, he stopped, pulling back to see the shaky, wet mess you were. "P-lease, daddyㅡ"

he tuts, slapping your plush thighs. "You take what I give you. don't get greedy. You're lucky if I'm gonna let you come at all right now. this is supposed to be a lesson." the pain of that sick pleasure envelopes you and you sit with your cunt exposed as you hear Joel fumble the pockets of the pants he had already taken off. 'condoms' he mumbled, as if he knew what you were thinking.

"I'm clean.." You manage a whisper. "And on birth control." he sighs in relief. "Good." You can feel he is less tense now, his presence still behind you. with no warning, he flips you over, back on the bed and ass on the edge of it, that had your legs settle around his hips with ease. "Spread 'em." So you do. you spread your legs as much as you can, giving him a full view. Joel smiles, thumb back to rubbing circles onto your clit. "You're so beautiful." it was so sincere, so sweet you could almost taste it.

his gentle gaze soon got replaced by the hungry one he had all this night whilst staring you down. Finally, he aligns the tip of his shaft with your entrance and slowly pushes the tip in. Your breath got stuck into your throat, from the feeling laden with thornsㅡ Every prick of discomfort is countered by an unexpected surge of delight. Your tears fall down onto the mattress under you, little moans gripping your throat as he slips inside further. "You're okay, baby, you're okay. C'monㅡ" he assures you, asking you to surrender. "Take it all- theere we go.." Joel praises, lifting your hips a bit to get a better angle. He moves gently, each stroke hitting deeper within your core, the pain soon converging with ecstasy right as he alerts his movements.

you wrap your legs around him loosely but he takes you by your ankles and almost folds them over your stomach, providing him a better position to pound straight into you, hitting that sweet spot on and on. his hips dive down, one of his palms snaking up and wrapping itself tightly around your throat. your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, baby, knew you could take it. Now you gotta apologize for being a little brat." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each timeㅡ your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made wrapped around Joel.

"C'mon baby, say it, say what i wanna hearㅡ fuck." he hammered deep into you, the trinkets from your bedside table clinking soft melodies, as Joel held you by your hips. "I'm s-orry, daddy! I'm so sorryㅡ" you sob, trying your best to be coherent. "That's it, good girl, good fucking girl."

Feeling you tightening, the hand that was around your throat slips down to your clit, while the other makes you spread your legs wide again for easier access, giving you a chance to take in a big gasp of air. "want me to breed this pussy, huh? fill you up with my babies? maybe then youll learn to behaveㅡ shit!" the room spins around you, body floating as if ready to plummet back down, you try your best to reply. "yes, yes- please, please, daddy, I'm sorryㅡ"

"Dirty fuckin' girl. Go ahead, 'f daddy." the man succeeded to say, between his breathy groans. "Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you so much daddy!" you say as if praying to him whilst he keeps fucking into you. he pounds into you as you come down from your high, your body almost too limp to register your surroundings. he slap your thigh, strong grips now onto your breasts as he comes ropes inside of you, then he pulls his length out of your pulsing walls, some come landing on your stomach.

and for a moment there was silence. this really just happened. joel pulls out and watches intently as his seed drips out of you, your body beautifully splayed out right under him. You squeeze around nothing, licking your lips, as you feel the warm trickles of come dripping from your stomach to your chest due to your position. you're both quiet for a bit, catching your breaths, as he scoots you better on the bed. "shit, babyㅡ look at that. so pretty." he smiles kissing your shoulders, "so pretty like this, f' me."

"I'm sorry for being a brat.."

" 's fine, baby. if you're too good i won't have any reason to punish you anymore. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

you wouldn't, indeed.

[femmeroll]

✦•·················• 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐳 •·················•✦

abby anderson x fem reader | wicked au

wicked has taken over my brain completely this week and i had this idea while watching gelphie edits on tiktok! i might make this a series if it does well 🤍

your arrival to shiz was nothing short of magical. the scenery is something out of a storybook, the buildings resemble the palace from your favorite fairytale.

you step off your boat, kissing your dear parents goodbye and stepping into the quad with as much courage as you could muster. it’s overwhelming, truly, being thrust into a new environment.

the illusive madame morrible takes center stage, introducing herself and welcoming us all.

“welcome, students, to shiz university. your roommate assignments are posted at each corner of the quad.”

you walk over to one of the signs, searching for your name. you hope whoever you’re paired with is nice enough. that’s what you had the most trouble with. you heard stories of girls being stuck with awful roommates at shiz. your finger trails the list until you spot your name.

y/n and abigail anderson

abigail. okay. a new best friend, perhaps? you wonder what she’s like. what’s her major? does she play sports? is she more introverted or extroverted?

the room is on the second floor. you carry your pink bags up the stairs, eyes landing on room 201. opening the door brings a bright smile to your face. it’s gorgeous. the dark wood and floral ceiling details make your heart swell. it’s perfect.

the door clicks, and your eyes widen.

at least five foot ten, skin adorned with the cutest freckles you’ve ever seen. her biceps strain the fabric of her shirt. she has a stoic expression on her face, practically unreadable.

“you must be abigail! i’m y/n, it’s great to meet you” you greet her, glossed lips perking up in a sweet smile.

“uh, yeah. that’s me. just abby” she replies awkwardly. she looks around and sees what you’ve already set up. pink desk, pink vanity, pink bedding and a closet already filled to the brim with frilly pink clothing.

she sighs, opening her bags and getting her side of the room ready in silence. she’s the complete opposite of you. no decorations apart from a framed picture of her and a middle aged man, assuming her father. her clothes are plain, a lot of grays and blacks.

“so…” you start, “what’s your major? i’m in sorcery.”

“same” she replies shortly. you find her disinterest with you a bit strange. she doesn’t even look at you as she speaks, focused completely on unpacking.

“are you taking oz history? i have it at eight tomorrow with dr. dillamond.”

“yeah, same” she says. “i’m a morning person, so i should be fine.”

you smile. even if it’s small, her adding to the conversation is worth something. you hope that she’ll warm up to you eventually. you’ve always been friendly, and maybe some of that will rub off on your new roommate.

the first week of school at shiz is decently successful. you make some friends, meet your professors, and your adjusting just fine without your parents. abby, however, is still an issue. she leaves early for your shared class, seemingly so she doesn’t have to walk with you. she eats in the dinning hall by herself, studies in the library alone, and never talks to you without being prompted. she doesn’t even interact with you in spells and sorcery club.

you’re so frustrated. why doesn’t she like you? is she just bad at making friends? you don’t understand.

on sunday evening, while abby is at the library, you get ready for bed. you slip on a silk, pink nightgown and matching pink slippers. you grab a pen and paper, and begin writing.

dearest mumsie and popsicle,

this week has been good, but my roommate is not fond of me. i’m trying to be friendly, but i thinks it’s safe to say that she detests me. i miss you both dearly, i can’t wait for oz day break!

love,

y/n

the door opens, and abby eyes you up. you look so pure in your little nightgown, holding your pink pen. it makes her skin crawl, her face flush, and her head reel. she has a hard time describing her feelings towards you. but she settles on one word.

loathing.

she loathes the fact that you occupy her thoughts. she loathes the fact that she can smell your sweet perfume in any room you were in before her. she loathes how social you are. she loathes how effortlessly pretty you are. with your stupid makeup and stupid pink dresses that barely reach your mid thigh. she loathes how kind your words are. loathes how every word you say sits in her head for hours. it drives her insane.

“hi, abby. how was your studying?”

“it was fine. i’m no good at history.”

you giggle. god, she loathes that adorable giggle too. “aren’t you from the emerald city? i assume it was shoved down your throat.”

“i guess so,” she sighs. “i kinda tuned it out. it being shoved down my throat had the opposite effect.”

“i could help you, you know. i’m good at history.”

abby huffs. why are you so insistent? she doesn’t need help. from you or for anyone. but when you look up at her with those precious eyes, her mouth opens before her brain even works.

“that’d be great.”

you internally cheer. finally, you’re getting somewhere!

“good! we can go to the library tomorrow.”

that next week, you and abby spend every day in the library. while the conversations are mostly about oz history, you learn a little bit more about abby. you learn that she likes to read old books. she plays desertball in her free time. she takes walks off campus often, with no destination. she just enjoys being outside.

around eight pm on friday night, you and abby are still in the library. it’s empty, besides the two of you and the librarian.

“you’re really improving, abs!” you smile, sneaking in a new nickname. “i think you’ll do great on monday’s quiz.”

there you go with those sweet words. the words that make abby’s stomach twist.

“a bunch of us are going down to the ozdust tonight. do you wanna go?”

“i don’t think so,” abby replies. “not really my scene.”

you pack up and start walking back, a bit disappointed.

“if you won’t come, will you at least help me pick a dress?”

“uh…i guess so.”

back in the dorm, you hold up three dresses. one is pink sequin, one is pink with with lace, and one is white with pink flowers.

“i think i should try them on, so you can see what they really look like.”

abby’s mouth goes dry the second you start taking your uniform off, face to face with your pink lace bra and matching panties.

that’s the final thing abby loathes.

how much you turn her on.

she doesn’t mean to look at you like that, but she just can’t help herself. every time she sees you in your tiny dresses, her eyes linger. when you come back from the communal showers with your pink silk robe, her brain short-circuits at the thought of you being completely nude underneath. it drives her insane.

“abby? what do you think of this dress?”

she snaps out of her thoughts, you’ve already put one of the dresses on. you look gorgeous, the dress highlights all your curves, the lace on the sleeves is absolutely stunning.

“u-um…it looks nice. really nice.”

you giggle. “i guess i’ll go with this one, then.”

abby sits on her bed while you get ready, curling your hair and applying your makeup. she feels sick. you’re so nice, you look so pretty, and now she has the imagine of you in nothing but a bra and panties burned into her brain. and you’re going out in that tight dress and abby feels like her head is gonna explode.

“i’ll be back before midnight. bye abby!”

she waves goodbye and collapses onto her pillow the second you leave.

she tries to calm down. she goes to the gym, she takes a freezing cold shower, she studies for her remedial sorcery class, but no amount of distractions will get rid of the picture of you in her head. she loathes this feeling. maybe she loathes how you make her feel, not you yourself.

she’s trying to sleep, but every time she closes her eyes she sees you. and then her imagination starts to go against her will.

“abby, will you take my dress off?”

“abby, you’re so muscular and strong.”

“abby, please kiss me.”

“abby, you make me feel so good-”

her thoughts are interrupted by the door swinging open. there you are, hair slightly frizzy but still as perfect as ever.

“hey abs? why are you still up?”

“couldn’t sleep. did you…have fun?” she asks

you pout. “not really. my friends left me to go hang out with a group of boys.”

“why didn’t you go with them?”

“they were all paired off. plus, i’m not really interested in flirting with boys.”

abby’s eyes widen.

“will you unzip my dress for me? i’m so sleepy.”

oh, this is horrible. abby feels like she’s gonna faint as she unzips your dress. this is exactly how her stupid fantasy started. the stupid fantasy where she gets to taste every inch of your sweet body.

“thanks, abs. you’re so sweet” you say. you change into your nightgown and turn back to face abby.

“i hope you’ll come out with me next time. it’d be much more fun with you.”

“yeah…maybe.”

you stand on your tiptoes to kiss her cheek, getting a pink, shiny mark on her face. “goodnight, abs.”

you crawl into bed, falling asleep immediately. abby is stilling standing there, jaw dropped.

she didn’t loathe that. not one bit.

i hope yall enjoyed! this is my first actual long fic. let me know if you want a part two 🤍🤍🤍

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Dragon Blood

Chapter 1: Jace is furious that a mere servant like you has Targaryen blood. It would benefit you to know your place.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Dragonseed (f) reader

The grand halls of Dragonstone echoed with the sounds of dragons and the footsteps of staff. You walked among them, invisible. As a servant, you were accustomed to blending into the background, a silent observer to the lives of the Targaryens.

Today was no different. The sun cast long rays through the high windows as you carried a tray of goblets, preoccupied with tasks. You barely noticed the tall figure that stood watching you from a shadowed alcove.

"Come with me," a commanding voice cut through your thoughts. You looked up to see Jacaerys Velaryon.

You hesitated, but his tone left no room for disobedience. It wasn't as if you could deny a prince anyway. You followed him down a dimly lit corridor. You rushed to brush down your dress and try to make yourself presentable. He led you into a small, secluded room, closing the door behind you with a thud.

"Do you know why you're here?" Jacaerys asked, his eyes boring into yours. It seemed like he was studying your eyes, and you cast yours down, unable to handle his intensity.

You had been self-concious about your eyes. Their unusual purple hue had caused you to be the butt of many jokes and accusations.

"No, my prince," you stammered.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Y/N, L/N" he said. “That's your full name, correct?”

"Yes," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, before adding the customary, “My prince.”

"I've been researching our bloodlines, looking for potential dragon riders. Imagine my surprise when I found out about you," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "A servant, hiding in plain sight."

You blinked, confusion mingling with fear. "Me?"

"Yes, you," he replied, his eyes narrowing. "You are a Targaryen bastard. Your lineage gives you a claim, a potential to bond with a dragon."

The revelation hit you like a tidal wave. Yet the intensity in Jacaerys' eyes told you he believed it.

"But... I'm just a servant," you whispered, struggling to process your shock.

"Aye, just a servant," he echoed, his gaze piercing. "With the blood of the dragon in her veins."

His tone was insinuating that you were unworthy of the privilege, which made you acutely aware of the power dynamic. He was a prince, the heir to the throne. He was pure and noble and chosen by the gods, while you were a nobody, a commoner, privileged to even be in his presence. It made you feel small and insignificant.

"My prince," you replied, bowing your head. "I have no wish to claim a dragon. I am content as I am."

Jacaerys' eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Forgive me if I don't believe you." he said, his voice low and challenging. "Power corrupts even those who do not wish for it."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The revelation that you were a Targaryen bastard haunted you. You had never known your parents, raised by an innkeeper who later sent you to work as a servant at the Dragonstone. Your life had been a series of harsh treatments, endless work, and neglect. But now, the knowledge that you had the blood of the dragon stirred something in you.

As you scrubbed the floors of the castle, you couldn't help but ponder what it would be like to be a dragon rider, to wield such awesome power. You imagine life as a princess, adored and respected, a major contrast to your current situation. But you kept these thoughts to yourself.

Today, your tasks took you to the castle study, carrying scrolls and parchments for the maesters. As you entered the study, you noticed the prince perched over maps and documents, his expression intense and focused.

Your curiosity got the better of you. Gathering your courage, you approached him hesitantly. "My prince, may I ask you something?" you bowed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jacaerys looked up. "What is it?" he asked, his tone measured but firm.

"I... I was wondering if you could tell me who my parents were" you said, your heart pounding in your chest.

"And why would you need that information?" he responded, his gaze challenging.

You flinched slightly but forced yourself to speak. "I grew up not knowing where I came from. It's a curiosity I can't ignore... even if its just their names. Please."

Jacaerys studied you for a long moment, his expression a contemplation. Finally, he sighed, his tone remaining hard. "Your mother was a distant niece of my great-grandsire," he began, watching your reaction closely, "and your father was a mere farm hand. As far as I could tell, she was a bastard herself, and they were both commoners like you.”

His words stung, but you were grateful to at least have some information. You fidgeted with your hands. “Do you know their names?”

“I couldn't find your fathers name, but your mother was recorded. Her name was Halaena.”

“Halaena,” you repeated, not understanding why your heart sped up as you spoke the name of your mother. It was beautiful. "Thank you, my prince," you said, bowing your head, hiding a smile.

He regarded you with a mix of disdain and curiosity. "You're welcome.” he said before turning back to his maps and documents, effectively dismissing you.

You turned to leave the study, your mind racing, but as you reached for the door handle, he called after you. “Remember your place.” Jace didn't bother lifting His eyes off the maps to see your response.

Your hands balled into fists. You've never interacted with Jace much. But your fellow servents had only nice things to say about him. Well, clearly, they had misread his character.

Nevertheless, your mother's name echoed in your thoughts, bringing a strange sense of satisfaction; finally, you've answered a question you've had your whole life. For the first time in your life, you felt a connection to your past. As you resumed your duties, a quiet resolve began to take root within you. A hope that this is a potential plan b.