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readingbunny44 · 3 months ago

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You're Dead Everywhere But Here │ Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#2

#1, #2, #3

tysm for the comments on the previous post, it was a blast seeing the traction it got !! I hope update is satisfactory, decided to make this a full fic series so more to come

CW: OOC Cecil(?), mention/talks of suicide, violence, slight freakiness but eh not really

WC: 6,7k

@weaponxgames, @martinys-world, @lagataprrr, @lizurich, @katsukiswiife, @oxymorondemon, @sweetb3rry, @ashleeytrx, @pixviee, @pookiei-bookie, @cheesycheddarr

Cecil approached the big screens, his hands in his suit pockets as he narrowed his eyes. "Donald, what is this? What going on with now?" He asked, his voice stern but confused. The dots on the map indicate that multiple Invincible variants were gathered at one place—and you were smacked in the middle of it.

He had given orders to throw you out there in hopes to help the war effort, strapping you with an electric dog collar with a tracker embedded into it. With Evil Invincibles causing havoc all over the world, everything was getting stretched thin. He needed more manpower to pour into this war, and he wasn't against using a criminal to achieve that.

Cecil had seen multiple times you hold your own against their Invincible, hell, even had the upper hand a couple of times with how you left Invincible riddled with injuries.

Whatever reason why you chose to injure him than kill him wasn't something Cecil was going to do gymnastics to understand. Donald's running theory was that you more so enjoyed causing destruction than killing anyone. There's been times where you have, but they were so rare it's been assumed to be more of a 'last resort' thing for you when cornered.

Honestly, all of that didn't matter to him, you were still a destructive piece of shit at the end of the day.

But having collected data about you, he was confident that you could at least remove one or two of the evil variants when push came to shove. The 'shove' being a shock collar and the threat of never seeing daylight again.

Though it appears you were surrounded by four variants, and while you were one tough cookie, you should certainly be dead. There was one of you and four of them, it was a no brainer to guess who would lose. However, the blinking green dot on the screen indicated you were alive and well.

"It seems like they're not fighting her. She's been more of the aggressor so far, actually." Donald noted, pushing his glasses up. "She was fighting this one," He pointed at a red dot on the screen, "then these three showed up." His finger drifted to the other circles.

"Pull up the cameras around there." Cecil ordered, and Donald's fingers were quick on the keyboard to pull up the surveillance around the area.

A window appeared on the screen, and while the lens was cracked it was clear to see that you were surprisingly not beaten up and battered as he would expect. He watched you leap into the air, bolting through the sky and an Invincible dressed in a white uniform followed suit, the two of you becoming a blur in the distance.

An Invincible dressed in a similar fashion as Omni-man crossed his arms, speaking to the others. Whatever he said made the others upset, the one with a fully covered black mask shaking his head while the variant with the mohawk rolled his eyes as he stomped his foot.

"Is there no audio on this thing?"

"Nope."

"Great." Cecil popped his lips, his grainy voice filled with sarcasm. He continued to observe the three variants—they obviously didn't like each other, their body language tense and ready to pounce if one of them moved yet held the conversation anyway.

He squinted, trying to decipher what they could be discussing about. The men would occasionally glance over at the direction you had sped off to.

Donald spoke up. "I think they're discussing (Y/N)."

"(Y/N)?"

"(Y/N) (L/N) is Vandal's real name." Donald mentioned, looking over at Cecil. Vandal had become your nickname since you never proclaimed a villain identity for yourself. From the heaps of destruction and damage you caused to property before your capture, it was a fitting name. Albeit a little lazy.

He let out a sigh, turning around to step away. His mind was turning gears as he thought about you, his mind drifting to Mark who was still by Eve's bed side.

What he was thinking of was an... odd idea, but it couldn't hurt to give it a shot. Mark Grayson always held this odd air towards you. It was hard to not notice how he practically jumped at the chance to be the first to respond to a scene that had something to do with you, always butting heads with other superheroes that tried to respond first.

The weird behavior was subtle, but Cecil noted a few things.

Whatever harm that he'd inflicted would conveniently be places where it wouldn't hurt too badly.

You would always somehow end up escaping from his grasp after each fight. Even with how Mark had improved, you always seemed to run off.

When you were finally captured thanks to a G.D.A agent, Mark threw quite a fit.

"I had it all under control!" He yelled, glaring at Cecil with so much anger. Possessiveness seeped into his voice as he spat his words, and Cecil was taken aback with how worked up he was over you. "You guys didn't have to step in like that."

"Talking to her, throwing a couple of punches and letting her escape each time is not you having it 'under control,' Mark." Cecil rebutted. "She needed to be contained, and you were doing a lousy job at doing that."

"I was gonna—"

"If I had let this ridiculous method of yours play out, she would've continued to destroy more property. That means more tax dollars are being poured into rebuilding the constant messes she leaves behind." Cecil lectured, stern and logical. Not giving him a moment to defend himself. "That money is better off spent on better things, not Little Miss Vandalism."

His logic and common sense only seemed to fuel Mark's anger. Cecil paused, before releasing an exhausted sigh as he flickered his gaze away from Mark to stare at a wall.

He needed to calm him down, having him upset would get in the way of calling him for help. Cecil's eyes flickered back to Mark.

"Kid, she'll be in jail at the G.D.A. Fed, clothed, and away from being a menace." He continued, and he noticed how Mark seemed to become calm about you being fed and clothed than the fact your destructive habits would now come to a halt. "You can... even visit her."

"... I can?"

He was a little too happy to hear that, his anger completely evaporated.

"Yeah. After we deal with everything first, I'll authorize how many visits you want."

"I'm going to pay a visit to Mark. I'm sure he'd love to hear what his favorite villain is up to." Cecil turned his head to Donald who only stared, clear he didn't understand what telling Mark about this would achieve.

Without elaborating, he teleported with a flash of blue.

You took another glance behind you, the wind rushing past you. It howled in your ear as you met the intense stare of the evil variant in white. His features were unmoving as the wind pushed his hair and his eyes hard.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer!" You shouted. His eyes were unblinking as he was unresponsive to your words, and you just rolled your eyes as you tore your eyes off him.

Even though you would love to continue being in the air for longer, if you do it was evident he would catch up to you. With each glance he was inching closer and closer, and there were a number of things that would go against your favor if this White Invincible got ahold of you in the air.

You scanned up ahead, seeing a large building. The path you were on currently would've made you slam your head against a solid wall. Shifting to the right, you brought your arms to your head as you braced for impact.

The glass window immediately shattered as you rammed through it, different sizes of glass shards falling. You dodged the walls of the office floor, breaking through windows and passing by cubicles.

Breaking out of the other side of the building, the sunlight basked on you as you pushed yourself to be above the building. Not a minute later, the building vibrated widely as the sound of walls breaking filled the air.

You let out an amused scoff. He continued the flight path you were previously on and busted through the walls.

The white variant broke through the final wall, leaving a gaping hole on the side of the building. He looked to the left and right of him, searching for a sign in which direction you went.

"Up here!" You sang out, diving down with your hands raised together and joined together to make a ball. You brought it down, sending him flying downwards to the road. The Invincible's reflex was incredible, his arms quickly rising to protect his head before being slammed to the ground.

The harsh impact made a big crater on the ground, with him in the middle. The abandoned cars near the crash site began blaring, the headlights flashing crazy.

"You're strong." He flatly commented, his eyes gazing up at you as the dust settled. With Mohawk, his laugh lines were prominent and bold. Yet with this variant, his face was completely smooth with no form of wrinkles in sight.

His arms tingled from your attack, and he tilted his head. A corner of his lip raised slightly. "You were never strong in my dimension."

"Does that burst your bubble, Whitey?" You fake whined, copying the tilt of his head as you stared down at him. "Disappointed I'm not a damsel in distress? Not the perfect little girlfriend for you?"

"I'm not disappointed." He shook his head. "You were always perfect, (Y/N). Perfect for me and I made Viltrum perfect for you. You're still perfect, no matter the differences across universes." He replied, hovering towards you. There was a deep-rooted longing in his eyes.

You gritted your teeth as you heard his monologue. You hated how he was speaking to you as if you were the version he knew personally. It was already becoming insufferable.

"I've missed you, my wife. The spot I carved out for you remains empty since the day I lost you." He whispered, looking like a battered dog lost without its owner. "You miss me too."

"Is that a question or a command?" You rolled your eyes. "I'm not her. Do you hear yourself?"

"You are her."

"I'm not. And I'm going to put that through that thick skull of yours." You didn't hesitate to dash towards him, your hand grabbing a hold of the top of his head as you slammed it down—the back of his head hitting the cracked concrete of the crater.

You dug your nails inside his scalp, lifting it and smashing it back down repeatedly. The hole inside the ground deepened as you continued.

Viltrumite Mark let his head be slammed against the pavement, your fingernails digging inside his scalp. The dulling pain at the back of his head ached at him, but he didn’t care. How long has it been since he last felt your touch? How long has it been since you committed suicide? How many long nights did he go without you?

It’s been so long since he felt your fingers through his hair. The throbbing pain didn’t mean anything with the sensation of your hand holding him. It was always blissful when he would come back to you after having to deal with the responsibilities of the Viltrum Empire, welcoming him home with open arms.

Oh, how he loved laying his head on your stomach while you massaged his head—running your delicate fingers through his hair as you asked all sorts of questions. Usually about what he did, Viltrum, and what was happening outside the walls of the home you two shared. Mark didn’t like to think about the outside world when he was inside the haven of the bedroom, but indulging in your curiosity was always cute and made you happy.

You were also eager, albeit more than he liked, to learn any updates about Earth. Even if it was something minor, you always liked hearing about the planet you once lived on. Sometimes you'd ask if you could "finally go out" and be somewhere else on Viltrum beside the house, even hinting the idea to go visit Earth—but Mark always shot it down.

He guessed he understood in some capacity why you would ask that, it was natural for any species to think about home and long to go back to it. Though, that doesn't mean Mark didn't find it ridiculous—you shouldn't want to go back to Earth even for a visit. Viltrum is your home now and a much better suited place for you because he was here.

Mark would've granted permission for you to walk around Viltrum alone, but when you had first arrived at this planet you had such antsy feet. You would go run off, trying to escape from the planet and it was always a hassle to bring you back. You could've gotten into danger and if he hadn't been alerted each time you ran off and arrived at the nick of time. You could've hurt yourself.

You cried, you begged, and you pleaded whenever you were caught. It hurt to see you like that, he couldn't bare for those situations to happen anymore so he had momentarily removed those privileges.

He was going to give them back, he swore he would've at one point. However, he hadn't noticed so much time had passed.

For him, it seemed so short—while for you it had been excruciating years. You couldn't take it anymore; Mark's monopolization was suffocating.

So, one day when Mark arrived back home after a mission, your lifeless boy awaited him. Pale, empty, and unresponsive—but free.

For what happened, Viltrum Mark will let you hurt him as punishment for being such a neglectful husband. Being pummeled was what he deserved for being forgetful.

You go of your hold of the white variant's head, snatching a hold of his arm and standing up. You lifted him off the ground only using the arm you had just grabbed, throwing him at the loud line of cars. During the process you had twisted his arm, causing him to wince as he felt his bone dislocate before he collided with the line of blaring vehicles.

The obnoxious honks stopped, and you huffed as you straightened your back. You sneered in disgust as you realized a small smear of blood that made its way to your fingertips, being quick to wipe it on your clothes.

However, in the blink of an eye, a white flash appeared before you. Arms wrapped around your torso, and you were shoved into a wall.

As soon as your back hit the wall, you grunted, the wind being knocked out of you. You felt the Invincible nestle his face to your stomach, his arms tightening around you and you shrieked.

Even though there was a clothing barrier between your bare skin and his face thanks to the prison uniform the G.D.A had you worn, it was thin. This act was clearly intimate, and you flushed in anger as he was taking an opportunity to feel you?

“Get off of me you bastard!” You demanded, using your elbow to dig inside his back, striking down rapidly.

His grip loosened with each hit but would recover, returned to holding you. With how hard you were hitting, it was a guarantee there would be multiple splotches of bruises stretched along his back, the muscles soon to have developing colors of purple.

You repositioned your elbow that was nearest to his twisted shoulder, slamming it. A grunt howled from the variant’s throat, his arms untangling from your waist. He fell to the ground, on his knees as he hurriedly grabbed his shoulder—popping the dislocated shoulder back in place.

He picked himself up, swiping at your shin. Caught off guard, you wobbled and the viltrumite didn't waste time to place your leg on his shoulder—the one that he had corrected the displacement of the bone—and leaned forward to you.

Being off balanced and your leg being pushed up with your back against the cracked wall, you slid down. His height towered over you as you were in a compromising position. You cursed, your hands reaching behind you to grip the wall.

"That was enough to atone for my neglectful mind. Your death alone already served as punishment for how blind I was towards time." He spoke, staring down at you. A small line of blood traveled from his scalp to the back of his neck. "I'll be a much better husband for you, I swear to it, (Y/N)." the Invincible breathed out, turning his head to your leg that was lifted to his shoulder.

Even though his voice was monotonous, there was a scratch of pleading behind his voice. He said it in hopes you'll believe it and in turn that he himself would believe he'll actually be better towards you.

It wasn't hard to piece together that whatever happened to his version of you, you had died, and he played a role in it.

He exhaled; his lips parted slightly as they were just centimeters away from your leg.

“You can’t be a better one if she’s dead.”

“Don’t say that.” He snapped, pushing your leg further up, making you suck in a breath. “You’re right here. Even if you don’t remember me that doesn't mean you can't be my wife once again.“ The grip he had on your raised leg was firm, and his hand snaked up to your knee.

His hand squeezed, feeling the muscles and bone. "I'll take you back home. Back to Viltrum. Back with me."

Your breath hitched, the mention of being taken to another place caused goosebumps to crawl all over your skin. The fully masked Invincible had mentioned something about bringing you 'home’ as well, and now this one mentioned taking you somewhere else too.

Something nagged at you that this would be a pattern among the other copies—and your survival instincts screamed at you to not let any of them take you. You were better off dead than with any of them.

"I will rather die like her than ever go anywhere with you." You spat; venom laced with each word. "Whatever way she went was probably a blessing in disguise." You smirked, watching how his eyes dulled at your taunt.

Clenching your jaw, you wheeled your head forward and then slammed it behind you. The building shook behind you, cracks branching out from the point of origin. You used the back of your head to hit it once more, pooling all your strength together.

The thick wall crumbled, and no longer being shoved against a wall you wrapped the leg that was on his shoulder around his neck and your other leg around his torso, seizing his whole body and throwing him over you.

The viltrumite burst through the multitude of walls, making the building unstable. Sounds of the building cracking and falling apart filled the air, the structure collapsing. You scrambled to run, the building collapsing in your direction. Though your foot slipped on a piece of debris, causing you to trip onto the ground.

Whoosh!

The office building collapsed, and you blinked. You were looking down at the collapsed structure that once stood tall now closer to the ground than ever.

Your legs dangled in the air, and your eyes traveled to your chest as there was an arm was slung underneath your breasts—holding you loosely.

"Ha! Now that was a funny sight to watch. You really got some sweet upgrades to you—fun." He commented, pointing out the superhuman strength you possessed, a dangerous edge embedded with his words. You whipped your head around, an Invincible with a black and yellow suit grinned wildly at you.

Sinister Mark looked deeply in your eyes as he used his exceptional hearing to focus on your heart. He had memorized the way your heartbeat, pumping blood through your system. It was a window for him to decipher how you really felt at any given moment, and listening to the beating organ was like music to his ears.

He hated how he missed it. He hated how he immediately recognized it from a miles away. He hated how his ears subconsciously trained itself to zone in on that beautiful beating heart of yours, your heart so distinct that it was a melody that drew him out.

He hated that he came as quickly as he can at the first beat, knowing that it was you. This dimension's version of you, anyway.

"Another one?" You snarled, not happy to see another variant.

This dimension's version of you was feisty, just like his—though more powerful considering you did some damage to Viltrum Mark having watched from afar. Though he didn't pay much attention to that guy, more swooped up on the fact he was on cloud nine with how he was able to hold you like this again.

He let out a deranged laugh, throwing his head back. "Ha! Ha-ha! I forgot how much better you felt with your flesh still intact." He laughed, rearing his head back to shove his face to your cheek. "Soft, squishy—so much more different compared to your skeleton."

... Skeleton?

"Jesus, I went insane after I killed you." He took a large exhale, the memories of the temper tantrum he made after accidentally going too rough on you, breaking you, resurfacing.

Everyone and everything weren’t safe from his rampage, the rampage fueled with the rage of killing you. "I kept your body, watched the stages of your corpse bloat then decay—leaving the dry remains of your skeleton behind." He spoke of it with a smile on his face, but you felt the hand that was wrapped around you flinch, tightening.

"It wasn't as fun when you were alive, but it was still you, so I made do." He vaguely referenced, and your skin crawled at what he could possibly be implying. All sort of things popped in your head, and whatever you brain conjured may have been tamer than whatever this... thing did to his alternate version of you—dead or alive.

"I don’t have to know more to know you're a sick fuck."

"And I made you like it." He hissed, his hot breath hitting your skin. He tilted his head away, his eyes wandering to the electric collar around your neck. Cecil throwing you in this war and forcing you to work for him meant you were tough, and Mark was excited to see how exactly tough you were. "And I can do it again. Just this time, you won't be so easy to break.”

Cecil sighed as his eyes fell upon Mark Grayson still near Eve's bedside, having not moved an inch since the last time he saw him. Both of his hands were cupped onto Eve's hand that lay motionless on the bed.

"What do you want, Cecil?" His tired voice called out, not having to turn around to know that the old man was behind him. "I told you I wasn't working with you ever again."

"I heard that loud and clear, Mark." Cecil continued, "I figured you weren't against updates, though."

The young man merely stayed silent, his whole body language screaming that he didn't want to hear him speak anymore. Cecil grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek. The idea he had seemed like it wasn't going to work, only made up with a few clues then and there, but he was already here so it would be a waste to not try it.

"There's a lot happening out there. It's difficult to keep up with everything."

Mark stayed silent, unresponsive as his eyes were staring only at Eve.

Cecil carried on, "I had to come up with creative solutions to the issues of not having resources, people, superheroes to go out there and protect the world."

Mark stayed unmoving, not reacting an inch.

"Do you remember the criminal you helped capture? Vandal? —"

"It's (Y/N)." Grayson jolted, turning to look at Cecil with stern eyes. His hands were still on Eve's, though he noted the small pull away. "Her name is (Y/N)."

"That's interesting, I didn't find out until today that was their actual name." The older man was quick to point out, raising a brow. "How did you know that? Didn't care to share with the rest of us?"

Mark hesitated, his eyes flickering away from Cecil. "She told me it the first time we fought. Must've slipped my mind." He vaguely dismissed, clearing his throat.

He had accidentally crossed your path when he first started out his journey as Invincible. He was still getting a hang on things, training to be a great hero just like his dad.

It took him a little bit too long to register that you were a villain—a criminal that he should've jumped to stop as soon as his eyes laid on the path of destruction you caused without a care of who you hurt.

Then it took him even longer to move from his spot with how strangely enamored he was with you. Mark was overcome by this rush of attraction that he had subconsciously held his breath. If it weren't for his viltrumite make up, he would've passed out with how much oxygen he deprived from his lungs.

Did villains usually have this effect on heroes? Fascinated, interested, curious, enamored? (Mark later found out that no, villains did not have this effect—for whatever reason, it was only you).

Once he finally snapped out of it, he was quick to try and stop you. Though with how inexperienced he was with fighting and your brawniness, you won. Beaten to a pulp, his body was sore and tired as he laid on the ground, groaning from the punches.

"Ah—shit." A whine escaped his throat. Was being a superhero going to be this painful?

You crouched down to his level, eyeing his costume that hugged his body. "It isn't a good idea to jump at a girl wrecking the place while being a baby super." You commented, your eyes filled with pity. You didn't take amusement in practically beating up an infant. "Downright idiotic."

"Idiotic and invincible shares the same starting letter," he coughed, shifting to look at you but a sharp pain jolted up his spine. "Ah, that hurts—so I guess they go hand in hand." He let out a nervous smile, giddiness budding at the pit of his stomach as he wiped off the blood that had dried out his upper lip.

It's wrong to feel so... so excitedly nervous about how close you were. Sure okay, you got close so you could punch and throw him around while you two fought—but right now Mark had the time to take you in fully.

You snorted, a giggle jumping out your lips. You weren't expecting him to crack a joke like that while he was beaten to a pulp and wow—that giggle of yours was beautiful. That made his heart dance and his stomach sick with how many butterflies there were.

You quickly covered your laughter, rubbing a hand over your mouth. "Invincible is a stupid name."

"What's yours? We can compare."

"… I earned the name Vandal, it's a stupid name too." You shrugged, pushing yourself to stand.

He tried to sit up, though shots of pain riddled him to fall. He didn't want you to leave so quickly—not out of fear you would go back to destroying stuff but out of fear he may not ever see you again.

"Is there another name I can call you? I-I mean, I would like the villain who beat me up to at least like their name." Mark stuttered out, a strained smile on his face.

You eyed him, raising a brow. Unimpressed at his lame reasoning. "What kind of reason is that?"

"Uh, I—well you know, erm—" His cheeks flushed a baby pink.

You sighed, finding yourself pitying the new hero. "Fine." You’ll humor this. Giving you his name wouldn't hurt, besides even if he told others, it wasn't enough to track you down. “It’s (Y/N).”

"Hm. Okay. Moving on." Cecil hummed, not convinced. “I had her be taken out of her cell. She's out on the field."

Now that got a response out of Mark. He let go of Eve's hand, his body moving in the blink of an eye as he appeared in front of Cecil. It caught the older man by surprise, taking a hurried step back.

“What do you mean out in the field? She shouldn’t be out there. She’s supposed to be in a prison cell. She’s supposed to be safe. I remember you saying that she will be!”

“That was after this shitshow started. Prior arrangements had to be moved around and changed.” He defended himself, narrowing his eyes at how quick he was to anger when you were handled in a manner he disagreed with. This pattern of possessiveness he had over a criminal was wrong.

Cecil had chosen to ignore this, chalking it up to some petty rivalry over the fact you had beaten him a couple of times—but now it was clear as day that it was definitely way more than that.

Just how much more was what Cecil was curious about. He needed to see exactly what you meant to him and if he could use that for his own gain. “If she can handle fighting against you, then hell, she can certainly handle herself against one of those variants. I needed all the manpower I can get, and she was the perfect option.”

“That still gave you no right!” He screamed.

“It does when the guy who can go head to toe with those invaders out there won’t leave this goddamn room.” Cecil retorted.

“So—So what?! She can die, Cecil.” He huffed, his fists clenching at the idea you were out there in harm’s way.

“Why does that matter so much to you, Mark? What exactly is she to you for you to be worked over this? I don’t have to omnipotent to know she doesn’t give a damn about you—not a single thought. Yet you’re here caring for her as if you’re her friend.” He paused, “Are you?”

Mark hitched breath, a lump in his throat as he brought his hands to hold onto his face.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, and he knew that he shouldn’t be thinking about you as much as he should, but he couldn’t stop. His mind always wandered. Day and night without fail at some point his thoughts would be consumed by you, someone he barely knew anything about—someone that he shouldn’t be thinking of.

Mark tried to stay away from you—at least that’s what he told himself to make him feel better. He always jumped at the chance to go to you whenever you were back on your rampaging antics. Other heroes noticed, offering to take his place instead but he sternly refused.

He was territorial about being the one to stop you, being the one to fight you, being the one to be with you.

Mark told himself that he thought about you so frequently because of that pitiful ‘kindness’ you showed him at your guys’ first encounter. From that, you must be much better being a reformed criminal than a villain who took pleasure in seeing destruction.

So, he tried to convince you to change your ways.

That’s what a superhero does, right? Not just help distressed citizens but everyone, even villains. He offered to help you lead a better life than the one you are right now, guide you how to use your powers for good rather than bad.

He also offered you companionship, friendship—a chance to have a deeper relationship than the close to nothing relationship you two currently had.

Though he was hurt every time you rejected him. Not hurt from the fact you rejected turning a new leaf but hurt that you rejected his friendship. Fine, you turned down being a good guy, but why turn him down?

Couldn’t you see that Mark ran to you each time? Couldn’t you see that he had got stronger, faster, better, each time you fought just to impress you? Couldn’t you see that he craved to know you more, the girl who he knew nothing about yet haunts him every day?

The bruises that you left on his body were the only thing you gave him that held a part of you—and he would stare at them in the mirror as he traced over them remembering the fists he came to memorize.

The bruises were the only thing you didn’t reject to give, and he hoped they never faded so he can carry the ghost of your touch on his body.

Mark Grayson tried to drop it—drop you. He was driving himself crazy over a stranger that wanted nothing to do with him. He tried tearing himself away from the idea of you, but he came back running whenever he heard you were out there.

Cecil voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Well, Mark, are you?”

“No, we’re not friends.” He responded, his torn voice muffled by his hands.

“Then what is it? What is it ‘cause with how I’m seeing things no one should be caring about a stranger as much as much as you are right now.” Cecil bombarded, continuing to pile more questions on him relentlessly, pushing the boy’s buttons.

The half-viltrumite ran his hands to his hair, his fingers intertwining with his black locks as he let out an exhausted groan.

“Mark, say something. Say something Mark. For the love of God, fucking say something—”

“No! No, I don’t know her at all, I don’t mean anything to her! I’m not her friend. I’m nothing.” He snapped, his voice raised and shouting, his mouth running wild. “That doesn’t mean that I don’t want her safe! That doesn’t mean I don’t care about her! That doesn’t mean I don’t want her.”

A tense silence fell on the room, the only sound was of the machines next to Eve’s bed.

“So that’s it. Your whipped for (Y/N).” Cecil finally broke the silence, scoffing in disbelief at what he had just discovered. “What twisted fascination do you have with her? A villain who never gave you the light of day, yet you hold this …” His face contorted, looking away from Mark. “I don’t even know what to call this. Sick? Twisted? Pathetic?”

“… Shut up. Just shut up.”

“Can’t do that because I’m not done talking.” He side eyed, “Your little crush is being jumped by multiple variants. Last I checked she ran, but got a suspicion it won’t be easy for her to get rid of them.”

Cecil felt himself slammed to the wall, the white collar of his shirt being tightly gripped. “What? Why didn’t you lead with that!”

“Sorry, kid, didn’t expect your type to be bad girls.” He grunted, staring into Mark’s brown eyes.

“Just tell me where she is.”

“Thinking of joining the fight now? Don’t want to stay here by Eve anymore? All I had to do was dangle something you can never have in front of your face to finally leave this room?”

Mark raised a fist and hit the wall behind the man he had pinned. “Tell me where (Y/N) is.”

Cecil dug his hand into his suit pocket, pushing an earpiece to his chest which Mark quickly caught. “Plug that in and Donald will tell you.” He stated. The grip Mark had on his collar loosened, pushing him aside as he went to grab his mask from the end of the bed.

As always, he comes running when he hears you’re out there.

"I am having a blast," This sinister version of Invincible smirked, his breathing heavy as he had you pinned to the ground. You made him work up quite a sweat, and he was getting quite thirsty. "You're so new, so fun, so entertaining, so enticing. I'm working up an appetite."

It felt like it has been ages since you were stuck fighting for your life against this man, but it has been only a couple of minutes.

Your face distorted in disgust. A hand of his was holding your two legs together so that you couldn't kick him away even though you were desperately trying to squirm your legs away from his tight grasp.

"Eat shit." You cursed, collecting the saliva that accumulated in your mouth and spitting it to his face—the wad of spit hitting the corner of his lips.

His smile faltered, before grinning again as he cooed at you. "That bitch of a mouth of yours needs work, though." Sinister Invincible parted his lips, his tongue licking the side of his face, collecting the saliva you had thrown at him and swallowing.

"You gross sick fu—hhmp!" You quickly got muffled as he had snaked his gloved fingers inside your mouth with his free hand, the taste of rubber filling your taste buds as you thrashed under his hold. You used your hands to scratch and slap his face, though that seemed to only entertain him further.

His fingers moved to feel your teeth, your tongue that tried to escape the taste of his gloves, and the soft as well as hard palate. You yelled muffled profanities, biting down on his fingers.

Your canine fangs broke through the rubber material of the glove, and he let out a small—was that fucking moan?—sound as that only served to give him more reason to push his fingers deeper down your mouth, his fingertips scooting to the entrance of your throat.

"Bite harder, cunt." He demanded, and you instinctively listened.

Your teeth pressed down on his skin, the bite breaking it as a metallic taste seeped into your taste buds joining the taste of the rubber gloves.

"Ouggh my god." Sinister Mark moaned; the pain brought by your fangs serving to be pleasurable. That hand he used to hold down your legs he shifted over to one, squeezing hard against the muscles and into the bone.

Crack!

"HHMP!" Your scream muffled into his glove, and you gagged soon after from his fingers hitting the back of your throat. The scratch and hits to his head were doing nothing to him, and you grimaced as your eyes darted around to find any way to get out of this.

You noticed how your broken leg wasn't immediately healing, like how it should be, and your eyes widen as you remembered the collar the G.D.A had placed around your neck. You had forgotten about it, and you closed your eyes as you knew what to do.

Your hands reached eagerly to the shock collar, digging your fingers between the metal and your neck as you began to tear away at it. It instantly began sending electricity through your body, riddling your body to the seizing and overwhelming pain that resembled the same sensation when you were hit with that gun. Your eyes opened, rolling to the back of your skull from the intensity.

You clenched your jaw as you continued to rip it from your neck, trying to keep your eyes open and not lose consciousness as the metal began to rip apart—the wires being revealed.

Whatever was sending the electricity was no longer contained to just your body, zapping in the air and reaching to the black and yellow Invincible that was on top of you.

The electrifying pain met him too, and he yanked his digits out of your mouth as the bolts traveled up to his entire body. You felt his weight lift off as you ripped the collar in two, gasping for air and rolling to your side.

Your body twitched as there was still electricity coursing through your body—and you felt an intense wave of exhaustion flood you.

No, I can't pass out, I need to get out of here. No, no—

You tried to resist, though black spots were already filling your vision as shapes and colors became a blur. Even then, you tried to crawl to distance yourself from the Invincible, but a sudden tight grip to your hair pulled you toward his direction.

"You disobedient bitch. Who told you to do that?" You heard a growl, the pull of your hair making you whine.

Your hair was suddenly released, feeling a strong gust of wind behind you as Sinister’s Mark voice off to the distance. You didn’t care to look back, trying to squint to see what was ahead of you.

Although your vision became increasingly blurry and you gagged from having his hand shoved down your throat a few seconds ago. You tried to sit up but failed, you head feeling heavy as it hit the ground.

You internally screamed to stay awake, but darkness hugged you. Before that however, you felt someone crouch next to you, a hand draped over your forehead as they said something to you. Whatever they said, you couldn’t tell, and you just prayed they were more of a friend than a foe another crazy Invincible.

sorry if this was boring, wanted to focus on Mainstream Mark in this one :P !!

Am I cray cray to think Sinister Mark loves dishing out and receiving pain

UMM anyway, we ignore how you can tell I’m new to writing action scenes tyyy 🫣🙈 oh also the plot holes shh

-bonsubear

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson #invincible variants #invincible x reader #invincible x you #invincible season 3 #sinister mark #viltrum mark #cecil stedman #writers on tumblr #writing #fanfic #late night post #will post on ao3 soon I think #I love you mark grayson #bonsubearwriting

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sh4nksslvt · 3 months ago

Note

hellooo I really like your work and would like to request some angst

maybe like reader dies or gets close to it. some more uncommon charcters too like nami, usopp, or franky please!!

thank you for really cool work and I hope you can do this!!

hii! thank u sm~ oohh~ thats a great idea, ive decided to put them all together, hope u like it!

What Remains

The Straw Hats survive a Marine superweapon test — but only because you don’t. You made a choice to save them all, and they didn’t see it coming.

strawhats x platonic gn! reader tags: angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, platonic bonds, grief a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Smoke curled upward from the scorched ruins of the Marine testing island. The sky was dim, bleeding orange as the sun tried and failed to burn away the choking clouds.

They found your body beneath the collapsed structure—arms still raised like you were shielding the others even in death.

It wasn’t the injuries that broke them. It was the look on your face.

Peaceful.

Like you knew.

ONE WEEK EARLIER.

"These weapons..." Franky said, examining the diagrams. "They’re worse than anything Vegapunk ever dreamed up. They’re built to erase islands."

“And they’re testing them here?” Nami’s voice trembled with disbelief.

Usopp peered over the map. “That’s not all. Some of this... it’s Poneglyph script. These freaks are mixing history with firepower.”

You didn’t say anything.

You just stared at the map. Quiet. Calm. Like a storm on the horizon no one else had seen yet.

“We have to stop this,” you said.

Of course, everyone agreed.

But none of them saw what you saw. None of them realized the cost yet.

Not even you.

THE BATTLE.

The Straw Hats split into teams. Luffy and Zoro drew the front lines away. Robin sabotaged the comms. Brook and Jinbei distracted the guards. Chopper tended to wounded civilians trying to escape.

You were supposed to go in with Franky and Usopp.

You didn’t.

You slipped away the moment they weren’t looking, whispering your last words to Nami before disappearing into the smoke.

“I trust you. Don’t look back.”

You found the core buried deep underground.

A thrumming vault of seastone and ancient script, glowing with stolen knowledge and raw destruction.

You knew what it meant.

You could read the Poneglyph fragments embedded in the weapons.

You knew what would happen if they were activated.

So you made a choice.

A selfish, irreversible choice.

You overloaded the core.

THE AFTERMATH.

When the blast hit, it carved a crater into the earth.

Luffy felt it first—his scream carried across the island like a cannon blast. “(Y/N)!!”

Franky’s stomach dropped. He bolted toward the smoke, ignoring everything—orders, pain, fire.

Usopp followed. Nami, too. She didn’t even speak. Her Clima-Tact sparked wildly, emotions bleeding into weather.

They dug with bare hands and bleeding fingers.

And finally, they found you.

Still. Burned. Crushed.

But unmistakably you.

And unmistakably gone.

THE SUNNY.

Franky hadn’t spoken in two days.

He sat in the engine room, back turned to everyone, arms blackened with soot and oil. He worked until his hands bled, building gods knew what.

Chopper had tried to check on him. Franky didn’t even look up.

Usopp wandered the deck in silence, eyes red, mouth dry. He hadn’t told a single story since they left the island.

He’d tried. He opened his mouth once to make a joke, and nothing came out.

So he just sat with your grave marker, talking to it like you were there.

And Nami—Nami was broken in a way no one had ever seen.

She didn’t cry loudly. She didn’t scream. She just shut down.

She went days without food. Sat curled in the crow’s nest, staring out to sea, clutching the note you left her in your final moments.

"Don’t look back."

She hated you for it.

She loved you for it.

She never stopped shaking.

NIGHT.

Luffy stood by the railing, his hat pulled low, wind in his face.

Sanji stood beside him in silence.

“You knew they were gonna die,” Luffy said suddenly. His voice wasn’t angry. It was hollow.

Sanji lit a cigarette, fingers shaking. “I knew they weren’t coming back.”

Luffy didn’t answer.

“They saved all of us,” Sanji added after a long pause.

“I didn’t want saving,” Luffy whispered.

Then he turned and walked away.

FRANKY.

The machine he was building exploded.

He didn’t flinch.

Robin found him hours later, crouched beside the wreckage, staring into space.

“They’d have slapped me for this,” he said quietly.

Robin knelt beside him. “For what?”

“For not stopping them.”

“They knew what they were doing.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

Robin placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It never does.”

USOPP.

He buried the dials you used in a small, unmarked box.

Every trap you helped him design, every gadget you tweaked. Gone. Hidden away like a secret.

“I’m never going to be that brave,” he whispered.

Then he broke.

Ugly, shaking sobs that echoed across the deck.

NAMI.

She didn’t speak for three days.

Then, she found Franky. Slammed him into a wall.

“You let them go alone!” she screamed.

Franky didn’t fight back. “I know.”

“YOU PROMISED—YOU PROMISED ME THEY’D COME BACK—!”

He wrapped his arms around her mid-swing, held her as she sobbed, her fists pounding against his chest until they were too weak to lift.

ONE WEEK LATER.

Luffy called everyone to the deck.

No one knew why.

When they arrived, they found him standing in front of a small, newly-built monument.

A single beam of the destroyed fortress. Carved with your name.

And beneath it—your jacket. Cleaned. Pressed. Folded neatly.

Luffy didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

They stood together. Silent.

One by one, they left offerings.

Sanji placed a bottle of sake.

Robin left a single violet flower.

Chopper tied a string of charms around the wood.

Zoro leaned his sword against it for a moment. A quiet nod of respect.

Brook played a low, mournful tune on his violin.

Jinbei lit a lantern and pushed it into the sea.

Usopp placed a small slingshot on the beam.

Franky left a blueprint.

And Nami… Nami placed your note. The last one you ever wrote.

“Don’t look back.”

She whispered, “I’m going to.”

Then she walked away.

They kept your room the way it was.

No one said it aloud—but they all visited.

Nami would sit on your bed when the nightmares came.

Usopp would fix the shelves you always overloaded with junk.

Franky recharged your tools every week, even though you weren’t there to use them.

And Luffy…

Luffy would sit on the figurehead, facing forward, holding your jacket in his lap.

He never cried where anyone could see.

But the jacket was always warm.

As if it still remembered you.

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dreamingdragonscion · 2 years ago

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Despite the disappointment etched on her face when the children didn’t show any trust in them, Tiki shook her head and recovered quickly, smiling at Laslow. “It's okay, big brother, you did your best! If you did your best then I am happy you tried!” It was always better to try than to give up before the battle even started, something she had picked up from the Hero-King in all their travels, and all the more it applied here.

A pitched gasp as Tiki crawled over to Corrin’s side, her beady worried eyes scanning the drugged-up princess before her. She held her hands over Corrin, her concerns growing until Corrin flashed her a slight smile and Maria began her work to wrap up the injuries of all those around her. Tiki felt so small amongst her companions, but what could she do? Her dragonstone taken, weak as she was, battered and only just recovered from her own crying episode prior. Watching Maria do her hardest to wrap up their injuries, Laslow do his best to cheer up the children and Corrin doing her utmost to stick close to everyone, to never let them out of each other’s sight. Yet what was she to do? She hadn’t done anything. Before the guilt could swallow her once more into those never-ending nightmares, there was a spark of hope behind her eyes. Jumping to her feet, the vague wisps of memories prodded at her brain once more. There were still things she could do that no one else could. Her friends were making sure everyone smiled and was safe and calm, but no one did it for them. So, what if she took on that responsibility?

“Pain, pain fly away~” Tiki finally allowed her voice to sing, a small tune that Bantu and Xane had taught her in her days travelling with them. She wondered if they would be proud of her now, singing that same melody to others like a good girl would. Maybe she too could help people like Mar-Mar did, so she sang, to lift the spirits of her comrades more than anything. “Don’t come again today~ Everybody makes a smile~ So come again another day~”

paddy wagonin’

#ofdusk #laslow #princessmacedon #toasabbamvitatham2023 #svverdane2023 #~ic: tiki's turn #~thread: paddy wagonin'#~ooc: bolt speaks #~ooc: I tried so hard to find the lyrics for that one song but I couldn't D:

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starmapz · 8 months ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

❦ words ; 12.1k.

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

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

“Ryomen! I need a hand!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They fell asleep?” He grunts.

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

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

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

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

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

“And Pokemon.”

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

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

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

“That’s fine, you could use a showe-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can go home.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re still being a dick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like a dick.”

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

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

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

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

“You gonna forgive me if I do?”

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

“Fuck, fine. Fine. I was a dick.”

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

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

“Did the brats give you a hard time?”

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

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

“Don’t worry about it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

Not that Shoko seems to agree with that sentiment.

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

“Hey, Sho!” You reply cheerily.

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

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

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

“Oh, with Sukuna?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He apologized, yes?”

You nod.

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

“I mean, they did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened to emailing you our grade then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, fuck that.

–

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

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

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

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

“Morning to you too, dick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What would you like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have breadcrumbs?”

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

“Do you have bread?”

“Yeah, but it’s old.”

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

“Stale.”

“Perfect!”

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

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

“Trust the process, Cho.”

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

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

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

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

“So?”

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

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

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

Really, you should be blaming Sukuna for scaring you.

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

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

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

“We should clean.”

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

“Okay let’s… start with the counter.”

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

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

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

“The fuck even happened over here?”

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

“So you threw shit everywhere?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You stickin’ around to study?”

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

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

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

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

You nod.

“Mm.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Who asked?”

“Cuba?”

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

“Oh. Castro.”

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

“How did the modern revolution affect the environment?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At five and twelve, they very well may have.

“Awwww!”

“Pleaaase, Kuna!”

“No, that’s final.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks, nodding. “Tuesday at three.”

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

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

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

Dick.

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?”

“Hm? Yeah, why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have a class with him?”

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

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

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

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

Arching a brow, Nanami hums questioningly.

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

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

“Scary dog privilege,” you agree.

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

“Don’t worry about it.”

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alone.

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

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

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

“There you are. What happened?”

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

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

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

“He didn’t show up.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?”

You nod.

“Are you lying?”

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

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

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

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

“How are you feeling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We just ate, though.”

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

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

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

Keep your mind off of Sukuna.

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

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

1K notes · View notes

dreamingdragonscion · 2 years ago

Note

"What the...?"

That thing is... Small. Really small--smaller than Larcei, in fact, who--despite the beating you'll get for pointing this out to her--stands shorter than most. But besides being small, she is reminiscent of something. A vague memory claws at the back of her mind, like she had seen this child before, just in a different place, in a different time.

So she feels compelled to walk up to her during meal time, seeing as how she is all alone--and that itself as another cause for worry, having walked in those shoes herself.

"Hey," she greets, simple but sincere. Larcei helps herself to the free spot across from the manakete, letting her fingers drum against the table as she speaks, "Name's Larcei. You look... Sorta young, so here," she fishes through her outfit until her fingers settle on her belt, and then from a spot tucked beneath her uniform she produces a dagger, sharp as it is ornate, "not sure you're even old enough to use one, but where we're going, you... Could get hurt. I was gonna use this in a pinch, but I think it's best if you hold onto it. Defend yourself if you ever need to, alright?"

A tilt of the little manakete’s head accompanied by the big pure smile that lit up her face as Tiki stared back at Larcei with shining emerald eyes brimming with intrigue. “Hello big sister!” Tik gave her a wide smile, her little white fangs showing behind her lips, rocking her legs back and forth under the chair as she listened intently to Larcei’s introduction. “My name is Tiki! Nice to meet you big sister Larcei! I am quite young, at least I think so, I don’t look like Ban-Ban so I think I am quite young at 1000 years old!” She spoke with a chime in her voice, blinking when Larcei produced a dagger seemingly out of nowhere.

A gasp and a clap of hands from Tiki. “How did you do that?” She squealed looking over Larcei and then the dagger and then at Larcei again. “Was that a magic trick? Does big sister Larcei know magic?” Those wide jade eyes sparkling with curiosity and she shuffled closer to Larcei, ever the most innocent little girl. “For me? Thank you big sister!” She held the dagger daintily in her hands, being very careful with it after Ban-Ban scolded her before when she started playing with daggers that Xane was trying to teach her to hold.

“Ban-Ban says as long as I am careful not to cut myself and someone is here to watch me, I can hold a knife! But usually I don’t hold a knife, big sister!” She placed the dagger on the table and quickly dug through the little leather satchel slung across her shoulder, ruffling through the contents of the bag filled with trinkets until she pulled out a bright blue stone, sparkling like the water of the ocean they sailed upon. “I have my dragonstone!” And a puff as two fluffy yellow wings popped out behind Tiki in a flurry of feathers.

“Don’t worry big sister! I will be very very careful, because big sister told me to! I want to make sure big sister will not worry so I will be a good girl!” She insisted and then grabbing Larcei’s hand to shake it with a coo, face blushing with her joy. “And I will also make sure that I will protect big sister Larcei as well because big sister cares for me!”

#~ic: tiki's turn #toasabbamvitatham2023 #swiftscion #~ooc: bolt speaks #~ooc: when the dragon child has no concept of human age #~ooc: oh you sweet summer child #~ooc: I have a nickname prepared for Larcei but Tiki isn't close enough with her to use it yet #~ooc: soon though! I promise!

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giuseppe-yuki · 7 months ago

Text

come over, baby!

rancher!oscar piastri x city girl!reader

w.c.: 4.3k

warnings: curse words, heavy allusions to sex, a little bit of ooc!oscar

summary: oscar sneaks you onto his family's ranch. it doesn't go as smoothly as he planned.

a/n: merry christmas to those who celebrate! :) i know i haven't uploaded a real fic in a hot sec so i decided to whip this up real quick!

picture credits from pinterest :)

your trusty mini cooper gives a sharp beep as it locks behind you. its taillights flashes bright, causing the branches of the surrounding eucalyptus trees to cast a looming shadow over you and the dusty road. once the lights dim into nothing, you glance around the dark dirt driveway that was apparently the entrance to your boyfriend’s family’s ranch, according to the text from him on your phone.

you let out a sigh- you could have easily been snuggled up in your bed in your college dorm, facetiming him on your phone, but no- he decided that you should become a top secret spy and drive two hours to his conveniently “close” family ranch at 9pm on a tuesday evening and sneak into his bedroom on the first floor because he felt clingy and wanted to see you “in-person.”

it honestly only took a few “no one will knowwww!” and a sprinkle of “come on, baby, pleaseeeeee i want to see youuu!” until you found yourself tiptoeing down the pitch black driveway towards the looming two story family ranch house that was seemingly where your boyfriend was located for fall break. anything for love, you suppose.

you squint your eyes at your phone’s bright screen depicting a lengthy message depicting exactly where to “break in” under the contact name “osc 💕” . park underneath the line of trees outside the metal gates- check. sneak through the broken fence three posts next to the main gates- check. walk down the dirt road towards the main house- currently doing so.

the ranch house is stunningly pretty, with a big patio that housed a few well-worn rocking chairs, a spattering of wildflowers all around, and a big oak tree with a tire swing framing the whole thing. if you weren’t currently on a mission to break into the house itself to see your boyfriend, you would have stayed to admire for awhile.

you locate the window that your boyfriend mentioned further down in the text- the second one on the left side of the house without a window screen (he broke it playing cricket when he was 12, he said). bingo. it honestly wasn’t that hard to find, considering it was only one with the lights on on the first floor.

sliding your phone, the only light source that you had, into your pocket, you curve your fingers underneath the window pane and slowly slide it up, making sure to make zero noise.

the first thing you see when you maneuver yourself all sneakily through the window of the quaint little ranch house’s first-floor bedroom is decidedly not your boyfriend, with his swoopy brown-gold hair and polite-cat smile. instead, a pretty young woman with brown shoulder length hair, cowboy boots, and a silver belt in one hand stops and gapes at you on her way to exit the room.

shit.

“w-w-who are you?” she asks shakily, shuffling around the bed in the middle of the room and extending the silver belt in front of her like a weapon. she gives the air a few experimental slashes as if telling you- back off, i have a weapon.

you start to rethink your decisions. this was oscar’s house…right?

scrambling out of your awkward position sprawled halfway the window, you scoot nervously away from the rather dangerous-looking belt before speaking.

“er, hi,” you say in the most non-threatening tone you can muster up after breaking and entering what you assume is this random lady’s house at an inappropriate time of night.

she doesn’t even give you a chance to explain that this was all a misunderstanding before she yanks the door next to her open and gets ready to, most likely, call the police on you.

however, before she is able to bolt out the door, a familiar boy steps into view in the doorway.

oscar.

he takes a second to take in the situation- you standing awkwardly like that meme of robert pattinson in the kitchen, and the woman holding out the silver belt towards you in a menacing way- before he jumps into action.

“okay…hattie- i can explain,” he exclaims to the woman, slamming the door closed behind him. oscar runs up between you and the still-stunned hattie, which you assume is his sister.

“do not tell mom, but it’s just my girlfriend, okay?” he pleads. then, looking at the belt in hattie’s hand, he wrinkles his brow. “-and is that my belt?”

hattie hides the belt behind her.

“um…no?”

with a single eyebrow raise from oscar, hattie sighs exasperatedly.

“fine, yes, it is. i came into your room to get it for my outfit tomorrow when i caught your-” she peers around oscar, “‘girlfriend’ literally breaking into our house!”

“okay, pause!” your boyfriend says, scooting over to the left a little bit to block hattie’s view of you next to the wide-open window. “first of all, why would you take my belt without asking? second of all, she is not breaking into the house if i invited her in first, and third, again, please don’t tell mum.”

hattie stares at her brother for a second, then peers over his shoulder to look at you, before crossing her arms. “al-right. i won’t tell- only if you do my night duty stuff for the ranch and i get to keep the belt.”

your boyfriend doesn’t even hesitate before spitting a quick “okay, fine” before shoving his sister out of the room.

“fuck. you. i. am. never. doing. that. again!” you whisper-shout at oscar, repeatedly smacking him with the hoodie you stripped off moments ago. screw his puppy-dog eyes and his oddly cute bunny-rabbit smile- you were never trusting him again.

he laughs between the soft smacks from your college-logoed hoodie and pulls you towards him on the bed, effectively halting your attacks.

“come on, baby!” he drawls, wrapping his arms around you. “it’s fine!”

your hoodie is abandoned on the side as he slides you towards him. your head automatically slots into the crook of his neck like it was made to be there, and you practically melt into his warm body, effectively dissolving the bigger part of your embarrassment and anger away.

even when you purposefully cross your arms and face away from him after the hug, oscar knows he has already won the way from the fact that you still crawl underneath his blankets with him like you both always did in your dorm back at college.

he prods you with a finger when you both are snuggled half-way in the blankets and you know that you can’t turn around to face him or else he’s going to press kisses to your face and then your “i’m a bit pissed” facade will surely be broken. you stay back-towards him, but then, he pulls out the ultimate weaponized piece of knowledge that he knows: your ticklish spots. oscar jams his fingers into your side, giggling, and pokes you until you have no choice to squirm back towards him.

the way you wriggle around the bed ends up with you slotted underneath him. oscar gazes down at you, head tilted. you blink back at him slowly, watching how his brown eyes follow your tongue as you lick your chapped lips.

“you know,” he whispers in that lilting australian accent of his, “this is more what i was thinking we could do when i told you to sneak over into my room.”

“yeah?” you say, teasingly. “well, i’ll be glad to recreate whatever you are thinking of.”

a shy grin spreads across his face, and he sits up to strip his old faded sleeping shirt off his body.

you just about salivate, seeing the sight of what you have seen what seems to be hundreds of times- his slightly muscular chest dotted with a constellation of stars that you loved to trace- either during a soft night curled on your dorm room bed, or when you lay, spent, on his chest after a lust-filled night.

before you can stop yourself, you reach out on instinct to trace your fingernail down his torso.

just a millisecond before your finger makes contact with his skin, footsteps sound outside his shut door, and the doorknob rattles, resulting in both of you to snap your heads towards the sound.

with some unbelievable reaction time that should probably get him a seat in formula 1, oscar shoves you underneath his stupid blue bedspread, and throws a couple comforters over your covered body- just in case.

are. you. joking.

you were never trusting oscar again. what the hell were you gonna say to his parents if they found you underneath his blankets? there’s no way in hell they were gonna be easily persuaded like his sister was with a simple belt. what were you going to say?

oh, i’m sorry mrs. piastri, for breaking into your son’s bedroom at 9pm on a tuesday night because your son was feeling a bit frisky.

absolutely not. you would rather die.

instead, you settle for freezing as still as you can underneath the pitch-black insides of oscar’s pile of blankets and wait for what just be your impending doom.

the door squeaks as it opens, and you hear the scuffling of house shoes, then a pause.

the person entering the room speaks first.

“oscar.” a pause. “who were you talking to? and what- what are you doing with your shirt off? why are you kind of sweaty?”

you clock it as a female parental-type voice, which confirms your suspicions that- fuck- it’s probably his mother.

your boyfriend shuffles nervously above you.

“mum, what?? talking? i wasn’t talking to anyone- i was talking to myself! also, you can’t just, like, break into my bedroom!” he exclaims a little too quickly. “you have to, like, knock! that’s an invasion of privacy!”

“wow, okay, calm down, oscar!” the woman’s voice shoots back. “why are you so defensive? i just heard voices, and i thought- maybe someone had broke in?”

another pause.

“were you having some…” she trails off. “some- special alone time? a bit of oscar’s happy time?”

oscar’s mother’s insinuations hit both you and your boyfriend at the same time, and you can’t help but clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the laugh that was bubbling up in your throat.

your boyfriend lightly kicks you underneath the covers, which you could directly translate to shut up right now.

“special alone..?!” oscar stutters out, outraged. “no, mum, i was not having some special alone time! please! mum, i’m fine!”

“alright, alright,” his mother remarks, defeatedly.

the scuffling sound heads towards the door, but stills before you can hear the door open.

“by the way, your sister said that you were going to do her nighttime chores for her. i don’t know what kind of silly deal you guys struck up, but i expect it to be done by tomorrow, okay?” she adds.

“okay, okay, i got it, mum,” oscar replies hastily.

“okey-dokey. goodnight, oscar!” his mother says brightly, before you hear the tell-tale sound of the door squeaking shut.

after oscar makes sure the door is completely closed and his mother’s footsteps have disappeared from his bedroom, he yanks his blankets off of you.

the cool air flows over you, and you take a breath of fresh air. even if you only spent three minutes, tops, inside the stuffy blankets, it really felt like forever. you are sure your clothes are all rumpled from being squished underneath all that weight.

“sorry, sorry, sorry,” your boyfriend repeats, grasping you and pecking a kiss to your cheek each time. “that was not part of the plan.”

“mhm,” you mutter back. you didn’t mind, honestly, you were just glad mrs. piastri didn’t notice the suspiciously college-girl shaped lump on her son’s bed.

when oscar pulls off of you, he flashes you a devious grin.

“you wanna..?”

he uses his head to gesture towards the bed.

under normal circumstances, you would have thrown oscar to the bed and done multiple inappropriate things to him, but alas, 1) his mom coming in kind of killed the mood, 2) how could you, when his poor sister was likely, like, down the hall? and most importantly, 3) oscar had promised to do his sister’s chores, and you weren’t about to get mama piastri angry the next morning.

“oscar…” you say, trailing off. “don’t you have to do your, you know, chores?”

the gleam of mischievousness in your boyfriend’s eyes immediately falls flat, and his lips turn into a slight frown.

letting out a rather exaggerated sigh, he slumps forward for a second before slinking towards the door.

“leave my own mother to cockblock me…” he mutters, throwing on a black hoodie and green cap.

you are about to let out a giggle, and pull him back on the bed for looking so cute being forlorn, but then, you realize, no, you have to be the voice of reason.

“come on, oscar, i may be a city girl, but it can’t be that bad, right? i’ll be here all night!”

you are met with your boyfriend’s classic blank stare.

“o-okay…what if…i went with you?” you suggest, reveling in the way that his gaze lights up.

“sneak out of the window, and meet me at the front of the house in 5,” he remarks, giving you a soft smile.

what you expect to see at the front of the house is oscar with a shovel or whatever ranchers use to do their nightly chores, but instead, oscar waves at you from inside an entire fucking glowing atv. it has two seats, and entire mini flatbed trunk area, and to top it off, a covered clear canopy over the entire thing. and you thought the usual ranchers’ method of transportation was a freaking horse?? oscar’s family must have really modernized.

you whisper a quick what-the-fuck before launching yourself into the atv next to your boyfriend. he flashes his usual bunny-rabbit smile at you, before fiddling with a few knobs on the front of the control panel. to your surprise, an entire heating unit starts blasting warm air towards you out of absolutely nowhere.

huh??? when did atvs have heaters??

you don’t even have chance to formulate your thoughts before oscar starts revving the atv like he’s a freaking formula car driver and takes off into the darkness.

even if you knew close to zero about being a rancher, you trail behind oscar to make sure he doesn’t half-ass his chores. the first task is checking the lights, which doesn’t seem too hard.

your boyfriend basically speedruns around the barn that you arrive at, flicking at seemingly random places to turn on floodlights that surround the area.

“for ‘safety’ reasons,” he had said when you asked.

you take the time to do a 360 around the barn, noting the goats that glance at you curiously from their fenced off area outside in the chill night air.

when oscar finishes sprinting around, he grasps your hand and leads you back towards the atv.

“alright, back to my room!” he gasps breathlessly, as he starts the atv back up.

your mind drifts to the poor goats outside.

“er, oscar- are the goats supposed to be outside? i would think they deserve to be inside the barn, warm and toasty, no?”

your boyfriend freezes, hand halfway to the wheel. it’s obvious the cogs in his mind are turning. you blink at him once, before he groans and twists the key into the ‘off’ position for the atv.

typically, you knew your boyfriend as someone who was really hard to irritate, but god, this was really doing a number on him.

oscar bolts toward the gated area that you saw earlier, and easily jumps the fence into the goat’s area. you can’t help but watch in wonder as he herds all the stubborn animals towards the barn’s entrance. most of the goats bleat at him once in annoyance before charging into the warmth of indoors, but you see a few stragglers still in the outdoor pen. a giggle bubbles up in your throat as you see a goat purposefully wedge itself between the fence and the water trough- just enough so oscar couldn’t reach him easily- leading to your boyfriend exclaim in frustration.

it was funny- if you saw the shy, introverted oscar that was typically shown to others at the college that you both went to together, you were sure that they would have never guessed he was the type to get pissy, curse at goats, and shake his fist at the sky like an old grampa in the dark of night.

while he was busy with the stubborn goat, you take the chance to climb over metal rungs of the fence and venture into the barn. it was quite cozy looking, with a thin layer of straw-like bedding covering the floor, round bales of hay lining the walls, and, of course, bunches of goats milling around. sitting on an overturned bucket, you watch as the cute goats settle down for the night, bleating happily.

all of the sudden, a baby goat, (a kid, you find out they are called, later) runs up to you and nibbles at your sleeve. it’s quite adorable, the way it shoves its head under your hand, urging you to pet it. you comply, of course.

it kind of reminds you of the way oscar often shoves his head under your hands during a long night study session. when he was almost at his breaking point, too tired to shove any more vocab words and formulas into his head, he would lie on you and beg for you to thread your hands into his hair and massage his head. oscar would probably go mental if he saw you give the baby goat treatment that was typically reserved for him.

speaking of the devil, the second your hand lands on the baby goat’s head, oscar storms in with the stubborn goat from earlier squished to his chest. half of your boyfriend’s pant leg is soaking wet, and judging from the way his eyes are drawn to the spot where your hand was softly petting the goat’s head, he was not too happy.

“are you…okay, osc?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

after gently letting the offending goat back towards its mates, oscar stands like the standing man emoji in front of you.

“i would like to go.” he responds, face completely deadpan.

although the goats were pretty cute, you would pick oscar every time. lightly scooching away from the baby goat, you stand up and brush off the pieces of straw and dirt that it knocked into your lap. the goat, probably slightly peeved at the fact that you were leaving, decides to do a gravity defying (?) leap at the shelf behind you, which contained a small square block of hay.

much to your amazement, the goat jumps off your bucket, and lands nicely on the shelf a good meter above you.

“don’t you fucking dare,” oscar warns behind you, apparently already guessing the goat’s next step. he runs towards underneath the shelf and pushes you behind him, all the while keeping a eye on the goat as it steps closer and closer to the bale of hay.

it bleats, and pushes the hay with its nose.

the block explodes in midair, completely covering oscar.

for the second time in the day night, you fight to cover your laugh. the poor hay-covered oscar was just about trembling in anger. you hurriedly drag him towards the exit, all the while thanking the gods that what you thought was a darling little goat didn’t just squish your boyfriend.

“come on, baby,” you comfort, parroting the words he had said to you earlier in the night back to him. “it’s fine.”

he huffs, twisting the key of the atv, allowing the heater to effectively blast half of the hay on him straight into your face.

“oh my god, baby, are you okay?” oscar says, eyes wide. he quickly turns the heater down and brushes a few strands of hay off of your head.

you pretend that you didn’t just feel a strand of hay go down your throat.

“y-yeah, no problem,” you cough out. “we can just um, head back if that’s what you’d like.”

“right,” he affirms, voice going back to monotone.

the atv rumbles quietly as he navigates back to the house.

trying to lighten up the mood and fill the awkward silence in the small space of the vehicle, oscar attempts to crack the world’s worst joke using his lust-craved brain.

“after all that fiasco, i think i deserve the world’s best hea-”

before he can finish (hehe get it?), you cut him off, pointing outside to a potentially dangerous situation for his ranch’s chickens.

“oscar,” you say pointedly, “i don’t want to burst your bubble, but was bringing the chickens in one of your sister’s chores? ‘cause they’re currently flapping around in an outdoor area, and i’m afraid there’s like foxes or something that are going to eat them.”

your boyfriend slams on the brake pedal, and peeks over your shoulder, confirming the worst news in his head right now- there was yet another job to be done.

he just about flies out the vehicle, and before you know it, he has wedged himself into the chicken coop. if there is an award for the fastest time to shove like, 15 chickens inside the line of nesting boxes, he would definitely win first. it’s kind of an insane sight. you even hear a few “get the fuck in,” which is decidedly out of character for oscar to ever say.

every chicken actually makes it indoors, and oscar doesn’t hesitate to slam the chicken coop door shut with a loud bang.

you wish you can say the actual ride back to the house isn’t tense, but then, you’d be lying. by the time oscar pulls up to the side of the house where the only window still has its lights on is the second one without a window screen, you can feel each breath that he takes thrumming its way into your core.

he barely has a chance to shut off the atv before you cast a sly glance towards him.

“do you wanna-”

the way his brown eyes glaze over in want does all the answering for you.

all you know is that after spending an undisclosed amount of time inside of the atv fogging up the plastic cover of the vehicle, you both stumbled back through oscar’s stupid little window on the left side of the house, where you continued your little escapade within the confines of his bedroom.

the first thing you realize when you wake up is oscar’s bare skin underneath yours. you’re tucked underneath his arm, and one of your legs is entwined with his.

you shift in his arms, tilt your head, and use a little bit of force to launch yourself upwards to press a kiss on his cheek from your position wedged next to him.

oscar mutters a “mmm,” with his eyes closed, but you can tell from the many times of waking up next to him that he’s obviously awake.

poking his bare stomach with a finger, you giggle.

“i know you’re awake, oscar.”

“nuh-uh,” he shoots back, eyes still closed, grasping your offending finger with his hand and holding your arm away from him.

you untuck your other hand from under the blanket, and move to boop his stomach again.

however, before you are able to, the footsteps come to the door and the doorknob jiggles.

oh. my. fucking. god. not this again.

oscar, like the night before, strategically shoves you under his blankets roughly.

this time, you wedge yourself in a way where you can see the doorway through a crack in the blankets before the door swings open.

a nice-looking woman with straight brown short hair and a white sweatshirt with big block letters that spell out, “y u k i” walks in. his mom, you suppose. behind her stands the girl you saw the day before, hattie, who has her hand clasped over her mouth, trying to stop her giggles from escaping.

oscar’s mom speaks first, clasping her hands together.

“good morning, oscar!” she exclaims, placing her hands on her hips. “did you want some breakfast?”

“er,” your boyfriend says, staying very still.

then, you see oscar’s mom approaching you.

she neatly pulls off the part of the blanket covering your head, effectively blinding you from the bright light from the window, while also turning you into the surface of the sun from the way your cheeks heat up from embarrassment of being exposed literally out of nowhere.

“and maybe your girlfriend would like some breakfast too instead of being shoved underneath your dirty blankets?”

when oscar doesn’t answer, his mother shakes her head and sighs. “wow, oscar, i thought i taught you better than treating guests this way.”

you wrap oscar’s blankets around you, thanking god that his mother had not decided to yank all the blankets off your entire body.

hattie decides this is the moment that she cannot hold her laugh anymore and flees the doorway. you can still hear her little giggles in the hallway.

your boyfriend stutters out angrily, “b-but hattie promised-”

“no, don’t ‘hattie’ me. she didn’t out you.” his mother states calmly. “i was a teen too, once. do you really think i wouldn’t see the footsteps in the mud? your giggling at 3am? the quite honestly- nasty- handprints on the fogged up atv plastic? also, the quite obvious lump that was on your bed-”

she shakes her head, wagging a finger at her son.

turning to you, however, she brightens up significantly. “anyways, i don’t blame you a smidgen for oscar’s actions, darling. call me nicole. now, how would you like your toast and eggs?”

a/n: bonus points if you can recognize what movie + scene i referenced when mama piastri walks for the first time 🤭

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #op81 x y/n #op81 x reader #op81 x you #📝

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lysarion · 1 month ago

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━━━━━━ of logic and dance ⟢

♱ | anaxa was not one who willingly admitted to his wrongs. but not with you; not when he spent three weeks losing himself at the thought of you dancing with someone else.

𖤝 including ⠀! ⠀anaxa ◟ 𖤝 warnings ⠀! ⠀modern/college au, long fic ( 10k words send help ), word vomit, potential-ooc

❝ tags ⚜ . if you'd like to be tagged please send me an ask off-anon!!!

theoretically speaking, was it possible to see someone in a different light in just three weeks when you’ve spent your entire life disliking them?

the past anaxa would argue—without skipping a beat—that no, it was not possible. the sheer notion of a measly three weeks crumbling a philosophy a genius spent their entire life cultivating felt absurd. but now, he’s been proven wrong. and to add more salt to the wound, it was you who bested him in this argument.

to understand the suffering anaxa has gone through, we must first take a few steps back—specifically, three weeks ago when a pesky junior had put his name inside a ballot box for aglaea’s dancing competition as a joke.

anaxa was fuming. to put his name inside a random mystery box was one thing, but to have him be picked and participate in an art he was unfamiliar with was another. phainon spent the majority of his tuesday trying to escape from anaxa’s lividness. barely squeezing by when the said man was hunting him down like a poacher in the forest. to some, the sight may be endearing—anaxa did have a tendency to dote on phainon—but the snow-haired junior would argue.

and that’s how anaxa found you; patting down phainon’s hair as you shook your head in disapproval in his direction. anaxa’s mood sours further, a permanent scowl etched on his face as he demanded you to hand over the sulking boy behind you. phainon was just about ready to bolt out the room when suddenly, aglaea entered the room. an amused but barely noticeable smile on her face has anaxa’s skin rattled with goosebumps.

“thank you, phainon, for doing my job for me. this certainly saves me the trouble,” the blonde woman said, much to the trio’s question. aglaea cleared her throat, “now that everyone is present, i must congratulate you, [name] and anaxa, for being chosen as this year's representatives.”

“surely you jest, aglaea,” anaxa chimed in, irritation lacing his voice as he stepped closer to said woman. “i clearly remember the rules stating that the students chosen must be willing to participate. if you could not tell, i am not—in the slightest—willing.”

normally, a glare from anaxa would send even the terror professors of this university running with their tails in between their legs—but never aglaea. be it from the immeasurable amount of time they have spent together trying to one-up the other since pre-school, or simply the strange connection they have since childhood, it is an undeniable fact that even the great anaxa loses to aglaea.

aglaea only smiled, “yes, that is true. but i’m afraid i will have to make an exception this time. after all, due to your misgivings in one of the labs, the number of willing candidates have dwindled.” anaxa’s brow twitched in annoyance as you crossed your arms over your chest, much to aglaea’s amusement. “therefore, me and the teachers have decided, your participation in this event will be considered your punishment.”

and thus began anaxa’s three week long journey of being your dance partner.

— the first week.

much to agalea’s expectations, your chemistry with anaxa was nonexistent.

his logic and bluntness clashed with your more free-willed and creativeness. she heaved another sigh as you lectured anaxa on his hand placement and stiffness—if she imagined it hard enough, steam would be leaking out of your ears as your face turned a few shades red in frustration.

“it has been almost four hours!” you exclaimed in exasperation, throwing your hands up before they dragged down your face in defeat. “aglaea surely you agree with me that this is hopeless—he’s hopeless!”

anaxa scoffed and raised his head with a sneer. “hopeless in this situation does not describe me—it is you who’s hopeless. there is no subject i can’t master. the fault lies with the teacher.”

“excuse me?” you huffed out in offense. you strutted to his direction, boldly invading anaxa’s personal space, reveling in his slight flinch, and jabbed a finger to his chest. “there is no one i cannot teach, for your information. it’s not my fault you can’t understand the common principle of dance—a simple waltz.”

“if it’s so simple, why have we not made any progress?” he argued back, flicking your finger at his chest at the same time and glowered at you. “do not think of yourself as high and mighty just because you are the only chosen instructor in this university. compared to other dancers i have witnessed, you pale in comparison to them.”

“that’s quite enough from the both of you!”

anaxa watched in disapproval as your debate was cut short by aglaea’s intervention. he clicked his tongue, crossed his arms over his chest and walked past you to speak face to face with aglaea. “see? this just proves that this entire endeavor is meaningless. you cannot expect me to cooperate with someone so…” anaxa paused. he let out an infuriated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, “insufferable. clearly our views are too different and neither of us are willing to compromise. go chat with mnestia and cerces and reach a consensus for a different punishment.”

aglaea sighed. her nimble fingers massaged her temple as her eyes come to a close, “and i vividly remember telling you that this is final. no more discussions. honestly anaxa, i thought you were better than this. of all things, i never expected this to be your tipping point.”

red eyes glared at aglaea, “watch it goldweaver.”

“enough,” she waved off anaxa and pushed past him, much to his dismay. aglaea called out your name—a lot softer this time, might he add—and announced, “both you, go home and cool off. we’ll try again tomorrow. i expect you both to be a little more amiable until then, understood?”

you only looked away and nodded, biting down on the words you did not trust yourself to say and simply gathered your bags. anaxa noticed your downcast gaze and the way your thumb rubbed at your elbow or the way your foot tapped incessantly on the smooth wooden floor. he clicked his tongue in annoyance and begrudgingly collected his things from the ground before he dashed out of the exit. he would deal with this tomorrow.

but when tomorrow eventually comes, anaxa found himself a unable to pay attention in class. lectures on his favorite topics such as history on alchemical transmutation, ancient theology, hell even simple subjects such as literature or readings, anaxa could not bring himself to pay them any mind. not when he's busy watching the choreo you submitted to the group chat last night.

anaxa clicked his tongue in annoyance. no, he was absolutely fuming because aglaea was right and you had proved him wrong.

your choreography was nothing short of dumbfounding—it was incredible in every sense from rhythm, energy, grace, and oh how anaxa hated to admit it, you evoked emotions so evidently with just a sway of a hand.

“now what has gotten you so glum?” a teasing voice with an equally teasing expression invaded anaxa's vision. he sneered in distraught having been caught by professor cerces—his mentor and detested guardian—in the acts of his exasperation.

he shoved his phone back in his bag and flipped his textbook senselessly, ignoring cerces’ presence as she took a seat by her lecture table. “it's none of your business.”

“i'd argue it is my business,” cerces rebutted. “i am one of the teachers who agreed on this punishment.”

anaxa looked up from his textbook to glare at the professor who only intertwined her fingers together. when a beat of silence passed, anaxa rolled his eyes in annoyance before his attention redirected itself onto his blank paper—not a single drop of graphite gracing its surface.

“child of reason, i have a question.”

“i’ll have you know i have no interest in your pointless inquiries.”

cerces smirked and leaned forward, the slight tilt of her head has anaxa's fingers quaking with aggravation. “oh but isn't that the point of it all? to ask questions even if they are pointless? what use is that curiosity of yours if you won't find opportunities to use it?”

another pause, the atmosphere continued to thicken. anaxa was the first to conceive with a heavy sigh. he cradled his head with one hand while the other picked up the stray pencil on his desk to tap it on his blank paper. “well? out with it already, i don't have all day.”

“ever the rude student,” cerces murmured with vexation. “well whatever, this is you we're talking about. now for my question,” she paused and unlaced her fingers to open the laptop on her desk. “i'm curious, what crime has poor [name] committed for you to dislike them so?”

anaxa stilled. of all the questions he hypothesized cerces would ask, this was not one of them. his brows furrowed further. he'd solved more complex formulas and memorized great philosophies in his sleep—so why couldn't he decipher you?

“when have i…” he muttered before his mouth snapped shut. he shook his head and massaged his temple before snapping back to his actual self. “and what good will knowing my reasons do?”

“oh, i don't know, help with your poor chemistry on the dance floor?”

another click of his tongue, and anaxa loudly gathered his things.

“and where do you think you're going?” she asked. “you still haven't answered my question, anaxa.”

“why don't you use your brain to pick apart my answer? you always seemed to do that, so why not do it again?” anaxa quipped, a certain kind of venom dripped from the skin of tongue.

cerces quietly watched as anaxa haphazardly threw his items in his bag and ungraciously slinged it over his shoulder. the professor heaved out a long sigh as she said, "so you're giving up after one attempt? how unlike you, anaxa.”

said man was halfway out the lecture room when he heard cerces' musing. the grip on the door handle tightened under his hand—knuckles turning snow white. “i am not giving up, you inadequate professor. there is no field i cannot master.”

aglaea mused, ‘something changed,’ but she's not quite sure what during rehearsals. sure, you're still at each other's throats—but there's a strange, sudden synchronicity in the way you moved. as if a switch had been flipped, anaxa was more compliant with your advice and you held your sharp tongue and lectures. (aglaea found great amusement in you making funny faces when anaxa was not looking—incredibly childish but your only outlet for frustration).

aglaea knew she was right—something had changed. she just didn't know how deep the crack ran.

there was this strange awkwardness to you, too, though she can't quite name it. yes, you held your back your sharp words more frequently, but aglaea can't help but wonder if there was more to it. she noticed—she always does—the way you looked at anaxa as if you wanted to say something, but you would back out before you could get the chance.

but she doesn't blame you for your cowardice—it was well expected. anaxa seemed more irritated than usual. he was quieter, more introspective but not in a good way. his eyes tracked your movement in quiet precision as if he's dissecting your being alive. there was a quiet yet turbulent kind of curiosity whenever his hand touched your bare back—the muscles in his fingers flexing uncomfortably as if he's been burned. anaxa's expression would shift from one of nonchalce to that of pain whenever you're too close for comfort. and aglaea found it painfully ironic—this field required you both to be close.

skin to skin; breath on breath. anaxa was being pushed to his limits while you pretended to revel in the situation.

— the second week.

“lovely mnestia has told me you've finally grasped the choreo,” cerces said as she walked side by side with anaxa who kept his face passive. “i'm relieved you managed to overcome a hurdle in such a short amount of time.”

anaxa scoffed, half offended half arrogant as he mused, “i told you, haven't i? there is no field i cannot master.”

“yes, yes i know. you've said the same line thrice in the span of a week. your arrogance truly knows no bounds.” the professor replied in annoyance. “how is [name] doing nowadays?”

“why do you ask?” anaxa raised a brow as cerces unlocked the lecture hall. being a professor's mentee had its own pros and cons, one of those pros being able to spend a couple hours in peace and quiet before other students arrive.

cerces looked at him in bewilderment. in turn, anaxa looked at her as if she's grown two heads. the professor sighed with a small shake of her head. “aglaea told me the poor child's feet has been hurting, badly might i add. just from your first week alone the clinic's band-aid supply has run out.”

anaxa's eyes widened involuntarily, “when was this?”

“did you not hear me at all?” cerces quipped. “since the first week, child of reason. i'm surprised you didn't notice.”

anaxa was surprised as well. for the entire week, you had moved with such proficiency—lectured with such fervor—he wouldn't think twice to ask if you were doing all right. and he cursed himself inwardly. not because he was worried, but because your character is slipping through his fingers like sand—you weren't even giving him the ability to hold on to something.

a click of his tongue and he's dropped all his things at his usual desk.

“anaxa, where are you going?” cerces asked with quiet curiosity as anaxa made a beeline out of the room.

“it's none of your business, professor.”

and that’s how anaxa came to be, outside your lecture hall with a grimace on his face, arms crossed. you were rightfully confused. you tried to side step his figure but anaxa would move in coordination with your movements and blocked the exit.

“oh so now you show me some foot coordination?” you snarled.

anaxa only rolled his eyes as his arms slowly dropped from his chest to his side. a lone eye unwittingly glazed over your foot as he muttered, “shouldn’t you be resting?”

your brows knit together, “well i was about to—until you decided to be an annoyance and block my way to the dorms.”

anaxa clicked his tongue—both in annoyance but mostly in embarrassment—as he moved away from the exit and let you pass. though he didn’t quite leave you alone just yet. the both of you walked in awkward and tense silence. anaxa was the first to break the delicate blanket over the both of you when he noticed you taking a turn that did not, in fact, lead to the dorms.

he grabbed your wrist—you noticed the way not all his fingers wrapped around your flesh, just like how he kept a few fingers up whenever he dipped you low during dance rehearsals. “and where do you think you’re going?” anaxa asked with a deep frown. he jabbed a finger to his left, “if i recall, the dorms are that way.”

you sighed, shaking your head as you felt an oncoming headache form. anaxa watched in quiet frustration and interest as you looked at anything but him. a finger gingerly scratched your cheek as you mutter quietly enough for him to mishear—but nothing escapes him.

“i’m getting bandages,” you muttered.

anaxa’s frown deepened—all five fingers now circled your wrist without him flinching away from the touch of your skin. “and from where? if i remember, the clinic has already run out.”

“the faculty,” you said, as if you’ve done this all the time, and anaxa is sure you have.

he stared at you as if you’ve grown two heads.

you’re quick to glare back at him and pull your wrist away from his hold. “why do you care all of a sudden?” you snapped.

he didn’t answer immediately. his lone eye flickered between your wrist, your foot, before they settled on the hand he used to cage you. anaxa sighed heavily, “i don’t. i simply find it incredibly foolish that you’re trying to hide your injury.”

“i’m not hiding it. i’ve told aglaea and she’s been helping me.” you seethed through gritted teeth. “and don’t throw the word foolish around so casually. for your information, don’t you think it’s stupid that you can’t even look me in the eye for more than five seconds during rehearsals?”

your words hit a nerve within anaxa as the air between you started to crackle and ignite.

when he glared at you, you scoffed in disbelief. “don’t think i haven’t noticed, anaxa. you flinch when you touch me. you can’t even stand to be near me.”

“that’s not—” he stopped mid-sentence when he caught a glimpse of your face—brows furrowed, eyes stormy, and lips wobbled every so slightly as they opened and closed but no words tumbled out. anaxa proves your previous point as he looked away, jaw clenched. “you know what? forget it.”

anaxa turned away and started walking in the direction of the dorms. he played deaf when your voice called out to him with equal amounts of frustration and annoyance.

“anaxa!”

another shout of his name, but he doesn’t spare a moment to stop nor look back.

“anaxa!”

his fists curled at his side, his teeth caught his bottom lip and bit down hard to have blood force its way between his teeth and land on his tongue. he can’t turn around—he mustn’t turn around.

“what are you so afraid of?!”

that was the last thing he heard before he started sprinting away—from you.

surprisingly, anaxa skipped rehearsals the following day, much to your annoyance. and aglaea’s worry is spiking with every jump, turn, and breath you take in the room.

you were frustrated, angry—but mostly tired.

time was running out and you were shouldering all the pressure, soaking it all up in your heart like a sponge dropped into an ocean. aglaea has never seen you so stuck in your domain. everything was tearing from the seams and you no longer had enough patience to stitch it all back together yourself—you needed anaxa by your side if you wanted to fix the tapestry you both started. and that infuriated you.

“dammit!” you cursed out loud as your body collided with the ground. you heaved and heaved, your entire body being supported by your arms in a plank position.

“what a mess our little dancer is in,” cerces commented, striding to aglaea’s side as the blonde woman sighed.

“anaxa skipped rehearsals,” aglaea informed. “twice.”

cerces frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, “now that’s a first. has he told you where he’s been?” when aglaea shakes her head, cerces dragged a hand down her face before they settled to hold her chin in contemplation. “where has that scholar run off to this time?”

“well wherever he is, he better return soon.” cerces watched as aglaea flinched as you failed another jump. you had no support—anaxa was supposed to be your anchor, but he has run away where vulnerability cannot find him. “if he’s not back by the day after tomorrow i’ll have no choice but to replace him as [name]’s partner.”

anaxa’s mentor frowned. “will you find someone in time?”

aglaea doesn’t answer and cerces understood. with one final sigh, cerces conceded, “alright, fine. i’ll have that phainon boy practice with our little dancer starting tomorrow. in that way he’ll at least know the flow of things.”

“thank you for your understanding, professor.” aglaea thanked the older woman.

“but i do have one question.” cerces followed up.

“what is it?”

“do you think they hate each other?”

aglaea paused. golden eyes gazed at your figure sitting on the polished wooden floors, staring at your own image reflected by the mirrors. you were fracturing, lights dimming out, but you were still trying to shine through all the cracks.

“no,” aglaea hummed. “they don’t. not really.”

anaxa felt ashamed—for skipping rehearsals and having to hear from cerces about your transgressions.

“dance is a conversation. what use would i be if you weren’t there to talk back?”

your words haunted him like a looming deadline as he gripped the handle of the rehearsal room’s door. he heard music inside—you were probably inside, dancing in your lonesome and falling to the ground with no one to catch you. anaxa’s teeth caught his lip once again as the thought of him not being there by your side had his stomach turning on itself in an unexplainable way.

he took a deep breath. his other hand gripped at the fabric over his chest where his heart rattled in uncertainty. when he thinks he can finally open the door—face you—he’s left with after images of your disappointed face. it was unlike him to act this way. he was a scholar—someone who dared to challenge the philosophy laid out to make sense of this chaotic world. but for all his intelligence he can never put his learnings to practice when it comes to you.

a laugh snapped anaxa out of his self-deprecating thoughts. his brows furrowed together and he willed himself to crack the door ajar to get a peek on what in the world could have happened to elicit something so uncharted from you.

anaxa wished he hadn’t opened the door.

there you were, squatting on the floor, as you laughed so casually at your junior—phainon. something turned inside anaxa’s gut as the snow-haired boy spewed something anaxa did not care for, his attention solely on you as you wiped a stray tear from your eye. he felt his blood run cold as you approached the younger boy and gently—far gentler than you would to him—lifted his arm into position while the other guided to hold you by the waist. the both of you stared at your feet as your voice—so tender and almost intimate it made anaxa want to vomit—counted so phainon would not lose his rhythm.

the warmth of your voice had left him feeling cold in the quiet hallways.

you moved with grace, phainon only messily tried to follow. anaxa watched with a pained look on his face as phainon carefully lifted you from the ground and twirled—your laughter echoed and bounced from the walls and phainon laughed with you as he sets you down. something snapped—maybe it was the doorframe, maybe it was him—when your fingers laced with phainon’s.

you were both effortless and right. he knew phainon was talented—perfect in some ways—but this? you don’t flinch, avoid eye contact, and you accept the closeness between the two of you. suddenly the image of you dancing better with someone that wasn’t him drove anaxa to a wall.

why do you not smile like that at him?

why don’t you move like that with him?

why does it feel like you’ve replaced him?

“now look at who the cat dragged in.”

anaxa shut the door in front him with a loud bang. he no longer cared for secrecy—he needed to get out of here.

cerces raised a brow, “and you’ve just blown our cover. honestly, anaxa, what has gotten—where are you going?”

he doesn’t answer. in fact, cerces’ presence prompted him to speed up his pace. taking sharp turns in corners and avidly ignoring how the professor tailed him with brows raised in parts amusement and worry.

“my goodness, if i had known you’d react so strongly then i wouldn’t have asked that boy to be [name]’s partner.” she joked.

anaxa paused as he turned to look at cerces. the professor was taken aback at his expression—wide-eyed, mouth hung open, as a flash of hurt circled in his eye. the two of them stood still in front of the campus building as the skies slowly turned gray, thunder rumbled in the far distance as anaxa spoke.

“you did what?”

cerces could not begin to describe the timbre of hurt that laced anaxa’s voice. she quickly tried to clear up the misunderstanding, “temporary partner, child of reason. you skipped two rehearsals and [name] had grown frustrated of their lack of improvement due to your absences. you gave me and aglaea no choice.”

“but phainon of all people?!” anaxa snapped.

“why not him? phainon may not be as academically sharp as you, but he listens. he adapts. and he certainly doesn’t run when things get too difficult for him.” cerces tried to reason. her reply discreetly jabbed at anaxa’s own actions.

“why didn’t you wait?”

“we did.”

anaxa scoffed, “i highly doubt that.”

“anaxa you are acting irrationally right now,” cerces lectured. “your insecurities are clouding your judgment.”

at her response, anaxa let out a laugh—mocking but strained. he was cracking and cerces cannot understand why.

“insecurities? when have i ever been insecure?!” he tried to argue.

“right now—you are insecure right now, anaxa.”

anaxa’s mouth opened—then like always, it shut. what was there left to say? all explanations would sound like excuses as cerces cut straight to the heart of anaxa’s problem. slowly, anaxa’s facade of arrogance began to crumble—and he made no effort to catch himself and patch it all back together. he didn’t care if the rain had started to pour—he didn’t care if the world blurred into one giant mess of emotion and logic, or that his clothes clung to him like punishment. he just kept walking, away from his cerces, away from you, away from the version of himself he could not recognize.

he let it rain. because maybe, just maybe, if it poured hard enough, it would drown out the sounds of your laughter with another man.

anaxa had gone mad, he was sure of it—everyone thought so, too.

the way he’d drag his sleepless body into lecture halls, head always buried in his folded arms, and the dark circle under his lone eye, anaxa was nothing short of the typical overworked student. but the thing is: anaxa hasn’t done any work since his last encounter with you and phainon in the rehearsal rooms four days ago.

four days of no sleep, anaxa was just about ready to rip his hair out due to the absurdity of it all. whenever he’d close his eye, the haunting images of you and phainon on stage smiling as you raise a golden trophy hand in hand had him jolting awake and pacing around his room. he’s tried to wrap his head around why that single thought sent shockwaves of hurt into the crevices of his heart but none ever made sense.

when the professor at front dismissed the class, anaxa heaved out a tired sigh. he had wasted another perfectly good lecture dozing off—burning down images of you in his mind in hopes you’ll fade away with the cinders. but you’re just so stubborn. whenever anaxa is alone at home and he’s pacing around the room in the dark, he hears your voice. he hates how he’s got the timbre of your tone memorized and how his mind plays tricks on him. but it's as if his body moved on its own last night—when he heard your favorite piece playing from his phone, as if by second nature, anaxa’s arms lifted and placed it around the misty image of you in his imagination and led you to a waltz.

anaxa shook the thought away and rushed out of the room. he needed another cup of coffee, something to wake him up from the daydreams he didn’t think he could have.

“anaxa?”

his eye widened and before he could fully process who had called out to him, his body had turned around in lightning speed.

there you stood, your duffle bag slung over your shoulder as your hand held your typical dance shoes. you were in no better condition than him, he surmised. bags lined under your eyes, hair a mess, your lips chapped and lacking its usual color. anaxa hated it—how his gaze immediately fell to your feet to make sure you were okay now. or how he noticed the slight twitch of your hand and how your lips fell just to snap shut. he smiled as some sick twisted part of him felt happy—overjoyed at the fact that he’s not the only one being affected by all of this. but it’s short lived when sirens blared in his mind when you took step after step in his direction.

anaxa fled like a coward.

“anaxa wait!”

anaxa was fully sprinting and when he slammed the exit doors open, he cursed under his breath when he realized it was raining. he heard your footsteps closing in on him and against his better judgement, he ran straight into the rain. ever since that day, anaxa had learned how it felt to hate the cries of the sky. during the first few hours when the flesh wound of you being better without him was inflicted, he found comfort in the rain washing away the blood from his body. but he later realized that not every part of him will be abstained from the pain—your smile, your grace, your voice, they remained etched into his psyche where the rain could not erase. and he hated that more.

he hated the rain—incredibly so. but now, as he’s sprinting away from the same ghost that had haunted him for the last ninety-six hours, anaxa finds himself hoping that it would at least wash some madness out of him.

the rain would have felt nice if the water did not sting his eye or felt like bullets piercing his skin. if he wasn’t careful, anaxa would slip and the bravado he had cultivated all his life would melt away like paper meeting a flame. you were the flame—you always have. always warm to touch, bright with your smile, and captivating with the way you danced. someone that always had anaxa recoiling back in timidity because he’s never felt like this with you before—you were the only thing anaxa wasn’t willing to study because he feared the inevitable result of his findings.

“anaxa, won’t you hear me out, just this once?!” you pleaded.

anaxa was winded, his pace was faltering but he pushed himself to continue. he could not—he would not—allow himself to fall right into the palm of your kind hands.

“ANAXA!”

before he knew it, a body collided with his just in time for a vehicle swerved past him. anaxa felt his heart stop, eye grow unfocused for a moment as his back fell onto the cold and damp pavement. on instinct, anaxa’s shaking hands cradled something delicate to his chest as another kind of rain soaked his chest. you were soaked to the bone and trembled within his embrace as gasps of exhaustion and fear escaped from your lips. when he looked up, the first distinct thought he had was, “you don’t belong in the rain.”

“you nearly got yourself killed and that’s the first thing you say to me?!” you screamed at him. your feeble hands gripped at his shoulders as they shook. “anaxa have you finally, genuinely, gone mad?!”

anaxa wanted to pull away, run past you like he always had these past four days—he needed to get away from you. but he can’t get up—not this time. not when you’re crying and afraid, not when you still don’t know the truth of what you’ve done to him in a measly three weeks.

“have i gone mad?” anaxa laughed, bitter and breathless. “yes, yes i have. ninety-six hours of pure excruciating hell.”

you glared at him, the grip on his shoulders turned bruising as you rebut, “so this is your solution? to get yourself killed?! anaxa this is a new definition of madness! if you were in hell just as you said why didn’t you tell anyone?”

the rain poured harder as if it were laughing with anaxa. with a shaky hand, he pushed his damp bangs out of his eye to get a good look at your distraught face and smiled, “you still don’t get it. it’s right in front of you! you are the reason for my suffering and still, you don’t see it—how you ruin me!”

“what are you talking about?!” you say in incredulity.

“you’ve rendered me unable to breathe after a glimpse of what it would be like if i weren’t by your side—when you’re dancing with someone else. just one glimpse of another wrapping his arms around you and i’m sent into this spiralling hell and you ask me what i’m talking about?”

something snapped in anaxa—maybe it was his self-control or the lock that he used to hide his feelings. you were still panting but your eyes had gone wide in shock of his confession. anaxa continues, “i saw you with him—phainon. laughing. dancing like nothing happened. like i never happened. like we hadn’t spent a week skin to skin. and do you know what that did to me? ninety-six hours, ninety-six, of no sleep, no peace. just your face in my mind and your voice under my skin. all because i caught a small glimpse! and i know it’s still my fault in the end.”

anaxa dragged a hand down his face roughly. “i hate you. i hated you. but i hate how i care more. for fuck’s sake i don’t think i ever hated you to begin with. i tried so hard to find faults in our interactions—how you get under my skin, your incessant nit picking at dance rehearsals, and the hours i spend debating over useless topics because you just can’t accept defeat.”

you gasped when anaxa’s hand slid up to cradle the side of your face as his eye narrowed into a glare, his other hand covering half of his face to hide the involuntary flush on his cheeks. “you don’t even have to try. you ruin me with a single touch, your voice—you ruin me by just being you and i hate it.”

“i couldn’t bring myself to study you because i knew the answer would wreck me.” anaxa laughed and slowly pushed himself off the ground with you still on his lap. “and it did. there, are you happy now?”

“anaxa,” you tried to interject.

his head fell to your chest, his ear placed right above your erratic heart as anaxa took a deep breath. the hand that cradled your face fell to his side as the other gripped your forearm in a desperate plea, “please, tell me you feel it. or tell me i’m mad once more. tell me that this is all just in my head so my misery can finally stop.” he grit his teeth and buried his face further into your chest, “if you truly feel an ounce of pity—something, anything—for me, then don’t leave me standing here like a fool.”

you sat there feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of you.

anaxa’s head still remained buried in your chest, trembling—not from the rain, but from the weight of something he’s kept close to his chest. his words ricocheted in your mind, tangled with the sound of your heartbeat and the rain that refused to let up.

for a second you did nothing, stayed motionless and let his feelings sink in fully. then—

you brought your arms around his shoulders, pulled him impossibly closer to your heart, and held him there—not tight, not desperate, just enough for him to infer your response.

“anaxa”, you whispered and you felt him stiffen in your hold. “i was wrong—you’re not mad. or if you are, then i must be, too.”

anaxa tried to pull away, look at you, but your arms would not let him. just like him, you were afraid, scared of what he would respond with your vulnerability laid bare.

“you… you’re just so hard to read sometimes. the first day you’re baring your fang but the next you’re suddenly so tame. so when i noticed you pulling away, i thought—i thought you were just done with me. that you were tired of me pushing your buttons. so, i let it go, because i thought it was for the best—for the both of us. i didn’t think… i never thought it would end up hurting you.”

you let out a shaky breath and continued, “i danced with phainon to fill in the space you left. at first i thought, ‘i’ve done this before. i can make it on my own again.’ but i couldn’t. i didn’t want to admit that i needed you there with me.” you swallowed hard, then laughed. “i’ve been in hell too, you know—for one hundred sixty eight hours, i’ve missed you incredibly.”

memories of your bickering resurfaced like flowers floating on top of crashing waves. though both your tones were meant to kill, they often died down after a few minutes, replaced by something uncharacteristically soft as you both stretched and started warm ups. how you would glance at your phone in that week anaxa had not appeared, waiting for him to reach out, and you hated how whenever the device lit up, you’d make a dash for it only to be disappointed because it's not him.

you pulled back—ignoring the flutter inside your chest when his arms wrapped just a tad bit tighter around you—just enough to look at him. your thumb brushed the side of his face—careful, hesitant, almost reverent. and you smiled, “you’ve always caught me with every throw and hadn’t let me go with every dip—i’d never leave you standing alone, anaxa.”

aglaea mused that something must have happened—again. after all, it wasn’t everyday you and anaxa enter the rehearsal room soaked straight to the bone, your hairs clung to your faces, eyes puffy and red as if you had been crying.

with a worried lecture, aglaea sent you both to the locker rooms to get a warm shower, change into dry clothes, and eventually drive you both home. though, deep down, aglaea is elated with this sudden change. something soft had taken root in both of your sharp edges around one another, especially with the way anaxa held your hand in a firm grip and how you looked at him as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of your chest.

the blonde woman smiled as she watched you two leave the room, hand in hand, muttering secrets to one another—pretending as if aglaea wasn’t in the same space as you.

you were both stuck in your own world where the storm quieted when you two were together.

— the third week.

the following rehearsals were painfully quiet.

not in the usual hostile way—just in the way where the remnants of a storm finally settles and everyone is left to pick up the stray pieces. the room felt heavy, like the walls in the locker room where you both sat were waiting for something to happen.

you and anaxa sat facing each other, avoiding each other’s gaze and tucked behind a closed room as aglaea stepped out to take a call. you were both grateful and distraught over the silence neither of you knew how to fill. you fiddled with your phone, opening the group chat out of instinct before swiping it shut again. your reflection greeted you when the device fell asleep—hair still a mess, eyes just a tad bit more red than usual, and you looked pale due to spending too much time under heavy rain.

something soft fell on your shoulders. when you looked up, anaxa was already sitting down beside you, drinking nonchalantly from his water bottle. you mutter a soft thank you, all the while ignoring your hyperfocus on the few inches that separated your fingers from touching and causing a chain reaction. you bit your lip in contemplation, hand letting go of your phone to clutch the jacket placed on your shoulders—tugging it closer for warmth and if you closed your eyes, you’d catch a small whiff of anaxa’s favorite cologne.

anaxa was the one to break the heavy silence.

“you were going to say something. back then,” he said, voice low and casual in the way people speak when they’re trying to sound like they don’t care.

you blinked, “when?”

anaxa didn’t look at you. “the first week. after our first rehearsal together. you typed something, then deleted it.”

you pause momentarily before a small smile tugged at your lips. “yeah… i was gonna ‘sorry’.” you admitted. “but i wanted to say it in person. i guess i missed the right time.”

anaxa scoffed and clicked his tongue. his head leaned back against the lockers behind him. “you’re free to judge my poor choices—you always have. it’s not that you missed it, i didn’t let you have it.”

you slowly turned to look at him. he chewed on the inside of his cheeks, his eyes glared at the ceiling as if the concrete structure would reveal to him all the answers. the moment felt raw—no heat, no fire, and no bickering, just the truth sitting between the few inches of your fingertips.

“you don’t have to be too harsh on yourself y’know?” you lectured, following his gaze and settled them on the ceiling as you confessed, “i was scared that if i said it too late, it’d mean less. but if i said it too early, it wouldn’t fix anything.” you let out a teasing chuckle before continuing. “you aren’t exactly the easiest person to apologize to, anaxa.”

he didn’t answer right away, anaxa only scoffed. then he muttered, “i would’ve ruined it anyway. i wasn’t looking for an apology.”

“then you’re really gonna hate this part.”

anaxa finally glanced at you and he wished he didn’t.

you leaned both of your hands on top of your legs, your hair falling seamlessly around your face to accentuate your soft smile and eyes, and anaxa hated the immediate jumps of his heart at the sight.

“i still want to say it. i’m sorry, anaxa. for being such a pain in your ass, for pushing all your buttons, and for letting you walk away thinking it didn’t matter to me.”

something passed through his eye—quiet, deep, but not quite forgiveness. maybe fond, intimate.

and then he frowned. “we’re taking a break. why are you still sitting on your toes?”

“huh–?”

before you could argue, anaxa is already on the floor pushing, letting his hands push your legs down until the sole of your heels meet the ground. for good measure, one hand gently pressed on your shin and kept them in place. “flat. you need to rest your feet, especially after your injury. it’s laughable at how to try to present yourself as someone taller or tenser than you are.”

“hey!” you huffed but your mouth snapped back shut when he looked up. that single crimson eye stared at your soul—all knowing of the effect he had on you. your voice turned quieter as you complained, “that’s rude to say…”

anaxa only let out a breath of amusement. he shifted in his position and you tensed, jumping in slight shock as a heavy weight landed on your thighs.

“anaxa what are you–?!”

you fumbled with your hands, unsure of where to place them. you’re heart racing erratically inside the columns of your chest as your cheeks erupted into a flushed pink. anaxa turned his head carefully on your lap, looking up at you with a deadpan expression as his hands slowly snaked themselves around your mid-back.

“if you try and sit on your toes again, i’m staying here for the remainder of our rehearsals.”

you stared at him frozen, hands awkwardly in the air and mouth slightly ajar.

he turned away. “you’re more comfortable than the benches. don’t get a big head about it. and not a single word to professor cerces.”

“i’m not a damn snitch,” you muttered. after an exasperated exhale, your hands slowly fell to your side. for the next few minutes, you let anaxa lay his head on your lap. you couldn’t stop the small laugh that bubbled out. slowly—and very unsure—you carded your fingers through his hair. anaxa flinched at the contact and you quickly retracted your hand. but his hold quickly seized your wrist.

“did i tell you to stop?” he asked—more like demanded—through the fabric of your pants.

you let out another sigh. “well sheesh i’m sorry.”

your hand hovered over his hair as your brows furrowed, mind going a hundred miles a minute before you’re broken out of your daze. anaxa sighed, the warmth of his breath tickled your thighs as he gently led your hand to lay on top of his hair.

“i was caught off guard,” he murmured. “i don’t dislike it. feel free to continue.”

you remained hesitant. hand laid limp on the crown of his head, but when anaxa tapped your wrist—a motion that’s just so him—you let yourself smile at his attempts in sharing his feelings. you don’t notice how time passes like a blur when you brush anaxa’s hairs with your fingers.

for a moment you think you forgot how to breathe. but anaxa’s warmth, that gentle rise and fall of his chest, reminded you that you had the best student in campus to teach you how to breathe again.

“good morning my favorite seni—”

“get out.”

phainon physically deflates at anaxa’s blatant rejection. the snow-haired bow dejectedly walks back to mydei and castorice’s side—the latter offered him small comfort while the blonde man crossed his arms with a small smirk on his face. anaxa felt an oncoming headache invade his senses as he looked to aglaea who seemed far too amused at the situation.

“i was not informed we would be having guests today, aglaea.” he spat out. his arms crossed over his chest out of habit as he raised a brow at the three new faces in the studio.

“we’re sorry for the intrusion,” castorice intervened. “but we were informed by professor cerces that our presence was required here. though she never fully explained why.”

anaxa sighed. “if i were to take a guess, you three are our audience.”

aglaea smiled and urged the trio to come forward, “and you would be correct, anaxa. once [name] arrives, we’ll begin like usual, but with these three as your pseudo-judges.”

“fine,” anaxa replied and made a beeline towards the locker rooms.

phainon sat there, on the polished wooden floors, with his mouth hanging open. his head looked to where anaxa had disappeared into and then to aglaea who only smiled—he repeated the actions for a while before mydei grabbed hold of his head and forced him to stop.

with a shaky hand, he pointed to where the locker rooms were and asked, “was that really senior anaxa…?”

aglaea chuckled under her breath. “yes, he is. why do you ask?”

“well it’s just, i don’t remember him giving in so… easily?” the junior sounded confused as the two students beside him nodded in agreement.

“i have to admit, it seems hard to believe.” mydei interjected.

castorice only nodded when aglaea’s eyes landed on her. with an amused smile, the older woman entertained them, “even the sharpest of blades grow dull with constant use. though to use the word ‘dull’ would be nothing short of incorrect. it’s more of, anaxa is now—”

“good morning, everyone.”

“taken care of.”

all head turned to you. phainon could feel his eyes bulging out of their sockets as mydei let out a huff and castorice covered her mouth in shock. there you stood by the door, your bag slung over your shoulder, hair in its usual messy hairstyle, but hanging delicately on your shoulder was anaxa’s jacket.

you notice the added presence in the room and tilted your head in question, “i wasn’t informed we were having guests today.”

“they even talk the same now…” phainon muttered under his breath.

“huh?”

“what phainon meant was,” aglaea interjected. “they’ll be watching you and anaxa rehearse. only for today. think of it as a small prep for competition day.”

before you can step out of the way, phainon sprung from his seat, and wrapped his arms around your torso with comical tears streaming down his face. you let out a startled yelp, “phainon?!”

“please don’t turn into another mean senior, [name]! you’re the only one who treats me really nicely, i can’t lose you!” the boy cried out and buried his face into your side. half-amused and half-confused, you gently pat down phainon’s hair as mydei and castorice tried to pry his crying figure from you.

the room turned a little colder when phainon was roughly tugged backwards.

“and what do you think you’re doing, phainon?”

said boy, shook like a leaf, as he turned around to meet anaxa’s glare. his face turned paler than it usually was and cried out your name like a plea.

“[name] save me!”

“what do you need saving from, you buffon?”

you let out an amused breath at the sight. anaxa holding phainon by the back of his collar like a mother cat holding her kitten by the scruff. phainon kept flinging his arms around like a child caught sneaking candy before bed time as mydei and castorice send their quiet prayers to their friend. when you turned to look aglaea, she held that same quiet yet amused expression—she was not going to stop their little scuffle.

with a sigh, you let an elated smile break free from your face as you approached the two.

“alright, that’s enough,” you said. a hand softly wrapped around anaxa’s wrist as you turned to him, smiling with mirth in your eyes, “won’t you let him go, anaxa? he’s learned his lesson. isn’t that right, phainon?”

anaxa stiffened ever so briefly at the contact—your touch still felt like a searing iron when meeting his bare skin, but he welcomed the pain wholeheartedly this time. his grip on phainon’s collar loosened slightly, but not enough to let go. instead, he glanced at where your bare skin met —eye flickered between you and the contact before he averted his gaze.

“i’d beg to differ,” he muttered, voice a lot softer than normal. “he still has much to learn.”

“hey!” phainon protested.

“anaxa,” you called out once more. anaxa actively ignored your gaze as he felt something warm trickle down the system of his nerves when your voice came out gentler than the last. your thumb gently pressed against his pulse with idle care—you knew what you were doing to him. “please, won’t you let him go?”

he took a deep breath before letting out a shaky exhale. he finally looked at you, and for a moment, everyone in the room thought he’d argue. instead, he looked away—cheeks ever so slightly flushed—and released phainon with an exaggerated sigh. “fine. are you happy now?”

phainon dropped to the floor with a thud, scrambling back like a cartoon villain escaping the jaws of death. “i’ve never been more afraid in my life,” he whispered, crawling behind castorice.

aglaea let out a quiet, knowing hum—a smile tugged at her lips. “i see we’ve entered the negotiation stage.”

“negotiation?!” phainon squawked.

“that,” mydei said under his breath, a knowing smile on his lips. “was not negotiations. that was flirting.”

“flirting?!”

“are seniors anaxa and [name] in a relationship now?” castorice whispered, wide-eyed.

anaxa whirled around, clearly having heard their conversation as aglaea quietly exited. “we are not.”

you blinked, a teasing smile graced your lips as you asked with mock innocence, “not what?”

anaxa’s face flushed as he glared at you. his hand circled around your wrist as he dragged you to the locker rooms. your laughter bounced around the walls as the trio watched you exchange quiet codes only you knew how to decipher. when you think you’re out of sight, you tugged anaxa closer as you planted a soft kiss to his cheek—the man in turn scurried back a few inches, a hand covering half his face as you continued to laugh.

“yeah”, mydei huffed. “they are definitely dating.”

by the time the trio had left the studio, the sun was setting in the horizon, leaving only you and anaxa with aglaea as she gave you final reminders before the day of the competition.

“your chemistry has improved greatly,” she complimented with a smile. aglaea tucked her tablet back into her bag before her gaze returned to her two dancers—both heaving and sweaty, but content and proud of their progress. “all that’s really left is to prepare for the competition. i won’t nag you on the hows—you can figure it out by yourselves. have a pleasant evening you two. shoot me a message when you get home.”

you and anaxa nod in tandem and quietly watch as the older woman leaves the room with a quiet click of the door. you collapsed to the floor with a heavy sigh, your legs stretched outwards as you massage the tender muscle with a quiet wince. anaxa kneeled in front of your figure, his hands rubbed at the sore spot near your ankles with worry in his eyes.

“i’ll be fine,” you reassured him before he could say a word. when he looked up, you only gave him a tired smile and reached for his hand to intertwine your fingers. “i trust you to catch me when i stumble.”

anaxa huffed—a breath so full of tender fondness you’re not sure how to put it into words. he stood up and brought you along with him. his hold delicate and still slightly hesitant—the warmth of his palm ghosted the skin of your waist. you only nodded in approval as he quietly asked with his eyes, “can i touch you?”, without saying the actual words itself.

when his hand made itself home on the base of your flesh, you hummed the music and let him guide you through the dance. left and right, then turn. distance yourself from him, but never too much. he pulled you back, not roughly nor gently, just enough for him to quietly plead for you to stay. turn away from his gaze, lest you want his eyes to burn his name in your bones. try to run away, build a cage to shield your heart, but leave your hand reaching for him so he could take the key and open it. your feet are off the ground before you can fully process the dance—and you laughed at the absurdity of it all.

when you land back on the ground, it’s as if you’re taken back to that stormy day. when you looked at anaxa, that frosty layer of uncertainty had been washed away by the rain. your hand reached to cup his cheek and you smiled brightly when he leaned into your touch—nuzzling his face further into your palm as his lips ghosted the point of your pulse.

“after all this time, you still can’t find your balance,” he muttered—fondly.

“maybe i’m doing it on purpose,” you joked. your other hand trailed up his chest—the sensation being followed by flames being ignited as anaxa’s breath got caught in his throat—and you lay it where his delicate heart is hidden. you chuckled, “if i had known you’d be so keen to catch me maybe i would’ve thrown myself at you sooner.”

anaxa retaliated by pulling the hand at his chest into his own, raising the one settled on your waist to your upper back and dipping you low. you let out a startled scream, eyes squeezed shut as the world blurred before it stilled.

“open your eyes.”

when you cracked your eyelids open, it took you a moment to let the sight fully sink in. anaxa’s figure bathed by a soft iridescent glow courtesy of the studio lights, his long bangs tickling your face as his breath threatened to become your own. his lips quirked up into a smug smile and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. anaxa leaned impossibly closer—he wanted to merge your souls into one at this very moment.

you could hear the erratic beating of your heart as anaxa’s hold of the position remained firm. the way anaxa looked at you now—as if you’ve penned every book he’s ever loved and recited every lecture he’s always so keen to listen in—it made it hard to breathe, let alone think.

“you’re so dramatic,” you whispered, eyes still locked on him.

“and you’re reckless,” he replied, tone warm, almost teasing. “for playing with my heart like this.”

you grinned. “then maybe it’s only fair that we fall at the same time.”

anaxa took a breath in. he searched your face—gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips where they lingered for a moment too long—like he was asking for permission if it truly was okay to cross the border that would unravel his existence. anaxa needed—yearned—to know if you’d still want him even when the music has stopped.

“what’s on your mind, anaxa?” you asked—pretending to remain oblivious to his wants.

“an inquiry,” he replied. “one i’ve been trying to understand for the last few weeks.”

the hand that quietly rested on his shoulder snaked to cradle his face. “does it include me?”

“when has it ever not included you?”

his words hung in the air like suspended notes, trembling, waiting for resolution.

you felt the ache in his words—the feelings so palpable you could catch it in the way you would desperately try to grasp at burning cinders. anaxa’s breath hitched when your thumb brushed under his eye, tender and deliberate.

“please ask,” you murmured. “please say it.”

anaxa swallowed hard, voice soft—his self-control fraying at the seams.

“is it foolish of me… to want this to mean something beyond the stage?” he finally asked. his brows furrowed as his eye narrowed in uncertainty, “would you still let me feel your skin against mine even if it burns? let me experiment on your soul until it only knows my name—and mine, yours?”

your breath hitched.

“no,” you answered. “not foolish. not even close.”

for a moment, neither of you moved. not out of hesitation, but reverence. hoping to make this fragile moment that could break with one wrong breath last just a second more.

then—slowly, almost nervously—anaxa leaned forward, closing the painful distance, not with grand dramatics but with aching certainty with your permission. and when your lips met, it was not fire that invaded the moment, but a slow-burning sun that ached to see the horizon—steady, warm, constant, and real.

his hand tightened just slightly at your back, as though ground himself in your bare presence where only the two of you mattered. your own fingers curled against his jaw, pulling him like a tide, like homecoming.

you parted only when the need for air became undeniable, and anaxa cursed this mortal body for its necessities—he only needed you.

“not a word to the professor,” he chimed.

you laughed as he pulled you back to your own two feet. your hand still on the edge of his jaw and his on your back. you smiled as you pressed your face into his neck, listening to the way his heart rattled your name in the columns of his throat.

“not a word to the professor,” you echoed.

theoretically speaking, anaxa once believed it was impossible to change your mind about someone in a matter of weeks. that it was absurd to undo years of contempt with a few shared dances, a handful of late night rehearsals, a string of glances too long to be innocent, or a confession made under a stormy day.

but now, as you buried your face in the crook of his neck and his hand splayed firm against your back like a promise—he knew.

anaxa had been wrong.

not just in theory, but in practice. utterly, wonderfully wrong.

because it only took three weeks for all his logic to crumble. for you to rewrite the entire philosophy he’d built his whole world around—not with arguments or with evidence, but with the way you moved around the stage, the emotions evoked with your reckless courage in the steps you take, the soft curve of your smile, and the infuriating way you slipped past his defences like light through stained glass.

and for the first time, anaxa didn’t mind being wrong.

not if being wrong meant having this—you.

#anaxa x reader #hsr x reader #—stellaronhvnters #honkai star rail x reader #anaxa x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #❝ books of adoration

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