synopsis: One of the most important conferences of the year is about to be held at the Fatui HQ. Yet the head of their intelligence network is nowhere to be found.
cw: transfem!arlecchino, blowjob, cum swallowing, mating press, breeding
word count: 2.3k
"Tartaglia. Where is Arlecchino?" Pierro barked at his youngest Harbinger and gestured with a nod to the empty seat. "One of the most important conferences of the year is about to start and our diplomat is nowhere to be found." To say that the Jester was furious was an understatement. Arlecchino was crucial to the conference as the head of their intelligence-network. Her intel will be detrimental to the outcome.
"…Why are you asking me that? Her wife's office is three rooms down the hall?" Childe was more irritated by the fact that Pierro would come to him for that matter than the fact that his colleague was still absent two minutes before start.
"Her office is also empty, which is the lesser surprise of the two. Fridays are her days off." It was Pulcinella who chimed into the conversation, eyes narrowed at the pocket watch in his hand. "Arlecchino always arrives at least 30 minutes prior to the actual start of any diplomatic meeting to prepare everything beforehand. If she is not here now, I assure you that she won't show up later." With two gloved fingers the Rooster stroke along his grey mustache, only earning himself a glare from his superior.
"Then where is she." Whispers were already starting to set in as more and more participants started to notice whose place seemed to stay empty.
A missing Arlecchino equaled a fire hazard within a forest.
"Like I already said, we don't know. Her office is locked and nobody answered her residence when we sent someone over. The children seem to be out of the house."
Frustrated, Pierro pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought of a way to still salvage the upcoming disaster.
"I could jump in for her—"
"You are a diplomatic disaster, Ajax. We have a better chance if you keep your mouth shut for the next three hours." Pierro snapped and pointed at Childe's seat which he only took with an annoyed grumble.
"So? What are we going to do?"
"Send someone to fetch Signora." Pierro's hand rested on the back of his, ready to pull it out so he can take his seat, "and send out multiple agents to look for her." His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper as he leaned significantly down to Pulcinella's pointed ear. "I highly doubt it but we may have to deal with an abduction or worse."
"Mh…. that's it… good girl…" she breathed out. A charcoal fist tangled into your hair as she guided you back and forth over her throbbing cock.
The air was laced with something carnal. Desire flared up in Arlecchino's veins like a rapid fire as you swirled your tongue around her sensitive cock head.
Of course the Knave was nowhere to be found this morning. She hasn't even left the privacy of her bedroom.
But she fully intended to. A new tailored suit. Neatly slicked back hair that highlight her sharp facial features. Your favorite perfume on her neck.
And her dick inside your throat. Her pants merely shoved down enough to free her sex.
Just how was she supposed to leave for a dire, boresome meeting when her wife was still laying in bed, the straps of her gown anywhere but her shoulders, slightly exposing the right nipple to her eyes. And those sleepy eyes. Drowned with love and adoration for her. Gentle hands coming up to cup her face as she pressed a soft kiss to your lips, Arlecchino was already fighting her inner demons.
That was until a mumbled plea for her to stay left your lips. Your hand abandoning her cheek to undo the metal hairclip that's been keeping her hair neatly together.
Conference? What conference? The only meeting she needs to hold is the one where her hands hastily unbuckle the belt on her pants while your fingers sneak the zipper down.
Pierro will be furious with her. Especially after she "accidentally" overheard the faint knocking on the front door of the Hearth. Yet, there wasn't even a child to answer the door for them. Not when the opera was premiering their new drama this morning. It almost felt like everything was screaming at her to fuck her wife.
"Don't be too greedy, you'll choke." Her voice was stern, shaking slightly with the hints of ecstasy from watching her dick disappear inside your throat. She had to slow you down by your hair a few times now.
You only obliged with a slightly annoyed grumble. Archons forbid you want to please your spouse in the morning. But you just couldn't resist when you watched her get dressed for the occasion.
The way she had to tug her pants over the bulge in her boxers, her tits getting slightly pushed up when she put on her bra, the fabric of the shirt moving around her biceps, or how she concentrated while closing up the cufflinks on her wrists. Your panties were already sticking to your lower lips by the time she wanted to bid you goodbye.
Not on your watch.
The Harbinger nibbled on her lower lip and her throat visibly moved when she swallowed whatever drool she was accumulating in her mouth.
She should pull you back. Fix her pants , wipe the precum from the corner of your mouth and make her way to that goddamn meeting for good.
But for what reason was she blessed with a free will if she can't even choose to enjoy this?
"You'll swallow me, right?" She cooed, letting her hand gently comb back your hair from forehead, forcing a shiver down your spine at the sensation of her sharp nails scratching over your scalp.
And just when you wanted to hollow out your cheeks— She came. Her orgasm as controlled as the rest of her and accompanied by a low, lustrous groan when you felt the cum ooze out of the tip that's now resting on your tongue.
"Swallow." Her cursed hand lightly tapped your cheek when you frowned at the salty taste spreading out in your mouth. "What, don't like the taste?" Your husband arched an eyebrow as you shock your head and looked for something to spit it in before she let out a sigh and pulled the rest of her dick out of your mouth entirely.
"Always such a hassle."
You didn't grasp her intent fast enough when she leaned down, a hand grabbing you by the chin when she laid her lips onto yours. Then you felt her tongue nudge your lips before you felt something hot collapse between your legs and parted them almost with a moan.
And then she swallowed her own juice.
Such a simple gesture, yet you had pressed your legs together to momentarily soothe the painful ache between them when she didn't stop at emptying your mouth.
While Arlecchino was standing before the bed the entire time, you were on your hands and knees before her. But not anymore. With her hands underneath yours armpits she holstered you up and onto your back. Moving like some feral animal in heat with the way she spread your legs for her.
She will in fact die in the most painful, gruesome way if her cock isn't buried inside of you within the next 30 seconds.
Her mouth swallowed up your whimper when she tugged your underwear aside, smiling into the kiss as she is met with the pool of slick underneath your bush.
Then two fingers found their way inside. Giving your clenching insides a few experimental stretches and curls that have your crying out against her lips.
Gods, you needed some fucking air.
But you needed her more.
Your lips were a sticky, swollen mess when she did break off that kiss for good to successfully guide her still hard dick to your hole. Your breathing was ragged, sweat clung to your skin as your heart raced with enough adrenaline to come just by looking at her long enough.
"Please—” A desperate moan ripped through the bedroom as you felt the tip push inside. Arle's hand curling up in the sheets next to you as her teeth grit together at the sensation of your tight walls bearing down around her the further she slipped in.
Her mind was blank. The layers of her suit suddenly way too much for the heat she produced as your legs came up behind her back to lock them and then she shoved the rest of herself inside with a sharp, heavy thrust. Both of you gasped, her face pressed into your neck when her free hand shoved itself underneath your ass to lift your abdomen up, making the angle easier for her before she slightly pulled back only to slam back into your cunt. Your fingers tangled into the hair on the back of her head and the chandelier above your bed started to disappear when your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your husband started to pick up her pace.
And thank the gods there were no children present in the house.
Both of you couldn't help it. Each dive back into you felt like she was pushing you closer to heavens gates. Arlecchino felt no different. Drooling with an open mouth against the curve of your neck and shoulder and for once she didn't care enough to silence herself. Even the hand on your ass didn't last long before letting you fully back down with your husband now letting her weight press you into the mattress as she exchanged her fast pace for slow, mind-blowing thrusts.
"So fuckin' good…" She slurs out barely coherent as the filthy, creamy sounds from your joined abdomens was all you could focus on. Arle never understood people getting addicted to alcohol and other drugs, but this? This shit was hitting her like raw crack.
"-lease… 'please come inside—" With half a mind you pressed your lips to her forehead, the air getting fucked out of your lungs each time she grinds herself back into your right warmth before she licks her way from your jaw up to your mouth to catch your lips in a greedy, voracious kiss. The instance almost makes your heart implode when she pushes you over the edge as her hands remove the leg lock behind her back to push your legs all the way up to your chest instead. Accomplishing a new type of depth inside your sensitive walls as you grip her with your orgasm. Shaking with the adrenaline of your high as the tears swell up in your eyes when you feel her pulling out of you.
"N-No—"
What if she leaves now—
What if she doesn't come inside you today—
She stood silent as you watched her merely shoving down her pants completely and take off the jacket of her suit. "Filthy thing."
If even possible, your face flushed with an even hotter sensation as she bend back down to you. "I just thought you…"
"Would leave you without stuffing you with my cum?"
Bullseye.
"Get on your side." Arlecchino ignored her own heart that was threatening to give out as she watched you turn with a slight groan. That blush on your face only made her want to breed the living daylights out of you. Her bare foot slipped out of the pants on the floor as she placed her knee on the mattress, right next to the leg you pulled up to your chest to give her enough room.
"Such a pretty girl…" she whispers more to herself as her thumb spreads apart your hairy, dripping folds and it doesn't take her more than a few seconds before she is diving back into you. You mewl as you finally find her back inside you, hand coming down to spread apart your ass cheeks so she may slide easier into you.
With her hands supporting herself on each side of your head, she slowly bends down when her cock is buried up to the balls inside your sweet cunt, her lips parting in a soft threat. "Whatever I will pump inside of you now, I want it to stay inside until I come back home. Understood?" Her hair slightly tickles your face as your look through half-lidded eyes up at your spouse. And you nod.
"Good girl."
"A swollen belly would suit you perfectly."
"Almost two whole hours too late. We almost lost to the worst possible conditions and all you have to say is that traffic was holding you up?!" Pierro's voice beamed with anger through the throne room of Zapolyarny Palace. Next to him on her throne, Anastasya— her Majesty. She had stayed quiet until now, the ice in her eyes indifferent to Arlecchino's lack of remorse.
"I checked personally with the guards stationed in town. There was not a single sign of even the slightest traffic before you arrived. So I'm asking you again. What were you up to that caused you to miss half of this meeting."
She knew traffic was a weak defense. But the truth is, there was not even a single excuse that could somehow warrant the internal chaos she caused today. So the Knave stayed quiet.
"I hope we don't have to deal with a case of treason, Arlecchino." Her name was suddenly starting to sound like venom on his tongue.
Getting accused of the highest form of betrayal just because she decided to have sex instead of doing her job. We have reached new lows.
And thus, Peruere was left with no other choice.
"You're right. Traffic wasn't the reason for my late arrival. I was reproducing with my wife."
"Dismissed." It was the Tsaritsa's voice that now echoed through the hall. Yet, her indifference was replaced with something similar to… respect? She waved her subordinate off as Pierro was still at a loss for words.
"Thank you, your Highness." With a low bow, Arlecchino finally managed to leave the lions den unscathed. On her way out she only the last bits of her words.
The rustling of fabric pulled your eyelids back open after spending the last minutes half awake in your bed.
She was still getting dressed, busy now with closing up the cufflinks on each of her wrists as you got to admire her handsome features from the side.
It didn’t take her more than a few seconds to notice your sleepy eyes on her when she closed up the last accessoire. „Are you still leaving…?“, you mumbled, voice still hazy from the dreamy cloud you just left as your Husband slowly bent herself over your figure with her hands supporting her weight on the mattress on each side of your head.
„I fear so. It‘s only until noon, my dearest…“, her voice was the softest whisper to ever grace your ears, light and lovely as her right hand abandoned the place next to you so she could run the back of her index finger over your cheek, „Will you wait for me…?“, by the time she spoke those words her lips were hovering over yours like a price to be claimed and only after a hesitant nod she would close that annoying gap like a feather falling to the ground. Soft and graceful.
And so full of emotion.
„What am I supposed to do all day…?“, you asked, a hand playing with the hair she already put together in her usual ponytail before you connected your lips to one another again with the tiniest bit more longing.
She noticed.
„Mh… You could sleep in for example… it is your day off after all. Go outside with the children, do a picnic, I’m sure you will find something, my flower…“, she couldn’t help but follow up her sentence with a few more kisses. The way you were barely awake, sleep‘s remains still clinging to the corner of your eyes with your hair all tussled… how could she possibly leave you here…
„Take care of me this evening…? Please…?“, you mumbled as your hands smoothed over the lapels of her suit as your lips hovered over her neck.
Arlecchino’s breath hitched along with her heart rate spiking dangerously high before her hand on your face clasped yours in a gentle grip, „Do not make me miss my first meeting of the week.“, a plea. Not a demand. A plea.
You study her, brows slightly narrowed as those crimson crosses analyze you before you hear her sigh and press one last kiss to your mouth, „I‘ll see you later, my love…“.
You whined slightly when she eventually retrieved from the bed after running her hand over your cheek and through your soft hair. It was only when her hand landed on the door handle that you spoke up.
Arlecchino is, for lack of better term, sexually frustrated. The cure is conveniently close and willing—read: you, her wife—but the universe has… other plans.
cw. literally just smut. all the hallmarks of my usual smut blah blah breeding arledick etc
notes. nothing to say for myself. but like this is like 6k words
She cannot focus.
It is a novel situation for her, to be sure. Arlecchino has always been of a more straightforward, single-minded disposition. Tasks are to be completed with grace and efficiency—she has never liked dallying, or letting work build up in increments. She likes to, “lock in”, as the children say, and be at her leisure to go about her personal business for the remainder of the day. And yet, today, it is taking every last ounce of willpower in her to keep her eyes on the spread of papers on her desk—and not the low, nagging heat in her abdomen.
She considers, briefly, banging her head on her desk. But such behavior is unbecoming of a Harbinger, so she settles for leaning back in her chair and sighing, folding her hands over her stomach with enough force to turn her knuckles white in an effort to stave off the urge to let them travel lower, beneath her desk, to deal with her problem. It’s not like she couldn’t. No one comes into her office without announcing themself first, and she keeps a box of tissues on her desk at all times. She isn’t particularly loud, either; at least, not when she’s alone. The mess would be minimal, she’s certain, and she’d get some relief from this need thrumming up and down her spine, but, well…
Frankly, she doesn’t really enjoy her own hand anymore—not after several years of marriage to you. It works, sure, but she doesn’t feel that same release, that same bonelessness in her lower body when it’s with you. Sometimes it does surprise her, the carnal lust you inspire within her, but then she remembers the feel of your sweet cunt around her cock, and the way you look beneath her, spread out and beautiful, tears of pleasure clumping your lashes and mewling her name and—
She groans, feeling her pants get tighter. Not helping, she berates internally, crossing her legs. Her cock aches, almost embarrassingly so. Though, she supposes, it has indeed been a while since she was last able to indulge in you. Work has been increasing, on account of the rising number of Gnoses making their way into the Tsaritsa’s possession. All that remains is that of the Pyro Archon’s, and at this eleventh hour there is much to be done for every Fatui agent, at every level. As a Harbinger, she is no exception.
She sighs again. If only you were here, she thinks idly, thumping her head against the cushion of the chair. You’d tease her relentlessly for being so wound up, but then you’d sink down to your knees before her spread legs, tease her zipper down with your teeth and—
“Fuck.”
Fuck.
Arlecchino pinches the bridge of her nose with one dark hand and shoves her waistband down her hips with the other.
Her cock practically springs free as soon as it’s released from the confines of her slacks, the engorged, leaky tip nearly touching the underside of her desk. Her toes curl in her heels as the cool air of the room kisses the sensitive flesh, and she circles her thumb and index finger around her thick base, right over the thatch of black and white curls that lead upward in a tapering triangle to her navel. She hisses at the first shift of her hand upward, and chews the inside of her cheek as her thumb swipes at her cockhead to spread the pearly proof of her arousal up and down her stiff cock.
Her free hand covers her eyes as she lets them slip shut, and she retreats into certain filthier memories. She can picture you with near perfect clarity—half-moon eyes trained on her as she tangles a fist in your hair, and slowly rocks her wet cock against your cheek. Your tongue is stuck out utterly obscenely, further wetting her already slick length before she draws back to press the tip to your shining lips. They part obediently, and then she’s sinking into your warm, wet, mouth—and she can’t help the way her hips buck into her own fist at the memory.
She delves deeper into that recollection, and her body reacts in kind. The pace of her hand rises, the sloppy noise of her jerking herself off echoing in her office. Her tip leaks an absurd amount, one she knows you’d complain about if you ever saw. You’d complain about it then put your mouth on her until your nose brushes her happy trail and the muscles of her back tense at the thought of having you deepthroat her, of being so deep in your willing mouth that you gag on it.
“Fuck, darling,” she pants, starting to feel far too warm for all her layers. Her fist flies over her cock now, absolutely shameless, her hips starting to rise up from her chair. In her mind you’re bobbing your head up and down, up and down, hollowing your cheeks ruthlessly as your fingers toy and caress her balls. Her jaw is clenched tight enough she swears she hears it creak, and with a final, harsh stroke she tips herself off that knife’s edge, coming with a muffled snarl into her palm and shooting her cum all over the underside of her fir desk. It’s thick, viscous, and strings of it cling to her twitching dick as she comes, making an utter mess. She slides her fist up and down her softening dick to wring every last ounce of pleasure she can, but it’s not the same as having you swallow around her or—Celestia above—having your perfect, tight cunt squeeze around her as she comes.
She comes down with a sigh, releasing her slick, sensitive dick and reaching for the box of tissues. That nagging heat is… not gone, but quelled, at least for now. That restlessness is still there, a buzz in her muscles that’s irritatingly present. In the back of her oxytocin-fogged mind she feels a sense of exasperation towards herself for being unable to keep from jacking off like some hormonal teenager as she wipes clean the evidence of her indulgence from her desk, cock and slacks.
By the time she’s tucking herself back into her pants, the sun is beginning to set outside her window. She’d be clocking out soon, and that means heading home to your shared bed—which, if she’s lucky, she can hopefully put you through tonight and satiate this frankly demonic lust in her system and become a normally functioning member of society again.
She is not lucky.
You’re already asleep by the time she gets back, and she doesn’t have the heart to wake you for sex of all things. You’re worn out as is—it really is a busy season for the Fatui, and someone of your rank certainly has much on your plate. So instead, she cleans up, then slides into bed next to you, and lets the way you instinctively snuggle up against her turn that ember of need in her belly into a gentle hearth of affection in her heart.
Maybe next time, she thinks.
“Next time” ends up being a whole week and a half later. Arlecchino is truly barely clinging to her sanity. She’s antsy, snappish, and backed-up; and worst of all, her curse is acting up. There’s a soreness in her arms, a pervasive heat under her skin, like her blood is boiling. No number of ice packs or cold showers do anything to soothe the heat and uncomfortableness, and it leaves her in a much, much worse mood.
Her agents bear the brunt of her ire. Never her children, by the Crimson moon, never—but all her agents walk on thin ice around their Harbinger. She’s high and dry, not unlike the gunpowder in their rifles, and it only takes a single spark to set her off. Nowadays, anyone going into her office is seen saying a quick prayer to the Tsaritsa before entering. Not that it offers much protection, but at the very least their final act would’ve been worship of the Archon, who would hopefully embrace their ashen corpse in her cool arms once all was said and done.
Put frankly, it’s Bad, with a capital B.
And so she’s ready to snarl when the door to her office is pushed open so casually, only for it to die between her teeth when she notices who has walked in. It’s you, in your Fatui coat, the lightest dusting of snow in your hair. You offer her an apologetic smile and hang up the thick mantle next to hers on the rack, then walk over to round her desk and press a kiss to her temple.
“You okay?” you ask when you draw back, and Arlecchino has to resist the urge to chase after your touch. She doesn’t fight it when your fingers curl in her hair, and you draw her head to rest against your side.
Her fingers twitch at the question, and she sets down her quill. She shakes her head with a soft sigh, inhaling the scent of you—you smell of pine and firewood, with the hint of fresh snow’s frostiness. The dull throb in her arms reduces somewhat. “Not… entirely.”
You make a quiet noise of acknowledgement at that, carding your fingers through her hair. You find the clasp of her low hair ornament and gently pry it loose, letting her hair fall free and she lets out a muted groan of relief as some of the pressure in her skull reduces.
“Rough day?”
“A week would be a kinder estimate,” she replies, almost petulant, and you laugh gently, a low crackling like firewood in a warm hearth. She noses closer to you and nearly whines when you pull away to sit before her on the edge of her desk instead, your legs between her knees.
“Poor thing,” you coo, fingers trailing down from her hair to the collar of her suit jacket, your index finger slipping past to tease it loose. “You’re so tense, baby. Need my help?”
Your touch is already addling her brain, and she blinks slowly. “Pardon?”
“Oh, baby, it really is bad, huh?” you giggle, using your other hand to pop the buttons of your own uniform, and oh—her pants are suddenly far, far too tight. “The letters weren’t exaggerating.”
She can barely muster up the brain power to ask you what in Celestia’s name you mean by that, because fuck the sight of you undressing on her desk is sending all of her blood down south. “Letters?” she rasps hoarsely, and you smile, like a fox in tall grass.
“Mm, letters. So many agents submitted in an additional request that I do something about your, ah… situation,” you tease, letting your shirt fall off your shoulders and onto the wood below you, and you’re really, really trying to kill her because why else would you be wearing her favourite lingerie set underneath? “Lucky for them—and you—I know just the cure.”
You raise your leg, and press the heel of your foot ever so lightly against her bulge, and she makes a choked noise, tingling fingers digging into your calf. You lean back on her desk, a pure vision of lust, eyes half-lidded as you gaze down at her.
“Well, husband? Care to partake?”
She has your back flat against the desk in seconds.
You let out a startled “oof” that tapers into a moan as her lips attack your neck, pressing bruising, biting kisses into the tender skin there. Her teeth scrape your pulse and she groans at the salty tang of your skin, laving her tongue and shamelessly licking into the cleft below your jaw. She’s growling like some sort of feral beast as she fumbles with the zipper of her pants, unhelped by the way your ankles have locked around her lower back with a deceptively tight grip. It takes a firm hand on your hip, pressing you into the wood in a way that has you mewling before she can wriggle enough space to shove a hand between you both to free her straining erection.
Her tip catches on your clothed cunt the moment it’s exposed, tapping against your swollen clit over its hood and making you whine. There’s a wet patch on the delicate lace of your panties, and Arlecchino has half a mind to drop to her knees and put her mouth on you instead. But her own cock twitches almost angrily at the thought of being deprived of your pussy now that she’s got the opportunity. She uses the hand trapped between your bodies to grasp her base, and she uses her shaft to rub up and down the covered lips of your core until the fabric is sticky and translucent with your slick and her pre-cum. All the while her mouth remains busy, sucking marks and bruises into your neck, collarbones, and anywhere in between that she can reach.
“Arle,” you whine, digging your nails into her broad shoulders, “c’mon, please—”
“Begging so soon?” she grunts in return, silencing you with a nip to your earlobe. “What happened to the teasing minx you were a minute ago?”
“She’s—mnn—way too horny to entertain you right now,” you quip back, your fingers creeping higher up her spine to the nape of her neck, and scratching at the base of her skull. Tendrils of sensation, like a many-limbed spider, skitter down her back and her hips roll of their own accord, a twitch rather than a thrust. Still, it has you making more of those lovely, plaintive noises, and Arlecchino herself is far too worked up to tease you as well. “Hurry up—”
“Shh,” she soothes, the hand on your thigh grasping your chin so she can swallow your words with a kiss. Her tongue shoves into your mouth, tracing the edges of your teeth and licking against your cheek. Her other hand tugs your panties to the side as her hips bump forward, her cockhead parting your lower lips wet with slick. “Shh, darling, be patient.”
And you gasp into her mouth when she finally pushes in, your fingers winding tight in her hair and tugging. She hisses as your cunt bears down tight around her, fluttering and pulsing in time with your heartbeat. Her achy, trembling hands fly up to smack down on the desk around your head with an audible thump, her entire body shuddering at the sensations lancing up and down her body like a raging blaze. She inhales a tense, unsteady breath as she pushes in further, the wet noise of your cunt sucking her cock in nearly making her dizzy—or that might just be the latent headache from before, she isn’t sure anymore. In any case, she pushes deeper, inch by inch, splitting you open on her dick until your hips meet with an obscene noise, and she nearly topples over you, the strength in her right arm giving way until she’s forced to brace her weight on her elbow instead. She pants into your neck as she lets you adjust, muttering a string of almost incoherent praise against your skin.
Your face is hidden in her shoulder, your body arching up from the table in lust-drunk frenzy, and then you’re shifting your hips, drawing a strangled noise from deep in her throat. She wants to pin your rocking hips to the wood but her hands and forearms are already worsening in their ache, burning up from within, and so she decides to draw back and fuck forward at the same time you shift low, and it has her pressing so deep inside you that you nearly sob.
“Fuck– Arle,” you whimper, nails digging hard enough into her shoulder she’s sure she’ll have marks for the next day or two, “fuck, missed you, missed you so much— shit, you’re so good—”
Her only response is a low rumble as she starts to thrust in earnest, each slap of her hips against your thighs making her solid desk creak. You’re babbling nonsense into her shoulder, a slurry of words spilling from your bitten lips much like the way your slick is dripping out and around her cock as she fucks into you. There’s a burning behind her eyes, and her arms are starting to protest further. The dull ache is now a rhythmic pulsing, and her rhythm falters as she’s torn between the extremes of pain and pleasure. Frustration nips at the back of her head and her nails scratch the finish of her desk as she wills herself to overcome the pain.
You’re already squeezing around her, inarguably close to your orgasm, but she can’t stop the choked noise of pain from slipping past her lips. She kisses and nips at your neck and fucks you hard enough the desk slide forwards, but your years of marriage has attuned you to her like no other living person. Even through your hiccuping moans and mewls you pierce through your own need with concerned clarity, palms on either of her shoulders as you lean back against the desk to get a better look at her.
“Arle, mnn— what’s wrong?” you breathe, eyes searching her face and lips pulling into a frown when you notice the conflict in her expression. “Hey, hey— shh, what’s wrong?”
She lets out a half-bitten sigh of frustration, stilling her hips and dropping her head into the crook of your neck. Her arms are throbbing now, the muscles of her forearms feeling like they might just melt right off her bones. Your hands cradle the back of her head as you catch your breath, patting her hair.
“Is it the curse?” you ask softly, and she can only manage a wordless, defeated nod into your shoulder. You hum at that, and gently place your palms against her chest to push her back and sit yourself upright again. Her hands twitch with slight relief as the pressure of holding her upper body up fades, and they slacken further when you take them in your own, thumbs brushing over her knuckles.
“Let’s finish this another time,” you suggest quietly. “I don’t want to continue if you’re in pain.”
I can keep going, a stubborn part of her protests—probably her dick talking, to be honest—but as much as she wants to continue she knows you wouldn’t let her. She’s impressed, but also not surprised at how quickly you can shut off your own arousal, in a sense, out of nothing but concern for her. It’s… heartwarming, but also a little frustrating, when she’s pretty sure emptying her balls inside your cunt would fix at least a few of her problems. But she relents, slipping out of you with a muted noise and she lets you clean her up—because you never let her lift a finger when her curse flares up—and then yourself, before you slip your clothes back on and stand on slightly wobbly legs.
“Let’s go home,” you murmur, taking one of her aching hands in your own. “Let me take care of you.” The fire in her veins does not dissipate, but it settles ever so slightly, and she manages the smallest of smiles, reserved only for you.
“As you say, my dear.”
At home, you wash her, dress her, then lead her to bed where you hold her close against your chest. It isn’t often she allows herself to little spoon, but the background pain of the curse has worn down her walls until they’re paper-thin.
So tonight, she lets herself be held by you as your fingers dance up and down her arms, soothing in familiarity, until she slips beneath the veil of a dreamless sleep.
When Arlecchino wakes up, she realises 2 things: 1) she’s hard, again, and 2) you’re having what she thinks is a very fun dream. Through the foggy haze of sleep and the barely-there, grey wisps of early morning light, she sees—and feels—you squirming on the bed, brows drawn tight and lips parted around little mewls. Her hand on your hip feels the way your whole body is tense, the muscle beneath your soft flesh flexing as you twitch in response to whatever she’s doing to you in your dreams.
“Arle—” you whimper, thighs pressing together subconsciously, and her dick twitches in response in her sleep shorts. She buries her face in the crook of your neck with a rumbling groan, her hands—now mercifully painless—squeezing around the meat of your hips. Her fingers tease the waistband of your panties, and you shiver.
“I’m here, sweet thing,” she murmurs, lips kissing a trail up to your ear. “Open those pretty eyes for me, hm?”
It takes you a while before your eyes finally flutter open, and a little longer before you distinguish the boundary between dream and reality. When you do, your arms come to wrap around her back, like they’ve always meant to be there, and she presses the shape of a kiss into your neck.
“Good morning,” she purrs, drawing back to brace herself above you on her elbows. She takes in that half-dazed, half-aroused expression of yours with a greed that would put some of her colleagues to shame, feeling her blood smoulder in her veins not with pain but with pure, unadulterated lust. “Good dream?”
It takes you a beat to process her words, but you nod, almost shyly. “Yeah. Very… good.”
She leans down and presses her forehead to yours, teasing your lips with her own and making you whine. “And what exactly did you dream about, darling?”
“You,” you answer without hesitation, your eyes meeting hers with nothing but adoration. She smirks at that, kissing the corner of your lips, and then your cheek, then your brow, all over your face. You breathe a soft laugh at the ticklish sensation, and butterflies stir the heat in her gut.
“Oh? And what was I doing, pray tell?”
You smile. “Lots of things.”
“Well, do elaborate.”
You roll your eyes, and before she can react, one sneaky hand of yours has snaked down between both your bodies to cup her bulge through her sleep shorts, and she makes a half-bitten noise of surprise and arousal at the touch. You grasp her through the fabric, your thumb lazily rubbing her tip until a wet spot of her pre-cum forms. Your other hand cups her nape, tugging her close enough to breathe your next words right into her mouth.
“I think,” you begin, and Arlecchino swears her dick gets somehow harder at the low sultriness of your voice, “we should cut to the chase and finish where we left off yesterday.”
“That so?” she manages to rasp, and you nod, leaning up to kiss her, biting and demanding, your teeth worrying her lower lip in a way that’s making her feel deliriously horny.
“Mm,” you hum, and your hand on her dick squeezes just a little tighter. “C’mon, baby, ‘m already so wet, just fuck me, please? Missed your cock, baby—”
It’s nothing but filth from your lips but Archons does it work. Arlecchino is pinning your wrists above your head with one hand immediately, the other shoving her sleep shorts down and kicking them off before her lips attach to your neck with an intensity that’s almost ruthless. You gasp, arching up, then moan when her free hand rubs you through your panties. Fuck—you’re drenched, just like you said you were. The cloth sticks to your lower lips, practically translucent, and perfectly outlining your lower lips almost like a second skin. Normally, she’d indulge in a little teasing, but restraint is a pipe dream for both she and you right now, so instead she tugs your panties to the side, and pushes in like she needs it to survive.
“Fuck,” she snarls, at the same time you moan her name, and maybe it’s the residual neediness from your dream but you’re coming immediately, back bending into a crescent as your cunt squeezes and flutters around her cock, your inner walls tightening around her to the point she feels dizzy, like you’re trying to cut off her damn circulation. Your hips jerk and twitch erratically as your muscles tense and relax, pleasure ripping through you. She rocks her hips slowly to coax you through the high, and it’s a wonder she doesn’t bust right then and there.
That is, unfortunately, where Arlecchino’s restraint ends. Because as you come down, she only increases her pace, free hand holding your hip down and in place as she starts fucking you, bullying her thick cock into your eager, greedy cunt with each drive. The headboard smacks against the wall with each thrust, echoed in time by your loud, shameless cries. “That’s it,” she growls, lips descending onto your breast through your nightdress, “that’s it, darling. Take my cock like the good girl you are.”
Arlecchino can see the whites of your eyes with how far back they’ve rolled into your skull, your lashes kissing your cheek with each flutter. Each movement is accompanied by an obscenely wet, squelching noise as she stirs up your insides and rearranges your guts. Arlecchino glances down and exhales roughly when she sees the bulge she forms inside you, rising and retreating with every snap of her hips. Her balls draw up tight, and she’s so, so close.
“I’m going to cum, sweet thing,” she grunts, nipping at your jaw. “Going to fill this perfect cunt with my seed, hm?”
The noise you let out at her words is wanton and needy, your fingers clenching in her grasp, digging into your palms. “Yes, yes, Arle— please, I want it, I need it,” you beg, writhing beneath her, “please, baby, need it so bad— I love you, I missed you, please—”
She kisses you to shut you up, releasing your wrists to claw both her hands into your waist. Your hands immediately claw at her back, nails drawing red lines into her skin. Her breathing comes in tense, ragged pants, one hand moving down to grip your thigh and push your knee to your chest, opening you up further for her pistoning cock in a way that makes you howl. Your cunt ripples, pulses and clenches, molding to every ridge and vein of her dick until it all comes to a brilliant, blazing head as she bursts off the edge, sinking her teeth into your shoulder as she hilts balls deep and—
She shoots more than a week’s worth of backed-up tension deep into your welcoming cunt, thick, hot ropes battering your tender inner walls. A low, rumbling groan emanates from her throat, past the clamp of her teeth in your shoulder as she comes and comes, filling you until it leaks around the seal of your lower lips, forming a frothy ring of white around her base.
“I love you,” she gasps, choked off and strained as she laves the bite on your shoulder with kisses and her tongue, “sweet thing, I love you so, my good, perfect girl.”
Your whimpers turn into little overstimulated sobs, your body trembling and squeezing around her. Her intense drives turn into languid thrusts as she winds down from her high, and she presses tender kisses all over your shoulder, collar and neck to coax you and herself through it. But even when you’ve caught your breath, cheeks beautifully flushed, she’s still achingly hard in you—and you seem to still want to take advantage of the fact.
“Arle,” you mewl, adorably needy and clearly not fully satiated, “again, please? Want to feel you again.”
“Greedy,” she breathes, but she draws back, pulling out with a wet squelch. You protest petulantly, and she shushes you gently as she presses your thighs together, turning your lower body onto your side. Arlecchino takes just a moment to admire the way your cunt squeezes around nothing, and some of her load dribbles out to coat your slick lower lips. Her throat dries up, and she traces a finger through the mess as if entranced. Your hole flutters in response, your hand encircling her wrist to tug her closer. She shakes her head with a soft huff, lightly smacking your ass but nonetheless shuffling forward to align her still stiff dick with your cunt before sheathing back in again.
“Still so tight, sweetheart,” she breathes, and the sensation of her cum sloshing around inside you as she moves makes her toes curl. “So good for me, hm?”
One of your hands fists in the pillow behind your head, while the other grasps her hip. “Jus’ for you,” you slur out, barely coherent, “only you, baby, ngh—“
“I know, darling,” she hums, trading her fast, ruthless thrusts from before for slow but deep drives, bullying the tip of her cock right against your sweet spot. The hand not on your ass grips your ankle to stop your leg from kicking out at the stimulation, her thumb massaging the base of your calf tenderly. “You were made just for my cock, weren’t you? This pretty pussy was made for me, takes me so well.”
You nod brainlessly on the bed, clearly beyond any more thought. You just lie there and take her cock, over and over, and a mix of affection and lust tangles in her chest. She leans down to devour your lips in a demanding kiss, chest to chest, your nipples stiff beneath your nightdress. Her eyes narrow at the fabric barrier, and she’s tugging the straps down your arms with her teeth and making you shiver as the cool air of the room meets your stiff peaks. Then her lips descend like rapture, sealing around one first to suck and nip, gently pulling, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to feel. She sucks shamelessly at your breast, only leaving one for the other once it’s thoroughly marked up. All the while she continues to fuck into you, pace not faltering even in the slightest.
“Baby—“ you gasp, feeling the coil in between your hipbones start to tighten and tense, “—baby, ‘m gonna cum, fuck—“
Arlecchino snarls, and one hand grips your shoulder, and then she’s manhandling you onto your front before you can even register what’s happening. She traps both your legs between her own and lies flat above you, nearly crushing you into the mattress as she pushes in deep. Your pussy practically convulses, and you moan almost whorishly at the new depth she’s achieving with you prone like this. Your face is half-pressed into the sheets, your noises muffled, and Arlecchino remedies that by tangling her fingers in your hair and tugging back. She takes in the drool trickling down the corner of your lips as she fucks you absolutely stupid, only the whites of your eyes visible.
“Go ahead and cum, darling,” she murmurs, “make a mess on my cock. It’s all yours.”
And you do, beautifully, sweetly, with a hoarse cry of her name. You squeeze and pulse around her dick, a rhythmic clench of your muscles around her from base to tip, like you’re trying to draw her orgasm out as well. She bites her lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood to prevent herself from doing just that—rocking slowly and shallowly as you course through the waves of your orgasm.
Once your shivering subsides, she leans down to press a gentle kiss to your shoulder—and then she’s gripping your hips with both hands and tugging them up, up, and up until you’re face down on the bed with your ass braced up on your knees. You whine at the sudden movement, only to be smothered when she curls her fingers around your nape while the other grips your hip and she starts utterly pounding into you again.
“Arle—“ you cry out, like a sob, “—wait, ‘s too much, baby—“
Her fingers press on the underside of your neck, your throat, effectively smothering your protests. Not tight enough to choke, but certainly tight enough to feel. She fucks you with the subtlety of a battering ram, all ruthless tenacity, like a woman possessed. She keeps going despite your pleas—you haven’t said the safeword yet, after all. The hand on your hip isn’t idle, occasionally smacking the globe of your ass as it shakes with each harsh thrust.
“‘Too much?’” she mocks, grinding her dick in as far as it can go, “but this sweet cunt keeps clenching around me, darling. You can take more, I know you can.”
You don’t protest with words anymore, just whiny half-sobs, and she rapidly approaches her second high. The muscles of her lower body tense and flex, her hamstrings burning slightly with exertion. All the while she murmurs quite praise barely audible over the plap-plap-plap of skin meeting skin, because for all she may be fucking you like a common whore you are still her wife, her darling beloved, and she will ensure you know as such.
She leans down and kisses all over the side of your face, the hand on your neck abandoning its harsh grip to curl lovingly over your own fisted in the sheets. She coaxes you to let go of the fabric, and then she’s slotting her warm fingers between your own, gently holding your hand even as she seemingly fucks you to oblivion. She rests her head against yours, cheek to cheek, and whispers, “I adore you, my darling, my sweet girl. Take all of me, sweetheart, take it all.”
She buries herself as deep as she can go when she comes, her cum undoubtedly spilling right at your cervix. She entertains the idea that it’s making its way into your womb, that she’s breeding you, and she hisses softly as another jet of cum spurts from her tip into your tender cunt. She feels her balls twitch as they empty into you, pumping you full for the second time this morning. More of your slick and her cum drips from you, down your thighs and onto the sheets which most certainly have to be changed later.
When she finally pulls out, she feels boneless, like she could flop over and sleep another eight hours. But first, she gently guides you back onto your back, her hand cupping your cheek to focus your glassy gaze on her.
“Look at me, darling,” she whispers, thumb caressing your cheek. “Are you alright?”
It takes you a minute, but then you’re turning your face into her palm to kiss the heel of her hand and nodding. “Yeah,” you answer, voice shot, and a tiny flutter of pride swells in her gut. Your eyes flick down her body, widening a fraction, before a disbelieving laugh slips from your lips.
“You’re still hard?”
Arlecchino huffs. “I did tell you it has been a long week.”
She’s not fully hard, more so semi-hard—one more round would have her soft for certain. Although, she can’t quite bring herself to ask for one more round, with the way you’re so thoroughly fucked out. You seem to notice her turmoil, as always, and reach down to grasp her semi-hard dick, pumping it slowly. She shudders, hands digging into the meat of your thighs. “Darling…”
“Come closer,” you order, and she does, and you both groan when her dick slides over your pussy, tip catching on your clit. She glances at you quizzically—and then you’re flattening your hand over your lower lips, creating an almost makeshift passage for her to fuck. She swallows thickly, desire reigniting in her gut, and she does exactly that.
She moves slowly, languidly, eyes locked in yours as her dick slides back and forth over your messy cunt. Her length is covered in her own load and your slick, making the slide easy. She makes an effort to bump your clit with each movement, relishing in the way you sigh with pleasure. Something warm blooms in her chest, beneath her sternum, and it draws her to you like a magnet, compelling her to lean down and capture your lips in a soft kiss. Your free hand cups her jaw as you return it with equal fondness.
“I love you,” she breathes into your mouth, and you smile against her lips.
“I love you too,” you answer, caressing your thumb over her cheekbone, before mewling softly, eyes slipping shut. “Arle, mm… gonna cum, baby.”
“Me too, darling,” she groans as her thrusts get a little jerkier. She’s not long, now. She makes a choked noise when your fingers grasp her gently, your thumb alternating between rubbing the sensitive underside of her frenulum and her leaky tip, and then she’s toppling off the edge with you in tow. “Fuck—“
She lets out an uncharacteristically high-pitched cry as she comes, spilling her cum onto the plane of your belly. She’s only distantly aware of you finding your peak as well, thighs twitching as you come from stimulation on your clit alone. She collapses on top of you, shuddering and shaking, her face tucked in the juncture of your shoulder and neck, as she keeps painting your belly with ropes of cum until she’s finally drained dry and soft.
The sun is warm on her skin when she finally comes to again, your hands tracing up and down her back just making her go even more boneless against you. This is what she’s been needing—this full and complete release, where despite how she can’t seem to move a muscle she feels as light as a feather.
“Thank you,” she rasps against your neck, and you chuckle.
“For what?”
“For this,” she answers easily, kissing your shoulder. “And for being with me.”
Your arms loop around her broad back, and she sinks further into the sanctuary of your embrace. You’re warm, like a perfect hearth on a cold day.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else.”
The sentiment pulls a rare, genuine smile from her, that she hides against your skin like a playful secret reserved only for you and no one else—not the Fatui, or the House, or even the gods. Just you, and only you, the way it’s meant to be, and always will be.
“And I, you—forever and always, my love.”
She made this vow once at the altar, and she will continue to make it every day until she last draws breath—for it is the one thing she knows to be true in this world, beyond fate and even beyond death: that she loves you, and you love her, and that is all she needs.
Lying on your stomach, head turned to the side, you catch every movement his arm makes, every flex of his bicep.
It’s hell.
Your tattoo artist—Jason— is hell.
Never mind the pain shooting up in your lower back as he moves the needle. His hand resting near your waist, gentle but commanding, is enough to have you filing this away to gush over later in private.
Your shirt is pushed and stops near your ribs. His glove is cold against your skin, and the needle steadily moves, forming the design you picked out.
Every time your breath hitches from the pain, his thumb starts drawing circles, an attempt of comfort that makes you shiver.
“Almost done, you’re doing perfect,” he mumbles, lowly. He bends over slightly, chair rolling closer, legs spreading wider.
Heat pools low in your belly. Your mind turns to mush. This was not what you signed up for.
In a moment of weakness, you wiggle, trying to get comfortable. His hand on your back presses you down.
“Stay still f’me, doll.”
Sighing, you helplessly stare at the black ink on his arm. You need a more holy distraction.
Masterlist
a/n: idk what this is, i had a dream that i was getting a tattoo from a faceless hot guy so i had to write this🙂↕️
the morning after a ‘one night stand’ with pro! hero katsuki bakugo
this wasn’t normal for you.
one night stands weren’t really your thing. but last night seemed to be the exception.
it was a girls night, or at least it was supposed to be. your best friends were running late while you were at the bar, alone for several hours. then you got the annoying text about a rain check, leaving you to look like a loser with no friends at a crowded bar on a friday night.
but you decided to make the most of it. you would’ve called an uber anyway, so why not have fun? you ordered several drinks that tasted too sweet but went down super easy. the music and dj were very lively that you just had to let your hair down and dance.
hell, you even made up for the lack of friends by meeting other people on the dance floor that seemed like a good time. they were all close knit friends that had mentioned they had know each other since high school. their jokes and vibe were so infectious, it was hard not to enjoy their company.
after you approached the bar for the third time, you noticed an attractive blonde man talking to the group of friends you had just bonded with. he kept pushing the man with red hair away from his face after he seemed way too intoxicated.
you giggled at their interaction that it ripped the blonde man’s attention from his friend toward you. he took you in, and noticed that his friends were all over you, begging and pulling your arm to get you to dance with them. your head was feeling fuzzy so were feeling tipsy.
he happened to be your savior as he, tipsy as well, maneuvers his drunk friends away from you so you could catch some air. that’s what started what felt like such a long conversation.
he was so handsome and one thing led to another…
so that’s what led you to wake up in someone’s bed in the morning, blankets and comforter covering your bare chest and you were only in your lacey underwear. you turn toward the side and see the side profile of the guy from the bar, his are chest slowly rising as he was still asleep.
you look down and noticed that his arm was wrapped around you, you both were entangled with each other. a soft blush crept on your face at the intimate moment and you bite your lip.
but then you turn concerned. what do you do now? this was foreign to you, did you have to leave since you were the first one up and it was his apartment you ended up in? do you wake up him and ask him for a ride home?
your mind was racing, half with anxiety and half with the remnants of a hangover. you look over toward the dresser on the side of the bedroom and noticed your clothes were thrown over the mirror. your phone was on the nightstand and vibrated every couple of minutes.
you slowly turn your body to check and noticed you had several missed calls and texts. mostly from your friends wondering where you were. considering that they ditched you last night, it would be funny to keep them in suspense for a couple more hours.
now back to your current predicament. safest bet was to just carefully remove the grip he had on you and just gather your things quietly. maybe it was best if you just left before he woke up. avoided any awkwardness or questions about what the hell this meant.
which sucked.
you actually kinda liked him. he was grumpy at first sure, but after all that he was a pretty cool guy. hot as hell of course, and most definitely the best sex you’ve had in a long ass time.
as you softly remove his arm away from your body, you quickly freeze when he slowly stirs from the touch. that was your sign to quickly grab your things and get the hell out of there. before you could even get out of the bed though, you felt a hand wrap around your wrist and your breath hitched.
“you leavin’?” his gruff morning voice asks and you turn your head to face him. you give a small nod but you don’t leave just yet.
“i just…” you start to find the words, “i didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
he chuckles before intertwining your hand with his. “what? you married or somethin’?”
“ew, no.” you scrunch up your nose and he laughs softly at your expression. “i mean not that marriage is bad, it’s just. i wouldn’t do this if i was married. hell, i don’t even do this, at all.”
your honest answer makes him sit up, the blanket falling toward his hips, showcasing a glimpse of his hipbone, signaling he was full on naked.
he nods but keeps your hands together. “me neither. last night was the first.”
“same here.” you agree and smile while he runs his finger against the back of your hand. “was it good? for you.”
he raised an eyebrow and noticed how intrigued you were in his answer. “it was alright i guess.”
you gasp and hit his chest. “asshole!”
he catches your arm as you tried to hit him again and pulls you on top of him. you straddle his waist as he places messy hairs away from your face.
“chill, sweets. it was more than good. really good, actually.”
you smile confidently and toss your hair. “i’m glad you thought so. you were alright, i guess.”
he pushes your body away and you land back on the side of the bed with a giggle.
“so,” you rest yourself up by your arm, “this might be embarrassing, but i’m kinda blanking on your name right now.”
crazy how you seemed to be comfortable with your one night stand and yet you didn’t even remember his damn name. very lame.
he doesn’t seem to take offense though, just answers your question nonchalantly. “katsuki. katsuki bakugo.”
your cheeks flare up and your hands fly toward your lips. “katsuki bakugo, as in the fucking pro hero?!”
“oh, you’ve heard of me?”
grabbing the pillow near you and chucking it at his head, you were internally freaking out. you had slept with the number five pro hero.
“yes, dumbass! oh my god, you’re like on the news all the time! i didn’t even recognize you without the mask and outfit.” you wanted to knock your head off by slamming it into a wall or something. how could you be so stupid.
katsuki shrugs and catches the thrown pillow. “figured you just didnt know me or just didn’t care. either way, i respected it.”
“i wouldn’t have thrown myself at you if i had known.” you meekly reply, hugging your knees towards your openly bare chest. “i’m not like a stalker, fan girl.”
“oh i know you aren’t. i can actually stand you.” katsuki counters. finally getting off of his bed and throwing on nearby boxers and pajama pants on.
following his lead, you find your discarded bra on the floor and proceed to put it on. you had no other option but to find your club shirt you had on the other night but katsuki stops you.
he holds his hand up and looks through one of his drawers. he finally picks out a shirt of his and walks over toward you. katsuki offers it to you coolly.
“oh, you don’t have to, i can wear what i brought.” you quickly decline but he insists.
“that shirt doesn’t look comfortable. here, just wear it.” he practically shoves the shirt over your head. the move makes you giggle and swat his hands away, finishing pouring the shirt on yourself.
you blush. “thanks, so” you awkwardly look around as you both were just staring at each other in the middle of his gigantic bedroom. “what do we do know? as i mentioned, i’m kinda a newbie to the whole one night stand thing.”
katsuki rolls his eyes but lets a smile creep up. “first off, don’t call it a one night stand, i hate that shit. second, i’m makin’ breakfast, you comin’?”
it was more of a push than an invitation, and before you could even come up with a response, katsuki was already walking toward the kitchen. you think for a second about your situation, and what could possibly be the right move.
but you would be stupid to not have breakfast with a hot pro hero you were kinda crushing on?
you follow behind after grabbing your phone and noticed katsuki turning on the stove as the living room tv was playing the news on low volume like white noise. you carefully take in the nice apartment, obviously because of his profession, he could afford a fancy place like this. you take a seat on the kitchen island where you had a perfect view of the pro hero’s back muscles as he cracked some eggs.
“what’s it like being a pro hero?” you start the conversation as you quickly text your girlfriends that you were fine and would catch them up another day.
katsuki shrugs, never taking his eyes from the stove as he grabbed spices from a nearby cabinet. “intense? i guess. i mean i’m usually workin’ from night til’ dawn then get a couple hours of sleep, then head to trainin’.”
all of it sounded exhausting as you winced. “don’t you ever get a break?”
“eh, sometimes. last night was my first break in months.” he recalls. “for all of us actually.”
all of us? you then remembered he wasn’t alone at the bar that night. he was surrounded by a group of friends, and by how hard they partied, it made sense that was their first day off in a while.
“ah yes your friends.” you recount with a smile. “the blonde guy kept challenging me to a twerk off.”
katsuki groans and slaps his forehead. “fucking charger, i swear.”
you laugh at the nickname and play with your fingers, trying to figure out what else to say.
“must be hard to have a social life, huh.” you comment with a sad expression.
but katsuki remained expressionless and went back to focusing on cooking. “was never really important to me.”
the scent of eggs filled the kitchen as you decided to hop off the stool and make your way towards him. he turned to look at you.
hair still effortlessly pretty from the night before, his shirt fitting you a little big and yet he could still see your figure, and your pink panties peeking out ever so slightly every time you raised your arms.
you were perfect. beautiful. when he saw you at the bar, for the first time in his entire life, he could say he was smitten. he must’ve made a tipsy comment toward kirishima or something to make them befriend you and push you toward him.
he was actually kinda glad if that’s how it happened.
but the scary part was, he didn’t want it to end. usually in movies and stories from others, a one night stand was always meant to end and the two never see each other again.
katsuki, surprisingly, didn’t want that.
“so no girlfriend?” you cheekingly ask, snapping him back to reality.
he smirks and lifts your chin up with his finger. “you think i’d sleep with you if i did?”
you turn red at the implication and retract. “no of course not! i was just curious.”
you help him plate the delicious looking spread he whipped up rather quickly and sat next to each other effortlessly without another word.
“so no boyfriend then?” katsuki speaks first and you poke your food with your fork.
shaking your head, you take a big bite of the eggs and instantly fell in love.
“nope, never met the right guy.” you quickly say.
thank god, katsuki thinks.
the breakfast conversation was nice and light, more of getting to know each other before it settled into comforting silence. you finished your breakfast first and thanked him for the delicious food. katsuki finishes right after and proceeds to take your plate into the sink.
after breakfast was done, you realized there was nothing really keeping you in katsuki’s apartment anymore. and yet, you didn’t want to leave.
he was nice company to have and you would be lying if you said you were a little disappointed there was no continuation of the previous night.
“well, i guess i should get going then.” you declare with a small hint of hesitation. but you didn’t want to seem desperate. for all you knew, katsuki was just being polite and now wanted you the hell out of his home.
as you proceed to gather your things, katsuki slowly trailed behind you like a shadow. he finally rests his body against the bedroom doorframe, watching you.
“i can drive you home.” he offers, you take it as him just being nice.
you shake your head. “no please, you’ve done more than enough. thank you. i don’t want to keep you from anything.”
“you’re not.” katsuki insists but your internal dialogue was not allowing you to bother this nice, attractive pro hero.
“but i am, you’re a busy pro hero, you don’t have time for this, and you can just forget about me and this tomorrow…”
he cuts off your spiraling by pressing his lips against yours. the impact surprised you that you fell backwards onto his bed, with his body on top of yours.
your hands found their way instinctively in his hair, practically pushing his face towards yours. his hands were on your waist, going under his shirt and playing around with your lacy bra.
it had only been a night and it was supposed to be one and done.
but you wanted katsuki, you craved him. the thought of going your separate ways and then seeing him on the news with another girl made you sick.
finally, you both pull away, your heavy breathing mirroring his.
“was that a goodbye kiss?” you joke as katsuki genuinely chuckles.
“nah, it’s a ‘stay and let me take you on a date’ kiss.” he confidently says.
before you could say yes, a heavy knock hits his front door as you both look at each other curiously.
katsuki waits for a second, hoping it was just a package delivery or something but when another, quicker knock came forward, he groans. he pulls you up with him and walks over toward the door.
“this better be good.” he growls as he opens the door and there stood the blonde guy from last night with a nervous grin.
“hey kachaan!” he greeted with a voice crack. “just came to see if you were as hungover as me and kiri. you weren’t answering your phone.”
katsuki massages his forehead at his friend, his other hand still holding yours as you slowly hid behind the door.
“i’m busy.” katsuki mutters through gritted teeth. his face made you giggle.
kaminari quickly took notice of the female laugh heard from inside and gives katsuki an evil grin.
“you got company, bakugo? you sly dog!” he slaps katsuki’s chest. “alas, i wish it was that girl i was dancing with last night. she was so pretty and nice and fun, and you clearly liked her and…”
at your description, katsuki pushes open the door wider revealing you, flushed face with katsuki’s shirt over your body. once kaminari sees you, you give him a sheepish grin and wave.
“hi, we haven’t formerly met, i’m y/n.”
you extend your hand to shake his but kaminari’s eyes go wide before he sprints down toward the end of the hallway where it seemed more of katsuki’s friends were waiting.
“guys! he got her! they slept together! she’s in his apartment! operation: get katsuki his dream girl is completed!” he screams at the top of his lungs.
“are they always like that?” you ask katsuki through fits of giggles.
katsuki sighs in defeat and smiles. “yeah, get used to it, sweets. i ain’t letting a girl like you get away.”
♡ popular. not in a ariana grandes galinda upland, 2000’s movie way. you’re genuinely liked & are on a friendly, first name basis with everyone you come into contact with. small talk can happen with anyone; an introverts worst nightmare.
♡ recognizable & desirable. you have a very particular delivery of words & energy to you. people copy your speech patterns or hair cut. you started that new bag charm trend, wherever they are. they can’t help but aspire to be a fraction of what you are.
♡ alluring & magnetic. people see you as popular, even if your not. they want to be around you. people feel uplifted & inspired when around you.
♡ calming presence. soothing voice. people & animals feel safe & comfortable around you immediately. your voice is like the softest feather pillow upon an even softer mattress.
♡ model off duty vibes. seen as photogenic, “how are you real?”. always look put together no matter how mundane the occasion.
♡ people remember you. seeing you on the train, at the store, childhood best friend ? your face & energy is always remembered. you always leave a lasting impact. nobody is quite like you.
♡ disney princess vibes. animals swarm you, children ask if your a princes. you might as well script that you live in a eight story castle because it’s expected from you at this point. you seek to be from another life, another time, that people can’t quite place.
♡ pretty privilege ?? maybe ?? you’re given alot of grace & leeway for mistakes. your easily given second chances based on vibes alone.
♡ sharp thinker. witty. nobody can match your comebacks. things just roll out of your mouth that leave people thinking “wait what?” in a good way.
♡ good at everything. not amazing, award granting, ribbon winning. but everything you touch you pick up quickly & are quite good at without any prior knowledge.
♡ media-trained like. the way you move, talk, express yourself, answer questions without saying anything. you know how to leave people satisfied with saying as little as possible.
♡ etiquette. you know what forks go where, are a master at writing thank you notes in perfect cursive in a perfect straight line. you were trained in social graces like it was military school.
♡ calculated. not in the manipulative, taylor swift easter egg way but your definitely know how to read people & situations while being simultaneously twenty seven steps ahead of everyone. you just know when people are bullshitting.
. . . (&come lay your eyes on me | pretty, pretty please)
──★ NOW OPENING WWW.IZUPJE.COM/FILEOMIDORIYA ;
IZUKU’S students relentlessly tease him about how he smiles when you walk by . . .
timeskip teacher!izuku x teacher!reader . . .
1.9k-ish words, not rlly proofread . . .
there’s something about the way he teaches that makes the entire room feel alive. not in that “wow, learning is fun!” kind of way — more like, wow, he’s actually passionate about this and now we’re all emotionally invested in cell mitosis.
midoriya izuku, age twenty-seven, physics and general sciences teacher, local sweetheart of U.A. High’s third-year department.
the kind of guy who starts the morning by tripping over his own briefcase but still somehow manages to smile like sunshine incarnate.
the kind of teacher whose laughter makes you believe in humanity again.
the kind of man who, apparently, has a tell.
and his students know it.
the rumor starts small. third-years whispering during homeroom, trying to hold in laughter whenever you walk by his open classroom door. you only catch snippets—
“she’s here again.”
”watch, he’s gonna do it.”
”three… two…”
and then, sure enough, his voice breaks slightly mid-sentence. you peek in through the little glass panel, smile, wave.
and he smiles back.
too wide, too real, too quick.
the kind of smile that says oh no i’m caught, but also i don’t care if i am.
you don’t know who told them, or who started keeping score, but now it’s a full-blown inside joke in Class 3-A.
“here we go again,” they whisper whenever you pass by.
and izuku’s always like, “doing what?”
which just makes them snicker more.
you first met him in the staff lounge, half-awake, fighting the coffee machine for dominance. he’d walked in, offered to help, and then accidentally dropped an entire packet of sugar on the floor.
you’d laughed.
he’d turned red.
it was all very cute and mildly tragic.
and somehow, over the following weeks, it became routine—your paths crossing between class periods, his smile always lingering a second too long, your coffee mysteriously replaced with the brand you like best.
it’s not like anyone knows you have a crush on him, but your friends in the English department absolutely suspect it.
especially since you keep finding excuses to pass by the science wing.
and especially since the students keep noticing.
it happens on a thursday — muggy weather, faint chalk dust in the air, and you’re heading to the supply room to grab new whiteboard markers.
as you pass his classroom, you hear the hum of energy: the shuffle of notebooks, the scrape of chairs, the faint buzz of a projector.
you glance in.
izuku’s mid-lecture, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. there’s graphite smudged across his hand from the model diagrams he’s been sketching all period. his voice is low but alive, full of inflection.
and then one of his students — tall kid, messy hair — spots you through the window.
you can see the smirk forming before it happens.
he nudges his deskmate. they both look at you, then look at him.
and like clockwork, someone whispers, loud enough for you to hear through the glass:
“buckle up, part 3 is coming.”
izuku blinks. “part 3 of what?”
snickers ripple across the room. you freeze mid-step, halfway down the hall, trying not to laugh.
he follows their gaze, turns—and when he sees you standing there, smiling like an idiot with your armful of markers—
his expression softens instantly.
not the polite smile teachers give colleagues. no, this one’s real. it’s slow, radiant, unfiltered affection blooming across his face like it’s out of his control.
you wave weakly. he raises a hand halfway, pretending to stretch, clearly trying not to make it weird.
but the damage is done.
the kids are losing it.
“sir, you’re doing it again!”
”mr. midoriya, your smile’s showing!”
”teacher’s got a crush!”
he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying (and failing) to hide the color creeping up his neck.
“focus,” he mutters. “back to the experiment, please—”
but his voice breaks slightly, and that just makes them laugh harder.
you swear you can hear him mumbling your name under his breath as you slip away, giggling quietly into your sleeve.
after school, you find him in the staff lounge again — slumped over a pile of grading with the most defeated look imaginable.
“rough day?” you ask, setting your mug beside his.
he groans, dramatic. “they’re relentless. i told them it’s unprofessional to speculate about teachers’ personal lives.”
“and that worked?”
“no,” izuku says miserably. “they made a spreadsheet.”
you laugh so hard you nearly spill your drink. “a spreadsheet?”
“they titled it ‘smile frequency vs. [name] sighting probability.’”
you wheeze. “oh my god—”
“it’s got charts,” he adds gravely. “and color coding.”
he’s blushing again, faint and boyish, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s trying not to smile.
you lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him over the rim of your mug. “so, what’s the data say?”
izuku hesitates, pretending to check an imaginary clipboard. “…high correlation.”
“hm.” you nod solemnly. “sounds scientific.”
his lips curve upward — just slightly, like the world’s most transparent secret.
and for a moment, the room softens around you: golden light bleeding through the blinds, the faint hum of a vending machine, the sound of someone typing at the far desk.
you look at him, and it feels like something in your chest shifts. like gravity tilting just a little toward him.
the next day, you swear you’re not doing it on purpose when you walk by again.
you just happen to be heading to the copy room.
coincidentally.
he’s mid-discussion, chalk in hand, the faintest trace of exhaustion under his eyes — and when you appear in the doorway, his voice literally stops.
there’s a long, terrible pause.
someone in the back coughs.
someone else whispers, “dude, not again.”
izuku, bless his soul, tries to play it off. “ah—[name]! hi! just—uh—photons. lots of them. we’re learning about—uh—photons.”
your lips twitch. “very enlightening.”
he blinks. there’s a tiny squeak of laughter from the front row.
“right! yes, enlightening! exactly!” he blurts, turning back to the board so fast his green curls flops. you see his hand tremble slightly with how hard he’s gripping the chalk.
the students are biting their tongues to keep from laughing.
you back away slowly, trying not to make it worse, mouthing a silent sorry through the window.
he mouths you’re not back.
you grin. he cracks, just for a second, smiling so openly it looks like sunlight caught in motion.
the class loses it again.
you can hear the laughter echoing down the hall long after you’ve gone.
by monday, the entire third-year hallway is in on it.
you walk past and it’s like a wave of giggles follows you. a few brave students even start greeting you with,
“good morning, miss correlation!”
you’re mortified. izuku’s dying inside.
but also — it’s kind of adorable.
because despite all the teasing, he never stops smiling when he sees you. not once.
it all peaks one afternoon when you’re covering study hall duty, and one of his students walks in holding a paper cup.
“from mr. midoriya,” they say innocently.
you open it — your favorite coffee order. the exact way you take it.
you look up. across the hall, through the open door, izuku’s pretending to adjust the projector.
he doesn’t look over until you lift the cup slightly, silently mouthing a thank you.
then he does that thing — that small, soft, wreck-you-for-a-week smile.
and yes. his class catches it.
you can practically hear the chaos.
“HE’S DOING IT AGAIN!”
“SIR! CORRELATION ALERT!”
“SOMEONE UPDATE THE CHART!”
you almost drop the cup from laughing so hard.
he hides his face in his hand.
and even from across the hallway, you can see his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
later that day, when everyone’s gone and the halls are quiet again, you find a little note tucked inside your mail slot.
the handwriting is neat, careful, a bit shaky.
dear [name],
thank you for the coffee excuse today.
i’ll never live it down, but… i don’t really mind.
— izuku
you smile so hard it physically hurts.
because god, he’s hopeless. and maybe you are too.
on tuesday morning, you stop by his classroom early, before the students arrive.
he’s at his desk, already scribbling lesson notes, hair messy, tie crooked, humming softly under his breath.
you knock on the doorframe. izuku looks up — startled, then smiling, automatic, bright.
you hold up two coffees. “thought i’d return the favor.”
he blinks. “you didn’t have to—”
“i wanted to.” you set one down beside him. “and before you ask — yes, i saw the spreadsheet. nice use of scatterplots.”
his face goes scarlet. “they showed you that?!”
“mm-hm.” you sip your drink. “pretty solid data, mr. midoriya.”
he groans, sinking into his chair. “high school is a nightmare.”
you grin. “agreed.”
and for a heartbeat — in the golden hush of morning, with chalk dust suspended in the light and your laughter filling the air —
he looks up at you like maybe, just maybe, it’s all worth it.
his students still whisper every time you walk by.
and yeah, he’s still “doing it.”
but now, when they tease him, he just smiles.
and no one can tell if it’s because of you passing in the hall, or the memory of your laughter, or the unopened text on his phone that reads:
wc: 17k || art creds: @/winterrbluess @/su2kuna || 18+
frat!sukuna x shy!nerd!reader
A/N lowk this fic is much more toned down compared to what i usually post but fuck it we ball it's cute
summary ! sukuna doesn't give a shit about chemistry, that is until the big red 8% on his last test threatens to get him kicked out of his frat. desperate, he turns to the only person who can save him: you, the adorable, shy girl who aces every quiz. you agree to help, but only if he helps you get the attention of your hallway crush, his best friend, toji. what starts as a deal between you slowly turns into a spiral of love and jealousy. (18+, fluff, slight toji x reader (?), no angst for once omg go me)
the big red number stares back at him from the top of the paper like a brand burned into his pride. 8%.
sukuna exhales through his nose, the sound rough, annoyed. the paper crumples in his hand before he tosses it onto the desk. he leans back in his chair, the metal legs creaking under his weight as his jaw works.
normally, he wouldn’t give a damn about a grade. it’s not like chemistry was ever something he cared about. but this time, it’s different. one more fail and he’s out. the frat has rules, grades too low and you’re done. and he knows exactly what’ll happen if that happens.
tojis smug laugh. satoru’s endless teasing. the guys calling him “brain-dead” for weeks. no more parties. no more sorority hoes. no more lazy afternoons drinking on the porch with his friends.
he runs a hand down his face, dragging his fingers over the faint scar under his eye and the sharp tatted lines on his cut face. he can’t let that happen.
at the front of the room, their professor is rambling about averages and assessment weightings, something about the next major project. sukuna tunes back in when he hears the words “sixty percent” and “partner work.” that catches his attention.
the next gruelling assessment is a two-month long research investigation worth sixty percent of their final grade.
he was on the verge of strangling himself to death or jumping out of the top story window when he realised.
that’s it.
that’s his way out. he just needs a smart partner who can carry his hopeless ass.
sukuna’s eyes sweep across the room, scanning for anyone who looks like they know what the hell they’re doing. most of the people he usually talks to in class are as useless as he is, too busy flirting or sleeping through lectures.
but then his gaze catches on someone sitting right up the front.
you.
the quiet girl with the tidy notes and the neat handwriting, the one who always answers when the professor asks a question no one else dares to.
you’re sitting there now, head slightly tilted as you jot something down, your pen gliding across the page with that easy confidence of someone who actually understands this shit.
you’ve always sat alone, tucked near the window. you never talk during lectures unless you have to, and even then your voice is small, hesitant. you wear oversized sweaters, keep your hair pinned up, and avoid eye contact with anyone who looks remotely like they belong to his world.
still, he’s noticed you before. everyone has. it’s hard not to. you’re the kind of girl that seems untouchable, not because you’re trying to be, but because you’re so far removed from everything he knows. soft, focused, real sweet.
and right now, you look like salvation.
he pushes up from his seat, ignoring the curious glances from a few classmates as he moves down the aisle. his tall frame blocks the light for a second when he stops beside your desk. you glance up, startled, your pen pausing mid-sentence.
"yo, my names sukuna. and you?"
"uh, hi? it's y/n." he smirks at your shy response, but continues.
“you’re like, a chem genius, right?” his tone is low, rough with disinterest, though his eyes linger on you a little too long.
you blink up at him, hesitant. “oh, um… i guess? why?”
“i need a partner, like, real bad,” he says, dropping the failed exam onto your desk with a dull slap. the red ink almost glows. “i'm gonna be honest, i completely fucked myself with this last exam. i can’t afford to fail again.”
you stare at the paper, then at him. up close, he’s intimidating. messy pink hair, dark eyes sharp and unreadable, tattoos trailing up his arms, his face, and peeking out from under his shirt collar.
he looks nothing like someone who’d ever ask for help, especially from you, and the fact that he’s doing it now makes your mind reel.
“i—look, don't take this the wrong way, but... theres a lot of people in this class,” you manage softly. “why pick me?”
he shrugs, leaning one hand on the desk beside your notes. “because you actually know what you’re doing. and i’m not looking to get stuck with some idiot who’ll drag me down, i'm already so fucking cooked."
you hesitate, glancing away. you’ve never really talked to him before. actually, you’ve barely even noticed him beyond the times you’ve seen him walking across campus with toji. that’s usually when your stomach does that stupid fluttering thing. watching toji laugh, his arm slung lazily around sukuna’s shoulders, both of them looking like they own the place.
it’s strange seeing one of them standing here now, asking you for help.
you fidget with your pen. “that's fine, sure. but… if we’re partners, wed have to split the workload.”
"yeah,” he says. “i can pull my weight, don't stress it, sweetheart. mostly just need someone to keep me from bombing it.”
it’s almost funny. he’s trying to sound casual, but something about the way he’s watching you feels uncharacteristically careful. like he’s actually waiting for your answer rather than being the overbearing dick he usually is.
maybe it’s because you’re cute. or maybe it’s because he knows you hold his fate in your small, nervous hands.
you chew your lip for a moment, then nod. “yeah, okay. i’ll help you out.”
his mouth tilts in a grin that’s half smug, half genuine relief. “good. 'preciate it, babe.”
you look down instantly, pretending to organize your papers so he doesn’t see the way your face warms. you weren't used to such casual name calling.
he drags a chair over from the next row and drops into it beside you, leaning back like he’s been sitting there all semester.
the professor’s voice fades into the background again as you stare straight ahead, trying to focus on anything but the fact that sukuna ryomen, the most notorious guy in beta tau, is now your project partner.
a few minutes pass in silence. the lecture drags on, your notes filling another page. but your mind’s racing the whole time. sukuna, meanwhile, can’t stop sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye.
he hadn’t expected you to actually agree. and he definitely hadn’t expected to find himself curious about you. you’re so… different. not the kind of girl who shows up to parties. not someone who flirts back when he smirks at her. just quiet and sweet, head buried in your work, the type that shouldn’t even be in his orbit.
and yet here you are.
when the professor dismisses the class, people start packing up. you hesitate, fingers tightening around your pen. then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn to him.
“hey… sukuna?”
he hums, eyes flicking toward you lazily. “yeah?”
you look nervous, the words almost tripping over themselves before they leave your mouth. cute. “i’ll help you pass. but… can you help me out with something too?”
his brow arches. “hmm. depends what it is.”
you take a quiet breath. “it’s about your friend. uh— toji.”
that gets his attention. his posture stiffens a little. “what about him?”
you look down at your notebook, like it’s safer than looking at him. “i just… i think he’s really attractive. and he looks nice. i know it’s kind of stupid but i was wondering if maybe... you could help me get him to notice me.”
for a second, sukuna just stares at you.
out of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn’t it.
you, the shy little thing sitting up front, blushing and tripping over her own words, want toji fushiguro. one of the biggest assholes on campus. his best friend, sure, but a guy who barely remembers girls’ names after he sleeps with them.
he leans back slowly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “you’re serious?”
you nod, eyes still fixed on your notebook.
he studies you for a long moment. you’re fidgeting again, twisting your pen between your fingers, your voice so soft he almost misses it. “you don’t have to if it’s weird, i just thought… you two are close, so maybe…”
sukuna exhales through his nose. part of him wants to tell you it’s a bad idea. that toji doesn’t deserve someone like you. that you’d get hurt trying to chase a guy like that.
but he doesn’t.
instead, he tilts his head and says, “yeah, fine. i’ll help you out.”
your head snaps up, eyes wide. “huh— really?”
“yeah. but only because you’re saving my ass with this project,” he says, smirking a little. “guess we’ll call it even.”
you smile—small, bright, genuine—and something tightens in his chest. you're so cute.
“thank you,” you say quietly.
he grins again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “don’t mention it, honey.”
and as you pack up your notes, he watches you go, already trying to ignore the strange feeling crawling up the back of his neck.
he tells himself it’s just a deal. a trade. nothing more.
but as you disappear out the door, he can’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s gotten himself into more trouble than he realizes.
~
music blasts through the frat, heavy bass shaking the walls, bodies moving in rhythm across the living room floor. someone’s yelling over the noise, someone else is laughing too loud.
the air smells like bad beer, smoke, and sweat, the classic friday night cocktail that means beta tau is alive and wild again.
sukuna leans against the kitchen counter, red solo cup in hand, watching a game of beer pong play out in front of him. the noise is deafening, but it’s a familiar kind of chaos. toji’s across the table, grin sharp as he sinks another ping-pong ball into the last cup.
“hell yeah,” toji shouts, hands raised. “that’s another win for me, baby!”
someone hands him another drink, and he downs it in one go, slamming the cup down as the room cheers. toji fushiguro lives for this kind of night—beer, bets, and easy company. sukuna’s used to it, the routine almost comforting.
he joins the next round, barely losing after a stupid bounce, then lets himself collapse onto the sagging couch beside toji. the music’s pounding through the walls, but the corner they’re in feels quieter, almost like the noise fades around them.
toji stretches out, arm slung over the back of the couch, shirt sticking to his skin. “you’re slipping, man,” he says, smirking at sukuna. “used to be able to hold your own in beer pong.”
“fuck up,” sukuna mutters, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded. “that last shot was rigged.”
“rigged?” toji laughs, deep and unrestrained. “you’re just rusty.”
sukuna grunts, tossing his empty cup onto the coffee table. his head’s buzzing—not from the alcohol, just from thoughts he can’t quite shake.
the image of you, the way you looked earlier in class, keeps floating up uninvited. you sitting at the front of the room, your careful handwriting, the little way you’d fidget with your pen when you were nervous.
he doesn’t even realize he’s been quiet until toji elbows him. “yo, what’s got you zoning out?”
sukuna runs his tongue over his teeth, deciding. screw it. “you ever heard of someone named y/n?”
toji raises a brow, blinking like he didn’t catch that over the noise. “who?”
“y/n,” sukuna repeats.
toji shakes his head, lips quirking. “nah. that some new chick you’re banging?”
sukuna sputters, choking on air. “what? no. i’m not—” he cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. great. smooth start.
toji’s smirk widens. “come on, man. don’t get shy on me. you’re stuttering like some freshman.”
“shut up,” sukuna mutters, glaring at him. “it’s not like that.”
“then what’s it like?”
he hesitates, watching the light flicker off the beer bottles on the table. there’s no way to explain it without sounding weird. he’s not even sure why he’s bringing you up at all, except that he made a promise, and now he’s gotta start somewhere.
“she’s just… in my chem class,” he finally says. “smart as hell. the kind that actually knows what she’s doing, y’know?”
toji snorts. “so, a nerd.”
“yeah,” sukuna says, ignoring the way toji says it like it’s an insult. “but, like… cute. shy, quiet, nice, i guess.”
toji’s grin widens. “bro. you’re seriously telling me about a crush right now? what the hell happened to you?”
“it’s not a crush,” sukuna says quickly, though his voice comes out sharper than he means. “she’s just—” he stops, running a hand through his hair. “she’s helping me with chem, okay? and i told her i’d help her with something too.”
“what, she want free alcs?” toji laughs.
“no.” sukuna exhales through his nose. “she wants you.”
that earns him a pause. toji tilts his head, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide if he misheard. “me?”
“yeah.”
“as in… she wants to, what, date me?”
“basically.”
toji’s silent for a moment, then he breaks into a bark of laughter so loud it turns a few heads. “you’re kidding, right? some shy nerdy girl wants me?” he grins, tapping his chest. “guess she’s got good taste.”
sukuna grits his teeth. “don’t be an ass about it.”
“what? i’m not being an ass,” toji says, still smirking. “just saying, that’s not really my type, man. i like girls who can actually keep up, y’know?”
“yeah, i know,” sukuna mutters. “that’s kinda the problem.”
“problem?”
sukuna leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping low. “look, she’s… she’s sweet. like, actually sweet. the kind of girl that probably still says ‘sorry’ even when someone bumps into her first. you’d break her in half.”
toji shrugs, unbothered. “then maybe she shouldn’t be into me.”
“she doesn’t even know you,” sukuna says, frustration creeping into his tone. “she just saw you around. thinks you’re… i don’t know. hot and nice.”
“ha,” toji barks out a laugh, finishing his drink. “then she’s definitely got the wrong idea.”
sukuna sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. this was going nowhere.
he tries again, his tone careful. “i just figured maybe you could give her a chance. she’s not like the other girls you mess with. she’s…” he hesitates, searching for the right word. “different. the kind you’d actually like if you gave her five minutes.”
toji side-eyes him, clearly amused. “you trying to sell me a girlfriend or something? what’s in it for you?”
sukuna’s jaw tightens. “nothing. i told her i’d help her out, that’s all.”
toji grins, eyes glinting. “you sure about that? you sound kinda like you wanna keep her for yourself.”
sukuna’s silent for a beat, his pulse ticking faster than it should. “i don’t.”
“right. and i’m the pope.” toji laughs, leaning back. “are you high? tellin’ me about how cute and shy she is… just fuck her and move on, bro. no need for all this emotional shit.”
sukuna drags a hand down his face, groaning. “i wish i was fucking high. jesus, you’re impossible.”
the music gets louder again, another chant rising from the kitchen as someone calls for shots. toji stands, stretching, grinning down at him. “come on, man. stop thinking so hard. let’s go get wasted.”
sukuna waves him off. “nah, i’m good. go ahead.”
toji shrugs and disappears into the crowd. sukuna sinks further into the couch, head tipping back, letting the noise drown out the frustration burning in his chest.
this was going to be a nightmare.
.
the next morning, the fluorescent lights of the lecture hall feel like punishment. the air smells like stale coffee and paper, and the chatter around the room grates on his nerves. sukuna slouches into his seat, sunglasses hiding the exhaustion clinging to him.
you’re already there, of course. neat stack of papers beside your laptop, pen in hand, posture perfect. you glance up as he approaches, offering a small smile.
“morning,” you say softly.
“hey,” he mutters, sliding into the seat next to you.
the teacher doesn’t waste time, telling everyone to start working on their projects. pairs scatter across the room, some staying behind, others leaving for the library. you glance at sukuna, uncertain.
“should we…?”
“yeah, library,” he says before you can finish. “less noise.”
you nod quickly, tucking your notes under your arm as you follow him out.
the walk’s quiet. you keep close but not too close, fingers gripping the strap of your bag. sukuna glances at you once or twice as you walk, the sunlight catching the edge of your hair. there’s something weirdly calming about you, like your presence forces the chaos in his head to settle for a bit.
when you reach the campus library, you pick a small table near the back, away from the groups of whispering students. the morning light filters through tall windows, catching dust motes in the air. it’s quiet enough that every turn of a page feels loud.
you sit across from him, pulling your laptop from your bag. “um, before we start, maybe we should exchange contact info?”
he nods, pulling out his phone. “yeah. what's ya' number?”
you rattle it off, and he types it in. his phone pings a second later when you text him, and he adds your contact with a lazy swipe. then you both exchange social media.
you open your instagram to show him, but he’s already found it. your account’s small—cozy, soft colors, pictures of coffee cups, notes, and the occasional selfie that looks like you were trying not to take one.
then you look at his. thousands of followers, stories from parties, shirtless gym photos, snapshots of him and toji grinning like idiots with red cups in hand.
you blink, then smile politely. “ours are… really different.”
he huffs out a quiet laugh. “yeah. just a little.”
he doesn’t tell you that he finds it kind of adorable, how small and peaceful your corner of the internet looks compared to his chaos.
you both settle in to start discussing the project, papers spread between you. you talk about ideas, your voice growing steadier as you get into the topic. you explain concepts easily, your hands moving as you describe how you could structure the research, how to divide the work.
he listens. or tries to. mostly, he’s just watching the way you light up when you talk about something you love.
after a while, you pause, glancing at him with a small, hopeful look. “did you… talk to toji?”
he freezes for a fraction of a second, mind flashing back to last night—the laughter, the teasing, the absolute disaster of that conversation.
“yeah,” he says after a moment, forcing a smile. “i did.”
your eyes widen, curious. “what’d he say?”
he hesitates. you’re looking at him so earnestly, waiting for an answer, and he can’t bring himself to tell you that toji laughed it off, that he’d said something crude about just sleeping with you and moving on.
so he lies.
“he seemed interested,” sukuna says smoothly. “asked who you were. said you sounded cute.”
you go still for a moment, then your cheeks flush, and you duck your head. “really?”
“yeah,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “told him you were smart, nice. he said that’s rare.”
your shy smile makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t understand.
“that’s… really nice of you, sukuna,” you say softly. “thanks.”
he shrugs, forcing a grin. “told you i’d help.”
but as you turn back to your notes, still smiling faintly to yourself, he can’t look away. he doesn’t know what’s worse—the way lying to you actually hurts his heart, or the way part of him’s starting to wish that toji never finds out who you are.
because the thought of you smiling like that at anyone else makes his stomach twist.
~
the frat house is quieter than usual when sukuna pushes the door open.
no bass pounding through the walls, no laughter echoing down the hallway, no beer pong table clattering in the kitchen. just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant muffled sound of someone’s tv from another room.
it’s strange. unsettling, almost. he’s gotten used to the constant noise, the never-ending buzz of people that filled the house from dusk till dawn.
he kicks off his shoes at the door, shoulders rolling back as he heads for the stairs. his head still feels heavy from the long day, the faint scent of your shampoo stuck in his memory.
it’s weird—he’s been around a thousand girls, maybe more. girls who practically threw themselves at him, who laughed too loud at his jokes and leaned in too close.
but somehow, you—sitting across from him with that shy smile and your soft voice explaining inter molecular relationship—manage to stick in his head longer than any of them ever have.
his room’s dark when he steps inside, save for the light bleeding in from the street through the blinds. he tosses his keys onto the desk and falls back onto his bed, exhaling. the ceiling stares back blankly.
he doesn’t even mean to grab his phone, but his hand moves before he can think. he unlocks it, thumb hovering over instagram.
just checking something, he tells himself.
his fingers type your username into the search bar without hesitation.
your profile opens instantly.
the same cozy layout he remembered. a few new story highlights. your bio—something simple, maybe a quote or a flower emoji. his thumb scrolls down slowly, eyes following the grid of neatly arranged photos. you, a few landscapes, coffee cups, snippets of sunlight through your window, a cat that might not even be yours.
he stops when he sees a picture from about a month ago.
you’re holding a tiny puppy in your arms, your face caught mid-laugh, like someone had said something funny right before snapping the picture. the puppy’s paw rests against your chest, nose tucked near your chin. in your other hand, you’re holding a paper cup of coffee, a little swirl of foam peeking through the lid.
he stares at it for longer than he should.
it’s just a photo, nothing special, but something about it hits him hard . the little details—the way your fingers curl gently under the puppy’s paw, the sunlight catching on the curve of your cheek, the way your smile looks completely unposed.
he catches himself wondering stupid things.
was that your dog? probably not. maybe a friend’s. or some random one you met at a cafe.
was the coffee yours? it looks like something you’d order, something simple. maybe vanilla, maybe something with caramel.
where was that taken? some small corner cafe? a weekend morning somewhere quiet?
he doesn’t know. and that bothers him more than it should.
his thumb hovers over the photo for a second before he double-taps it. the little red heart fills in on the corner of the screen.
great. now you’re going to see that he liked a post from a month ago. real smooth.
he tosses his phone onto the bed beside him, covering his face with his hands.
“what the fuck am i doing,” he mutters.
he’s never been that guy. the one who scrolls through a girl’s profile like he’s studying for an exam. the one who cares enough to wonder what her favorite coffee order is, or if she likes dogs or cats more. he doesn’t ask those questions. he doesn’t want to ask those questions.
but he can’t stop himself.
he scrolls again, back up to your most recent post—another candid shot, you’re wearing one of those oversized sweaters you always seem to wear to class, sleeves pulled over your wrists.
you look peaceful. and sweet. and so painfully far from the world he lives in.
his throat tightens unexpectedly, he looks deeper, really looks at you.
you’re really fucking pretty.
he’d always known that. he’d noticed, sure—he’s not blind. the first day you’d agreed to work with him, he’d thought you were cute. adorable, even. but now, staring at your pictures, seeing the small glimpses of your life beyond those chemistry notes and shy smiles, he realizes it’s more than that.
you’re beautiful.
and that realization sits heavy in his chest, thick and uncomfortable.
because he knows exactly where this is supposed to go.
he still owes you. he still promised you something.
toji.
the thought of his friend’s name makes him exhale hard through his nose.
he can already picture it—if he brings you up again, toji will laugh the same way he always does. say something crude. maybe shrug and agree to meet you, just for the hell of it. and maybe you’d smile that soft, nervous smile at him, and maybe you’d fall for him harder than you already have.
and that image—that thought—makes sukuna’s jaw clench.
he shakes his head, forcing the phone screen off.
“get a grip,” he mutters, rolling onto his side.
but it’s no use. even as he closes his eyes, the image of you laughing with that puppy burns into the back of his mind.
~
two weeks pass withf lectures and late-night text exchanges about project deadlines.
you’ve met up three times since that first day at the library. each time, sukuna’s noticed small things—how you seem to relax around him more, how you’ve started teasing him lightly when he messes up an equation, how your laugh sounds quiet but genuine when he actually manages to make you smile.
and now, on the fourth meeting, he finds himself heading to the library again, trying to ignore the way his stomach feels weirdly tight.
you’re already there when he walks in.
same table. same corner near the back.
but this time, something’s different.
you’re standing by your seat, waving slightly when you see him. and in your hands, you’re holding two cups of coffee.
“hey,” you say, your voice bright and clear in a way that makes him pause.
he blinks, momentarily thrown off by how cheerful you sound. “hey,” he replies, trying to sound as casual as usual.
you hold out one of the cups toward him. “i, um, got this for you. black coffee, right?”
for a second, he just stares.
it’s stupid. it’s a coffee cup. but his mind stutters anyway.
“yeah,” he says, voice quieter than he means it to be. “yeah, that’s right.”
“i wasn’t sure how you take it,” you admit with a small laugh. “you seem like the kind of person who drinks it straight. no sugar, no milk.”
he huffs out a small laugh, taking the cup from you. “you got that right.”
“lucky guess.”
you sit down, cheeks faintly pink. he watches you for a second longer than necessary before clearing his throat and dropping into the chair across from you.
“thanks,” he says finally, lifting the cup slightly. “for the coffee.”
you smile, soft and genuine. “you’ve been helping me a lot with this, so i thought it was the least i could do.”
he wants to tell you that you’ve got it backwards—that you’re the one keeping him afloat, not the other way around—but he bites his tongue.
instead, he takes a sip, the bitter taste grounding him.
“you didn’t have to, y'know.”
“i wanted to,” you say, eyes flicking down to your notes.
and for a brief second, he feels his pulse skip.
you wanted to.
he tries to shake the feeling, pulling out his own notes. “alright, so. what’s the plan for today?”
you talk about the experiment data, what needs to be written up, the references you still have to gather. he listens, but part of him’s distracted.
it’s the way you’re talking now—louder, lighter. you’re not tripping over your words anymore. you’re not afraid to meet his eyes. the shy girl who could barely look at him two weeks ago is now smiling at him between sentences.
and fuck if that doesn’t make something twist in his chest.
as the minutes pass, the project talk starts to blur into something else. he’s the one who changes the subject first.
“so,” he says, leaning back slightly. “what’s with you and coffee? every time i see you, you’ve got one.”
you look up from your laptop, blinking. “i just like it, i guess. i go to this little place near campus almost every morning before class.”
“the one with the green sign?”
“yeah, that one.”
“figured.”
you laugh quietly. “you go there too?”
“sometimes,” he says. “after workouts. they’ve got good espresso.”
you tilt your head. “you work out every morning?”
“almost,” he says, smirking faintly. “gotta keep my sexy frat guy aura in tact.”
“oh, right,” you tease, eyes glinting a little. “wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans.”
he blinks, caught off guard. “fans?”
“your instagram,” you say, trying not to laugh. “you’ve got, like, a thousand girls following you. i saw.”
he groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “don’t remind me.”
“why?”
“because half of them don’t even go to this school,” he says, grinning a little. “they just… show up.”
you laugh, the sound soft but real, and he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.
after that, the conversation drifts. you talk about random things—your classes, your favorite kind of music, the dog from your photo (“that’s my friend’s puppy,” you explain. “he’s named mochi.”).
sukuna finds himself asking questions, more than he’s ever asked anyone before. not just because he wants to fill the silence, but because he genuinely wants to know.
you tell him about your hobbies, your part-time job at the campus bookstore, how you’re saving up for a trip after graduation.
he listens. really listens.
and for every small thing you share, he feels himself drawn in deeper.
when the session finally ends, the clock showing that two hours have slipped by without either of you noticing, you start packing up your things.
“same time next week?” you ask, glancing up.
“yeah,” he says. “same spot.”
you smile again, that soft, shy one that makes his chest ache.
and as you wave goodbye and walk out of the library, sukuna stays seated for a moment, staring at the empty chair across from him.
he should be thinking about the project. about grades. about keeping his promise to you.
but all he can think about is how the smell of coffee still lingers faintly on his fingers—and how, somehow, that’s become his favorite part of the day.
~
the frat house always feels heavy on monday mornings. air thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap cologne, half-empty red cups scattered on tables like small grave markers from the weekend before. sukuna drags himself through the hallway, towel hanging around his neck, hair still damp from a quick shower.
toji’s already waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a protein shake in one hand and his phone in the other. he looks up when sukuna walks in, flashing that familiar cocky grin.
“yo, you down to hit the gym?”
sukuna doesn’t even hesitate. “for sure.”
mondays are brutal, but skipping a session isn’t an option. not when you’ve got someone like toji keeping score. they finish off their drinks, grab their bags, and head out.
the campus is still quiet. early morning sun stretches across the pavement, birds chirping somewhere above. their sneakers hit the concrete in sync.
“bro, did you see the game last night?” toji asks, tossing a smirk his way.
“yeah,” sukuna mutters. “you owe me twenty.”
toji groans. “bullshit. that last call was garbage.”
“still counts.”
they go back and forth for a while—typical talk. girls, workouts, who pulled who at the last party. toji’s loud, animated, the kind of guy who fills silence with his own voice. sukuna listens, laughs when he should, but half his mind’s somewhere else.
they’re cutting across the main quad when he spots you.
you’re walking toward one of the lecture halls, tote bag slung over your shoulder, hair catching the light in a way that makes his breath hitch.
you’re wearing something simple—a cute shirt and nice jeans, your hands wrapped around a coffee cup—but somehow it makes you stand out more than anyone else on the path.
you don’t see him, too focused on your phone, but his chest tightens anyway.
for a second, it’s like the rest of the campus fades away.
then he remembers who’s walking beside him.
toji’s still talking about some girl he hooked up with over the weekend, words fading into the background as sukuna’s jaw tightens. he forces his eyes away, tells himself to stop being weird. this is stupid. you’re just his lab partner.
except he’s not supposed to be thinking about how good you look in the morning light. he’s supposed to be thinking about the deal.
the one with toji.
his throat feels dry as he forces himself to speak.
“hey,” he says suddenly. “you remember that girl i was talking about the other night?”
toji glances over, raising a brow. “the chem one?”
“yeah. that’s her.”
he nods toward you before he can second-guess it.
toji slows immediately, his attention shifting in your direction. you’re still walking across the path, the sunlight brushing over your face as you look up for a moment, squinting.
sukuna watches as toji literally stops in his tracks.
“no way,” toji says, eyes widening. “that’s her?”
“yeah,” sukuna mutters.
“holy shit.” toji’s grin spreads, sharp and impressed. “you didn’t tell me she was that cute.”
sukuna doesn’t respond. he just keeps walking, pretending to be unfazed, but every word toji says feels like it’s digging deeper under his skin.
“seriously, bro,” toji continues, still staring after you even as you disappear into the building. “you made her sound like some dorky little nerd. i was picturing ugly glasses, messy bun, the whole thing. but she’s—damn. she’s adorable.”
sukuna’s stomach twists. he forces a smirk, because that’s what’s expected. “yeah, she’s not bad.”
“not bad?” toji laughs, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “she’s gorgeous. you holding out on me, man?”
“nah,” sukuna says quickly. “just didn’t think you’d be into that type.”
“what type?”
“the smart, quiet type,” he says, voice flat. “thought you liked girls who could ‘keep up,’ remember?”
toji scoffs. “yeah, well, she’s too cute to pass up. shit, you should let me tag along next time you’re studying with her. see what she’s like up close.”
sukuna forces a laugh, but it comes out strained. “yeah, sure. whatever.”
inside, he’s cringing so hard he feels sick.
they head into the gym, the sound of clanging weights filling the space. he tries to focus—on the burn in his muscles, the rhythm of his breathing—but his thoughts won’t shut up. toji’s words keep echoing. she’s adorable. she’s gorgeous. you holding out on me?
this was what he was supposed to do. this was the plan. introduce you to toji, let things fall into place, make good on his end of the deal.
so why does it feel so wrong?
~
the next study session comes faster than he expects.
the day’s overcast, the library quiet except for the soft hush of the air conditioning. you’re already there when he walks in, sitting in your usual spot by the window, books neatly stacked, pen tapping absently against your notebook.
you look up when you hear his voice.
“hey,” he says, slipping through the aisles toward you.
your face brightens instantly, that small, warm smile tugging at your lips.
“hi,” you say, already starting to greet him—
then your voice falters.
because right behind him, towering and broad-shouldered, is toji.
your words die halfway out of your throat, eyes going wide. he’s impossible to ignore—dark hair, sharp grin, that easy confidence that radiates from him like static.
sukuna can see the exact moment you freeze. your fingers grip your pen a little too tightly, your posture going stiff.
“this is toji,” sukuna says, trying to sound casual. “he wanted to tag along today.”
“hey,” toji says smoothly, pulling up a chair without asking. “nice to meet you, y/n.”
you nod, cheeks pink. “h-hi.”
it’s awkward from the start. painfully so.
sukuna tries to start things off, opening his notebook and asking about the data you collected last week, but toji’s already jumping in with his own questions—none of them relevant.
“so,” toji leans forward, elbows on the table. “you’re really good at this chem stuff, huh? always been a little nerd?”
you laugh nervously, eyes flicking between the two of them. “i… guess so?”
“yeah, i could never,” he says, shaking his head. “i barely passed last year. too many parties, you know how it is.”
you nod politely, but the look on your face says it all—you have no idea what to say.
sukuna clenches his jaw.
toji keeps going, oblivious. he talks about the last frat party, about the time he benched two hundred in front of half the football team, about some girl who texted him last night. you just sit there, smiling faintly, giving small nods and quiet hums of agreement.
it’s brutal.
every word toji says feels like a slow car crash sukuna can’t stop. he knows he should’ve expected this—this was always how toji was—but now that it’s happening in front of you, he can’t stand it.
you’re sitting there, trying so hard to be polite, cheeks flushed, fingers fidgeting with your sleeve. and for the first time, sukuna hates how loud the other guy is. hates how he’s filling the space that’s always felt quiet and easy with you.
after what feels like forever, toji’s phone buzzes. he glances down, reads the message, and stands up.
“gotta head out,” he says, smirking. “good luck with your project, sweetheart. maybe i’ll swing by next time, yeah?”
before you can respond, he gives you a wink.
you freeze again, murmuring something that barely sounds like a goodbye.
he leaves, whistling under his breath, completely unaware of how painfully awkward that was.
the second he’s out of sight, sukuna exhales hard and runs a hand through his hair.
“fuck,” he mutters. “sorry about that.”
your eyes widen a little. “oh, um, it’s fine.”
“no, seriously,” he says, glancing at you. “i should’ve told you i was bringing him.”
you hesitate, then smile, shy but real. “it’s okay. i was just… nervous, i guess.”
he tilts his head. “why?”
you look down at your notes. “he’s just… kind of intense. i didn’t expect that.”
“yeah,” he says quietly. “he’s like that.”
the silence that follows isn’t awkward, though. it’s calm. steady.
you’re visibly more relaxed now, shoulders no longer so tight, your voice softer when you start talking again. sukuna listens, his chest loosening with every word.
you don’t mention toji again.
and he doesn’t either.
for the rest of the session, it’s just the two of you again—back to the easy rhythm he didn’t realize he’d missed until it was gone. you explain a reaction mechanism, he teases you about your handwriting, you roll your eyes and laugh.
when it’s time to leave, you pack up your things slowly, almost like you don’t want the moment to end.
“see you next week?” you ask.
“yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. “next week.”
you give a small wave, and as you walk out, sukuna watches you disappear between the shelves, that same quiet warmth settling in his chest.
he should feel relieved—he did what he was supposed to. he introduced you to toji. he followed through.
but instead, he just feels like he’s made a mistake.
because the whole walk back to the frat, the only thing running through his head isn’t how toji couldn’t shut up or how awkward the whole thing was.
it’s how your voice had softened when you told him it was fine. how your eyes met his, even for a second, and he felt that stupid little spark again.
he doesn’t know what to call it. doesn’t want to.
but deep down, he knows one thing for sure.
the next time you two meet, he’s showing up alone, keeping you to himself.
~
music pounds through sukuna's chest, pulsing out of the open doors of the sorority like a heartbeat on overdrive. laughter spills down the steps, mixed with the sharp scent of alcohol and perfume and that sticky-sweet haze that always clings to these kinds of parties.
banners hang crooked above the door, fairy lights tangled like spiderwebs. the sorority girls really went all out.
it’s a mixer. one of those invite-only things, where every girl in greek row tries to get noticed by the “right” house. and sukuna’s frat—their house—was always the right one. full of grade A hotties like sukuna and toji and successful athletes like gojo and geto.
he spots toji near the entrance, already in his element. white t-shirt, chain glinting at his throat, grin carved sharp enough to cut through the noise. every few seconds, someone calls his name. girls from different sororities, guys from the rugby team, even one of the organizers waving him over.
toji was built for this. sukuna knew it. hell, everyone did.
“about time, man,” toji says when sukuna steps up beside him. “thought you’d bailed.”
“nah,” sukuna mutters. “just took my time.”
“yeah, well, tonight’s supposed to be wild. let’s make the most of it.”
they shoulder their way through the crowd, music pounding overhead, the smell of beer and sweat and too much perfume thick in the air. sticking together like usual.
a few girls call out sukuna’s name as they pass, and he just flashes that lazy grin he’s perfected—the one that says he’s not interested, but he might be later.
it’s all automatic now. the smirk, the eye contact, the way his shoulders roll when he laughs. it’s all muscle memory.
but tonight, something feels off.
maybe it’s the way every laugh sounds fake. maybe it’s the way the lights flash too bright, painting everyone in the same plastic color.
maybe it’s because all he can think about is you.
they end up in the kitchen, where the music’s still loud but not deafening. beer pong’s already set up on the long dining table, cups half-filled, ping-pong balls scattered across the sticky surface.
toji grabs a ball and grins. “let’s go. loser does a shot.”
sukuna smirks, rolling up his sleeves. “you’re on.”
they start playing, drawing a small crowd of girls who cheer and giggle at every throw. toji’s competitive as always, talking shit between shots, while sukuna plays quiet and steady. the rhythm feels familiar—the weight of the ball, the sound of it hitting the cup, the way everyone leans in to watch.
after two rounds, they’re tied. toji wins one, sukuna the other. the girls watching don’t seem to care who’s winning—they’re too focused on the way the two of them look, the easy confidence that comes with knowing the room revolves around them.
and then they descend.
a blonde slides up beside toji, pressing herself against his arm. another girl, brunette this time, drapes herself over sukuna, laughter dripping from her lips like honey.
“you guys are, like, scary good at this,” she says, voice high and flirty.
“practice,” sukuna says automatically. his smirk looks real enough. it always does.
her nails trace the edge of his sleeve, and she leans closer. “bet you’re real good at other things too.”
normally, this is the part where he’d lean in, let the moment pull him under. he knows how this goes—shots, dancing, slipping upstairs when the music gets too loud. normally he'd do anything for a quick fuck.
but tonight, it doesn’t land.
he looks down at her, at the perfect makeup and glitter around her eyes, and all he can think is how different she is from you.
how you’d never lean on someone like this. how you’d never grab at someone you just met. how when you talked, you actually meant what you said.
his jaw tightens.
toji’s already got two girls around him, laughing loudly, drink in one hand, the other at someone’s waist. he looks like he’s having the time of his life. and for the first time, sukuna feels nothing but exhaustion watching it.
the brunette keeps talking—something about the psych department, something about a pool party next weekend—but her words fade into static.
god, he can’t stop thinking about you.
he pictures your small smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous. the way your voice lifts just slightly when you talk about something you love. the way your eyes meet his only for a second before darting away again.
then he thinks about how you’d react if you saw this.
if you saw toji right now—grinning, drunk, hands everywhere.
you’d look crushed. maybe not outwardly, but he knows you’d feel it. he can see that tiny flicker of hurt in his head, your lips pressing together, pretending not to care.
and for some reason, that thought hits him like a punch.
you’d be heartbroken over a guy like toji. and he hates that. hates it enough that his fake smirk starts to slip.
because toji’s the one you wanted. and toji’s right there, laughing with some random girl like you never even existed.
it makes his stomach twist.
the brunette leans in closer, her perfume cloying and too strong. she presses her lips against his neck, and something cold floods through him instead of the usual heat.
he stiffens.
she pulls back, confused, maybe even offended, but he just steps away, shaking his head.
“you good?” she asks, pouting a little.
“yeah,” he mutters. “just—need a smoke.”
he grabs a beer from the counter and makes his way outside.
the air’s cooler out here, cleaner. it hits his lungs in a way that almost feels like relief. he digs into his pocket, finds his pack, and lights up. the first drag burns his throat, grounding him a little. he thinks back to the time you'd seen a flash of the packet in his pocket, the look of concern plastering your cute face.
"you smoke cigarettes? y'know that pretty bad for you, sukuna..."
he sighs and takes another drag, he knew you were right, hell, he even cut down after that little statement.
inside, the party’s still raging. someone shouts, laughter echoing off the walls. he hears toji’s voice above the rest, loud and easy and so damn sure of himself.
sukuna exhales a long stream of smoke and stares out at the street.
why’s he even thinking about you like this?
you're just a girl. just a project partner. you needed his help, he needed yours. that’s all it was supposed to be.
but then he remembers how you'd smiled when he showed up on time for once, how you’d brought him that stupid cup of coffee just because you thought he’d like it. how careful you’d been, shy but trying.
and now he’s here, surrounded by everything he used to want, feeling nothing but restless.
he thinks about the library tomorrow morning.
you’d be there early. you always are. waiting at the same table, your notebook open, your pen tapping as you concentrate. you’d look up when he walks in, offer that small, quiet smile like you’re genuinely happy to see him.
the thought of showing up hungover makes his stomach knot.
he can’t let you see him like that. not reeking of beer, not bleary-eyed and half-dead from a night he didn’t even enjoy.
he flicks the ash off his cigarette, curses under his breath.
“what the fuck am i doing?”
he looks back toward the house. the windows are glowing with golden light, silhouettes moving inside. laughter spills out again, shrill and wild.
that used to feel like home.
now it just feels loud.
he takes another drag, the ember lighting up in the dark.
this isn’t him. at least, it’s not the version of him you’ve seen. the one who actually listens, who tries, who stays sober enough to remember what you said about catalysts and reactions. the one you’ve somehow turned him into without even knowing.
he huffs out a quiet laugh, bitter and low.
you’d probably never believe it if someone told you sukuna ryomen left a mixer early because of a girl.
but here he is.
he stubs out the cigarette, tosses the butt into the gutter, and pulls his jacket tighter around him.
he steps back inside just long enough to find toji at the beer pong table, a girl perched on his lap now, and rolls his eyes.
“yo,” toji calls over. “where the hell’d you go?”
“m' heading out,” sukuna says. “got shit to do tomorrow.”
toji raises a brow. “it’s friday, man.”
“yeah. i know.”
“whatever,” toji laughs. “your loss.”
sukuna just shrugs, already turning toward the door.
the music fades behind him as he walks out again. the night air hits him, cool against his skin. campus is mostly empty now, streetlights flickering.
he lights another cigarette as he walks, the smoke curling up into the cold.
his mind won’t stop racing.
he thinks about you again, about how small you look sitting behind your laptop, about the way you focus so hard you don’t notice him staring sometimes. about how quiet the world feels when it’s just the two of you in that corner of the library.
you’d laugh if you saw him now. the guy everyone calls a monster, walking home early from a party just because he wants to look sober in front of some shy chemistry nerd.
but it’s not just that anymore.
he doesn’t want to look sober. he wants to look good for you.
he wants you to think he’s better than this. better than what everyone thinks he's like.
he blows out smoke and watches it fade into the dark.
when he gets back to the frat, the house is nearly empty—most of the guys are still at the mixer. it’s quiet for once. he climbs the stairs, every step heavy, and stops at his door.
he stares at the handle for a second before going in.
the room smells like cologne and laundry detergent. his desk’s still a mess, papers and dumbbells scattered everywhere. he drops onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, cigarette burning low between his fingers.
he should sleep. he should forget tonight.
but all he can see is you.
your smile. your voice. your eyes when they meet his and flick away just a second too fast.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
he ashes the cigarette in the tray, lets his head fall back, and closes his eyes.
the thought of you lingers like smoke in his lungs. intoxicating, slow, impossible to shake.
and for the first time in a long time, the idea of tomorrow doesn’t feel like just another day. it feels like something he’s waiting for.
~
the sun crawls through the blinds too early for a saturday.
pale light drags itself across the room, landing on the mess of clothes and empty bottles scattered over the frat floor. everyone’s still passed out.
bodies everywhere. some sprawled across couches, others snoring in corners, heads tipped back with half-empty beer cans slipping from their hands.
but not sukuna.
he’s awake.
he’s the only one who doesn’t feel like he got hit by a truck. no pounding head, no sour stomach. just the faint trace of smoke on his tongue and the quiet buzz in his chest that’s been there since last night.
he sits up, rakes a hand through his hair, and exhales. the air smells like sweat and cheap vodka. he looks around at the disaster that was his frat house—sticky floors, someone’s shoe on the counter, a guy in nothing but boxers drooling into the carpet—and shakes his head.
he’s not sticking around for the aftermath.
there’s something about this morning, something clean, light, strange. he grabs his hoodie, slings his bag over his shoulder, and checks his phone. too early for most people. not too early for you.
he smiles a little at that.
when he walks into the hallway, a few guys groan from the couch.
“yo,” one of them croaks. “where the hell are you going? it’s like… eight?”
“got plans,” sukuna says, slipping on his sneakers.
“plans?” another mumbles, half-asleep. “with who?”
“no one,” sukuna says quickly. “don’t worry about it.”
he’s already halfway out the door before they can start asking more questions. the last thing he needs is toji—or anyone, really—catching wind of this and deciding to tag along like last time.
the air outside hits him cold and fresh. campus is quiet, only the occasional sound of birds or a bike rolling past. everything’s washed in soft gold light, the kind that makes the world look cleaner than it really is.
he starts walking.
there’s a bounce in his step that he tries to ignore. it feels stupid to feel this way. giddy. like he’s got something worth looking forward to. he tells himself it’s just because he didn’t drink last night. he’s clear-headed. alert. that’s all.
but he knows it’s a lie.
the café comes into view just down the block. it’s the one you always go to—the one with the green sign. he remembers the first time he saw you there, hunched over your laptop with a coffee that had already gone cold, scribbling in your notebook like the world might end if you looked up.
the memory makes his chest feel weird.
he pushes open the door, the little bell chiming. the barista greets him with a sleepy smile. he glances over the glass case, scanning the pastries. croissants, muffins, a few danishes. then he spots the one he remembers you ordering once—flaky and soft, sugar dusted over the top.
“one of those,” he says, pointing.
the barista wraps it up neatly in paper. sukuna hands over the cash, then hesitates when she asks if he wants a drink.
he almost says yes. almost orders a sweet coffee for you.
but then he remembers.
you’ll already have one right now, you always do.
“nah,” he says, shaking his head. “js' the pastry.”
he walks out with the small paper bag in hand, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
he feels ridiculous. it’s a fucking pastry. but somehow it feels like more than that. like he’s carrying a confession.
when the library comes into view, he spots you right away.
you’re there, in your usual spot. that back table near the window, the one you’ve claimed without ever really saying so. your coffee’s beside your laptop, steam curling up faintly. you’re biting your lip, eyes narrowed in concentration as you read through something.
and god, you’re cute.
it slaps him all over again.
the way your hair falls forward, the soft sweater you’re wearing, the tiny crease between your brows. you’re not trying to be anything. you’re just there, focused, quiet, real.
he stands there for a second, just watching.
then he remembers himself and walks over.
“g'morning,” he says.
you look up, startled, then your whole face softens when you see him. “oh—hi! you’re early.”
“yeah,” he says, dropping his bag into the chair across from you. “didn't wanna sleep in today.”
you laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “fair.”
he pulls the paper bag from his hoodie pocket and slides it across the table.
he holds it out to you. “for you. figured you might want breakfast.”
you blink, startled. “wait, really?”
“yeah. it’s from that cafe you like.”
your mouth falls open slightly, and your cheeks go pink in that way he’s starting to adore. “you... remembered that?”
“guess so.”
you take the bag from him carefully, like it’s something fragile. when you peek inside and see what it is, your expression softens even more.
“oh my god,” you whisper, smiling so hard your eyes crinkle at the corners. “this is my favorite one.”
he watches, almost helpless, as you keep talking, thanking him over and over. your voice stumbles with embarrassment, your fingers fidget with the bag, and the more flustered you get, the more something warm spreads through his chest.
“you didn’t have to—really, that’s so sweet of you.”
“it’s nothing,” he says, but his voice is rougher than he means it to be. “just figured you might be hungry.”
you look down, still smiling. “thank you.”
and it hits him, how long it’s been since a girl said that to him and meant it.
you break the silence first, switching to the assignment, pulling up your notes and explaining something about the next section. he nods along, but he’s not really listening. he’s watching the way you push your hair behind your ear, the way your brows furrow when you focus.
he forces himself to pay attention. still, the moment feels easy.
you talk for a while about the project, comparing notes, trading small jokes. he feels himself relax into the rhythm of it, like it’s become a routine.
and then, without warning, you bring up toji.
you clear your throat first, eyes flicking down to your notes. “so, um... toji.”
he stills, one brow lifting, you were finally gonna talk about him since that awful run in last time. “hmm?”
“he’s… very…” you trail off, searching for the word. “loud.”
he snorts. “that’s one way to put it.”
“and, um, big. like—physically. and personality-wise. very… confident.”
he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. sorry about that. he’s… a lot. again, i didn’t mean to unleash him on you like that.” he was apologising again, so out of character for him but he couldn't help it. not with you.
“no, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “he’s just… different than i expected.”
“different how?”
you hesitate, chewing your lip. “i guess i thought he’d be more like you.”
the words hang between you for a second. his pulse stutters.
“like me, huh?” he says, teasing, leaning back in his chair, spread wide as he looks you up and down. “what’s that supposed to mean, hm?”
you go red instantly, trying to drag your eyes away from his man spread legs. “i just meant—you’re, um, thoughtful. more focused. not overbearing, you're nice...”
he grins. "nice, huh?"
you hide your mouth behind your hand and look off to the side. "nicer than toji, yeah."
he laughs, "that's not a very high bar to clear."
you giggled in response, letting him continue.
“so you like my type better?”
“that’s not what i said,” you mumble, covering your face with your hand again.
“didn’t have to.”
you peek at him through your fingers, and he has to bite back a laugh. your cheeks are so pink it hurts to look at you.
“you’re bullying me,” you say, your voice small.
“maybe.”
you shake your head, still smiling, and reach for your coffee. he watches the way you hold it, the delicate tilt of your wrist, the little sigh you make after a sip.
then, quieter, he asks, “so… you still interested in him? toji, i mean.”
you freeze.
“i—uh.” your voice falters. “i guess so? i... i don’t know.”
“you don’t sound sure.”
“he’s just—not what i thought he’d be. i thought he’d be a little calmer.”
“he’s not really the type to surprise you in a good way,” sukuna says.
you smile faintly, eyes on your cup. “yeah. maybe not.”
the way you say it, soft, thoughtful, uncertain, it makes his chest ache.
you’re too sweet for this. too genuine. you deserve someone who actually listens, who doesn’t treat you like background noise. and for some reason, he hates that the person you’re hung up on is his best friend.
he sighs, rubbing his jaw.
you look up, curious. “what’s wrong?”
“nothing,” he says, forcing a smile. “just tired.”
you nod, and the two of you fall back into quiet work. it’s peaceful again, the only sounds the soft click of your keyboard and the scratching of his pen. time blurs.
when you finally close your laptop, stretching your arms, he realizes two hours have passed.
“we got a lot done,” you say, smiling.
“yeah,” he says, though he can’t remember a thing you just studied.
you start packing your things, tucking the empty pastry bag into your bag. before you can leave, you hesitate. then, shyly, you step closer and wrap one arm around him in a little side hug.
“thank you,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “for breakfast. and for helping me.”
for a second, he forgets how to breathe.
you smell like coffee and sugar and something faintly floral. your hand rests briefly against his side, and he swears every nerve in his body lights up.
then you pull away, smiling up at him, oblivious to the chaos you’ve just caused.
“see you tomorrow?”
“yeah!” he says quickly, way too excited. “d-definitely.”
you wave and head out, the door swinging shut behind you.
he stands there for a full minute, still staring at the spot you’d been standing, until he realizes his hands are clenched and his pulse is hammering.
he grabs his bag, mutters something under his breath, and heads outside.
the moment he’s in the open air again, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
the breeze does nothing to cool the heat crawling under his skin.
he walks fast, head down, eyes on the pavement.
every step feels heavy with restraint.
because all he can think about is how soft you felt, how small your hand was against him, how much he wanted to pull you in, bury his face in your neck, keep you there for hours.
he curses under his breath, tugging his hoodie lower, hoping it hides the problem growing in his jeans.
“get it together,” he mutters.
he tries to think about anything else—the assignment, the game tomorrow, the half-finished paper on his desk—but his mind keeps circling back to you. your laugh. your blush. your hug.
by the time he reaches the frat, his heartbeat’s finally starting to slow, but the feeling stays. that dizzy mix of guilt and want.
he steps inside quietly, the house still a mess of half-dead hangovers, and slips upstairs to his room.
the first thing he does is sit on his bed, elbows on his knees, and let out a long, shaky exhale.
he’s in trouble.
he knows it.
because he can’t stop smiling.
~
the gym in the frat house isn’t much. it’s a dim room tucked behind the kitchen, with cracked mirrors and rusted weights, the air always heavy with the stale scent of sweat and cheap deodorant.
the guys call it a “home gym,” but it’s really just a collection of mismatched dumbbells, an old bench press, and a speaker that always buzzes when the bass hits too hard. its nothing like the fancy campus one him and toji visit, still, it works for sukuna.
he’s halfway through a set, sweat sliding down the back of his neck, when his thoughts start slipping away from the burn in his muscles and land right where they always seem to go lately.
he tries to ignore it, focusing on the motion, the rhythm, the push and pull of the bar in his hands.
but the harder he tries not to think about you, the more vivid you become. your voice, soft but steady, your shy little smiles whenever he cracks a joke, the way you always tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re trying not to blush.
it’s infuriating, how easily you creep into his head.
he exhales sharply, finishing the set with a grunt, letting the bar clang down harder than he means to. it rattles against the frame, echoing in the small room.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, sitting up and grabbing the towel draped over his shoulders.
he wipes his face, breathing hard, his reflection in the mirror smudged with fingerprints and dust. he looks exhausted, not just from the workout but from everything sitting in his head.
you and toji.
you and that stupid, innocent crush you’d confessed to him like it was nothing.
he leans forward, elbows on his knees, towel hanging loosely around his neck. he can’t keep fucking around pretending like this is going to work anymore.
he can’t sit through another study session with you knowing that toji knows you're into him.
toji doesn’t even remember half the girls he flirts with, so why should he get to occupy that sweet spot in your brain.
that thought alone makes his blood boil.
you’re too good for that. too damn good.
he picks up the dumbbell again, trying to lift through the frustration, but his mind keeps racing. toji’s face flashes in his mind—the obnoxiousness, his interest in you only after finding out what you looked like.
the memory makes his jaw clench.
toji doesn’t deserve to know you exist, let alone be someone you lose sleep over.
his grip tightens around the handle. he lifts again, but it feels pointless now, his muscles burning for a different reason entirely.
finally, he slams the weight down and stands up, chest heaving.
he’s done.
done thinking he can stomach this, done keeping that deal, done lying to himself.
without even thinking about it, he walks out of the gym, towel still slung over his shoulder. his feet move on instinct, carrying him through the hall, up the grand stairs, straight to toji’s room.
the door’s half-shut, light spilling from the gap, and he doesn’t bother knocking. he pushes it open, the wood hitting the wall with a dull thud.
toji’s sprawled across his bed, shirtless, scrolling through his phone. there’s a protein shake on the desk, a game controller tangled in the sheets. he looks up lazily when sukuna appears.
“yo,” he says, grinning. “you look pissed. what, satoru stealing your shirts n' shit again?”
sukuna doesn’t answer. he stands there for half a second, jaw tight, and then the words just fall out before he can stop them.
“y/n has a boyfriend,” he blurts. “so you can forget the whole crush on you thing.”
toji blinks, confused. “uhm?”
“what,” sukuna says, crossing his arms. “shes got a guy.”
toji sits up slightly, eyebrows furrowing. “who’s y/n again?”
the silence that follows is deafening.
sukuna stares at him, the vein in his temple twitching.
“are you actually deadass right now?”
toji shrugs. “bro, i talk to a lot of girls, you gotta be more specific.”
that’s it.
sukuna drags a hand down his face, muttering something that sounds halfway between a growl and a groan. he doesn’t even bother explaining. it’s not worth it.
“don't worry, man,” he snaps, spinning on his heel.
he slams the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.
by the time he gets back to his room, his chest is tight, the frustration boiling over into something heavier. he paces once, twice, then finally drops onto his bed, letting his head fall back against the wall.
“who’s y/n again?”
the words echo in his mind like a bad joke.
he can’t believe it. he can’t believe he ever thought this was a good idea, trying to set you up with that idiot.
it’s not even about the deal anymore. it’s about you.
because now he knows what it feels like to be around you, to hear you laugh, to see the way your eyes light up when he remembers the smallest things. he knows what it feels like to walk beside you through campus at night, the air cool and soft, your voice quiet but steady.
he likes you.
really, really likes you.
and it’s not just because you’re pretty, though god, you are. it’s because you’re kind. because you make him feel human again, in a way that nothing else ever does. because you talk to him like he’s worth something more than the reputation that follows him.
he doesn’t know when it happened, but it’s there now, and it’s not going away.
.
the weeks that follow move in a blur. the two of you keep meeting for study sessions, but they’ve shifted. so subtly that neither of you seems to notice.
you’re more relaxed now. you smile more, laugh easier. you’ve started showing up with little things for him too. chocolates, protein bars, a can of cold brew. every time, he teases you about it, but inside, he’s having a spaz out.
and every time he brings you something in return, you light up like he’s handed you the world.
you’ve started talking about more than the project. now, it’s everything. random things. favorite youtuber, weird scandals, "uhm, no way you think d4vd is innocent, they had matching tattoos!", childhood fuck ups, "yeah, i used to be one of those devious lick kids in middle school, me and gojo stole an entire sink".
sometimes, you talk so much you forget the assignment altogether, and he never stops you.
he lives for these moments.
sometimes, when you’re sitting side by side at the library, your knees brush under the table. it’s barely a touch, accidental every time, but it makes his pulse stutter.
you’ve started giving him hugs too, real ones. not just quick, polite ones, actual, full-bodied hugs that make him want to forget how to breathe. all he wants to do is bundle you up and take you back home, lock you away where no one could possibly taint that beautiful smile.
he pretends to be chill and nonchalant, but inside, he’s crashing out so hard.
one afternoon, it’s raining outside, and you show up in a damp tank top, hair slightly damp. he nearly forgets how to speak. you hand him a hot chocolate and giggle when he stares at it like he’s never seen one before.
“it’s not that weird,” you say, smiling. “i thought you might want something warm and sweet for this type of weather.”
he looks at you for a long moment trying not to stare at your see through chest, then takes the cup. “thanks,” he murmurs, and it sounds like something heavier than gratitude.
you shrug, shy but pleased, then sit down beside him, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
when the session ends that day, he walks you home like he always does. it’s become a quiet habit between you. no one suggested it, but neither of you questions it either. you live just off campus, in a small apartment with ivy creeping up the walls, and every time you reach your door, you both hesitate.
he wants to ask if he can come inside, just once.
you always look like you might invite him, too.
but neither of you ever says it.
instead, you smile, soft and warm, and tell him goodnight. he always watches until you disappear inside, until the light flicks on and frank ocean starts softly pouring from the window.
and every time, he walks back to the frat with that same ache in his chest, the one that’s half longing and half fear.
he knows he’s in wayyy too deep.
but he can't stop.
you’ve started coming out of your shell in little bursts. you tease him now, gently. you call him out when he’s being lazy, roll your eyes when he tries to act too chill. and he eats it the fuck up. every second of it.
you’re different with him now. freer. you trust him.
and that makes everything both better and worse.
because every time you look at him with that open, honest expression, he has to remind himself of the lie he built this on—the deal, the fake promise to get you closer to toji.
it barely comes up anymore. sometimes you mention toji in passing, usually as a joke, and you both laugh it off. it’s like neither of you really care about it anymore.
and maybe that’s the truth. maybe it stopped mattering the moment you started looking at him like that.
one evening, when the sun’s setting, you’re sitting across from him at the library, talking about nothing in particular. you’re smiling, head tilted, your voice soft. and he catches himself staring, not hearing a single word.
you stop mid-sentence, blinking. “what?”
he shakes his head quickly. “nothing.”
“you’re staring,” you say, cheeks pink.
“you’re imagining things, honey."
you laugh, hiding your face in your hands.
he smiles too, but there’s something behind it—something he doesn’t let you see.
because in that moment, it hits him all over again, stronger than before.
he’s seriously can't do this shit any longer.
he doesn’t want to help you get to toji anymore.
he doesn’t want to stand by while you talk about someone else, even in passing.
he wants you. all of you.
the quiet smiles, the shy blushes, the little quirks he’s learned by heart.
he wants to be the one who gets to see every part of you—every version of that soft, sweet girl who’s been slowly unraveling in front of him.
and he knows, deep down, that if he ever let himself say it out loud, he’d never be able to take it back.
so he keeps it buried, just for now, as he walks you home again that night. the streetlights stretch long shadows across the pavement, and your arm brushes his once, twice, and each time, he swears of he doesn't concentrate he'll trip over his jordans.
when you reach your door, you turn to him with that same bright smile, the one that always knocks the air from his lungs.
“thanks again,” you say softly.
he nods. “anytime.”
you linger for a second, like you want to say something more, then wave goodnight and disappear inside.
he stands there for a long moment, staring at the door, listening to the faint hum of music from your apartment.
then, finally, he exhales, a small, helpless laugh slipping out.
he’s ruined. completely.
and for once in his life, he doesn’t even mind.
~
the classroom is thick with the sound of quiet chatter, chairs scraping against tile, pens clicking as people jot down reminders before leaving. the fluorescent lights flicker slightly, casting everything in a washed-out glow that makes it feel like time’s been stretched too thin. the chemistry teacher’s voice cuts through it all, cheerful but distant.
“alright, everyone—just a quick reminder that your paired assignment is due at the end of this week. make sure you’ve got everything finalized. i’ll be checking submissions on friday.”
the words hang in the air like a quiet ending bell.
you look up from your notes at the same time sukuna does, and for a moment, your eyes meet across the shared lab table. he’s already watching you, elbows resting on the counter, twirling his pen between his fingers.
he gives you this crooked half-smile—something between fond and nervous—and you return it, though yours falters just a little at the edges.
it hits both of you at once. this thing between you, this rhythm you’ve fallen into, the study sessions, the walks home, the quiet coffees before class? it’s been built around this assignment. and when the assignment ends, what happens then?
he taps his pen against his notebook, looking away first. “guess we’re almost done, huh?”
you try to sound light. “yeah… crazy how fast it went.”
but it doesn’t feel fast. it feels full. it feels like a lifetime compressed into a few short weeks, every minute threaded with something unspoken.
he hums in agreement, glancing at you again. “we should probably go over everything one more time. make sure it’s perfect.”
you nod, pretending to check the notes in front of you. “mhm, library after class?”
“yeah,” he says. “one last session.”
one last. the words make your stomach twist.
.
sukuna drops his bag on the chair across from you, stretching his arms as he sits down. his hair’s a little messy from the wind, and he smells faintly of the sexy cologne he always wears, something clean and manly that clings to his skin.
you open your laptop, trying to focus on the document in front of you. it’s almost done—just small edits, formatting, double-checking citations—but the words keep blurring. you can feel his presence across the table, solid and steady, and it’s impossible to think about chemistry when he’s right there.
he’s quieter than usual too. his knee bounces under the table, a restless rhythm, and every now and then you catch him glancing up, like he’s about to say something but decides against it.
the silence stretches between you, thick and loaded. you can’t stand it anymore.
“so…” you start, voice softer than you mean it to be.
he looks up instantly, like he’s been waiting for you to speak. “yeah?”
you open your mouth, close it again, glance at your hands. “never mind. it’s nothing.”
he frowns slightly. “come on. what is it?”
you shake your head, forcing a small smile. “seriously, it’s nothing. just focus.”
he watches you for a second longer, then sighs and leans back, crossing his arms. “fine. but you’re acting weird.”
you let out a soft laugh that sounds too nervous. “i could say the same about you.”
that gets a real smile out of him, crooked and teasing, but it fades quickly.
you both go quiet again, typing half-heartedly, neither of you really working. the tension builds, unspoken and unbearable.
you can feel the words sitting on your tongue, begging to be let out. you want to tell him everything. how the crush on toji fizzled out weeks ago, how stupid it feels now, how you can’t stop thinking about him instead. how every time he looks at you, your whole chest feels like it’s about to give out.
you glance up. he’s staring at his screen, jaw tight, eyes unfocused. and somehow, you can tell he’s holding something back too.
finally, you both move at the same time.
“i have to tell you something,” you say, right as he says, “there’s something i should tell you.”
you both stop, eyes locking.
you laugh softly. “you first.”
he shakes his head. “nuh uh, you first.”
“no way,” you say, smiling now despite the nerves. “you looked like you were about to explode. go ahead.”
“ladies first,” he shoots back, that teasing lilt returning to his voice, though his eyes are still serious.
you roll your eyes, but your heart’s hammering. “fine,” you breathe.
he leans forward, forearms on the table, watching you carefully.
you swallow, your fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. “okay. so, um… this is kind of embarrassing, but—”
you stop, take a breath, try again. “it's about toji.”
his expression flickers for a second, something unreadable crossing his face. “yeah,” he says slowly. “what about him?”
you toy with a pen to keep your hands busy. “i don’t really… feel that way anymore. about him.”
his brow lifts just slightly, his voice careful. “ts' that so?”
you nod, cheeks warm. “yeah. i mean, it was kind of silly, wasn’t it? i barely knew him. i think i just liked the idea of him. and then when you brought him to that one session, i realised he’s… kinda clapped, nothing like what i imagined.”
he lets out a small sound, something close to a laugh, but it’s quiet, almost nervous. “yeah, that sounds like him.”
you smile faintly, tracing a finger along the edge of your notebook. “the truth is, i think i was just projecting. when we started hanging out, i didn’t know you that well, and i guess i thought maybe toji was like you. you know? confident, funny, easy to talk to.” you pause, your gaze flicking up to his. “but he’s not you. not even remotely close.”
his breath catches slightly, and for a moment, he forgets how to speak.
“i don’t know,” you go on, voice softer now, almost trembling. “i kept thinking i wanted someone like toji, but… the whole time, i was really just wishing he’d be more like you, sukuna.”
you meet his eyes fully now, and the world seems to narrow around you both. “and then i realised maybe i don’t want someone like you. maybe i just, you know, want you.”
the silence that follows feels endless.
he’s staring at you, completely still. you can see the realization hit him. the tension in his shoulders easing, his expression softening in disbelief and relief all at once.
you bite your lip, instantly flustered. “that sounded so stupid, didn’t it?”
he shakes his head quickly. “no. no, not at all.”
he leans back in his chair, letting out a long, shaky exhale. it’s the biggest breath of relief you’ve ever seen someone take. he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath, a sound that’s half disbelieving, half overwhelmed.
“holy shit,” he murmurs, still smiling. “you have no idea how good it is to hear that.”
you blink. “uhm, what?”
he laughs again, softer this time, his hand still pressed to the back of his neck. “that’s what i was gonna tell you. i’ve been losing my fucking mind these past few weeks because i’ve been trying so hard not to say it.”
you stare at him, your heart pounding. “say what?”
he meets your gaze again, eyes warm and honest. “that i like you. like, really like you. i’ve had this massive crush on you for a while now, and it’s been killing me trying to act normal.”
you can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, part disbelief, part giddy joy. “you’re deadass?”
he nods. “one hundred percent.”
“but… the deal,” you say quietly. “you were supposed to help me with toji.”
“yeah, about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “i kinda… just didn’t.”
you tilt your head. “uhhm, what?”
he laughs again, nervously this time. “i told him you had a boyfriend.”
your eyes widen. “you did?"
he winces. “yeah. i told him that weeks ago. i just... i couldn’t do it anymore. couldn’t keep pretending i was helping you get with him when all i wanted was to keep you all to myself.”
you blink once, twice, then cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “you told him i had a boyfriend?”
“yep.” he grins now, a little cocky, a little embarrassed. “guess that’s me sabotaging the deal.”
you drop your hand, still smiling. “that’s so stupid.”
“i know.”
“but…” you pause, your smile turning softer. “it’s kind of sweet.”
he leans forward again, elbows on the table, eyes never leaving yours. “you’re not mad?”
“mad?” you repeat, shaking your head. “no. that’s… exactly what i wanted, actually.”
he blinks. “really?”
you nod, heart in your throat. “yeah. i didn’t want you helping me with toji. not anymore. i just didn’t know how to tell you.”
he stares at you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “so what now?”
you smile. “i don’t know. maybe we just… stop pretending.”
he exhales, leaning back with a grin that could light up the whole room. “i can do that.”
for a moment, neither of you says anything. you just sit there, the quiet hum of the library around you, the sun slipping lower through the windows, painting his skin in gold.
finally, he breaks the silence, voice low. “for the record, i was terrified you were about to tell me you had a new man for real.”
you laugh softly. “no chance.”
“good,” he says, and the way he looks at you—soft, sure, a little possessive—makes your pulse race.
you don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re both leaning across the table, closer than you’ve ever been. the distance between you shrinks until you can feel his breath on your lips, his hand brushing lightly against yours.
neither of you say anything. you don’t need to.
the moment stretches, slow and sweet, full of everything you’ve both been holding back.
~
the second you get back to your apartment, your face ignites with the kind of fire only a really nice fireplace could match, the ones in those fancy houses you see on the block.
the guy you'd been crushing on for a total of four weeks now had just told you he felt the same. and ever more, he'd been so obsessed he'd told your ex-crush you'd had a boyfriend in hopes of bagging you himself.
for a girl not used to being in the spotlight, having such a loud, well known frat guy like ryomen sukuna become vulnerable, just for you? it was like the world came crashing and burning down at your feet. he made your stomach swim with love and passion, a feeling you'd only ever gotten from receiving higher grades than everyone else, a feeling so much better than finding a new delicious pastry you couldn't help but order again.
ryomen sukuna was it. he was the kinda guy you'd been dreaming of ever since you'd started college. he was the perfect man, and he was as into you as you were him.
you settled into your living room with an adorably large smile painted on your lips, the sensation of fulfilment taking over your ever thought as you dreamt of what was to happen next.
~
the week after the submission crawls by. you think about both sukuna and the possible grade you'll both get every day. every time you pass the lab, every time you open your laptop, every time you catch sight of sukuna across the courtyard, leaning against the wall with his friends.
you can tell he’s thinking about it too. the way he catches your eye during class and offers a small, crooked smile says everything. neither of you can really stop wondering what the final mark will be, as well as what life has in store for the both of you.
friday finally rolls around, the classroom feels weird. students trickle in with tired faces and restless energy, everyone buzzing quietly with the same anticipation. the teacher walks in, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.
she sets everything down at the front desk, claps her hands together, and gives a small, approving smile.
“alright, everyone,” she says, her tone almost teasing. “i’ve marked your projects. you’ll get the official grades through the online portal, but since i know you’re all impatient—” her gaze sweeps the room, landing briefly on you and sukuna, “—i’ll let you know this much: some of you really impressed me.”
a ripple of chatter runs through the class. sukuna shoots you a look from across the room, eyebrows raised. you smile nervously and shrug.
after class, the two of you linger by the doorway, waiting for the crowd to clear out. you’re clutching your phone, refreshing the student portal again and again even though the grades still aren’t visible. sukuna leans close, peering at your screen.
“nothing yet?” he asks.
“no,” you sigh. “probably another hour.”
he tilts his head, thinking for a moment. “want to check it together later? at that little cafe with the green sign?”
you blink. “awe, my favourite. sure!”
“of course,” he says, smirking lightly. “how good am i remembering your favourite things n' shit.”
you laugh, cheeks warming. “what a man. how about we meet there at five?”
“five it is.” he gives a small wave as he heads down the hall. “see you then, partner.”
the cafe smells like roasted coffee beans and sugar, the air humming with quiet conversation and the clinking of ceramic cups. it’s early evening, and the place is wrapped in that warm, lazy glow that makes everything feel softer. the green sign outside flickers faintly through the window, the letters worn from years of weather and sunlight.
you spot him immediately—sitting near the counter, wearing a black hoodie and tapping his thumb against his phone screen. his hair’s pulled back, a few loose strands falling into his eyes. he looks up the moment the door chimes, and that grin spreads across his face like it’s second nature.
“hey,” he says as you approach.
“hey,” you echo, sliding into the seat across from him.
he gestures toward the counter. “i already ordered for us. black coffee for me, that thing you like for you, and—” he grins, “—a pastry, because apparently you can’t sit in this place without one.”
you laugh softly, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters. “you know me too well, we needa' hang out less.”
“noo,” he says, leaning back. “i'm just an observer.”
the drinks come quickly, steam curling from the cups. you take yours with both hands, staring at the little swirl of foam, trying to calm your nerves. sukuna pulls out his phone again, refreshes the student portal, and freezes.
his eyes widen. “holy shit,” he mutters.
you look up sharply. “what?”
he turns the screen toward you. there it is—your names side by side, and next to them, the number that makes your breath catch.
98%.
you stare at it for a second, then look at him, and the two of you just burst out laughing.
“oh my-” you say, grinning from ear to ear. “ninety-eight?”
he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “holy shit- holy shit can’t believe it,” he says, half-laughing, half-sighing in disbelief. “i actually passed. i can stay in the frat. holy shit.”
you laugh again, the sound bubbling out of you uncontrollably. “i told you you’d do fine!”
he stands up suddenly, still laughing, and before you can react he pulls you into his arms. it’s a full, tight hug—so warm, so big. his chest rumbles with laughter, and you can feel how much this means to him, how much the stress and pressure have finally melted away.
“thank you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low, almost breathless. “thank you so much for helping me. i would’ve completely fucking tanked without you.”
you laugh against his shoulder, feeling your own face heat up. “you’re welcome,” you mumble, your words muffled by his hoodie. “you did so good, really.”
when he finally lets go, you can still feel the warmth lingering where he’d held you. he looks just as flustered, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits back down.
“sorry,” he says, half-smiling. “got a little carried away.”
“it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel. “it was… nice.”
his grin widens at that.
you both take a moment to calm down, sipping your drinks in the cozy corner. the sound of the coffee machine hums faintly in the background, and sunlight filters through the leaves outside, dappled across the table. it feels like the whole world’s slowed down just for the two of you.
“so,” he says eventually, voice softer now, “ninety-eight percent. that's so peak."
“yeah, we did that,” you reply, smiling. “you’ll probably get a compliment from the teacher next class.”
“you too,” he says. “you carried me, you're actually so clutch.”
“you helped too,” you insist. “you actually tried, sukuna. that’s what mattered.”
he chuckles, shaking his head. “yeah, but even if i hadn’t passed…” he pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “i don’t think i’d be too upset.”
you tilt your head, smiling faintly. “no?”
“nah.” he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “because i got to spend all that time with you. and honestly? that made it worth it.”
your chest tightens, a flutter rising under your ribs. you look down quickly, pretending to focus on your coffee. “you’re just saying that.”
“i’m not,” he says firmly. “you made studying actually fun. no one’s ever done that shit before.”
you look up again, and his expression is so genuine, so open, that you forget how to breathe for a second.
“well,” you say softly, “i liked spending time with you too.”
your cups sit forgotten on the table, the croissant half-eaten, and all you can hear is the chatter of other uni kids and the soft clatter of dishes.
you stare into his eyes, and there’s a question there—unspoken but clear.
he smiles, almost shyly, a rare thing for him. “so… what now?”
you shrug lightly, but your smile mirrors his. “i don’t know. i guess we don’t have to stop hanging out just because the project’s done.”
his grin grows wider, and you can see the faintest pink dusting his ears. “good,” he says. “because i was kinda hoping you’d say that.”
he hesitates for a moment, then sits up a little straighter, as if gathering courage.
“actually,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his cup, “there’s something i wanted to ask.”
you tilt your head. “hmm? and what’s that?”
he exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. “i know this is probably cheesy as hell, but… i’d really like to take you out. like, properly. dinner, movie, whatever you want. an actual date.”
the words sink in, soft and certain. you blink, surprised but instantly smiling, your cheeks growing hot.
“you mean… like, a date date?” you ask, teasing just a little.
he laughs under his breath. “yeah. a date date.”
you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “i’d love that.”
his expression softens into something that almost makes your heart ache. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
for a moment, you just sit there, both grinning like idiots. it feels unreal, like something out of a quiet, sunlit dream.
he leans back in his chair, relief washing over him in waves. “good,” he says. “i was worried you’d say no.”
you shake your head, still smiling. “never.”
the light outside shifts slowly, spilling gold through the window, painting his skin in soft warmth. he looks at you like he’s memorizing the moment—the coffee, the laughter, the way you keep tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
and as he sits across from you, grinning like he can’t quite believe his luck, you know that whatever comes next, it’s going to be something worth waiting for.
~
months slide by, slow but certain. what once was a study partnership built on awkward exchanges and quiet glances has become something sooo much more. somewhere between library stops, coffee stops, and tight hugs, it shifted. you shifted. sukuna shifted. the line between school and romance blurred until it disappeared completely.
now, you’re his. officially, undeniably, completely his. and he’s yours.
the first time sukuna brings you to the frat house as his girlfriend, it feels like stepping into a completely different world. the place is loud, music spilling from bluetooth speakers, guys shouting from the kitchen about who’s out of beer, the smell of cheap cologne and pizza hanging in the air.
you pause in the doorway, clutching sukuna’s hand like it’s an anchor. he glances down at you with that little smirk that never fails to make your heart stutter.
“don’t stress it baby,” he murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath grazes your ear. “they’ll love you.”
and they do.
weather or not that's because he threatened to beat them unconscious if they made you feel uncomfortable before you came over is irrelevant.
satoru’s the first to notice you, perched on the couch with a controller in hand. he looks up mid-game, grins wide, and immediately calls out, “holy shit, sukuna actually brought a girl here voluntarily?”
“shut up,” sukuna grumbles, tightening his grip on your hand. “this one’s permanent.”
that earns a chorus of oohs and whistles from the guys nearby. your face burns, but when you glance up at sukuna, he’s smiling—not his usual cocky grin, but something softer. proud.
“hey,” you mumble under your breath, “it smells so bad in here, ryo.”
he chuckles quietly. “you’ll get used to it.”
before you can even respond, toji appears from the kitchen, a beer in hand and a knowing grin on his face. “well, if it isn’t the little chem genius.”
you blink. “you… remember me?”
“of course,” toji laughs, setting his drink down and stretching out a hand. “heard you saved this idiot’s academic career.”
“hey,” sukuna cuts in, rolling his eyes. “i wasn’t that bad.”
“you had an eight percent, bro.”
the whole room bursts into laughter. sukuna just grumbles and flips toji off while you try not to giggle too loudly. it’s strange, seeing them all like this. so loud, so chaotic, so different from the quiet rhythm you’re used to, but somehow, it feels okay. you feel okay.
by the end of the night, you’re sitting between sukuna’s legs on the couch, his arms draped loosely around your waist, your back against his chest. someone puts on an old movie in the background, and the chatter slowly fades into easy quiet. for the first time, the frat doesn’t feel intimidating. it feels warm. welcoming.
satoru catches your eye from across the room, giving a thumbs up before mouthing, she’s a keeper. sukuna just smirks.
later that night, when everyone else has gone to bed and the house has fallen quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of floorboards, sukuna presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“told you they’d love you,” he whispers.
“yeah, you were right,” you murmur, smiling softly. “they’re so nice.”
“you’re even nicer,” he says, his voice barely audible. “that’s why they love ya'.”
and you can hear the truth in his tone. you know he means it.
after that, everything starts to fall into blissful routine. you help him study, drilling formulas and reactions into his head late into the night. he’s surprisingly good at it now, his grades climbing steadily—proof that maybe he was capable all along, he just needed someone to push him in the right direction.
and in return, he helps you come out of your shell.
he brings you to tiny cafes you’ve never been to before, teaches you how to play pool (terribly, but he doesn’t care), and pulls you into spontaneous late-night walks through campus when the air is cool and the stars are bright.
sometimes, you end up sitting on the hood of his car, his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your fingers tangled with his as he talks about everything and nothing.
he tells you things he’s never told anyone else—about his parents, about the pressure to be someone bigger, stronger, louder. about how he never really cared about anything before he met you.
“you made me start giving a shit,” he says one night, his voice low as he traces lazy circles against your palm. “about school, about the future. about being a better guy.”
you glance up at him, smiling faintly. “you're the bestest guy, kuna.”
he looks at you for a long time, his chest squeezing with the urge to squish you until you pop. then, with a soft exhale, he leans down and kisses you. gentle, slow, like the world could end and he’d still be happy just holding you against his muscular chest.
word gets around campus fast. whispers follow you sometimes. half disbelief, half awe. people don’t really understand how you ended up with him. the shy, quiet girl who sits at the front of every lecture, always polite, always prepared… dating one of the loudest, most notorious frat boys on campus.
but the thing is, neither of you care.
you’ve seen the way people look at you two when you walk hand in hand across campus, his tall frame towering beside yours. you’ve heard the murmurs—'how long do you think it’ll last, she’s too good for him, he’ll get bored'. but then he catches your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and all of it melts away.
"don't listen to those clowns."
because you know him now. the real him.
the boy who wakes up early to get your favorite pastry from the cafe before class. the one who drapes his hoodie over your shoulders when it’s too crisp. the one who never forgets to text you goodnight, even when he’s exhausted.
the one who stopped showing up to most frat partys because, as he put it, “none of it’s fun without you anyway.”
you see it in the way he’s changed. not because you asked him to, but because he wants to.
he doesn’t flirt with girls anymore. he doesn’t even seem to notice when they do. his focus is all on you. your laughter, your voice, your little quirks that no one else ever bothered to notice.
and it’s not just the big things that show it. it’s the way he always walks on the side of the road closest to the cars. the way he remembers all your orders without ever asking. the way he’ll pull you closer when you’re out together, even if it’s just to rest his big hand on your hip.
he doesn’t talk about feelings much, not directly. but in every gesture, every glance, it’s there.
you’re his world now, and everyone can see it.
his room at the frat house has changed, too. gone are the stacks of solo cups and random gym gear scattered across the floor. in their place are little pieces of you—a throw blanket you brought one day, a mug you left on his desk, your notebook tucked on the shelf next to his textbooks.
he keeps a photo of the two of you pinned on his bulletin board. it’s a candid, one of those moments you didn’t even know he was taking. a shot of you sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing his hoodie, laughing with a half-eaten cookie in your hand. he swears it’s his favorite picture in the world.
“you look so fucking cute, and happy,” he tells you when you catch him staring at it one night.
“i am happy,” you reply softly.
“better be,” he says. “that’s all i ever want for you, y/n.”
some nights, he stays over at your apartment instead of the frat. he always claims it’s because it’s quieter, easier to focus on studying. but you both know it’s just because he sleeps better when you’re beside him.
you cook together sometimes, though “cook” might be a really shitty out of touch excuse for the disaster you two create. he burns half the things he touches, laughs through every fuck up, and still insists on taste-testing everything like he’s on master chef. you can’t stay mad when he grins at you with flour on his cheek, his dimples showing as he holds up a misshapen cookie.
“hey, we’re improvin',” he says.
“barely,” you reply, giggling.
he just leans down, presses a quick kiss to your nose, and murmurs, “yeah, but you’re still here, so i must be doing somethin' right.”
there are still parties, of course—he’s still in the frat, and sometimes showing up is expected. but it’s much different. when he does go, he stays by your side the whole night, a protective hand on your back or wrapped around your waist.
he barely drinks anymore, claiming he doesn’t need to. when people flirt or make comments, he just laughs them off and pulls you a little closer.
and when it gets late, when the music’s too loud and the air too heavy with alcohol and perfume, he’ll lean down and whisper, “wanna get out of here?”
you always nod. and the two of you slip away, walking through quiet streets until you reach your place, where everything feels calm again.
people still whisper, still wonder how it works. how a shy, soft-spoken girl could tame someone like ryomen sukuna. but you know the truth.
you didn’t tame him, you just saw him. really saw him. beneath the tattoos, the reputation, the arrogance. you saw the boy who just needed someone to care, and he saw the girl who needed someone to make her feel brave.
and together, you found something that feels a lot like forever.
months pass, the seasons shifting from late autumn to the first chill of winter. the air turns crisp, the sky pale and bright. the two of you walk through campus hand in hand, your breath forming little clouds in the cold.
“remember when we first started that project?” you ask one day, laughing softly. “you barely knew what a periodic table was.”
“hey,” he says, pretending to be offended. “i knew what it was. i just didn’t give a shit.”
“hmm, and now you’re pulling straight a’s.”
he grins. “guess i had a real good tutor. she's real sexy, too..”
you bump his shoulder lightly. “awe i bet she'd be real flattered to hear that.”
he stops walking for a moment, looking down at you with that same warm, unguarded look that still makes your stomach flip.
“you know something?” he says quietly.
“hmm?”
“i still think that fuckass project was the best thing that's ever happened to lil' ol' me.”
you smile, reaching up to fix the collar of his jacket. “yeah?”
“hell yeah,” he murmurs, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours. “because it led me to you.”
the world fades for a moment, the cold, the noise, the people around you, and it’s just him. just you.
when he kisses you, it’s slow, steady, full of all the fuzzy romantic fire that’s been culminating between you since the day he walked up to your desk with a failed test and a hidden nervous smile.
you remember that moment so clearly now, and you can’t help but think how far you’ve both come. from shy glances and awkward silences to this. a love that feels like home.
and as his hand tightens around yours, you realize something simple, something certain.
you’ve both found exactly where you’re meant to be, with each other.
soft sukuna is my fav icl
anyways tysm for 6k im gonna cry im gonna miss you all on your mouths 🥹💞
summary: freshman year of college has you going insane. good thing clark has a knack for knowing exactly when to sweep you off your feet, way before any unwanted crashouts happen.
pairing: clark kent x fem!reader (same universe as the alchemy and so high school)
warnings: fluff then pure smut / established college relationship / penetration (f) / teasing / public stuff?? idk u do it with another person in the room / clark being a sweet (and horny) bf / dirty talk / foreplay / alludes to cockwarming
a/n: i’m bad at tagging warnings so forgive me if i missed anything else
A choir of relieved sighs—including yours—echoed throughout the auditorium-styled classroom.
You had already packed your stuff five minutes before the bell rang and so you literally dashed out of the classroom as soon as you could. You don't think you could spend another second in that wretched classroom without going insane.
You already spent an all-nighter last night trying to finish your research. Earlier this morning, you slept in. If it weren't for Chloe waking you up with a cup of coffee, you would have definitely slept through the day.
Walking through the halls of the building with a frown on your face until you reach the entrance door. Your phone rings the moment you stepped out. The ringing sound making you cringe as you put it close to your ear.
"Hello?"
Instantly, a voice you've been waiting for comes through. "Hey baby."
"Clark." You melt into the phone, sighing relievedly as you sit on the steps, running your hand through your hair. "I missed you."
"I missed you even more, sweetheart. How was your day?" Clark's tone softens even more, his voice bordering a mother's cooing.
You don't respond to him, simply shaking your head side-to-side as if Clark could see you do that. You're on the brink of going into a mental breakdown when you hear Clark speaking again. Only this time, not through the phone.
"I'm guessing it wasn't good, huh?"
An overly joyed yelp leaves your mouth as you lunge yourself at him. Clark's strong arms wrapping around your body as you nuzzle yourself close to him. Your eyes close, letting his scent infiltrate your senses as you forget about the world for a second.
"You couldn't even imagine," you groan, placing your hand on his chest.
"Good thing I have something planned for us," Clark smiles, placing a gentle hand on the back of your head before you pull your head away from his shoulder. "I'll take you back to your dorm, okay? I have DVDs in the truck, take-out, weighted blankets—everything. It'll be fun."
You look at him confusedly, "Sounds like the perfect night-in, Clark, don't you have classes tomorrow?"
"Well…" he trails off, glancing at your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. "I may have a free day tomorrow."
"You're kidding."
"And, I asked Chloe for your schedule—looks like I'm not the only one with a free day tomorrow," Clark's tone held a tinge of teasing to it. His hand pinching the naked skin of your hip affectionately. "So, what d'you say? You up for a movie night with take-out?"
"That's like asking me to marry you, Clark," you pause, narrowing your eyes. "Of course, I would!"
Clark grins, pulling you in for a sweet and longing kiss in front of all the students walking in and out of the building.
Clark's own definition of a movie night and take-out date is simply you and him, underneath the weighted blankets, eating chow mein while your favorite comedy movie plays in your laptop.
You had pretty much the same definition as well, the only difference is that Chloe's in your definition.
"I can't believe you invited Chloe," Clark says, snaking his arms around your stomach, resting them on your belly button while you leaned back comfortably on his chest. "Wasn't she busy interning?" He takes a glance at Chloe at the other bed—focused on the movie, busy eating a dumpling.
You crane your neck to look at him, meeting his eyes despite the lack of light in the room. "Clark, Chloe was the only reason I got up on time today. It's the least I could do after practically zombie-ing around the dorm.
Clark sighs, rolling his eyes as he went back to watching the movie.
You shifted quietly in your position, scooting up just a little bit so you could rest your head on his shoulder, the rest of your body nestled in between his legs. Clark clenches his jaw, moving his hands to rest on top of yours.
"You sure she doesn't have things to attend to?" Clark asks, still keeping his voice low as to not disturb a focused Chloe.
"Clark, I'm sure. She wouldn't agree to this if she had things to do, obviously," you reply back sassily, voice just as quiet.
Clark inhales sharply, thinking of a way he can continue his original plan now that there's one more extra character. A light bulb pops in his head, prompting him to lean down to your ear, his nose bumping with the shell of your ear.
Clark only notices now how engrossed you've gotten with the movie when you don't even move. The subtle crease in your forehead giving it away.
He removes one hand from yours, trailing it just an inch lower from your belly button before he begins to rub soft circles on the flesh. Clark kept his eyes glued on the wall, eyebrow arching ever so slightly the moment he felt your stomach tense.
"I've already asked Chloe if we could spend the night, though," Clark whispers in your ear. His neck stretched in a way that he can still watch the movie while keeping himself close to the open space by your neck.
You spare him a glance, a quick one that barely even lasted a second. "Clark, watch the movie."
Clark clenches his jaw, this time because of the way your body rubs on his lower region. Again. Like you didn't even notice his hand tightening its hold on yours, or the way blood starts rushing into his cock the more you keep the warmth of your back on it, completely unaware.
He inhales, licking his lips before pressing it softly on the side of your neck. "Fine."
You thought that'd be the end of it, that Clark would finally let the subject go and actually watch the movie with you. However, you quickly realized that he had other plans the moment you feel his free hand play with the garters of your pajama.
You swallow on nothing—clenching on nothing, trying to keep your breathing calm and steady as you did your best to focus on the movie.
"Clark, what're you doing?" You try to move your hands but the hold Clark had on it kept you from doing so. His other hand—the one by your pajamas—slipped underneath the fabric.
His eyebrows shoot up in sheer surprise when his hand is met with the soft skin of your pussy, bare and naked, seemingly waiting for him all this time.
"You're not wearing panties," Clark says, not as a question, but as an observation. The amusement evident in his tone as he keeps himself from chuckling loud enough for other ears to hear. "You planned this, didn't you?"
You ignore him, doing your best to focus on the movie despite his hand descending lower and lower.
He swipes a finger through your slit, smiling contentedly as the answer to his prior question comes in the form of your wetness. His eyes focus on the way your features twitched with the subtlest of movements, how your breathing slowly changes into labored breaths, and how your heart starts thumping even louder.
Clark pulls his hand out of your pants carefully, watching the way your shoulders relax as he did so. You keep yourself calm, still trying your best to wriggle out of his one-hand grip that's restricting you from using your hands.
"Can't believe you told me to focus on the movie when you didn't even bother wearing panties…" his voice drops, the deeper timbre of his voice has you squirming in place. "Are you giving me mixed signals or what?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," you say through gritted teeth. Never moving your eyes away from the projector.
Clark chuckles softly, licking the shell of your ear before he moves his hand underneath your pants. He wastes no time searching for your clit, rubbing soft circles on it the moment he does. "I think you do, baby."
You melt into his touch involuntarily. The pleasure he's giving you with just two fingers on your clit was enough to have you mewling like a cat in heat.
He lifts his fingers from your clit, sliding them down your slit once more to gather the wetness seeping from your hole. He moves back up, slathering it on your clit messily, this time rubbing figure 8s.
"Looks like you really got some stress in you, sweetheart," Clark says, picking up the pace while you drop your head weakly, his legs moving to rest on top of yours, keeping you wide and open for him. You look up at him, locking into his eyes when he smirks at you. "Let's take some of it off of your shoulders, yeah?"
The coil in your stomach tightens, lips falling open as quiet moans left your lips. Quiet enough that Clark only heard it through his superhuman hearing.
You turn your head to Chloe’s direction, watching her watch the movie in utter silence. Completely unaware of the absolute filth going on between two of her best friends.
Your eyes squeeze shut when you feel yourself release all of a sudden. The pleasure coming onto you in one strong wave, not even a warning before it snaps. Clark helps you ride it out as he slows down, whispering sweet nothings in your ear while leaving kisses on your neck.
Clark smiles proudly. Gathering your release from your hole before slipping his hand out of your pajamas and into his mouth. Your eyes round as you watch him suck it hard and hungrily, as if making sure to remember the taste of your sweet release until he gets his next fill.
"You're welcome," Clark whispers, releasing your hands from his grip.
Just as you opened your mouth to respond, Chloe lets out a loud groan, her bed creaking loudly. Both you and Clark turns your heads to the projector, noticing how the movie had gone static.
"Sorry guys, give me a sec, I'll fix it." Chloe, who had suggested the idea of a projector, felt burdened to fix the situation.
The exact second Chloe turns her back to the two of you, Clark's pulling you up, strong hands lifting you like you were nothing. You shake your head continuously at him, eyes widen and clearly nervous. Clark simply grins at you, contradicting your head shakes with a nod.
"It'll be fun." Was the only thing he says before he quickly moves up your bed. Once more reminding you of his superhuman speed as he has you on top of his hips, cock resting on your cunt, blanket covering both of you—all in record time.
Chloe turns around with a smile, one that says she successfully fixed the projector. You two return the gesture, though for very different reasons.
When the movie began again, picking up from where it left off, Clark's back to having his way with you.
"I already gave you one release, baby. This next one, you're gonna have to cooperate with me—so tell me, what do you want me to do?" Clark's heavy cock twitches in between your pussy lips, aching to be inside of you.
You sigh, the arousal clouding your brain. "Whatever you want, Clark, just…" he lifts his cock before letting it fall back down. The sound of it colliding with your cunt easily drowned out by the movie. You bite your lips, continuing, "Just make me fucking come, please."
A liquid substance then drips on top of your cunt, sliding down onto his length as it left a cooling sensation everywhere. You look to Clark with a question, while he only smiles at you reassuringly.
"I may have snatched a few things from your drawer."
Then, you feel his cock push into you. The liquid he poured a moment ago letting him slip through your walls with ease.
You gasp, hand slapping on your mouth to stop the sound from going into unwanted ears.
"Clark," you struggle to get out. "You're… It's so big."
Clark chuckles, shushing you with a kiss. "I know I am, baby. But you can take it, right?"
"Yes." You say breathlessly.
"Good girl," he thrusts up carefully, hearing your soft moans from underneath the hand on your mouth. "Because this is the only thing you're gonna get from me tonight. After all, it was you that wanted to invite Chloe, right?"
When you nod, head dizzy with his cock inside of you, with his fingers continuing their attacks on your clit, Clark already knows he's gotten you exactly where he wants you⎯underneath the covers.
likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! xoxo
summary: clark’s always been adamant on being private with his personal life. few friends, low profile, and a hushed relationship. he can’t understand why people would want to publicize everything about their life. that is until he sees you talking to one of the school’s football players.
pairing: quarterback!clark x student body president!fem!reader
tags: tooth rotting FLUFF, legally aged students making out, established secret relationships, clark being Whipped with a capital W, slightly insecure clark, emotionally mature reader, football descriptions, no use of y/n
The faint smell of donuts and caramel coffee fill the council office as you hear the soft click of the door lock. You turn around and you're immediately met with your boyfriend, clad in his plaid blue button-up longsleeve shirt, worn-out bag slung over his shoulders, and lips immediately placing a soft kiss on your cheek.
"Woah, woah, hold it there farm boy," you laugh, placing a hand right in the middle of his chest as his kisses quickly descended to your neck. The thought of him not actually locking the door haunted your mind.
"What?" He breathes. Still continuing his attacks on the column of your neck while carefully placing your food and beverage on your table. "I missed you."
With a little more effort on your push—which was exceptionally hard considering how much Clark has improved in terms of making you lose your mind—he finally pulls away. A bummed-out pout shaping his lips.
You smile even wider. Who knew the big friendly farm boy everyone walks all over on is actually the biggest grump when he doesn't get kisses?
No one, of course. Not one soul in Smallville High School knows because your relationship with Clark isn't even out to the public. Not even your closest friend knows about it—and you're sure his closest friends don't know either.
But it's been like that for three out of the on-going four years you two have spent in Smallville High and so naturally neither of you wanted to break the streak.
You run your head through his soft brown locks, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. Clark's face immediately lights up, already pulling you off of the table you were leaning on to exchange positions. This time, he has a better view of the blank canvas that is your collarbone.
"Missed you," he repeated. "Brought you donuts and coffee from the Talon."
"Didn't know they did deliveries again." You humor him, grabbing the brown bag and pulling a donut out. Clark watched as you point the donut at him, urging him to take a bite. With his eyes locked in yours, he takes a slow and relaxed bite. You wipe the side of his mouth with your finger before taking your own bite. Groaning when the sweet taste of the glazed donut touches your tongue.
"They allow it for certain people." Clark plays along, nodding at you. His eyes wander to the gigantic bulletin board you had in the council office, seeing almost ten listed items now struck-off with a bright red marker. "Specifically people that are overworking themselves again."
You roll your eyes, rolling to his side as you grab the cup of coffee. "Who says I was? I just did my job."
"Babe, you aren't the only one on the council. You can't just cover for everyone's jobs just 'cause they aren't doing theirs," Clark replies, watching you eat.
"Says the one that always takes on Chloe's extra load," You retort with a sly grin. "You do know that the reason most of Chloe's writers are bailing on her is because they don't like her way of gathering her news, right?" You place down the coffee, still eating your donut as you place a hand on the one Clark had resting on the table.
Clark chuckles, "Chloe's my friend, what can I say? She's been like that since fifth grade."
"At least she's passionate about it. It's so rare to see someone so committed in their craft that I can't even deny whenever Chloe asks me for an exclusive… which, mind you, is almost seven times a week." You sigh, head subtly shaking.
"Weren't you the one that wanted somebody aside from me to interview you?" Clark furrows his eyebrows, putting on a thinking face. His eyes squint, "Something along the lines of not getting work done."
Your eyes roll back, finishing the glazed donut in your hand. "Yeah, 'cause I clearly remember how we spent twenty-five minutes eating each other's faces and five minutes actually answering questions."
You throw the crumpled brown bag to the trash bin from afar. You miss, badly, but Clark's quick to distract you from your lack of shooting skills by kissing you. Again.
"Let's shorten that twenty-five minutes then," he smiles into the kiss. Snaking his arm around your waist as he could still taste the sugary taste of the donut on your tongue.
The kiss was anything but sweet. It was full of hunger, desire… and something you can't quite pinpoint. Usually Clark has his own rhythm of sucking the air out of you but this time it's messy—all over the place. Like you'd disappear any moment now if he didn't move faster.
He doesn't mistake the very subtle jingle of door handle. He hears it crystal clear and yet, he doesn't pull away. When the sound registers in your ear, you pull away without a second to think.
You immediately grab a spare folder on the other table. Clearing your throat as you looked down on it, pretending to flip through the papers. Clark on the other hand looked directly at the student who came in.
It was Adam. The same guy he saw you with earlier.
"Oh—is this a bad time? I can come by later?"
"Actually," Clark begins but you cut him off.
"No, it's fine. Do you have a concern?" You ask directly. Putting on your professional mask as you looked at Adam by the door. Ignoring how you can actually feel Clark glaring holes at the side of your face with his jaw clenched.
Adam stutters. Shifting from you to Clark, then back to you. "I, uh, I was wondering if there were any other tutors available? I'm kinda flunking Chemistry and I need to ace the upcoming test."
"Then study," you hear Clark mumble. It was a little louder than he had expected but who cares, obviously not him.
You inhale sharply, turning your head to the bulletin board for the tutoring sessions for the month. Your shoulders flunk when you see your name under the Chemistry border. The other one—Lana—was already done with her tutoring hours so it was only you left.
Your head turns to Clark. He had already seen the arrangement on the bulletin board, he was looking at you now to wait for your response to Adam's request.
"Uhm, you can take my slot. What time works for you?"
"Any time you're free." Adam smiles at you. Clark rolls his eyes.
You nod unenthusiastically. Taking the clipboard beside Clark and handing it to Adam. "You can write on the 4:30 PM row. I'll be at the library fifteen minutes prior to our schedule, and I can wait for you until quarter to five."
Adam happily writes his name, glancing up to see you and Clark exchanging looks. "Is he signing up for a tutoring class too?"
"No," the two of you say in unison.
Your eyebrows furrow slightly at Clark. The farm boy breathing deeply before he responds. "I'm asking about the, uh, football schedule," he looks at you for confirmation. When you nod approvingly, he does too. "Yeah, the football schedule."
"Oh… Well, shouldn't you be asking Coach Teague that?"
"How would you know?" Clark raises an eyebrow, sounding way sassier than you ever heard him speak. Adam looks at him with subtle surprise, masking it with a friendly smile. "Because I am in the football team?"
The air quickly shifts as Clark and Adam have a stare-down. Only broken off when you clear your throat. Adam reluctantly says goodbye, stepping out of the office with a wave directed to you.
When the door closes, you turn to Clark with your arms crossed. "What?" He groans. He knows that look all too well.
"Are you okay with me tutoring him?" You ask straightforwardly.
"Why wouldn't I be? You've tutored dozens of our classmates over the years." He shrugs. His hand slowly coming up to tug on the strap of his bag.
"You sure? 'Cause it's a yes or no question, Clark. I can have someone else cover for me if you don't want me to tutor him," you say genuinely. Brushing away the lock of hair that fell in front of his handsome face.
Clark's lips purse into a thin line as he nods, hands finding solace on your hips. "Yes, baby, I'm sure. Just… don't overwork yourself, okay? I don't want you gettin' tired from something that isn't even your job."
You bite back a smile, looking into his eyes with stars in yours while he pulls you in for a hug. Your head rests on his shoulder as you wonder to yourself—how exactly did I manage to score a man like this?
"Gotta go, handsome. I'll see you back home," you give him a chaste kiss. Using every self-control you have not to respond to Clark's obvious attempts of deepening the kiss.
The first tutoring session you had with Adam was a quick one. Adam had a pretty solid foundation, he understood the concepts clearly, his only flaw was in his application of said concepts. Usually, he'd do well on the conceptual-based questions while also failing the problems connected to it.
One session wasn't going to cut it and so he booked you for four other sessions. All of which had a longer time frame, extending thirty minutes more from the usual one and a half hour long session. That only meant that you had to spend two hours with him every Tuesday and Thursday for two whole weeks.
Now if Clark didn't find it bothersome the first time, he definitely did now.
"So, uh, we still up for six later?" Adam leans on the locker next to years, smiling.
"Yeah, uh, sure. Of course. I'll see you at the library." You smile back. You quickly turn back to your locker and grab your things fast. Adam wasted no time diving into another subject.
"Oh, by the way, I—y'know, I really appreciate you being my tutor. I know you're juggling a lot of responsibilities and still, you never come to a session late and…" your eyebrow arches, waiting for him to finish. Thankfully, he takes the look in your face as a hint. "I was wondering if you'd let me treat you to a coffee? Just something after our session to show my thanks."
Your response arrives fast, without any hesitation. "No, Adam."
Adam gets caught off-guard by the firmness in your voice. He didn't expect you to say yes right away but he didn't exactly expect you to deny it in a split second too. He thought you'd at least think it over for a minute.
"Oh! But, it's, uh, y'know, coffee as friends. I'm not asking you out on a date," he laughs awkwardly but you could see right through him.
"I appreciate the thought, Adam, but no. If you have any questions about the lessons we're discussing, you can reach out to me—but anything else besides that, please do not." You breathe deeply. Eyes catching on the tall figure at the end of the hall, watching your encounter with Adam. "I have to go. I'll see you at the library."
You don't give Adam a second to respond, immediately slipping out of his sight only to find the end of the hall empty. No plaid-wearing farm boy in sight. You swallow on nothing, beginning to feel a thump in your chest.
It takes you some time of walking around to finally catch a glimpse of him. He was standing beside Chloe, visibly talking about something as they had laughs on their faces. You walk over to them, locking eyes with Clark in the process.
Just as you were about to walk by them—and possibly strike up some small talk—your shoulder gets nudged by your friends.
"Hey! We were looking all over for you! Did you hear the news?" Janet, your friend, says.
"What news?"
"Not so fresh meat just made it onto the roster. Rumor says he's starting quarterback," another friend, Rose, says. Her tone held a bit of bite to it, as if she didn't want him on the spot in the first place.
"Now that's a nice headline," a bright voice speaks. All three of you turning to the shaggy-haired blonde. "What d'you think, Clark? Not so fresh senior meat now starting quarterback. Kinda has a ring to me."
You tried to act naturally, chuckling at Chloe's words despite your friends glaring at them. Since he is the topic, you look at Clark. Eyes round and awaiting a response from him.
He doesn't respond though. He simply shrugs, looking at you like your were nothing before pulling Chloe away from probably stirring up a fight.
"That guy has some problems," Rose rolls her eyes, checking her nails carelessly.
"Yeah. He's already senior and he's only just tried out for football now? Damn. Talk about a late bloomer," Janet says high-fiving Rose.
"At least he's cute… right?" Janet turns to you.
"Huh?"
"Clark Kent. He's cute, right?" When Janet repeats her question, you felt something inside of you twitch. Janet's calling your boyfriend cute, and Rose's agreeing with her too. They're checking your boyfriend out. Shamelessly.
But you can't even worry about that now—your mind is filled with the way Clark looked at you moments ago. Like you were nothing. Like he hasn't met you even once.
Of course, you two hide your relationship to the school but there's always something unspoken of each time you look into each other's eyes. It's a comfort and a pleasure at the same time. A cozy blanket in the cold air. Hot chocolate every Christmas. Donuts and caramel coffee in hidden rendezvouses.
There were none of those when Clark looked at you earlier. You can't help but feel there's something wrong.
"Hey Mr. and Mrs. K! I was wondering if Clark was around?" You ask with a smile.
Your relationship with Clark may be a secret to everyone in Smallville, but his parents are a definite exception. Yours, not so much.
Jonathan and Martha share a look you recognize to be an apologetic one. "He's, uh, he's at the barn. He's been there since he got home." Martha answers with a strained smile.
You feel even weirder because Clark's parents have been nothing short of supportive. You two may have hidden the relationship from them for four months but they definitely enjoyed the idea of their son going out with you.
When you nod determinedly, turning around to head to said barn, Jonathan calls you. "Clark's, uh… you may want to be careful approaching him. He's a bit pent-up, with the football and stuff."
You nod. "Oh, of course! I'll be careful. Maybe he just needs a little cheer up."
You head over to the barn in haste. Walking up the loft to see Clark with his head down, writing something in his notebook as a stack of textbooks sat beside it.
"Knock knock." You knock on the wooden rails, letting the sound resonate through the barn.
Clark looks up from his notebook, smiling the moment he registers it was you. But you notice his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Still, you set that aside.
"What a surprise," he replies, voice clipped. "I thought you'd be slumped up with your council work and tutoring."
"And miss out an awesome opportunity to spend time with the charming plaid-wearing farm boy? Pftt, never," you drop yourself beside him. Propping your elbow up on the backrest as you turned your body towards him.
Clark chuckles, looking back down on the coffee table as he began writing again. You felt an even stronger twitch in your body when he does that—ignore you.
He may be tired, drained, or pissed off—but he had never gone through a second of seeing you without kissing you the moment the coast was clear. He'd always sneak in the quickest of kisses even though you two would get caught if he was slower by a millisecond.
"Clark, hey," you touch his shoulder. "I missed you."
His head keeps itself in place, "Missed you too, baby. How was your day?"
"Clearly not as harsh as yours has been. Wanna talk about it? I can spend the night…" you pause. "Oh, also, I heard you're starting quarterback! How'd that happen?"
"Did you now?" He laughs dryly.
The smile on your face falters, his tone felt like a bucket of ice was dumped on your head without your knowledge. He drops his pen, leaning back on the couch as he actually looks at you for the first time this night.
"Well, the previous one was injured. I stepped in." His answer is short and direct. His voice lacking the enthusiasm you're used to. "How about your day?"
You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice.
"Clark, what's the problem?"
Clark's eyes flicker up towards yours, hurt and anxiety evident in your pupils. He feels a tinge of guilt in his chest. Licking his lips, he reaches out for you only for you to pull away.
"Did I do something wrong?" You question. Though no matter how firm your voice was, Clark knew it was close to breaking.
"No, no, baby, you did nothing wrong—" Clark's voice rises as he panics. Fully reaching out to you so he can pull you to his chest. "It's… it's me, okay? I… I just—" he takes in a deep breath. "Don't you think it's time we made our relationship public?"
It's clear that you were surprised with his question. The sharp inhale and your raised eyebrows gave it away no doubt. But why wouldn't you be? Not once has Clark ever thought about making your relationship public. In fact, he was the one that actually proposed it in the first place.
You tried your best to understand him though. "Is there a reason why you want to make our relationship public?"
"Babe, we've been hiding our relationship for three years. We started when we were sophomores, we're seniors now. No one can worry about us anymore. We're graduating in a few months—who cares by now?" This is the first time his voice actually held some energy to it. His hands intertwined with yours as he looks at you for approval.
"Clark, I know when you're lying," you say. Clark's throat bobbing up and down as he clenches his jaw. You place a hand on his cheek, your other hand running through his hair comfortingly, "You know you can tell me anything, Clark. Let's talk about this like adults."
It takes him a second to actually decide to speak, and another second to construct the words in his head. "I don't like how people still think you're single," he starts. "The guys talk about you, people in the hall talk about you… I hear so many promises from people that they'll ask you out either after the game or after graduation—regardless, I can't even respond. I can't tell them that you're my girlfriend because in the first place, no one knows about us—no one'd believe me." You feel his heart beat faster. The continuous thump underneath his chest makes your stomach flip as well.
"Call me selfish, but I can't take it when other people look at you and think that they can have you." His voice drops, hands tightening on yours.
"Like Adam?"
A scoff comes from him. "Yeah, like Adam. Have you even heard half of the stuff he says about you in the locker rooms?" Clark's voice raises. His sharp features straining furiously before he feels your hand tighten around his. It prompts him to raise your intertwined hands, kissing your knuckles. "It's nothing bad, baby, believe me. He wouldn't be walkin' straight if they were bad. It was just that he's so in his head that he actually thought he can take you out on a date."
"So this is about Adam?" You arch a brow, testing the waters. When Clark shakes his head, looking away to hide the smile on his face, you laugh. "Well, y'know, farm boy, he actually just asked me out earlier."
"I know. I heard."
"Then you also heard what I responded with?" Your lips widen slowly.
He sighs, turning his head back to you. "Yes, I did."
You smile at him. He returns it, ten times wider than yours. Your heart flips as the smile finally reaches his eyes—finally feeling right.
Quiet envelopes you both. A comfortable silence before you snuggle on his lap, resting your head on his muscular chest. "I understand how you feel, baby."
One of the things Clark loved about you was your ability to always have him heard and understood. Even the dozens of times he's missed your dates, suddenly cancelling unannounced; you've always been there for him with a patient mind, an awaiting ear… and probably a grumpy attitude when Clark specifically dipped on a day you were really looking forward to.
Now, one thing definitely changed; if before you had to trap him in the barn, force him to be honest and say his feelings, you were content that now all you had to do was talk to him sincerely and directly, no interruptions, and no hotheads.
"Does this mean we're going public?" Clark asks cautiously.
You lift your head, letting your chin rest on the center of his chest. "Just do good on the game tomorrow, 'kay farm boy? We'll see how the day goes."
It wasn't the answer Clark wanted, but he accepted it. It was better than giving him the hard no.
And so you laid there the whole night, trying your best to stay awake while Clark told you about his day. His hands running aimlessly through your hair and body until you fell asleep. When you did, he took you to his bedroom and let you sleep there.
A soft and tender kiss on your forehead to end the night.
Loud roars of the crowd could be heard from any side of the field.
The bleachers were packed with people, majority came from Smallville High while some were from the rival school playing. It's been quite some time since the game started and yet, it still feels like a win can be called any moment now.
You were there—since the very start—sitting at the very front row with Chloe by your side. Your friends Janet and Rose sitting away where the cheerleaders were sat. Each time you watched Clark fall short of a goal, you could feel your heart thump even harder.
Way before the game started, you had another little rendezvous with Clark. Giving him the best good luck charm in the form of red lace—which God knows where he kept—and a kiss on the cheek.
Clark's been training for this game for so long now. Weeks of hardworking and sweat come to this very day where he finally gets to earn his teammates' respect.
31-28, in favor of the opponent.
The air gets struck out of your system when you see the opposing team score another point. Slowly building on their lead against the Crows. Your teeth unconsciously nibbles on your lower lip, pulling and biting the soft tissue as you prayed for a plot twist.
"C'mon Clark, c'mon," you mumble under your breath. Glancing at Jonathan and Martha from a far as they too shared nervous and worried looks.
You hear a ring from somewhere, and suddenly they're all splitting into their respective teams. "The Crows asked for a time out," Chloe says. You nod, noting that on the pad of paper that Chloe gave you earlier. Both of you have been noting game highlights since the start of the game.
"Should we try interviewing them?" The blonde was already standing when she asks you that, eyes narrowed at the group of players bundled far from them.
"No." You shake your head. Chloe looks at you weirdly, you sounded way too energetic. "It's not really the best time, Chloe."
Seven seconds remain on the clock. All players head back to the center line as the game resumes back. Your eyes lock with Clark despite the distance. You could barely make out the expression on his face while he could clearly see yours—full of anxiety and hope, hands in a prayer position in the middle of your face.
With a new found drive to make you proud, he turns to the front to look at the opposing team.
You watch as all of the players scramble fast as soon as the clock began. Clark inhaled, clocking his arm back before throwing the football with all of his human force, every fiber in his being hoping that the other quarterback is able to catch it before the time ran out.
The football felt like it was on air for more than five minutes. Every head in the football grounds followed the brown ball as it made its way across the field, every person holding in their breaths as the second player reached up as the time hit two seconds.
On the last second, he lands a touchdown.
Happiness shoots through your body as you jump with Chloe on the stands. Lungs screaming Clark's name as thunderous cheers filled the space, loud enough to even make the ground shake. The players run over to Clark, crashing into him while he throws away his helmet, eyes immediately searching for you. Just you.
Your heart begins beating faster, the idea in your head being thrown away as your legs move on their own.
Clark watches as you rush down the bleachers, sliding past everyone and anyone in your way. Confusion hits him for a second until he finally understands what you're going to do. Shrugging off his teammates, he runs over to the bleachers' side, the amount of adrenaline running in his veins was almost enough to push him to super speed onto your side and lift you up—almost.
The moment you reach the ground, Clark's already jumping over the fence, catching you in his arms.
"Clark!" You yell out, feeling his strong arms tighten around your waist as he spins you around. Your hair moves with the wind as it splatters messily all over Clark's face, his lips stretched into the widest and biggest smile you've ever seen from him. "You did—"
Your words are cut off as Clark lifts you even higher, crashing his lips into yours. The outside world is anything but a figment of his imagination now that he has you in his arms just after winning his first game as a quarterback—and the best thing of it all, was that it was in front of the whole school.
The deafening sound of cheers and wolf whistles make you smile into the kiss, head subtly pulling back only for Clark to hungrily chase after you, not letting you up so easily. When he finally does, with his lips all puffy and swollen, he's staring at you with nothing but affection.
"A real quarterback now, huh?" You tease, smirking lightheartedly at him.
Clark rolls his eyes, lunging forward to give you another kiss on your lips. "Not really, just your boyfriend."
You lose yourself in his smile, only to be pulled away from it when your head moves to the side. You see Clark's parents looking at you two with proud smiles while beside them were his friends—all of which had a shocked look on their faces.
Clark squeezes your side to get your attention back. A contented look grows on his face as he keeps his hold around you, making the moment last just a little longer before you two face the outcome of whatever just happened.
"Ready to put me down, farm boy?"
"Never.”
hearts, reblogs, and comments are highly appreaciated if you loved the fic !
jason todd has one fantasy he keeps coming back to: fucking you in his red hood gear. it’s gotten him through tedious stakeouts, long patrols, and sleepless nights. he could never have imagined you’d feel the same way.
jason todd knows you’ve never seen him in his full red hood gear despite knowing about his…other life, and barging into your apartment at 2am isn’t exactly how he’d hoped to ease you into it, but subtlety has never been his strong suit. he’s standing in your kitchen shifting his weight from foot to foot, waiting for you speak, red mask in hand. your eyes are wide, but your expression is hard to read.
“so…you wear this…when you’re out there?” you mumble. there’s a pause, and he nods, raising his eyebrows expectantly. you point at the mask. “that too?”
jason chuckles, turning it in his hand. “yeah,” he sighs, “this too.”
“well, put it on,” you say with a small smile after a moment, curiosity taking you over. “I wanna see the whole thing.” jason rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, but he obliges you—she seems to be taking it well. you bite your lip in anticipation, feeling heat snaking down your belly, and he doesn’t miss the shift in your face.
he clips the mask into place, and stares down at you through the white eye-slits. the way he tilts his head makes your stomach tighten; suddenly, it’s not jason standing in your kitchen anymore, but the red hood, in all his fearsome glory. you picture him appearing like this in a dark alleyway, and your skin gets hot. he notices your sudden silence, and feels a pinch of smugness tug at his lips.
“mask sells it, huh?” he asks, but his voice is lower than before, more gravelly. the way you’re looking at him has his pants tightening over his cock, and he can see your chest rising and falling faster. “what’s wrong, ma? you scared?” he pauses, studying you, but there’s a glint in your eyes he knows all too well. he steps towards you, his movements heavy under the weight of his gear, and you can’t stop the nervous giggle that escapes you.
“nah, you’re not scared,” he chuckles, his mask hovering inches from your face. your hands instinctively rest on his chest—broader under his jacket somehow—as you search his blank mask, your cheeks burning as heat settles between your legs. he brings a gloved hand to your jaw, gripping it firmly. “you’re not scared at all.”
“fuck, look at that,” jason rasps, his red mask peering down at his cock disappearing inside your cunt, glistening with your fluids each time it slips out. “you’re so wet, angel.”
you’re bent over the kitchen counter, your belly flush against the cold stone as he fucks into you from behind, and you can’t control the moans that fall from your lips each time he snaps his hips. he has your arms pinned behind your back with one hand, the other planted firmly around your neck, squeezing softly. he leans forward, bringing his masked face next to your ear.
“if I’d known the mask is all it takes to get you to act like this,” he hisses, his voice low, “I’d have worn it a long time ago.” he laughs derisively at the weak whimper you let out, pounding into you harshly. “fuck, ma, you always been this greedy?”
he uses the hand around your neck to tug you back until you’re forced to look at him—or rather, his mask—and the look on your face makes his cock twitch. “you like it like this, don’t you, princess? like bein’ stripped naked and used, talked down to—y’like feelin’ helpless.”
you can’t reply, but the way your pussy tightens around him is all the answer jason needs. “so dirty, baby,” he teases, his tone condescending. “such a fuckin’ slut for me.” his rough gear against your soft skin, his length driving into you, his harsh words, the expressionless mask watching your face contort—it’s all going straight to the coil in your belly, which threatens to snap at any moment.
jason can feel you clenching around his cock, and he knows you’re close. the look on your face is priceless—a mix of delirium and elation—and the sounds you’re making are sure to get you both dirty looks from the neighbours in the morning. his pace is relentless as he splits you open, indulging in his fantasy to the fullest. “you gonna cum for me, ma?” he asks, knowing the answer already. “yeah, I can feel it. c’mon, let it out, baby. show me how bad you want it.”
maybe it’s the venom laced in the sweet names he’s calling you, or maybe it’s just the thrill of being fucked by this new version of your loving boyfriend—either way, it’s all it takes for you to cum around his cock, hard. he squeezes your neck just enough to make your orgasm rip through you like lightning, your body shaking against his massive frame with every convulsion of your cunt.
“fuck, angel,” jason gasps, his hips stuttering. you’re gripping his cock so tight that his own release follows soon after yours, pumping you full of his cum. he lets out a rolling groan as he thrusts into you until he’s empty, releasing your neck and letting your body relax beneath him on the kitchen counter.
he pulls out of you slowly, watching his load dribble out of your glossy, swollen pussy and down your bare thighs. his breathing is laboured as he unfastens his mask and drops it on the counter beside you. it lands with a thud, and you feel his heavy gear against your exposed back as he leans down over you to press a sweet kiss to your head, running his hands along your sides soothingly.
“jay?” you sigh, your voice raw and breathless. he hums in response, helping you back onto your feet. “you need to wear that more often.”
he laughs, biting back a cocky grin. “just say the word, ma.”
Jason has a weird radar for knowing when you’re near. Like in public, even when it’s crowded, he doesn’t need to look to know you’re somewhere in the crowd. Before you even see him, he’s already looking for you. He can’t explain the feeling, the physical sensation when he just knows you’re close. It’s like his heart skips a few beats, and his arms are littered with goosebumps, and he knows he has to find you. If you were to ask how he does it, he’d shrug and say, “dunno, I can just feel ya.” Like it’s as easy as breathing. Which, for Jason, in a way, it is.
You two practically live together, but despite seeing each other almost every single night- he’s made it a habit every time he’s out to find you. Not in a creepy way, it’s just become second-nature. He wants to see you all the time, even just a glimpse, even if he’s too busy on account of vigilante activity to stop and say hi.
But there are nights when he does have the time. Nights when his bike is caught in crossfire and he’s forced to take the tunnel home. He feels you then, as he’s standing heads above in this too-tight subway. He doesn’t know how, but his body is moving before his mind can catch up. Weaving his way through bone-tired bodies, he finds you. There, hidden away in the back of the car, his girl. You look so soft and tired, he just about melts. And when you ask, “how did you know?”, he’ll reply, “I felt you.”
: ♥︎ content WARNING : dick grayson × itgirl!reader, teasing, sexual tension, subjective.
: ♥︎ summary : Y/N watches her boyfriend fix a kitchen ceiling leak, but her attention drawn to his muscular physique as he works shirtless.
Dick had insisted on fixing a stubborn leak in the ceiling of her pristine kitchen himself. A problem she didn’t even notice until he pointed it. Now, she leaned against the kitchen island, he eyes were fixed on Dick, and though she tried to focus on the task at hand, her attention kept drifting to the way his body moved. Dick was perched on a stepladder, a toolbox open at his feet, his navy t-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders as he wrestled with the pipe above. Every twist of the wrench made his biceps flex, the muscles in his forearms cording under his tanned skin. His abs, visible through the taut fabric, shifted with each movement, a ripple of strength that made her mouth go dry.
She didn’t know why she was so fixated today—maybe it was the way the morning light caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, or maybe it was something primal, stirring in her core. Whatever it was... it was making her hyper-aware of the heat pooling between her thighs.
“Baby, can you grab the pliers?” Dick called, his head tilted back as he peered into the ceiling’s exposed plumbing. She snapped out of her reverie, her cheeks flushing slightly.
“Right, pliers,” she muttered, hurrying to the toolbox, her movements a little too quick, betraying her distraction. She handed them up, her fingers brushing his, and the brief contact sent a jolt through her, her pulse quickening.
He worked for a few more minutes, grunting softly as he tightened a fitting, his body stretching in a way that made his shirt ride up, revealing the chiselled V of his hips.
Y/N bit her lip, her gaze locked on the play of muscle, her thoughts spiraling to how those same muscles felt under her hands, flexing as he fucked her into oblivion. Another drip of water splashed onto his shirt, soaking the fabric, and Dick cursed under his breath.
“This is getting ridiculous,” he said, setting the wrench down and peeling off his shirt in one fluid motion, tossing it onto the counter.
A small, involuntary moan escaped Y/N’s lips, so soft Dick didn’t hear it over the clank of tools. Her eyes widened, her breath hitching as she took in his bare torso—broad chest, sculpted abs, a faint trail of dark hair leading into his jeans. The sight of him, sent a rush of heat through her, her panties growing damp as her arousal surged. She shifted, pressing her thighs together, trying to quell the ache, but it only intensified.
God, she was flushed.
Her skin tingling, her body screaming for him in a way that felt almost feral.
Dick glanced down, catching her staring, and a slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “You okay down there?” he asked.
She swallowed, forcing a smile as she handed him a rag when he asked for it, her fingers trembling slightly. “Just… enjoying the view,” she managed, her voice a little too husky.
He chuckled, finishing the repair with a final twist of the wrench, the dripping silenced at last. He climbed down, wiping his hands on the rag, his abs flexing with the movement. Her gaze followed, her cheeks now a rosy pink, her body betraying her with every passing second.
She grabbed a cold soda from the fridge, handing it to him as he stepped off the ladder, her fingers brushing his again.
“Here,” she said, her voice softer, almost breathless. “You earned it.”
Dick popped the can open, taking a long chug, his throat bobbing in a way that made her want to lick the sweat from his skin. He lowered the can, his eyes narrowing as he caught the flush on her cheeks, the way her pupils were dilated, the subtle squirm of her hips. He got closer to her, and then he inhaled, his grin turned downright predatory.
He could smell her. Her sweet, musky scent, proof of how wet she was for him.
“You smell so good,” he groaned, “you’re making it real hard to stay focused.”
She bit her lip, her robe slipping off one shoulder as she stepped closer, her voice a whisper.
“I need a shower,” she said, her eyes locked on his, and then she attempted to rush towards the bathroom. “I’m… a mess.”
Dick’s gaze darkened, his soda can hitting the counter with a clink. “I’ll join you,” he said, chugging the rest of the drink in one go before tossing the can aside immediately. No way he was letting her walk away from that.
say cheese or die! - ghostface!jason todd x reader
what happens when you get caught by the ghostface killer who's been murdering your all friends... and what do you do when you find out that he wants to do something else besides killing you?
living dead girl - sam winchester x zombie!reader
after being brought back to life from a spell, you believe that sam won't ever love you the same. but he has every intention on proving you otherwise
doing lines - soldier boy x alt!reader
ben loves three things - you, your tits, and drugs. but his absolute favorite thing in the world? when he can do all three at once
your favorite victim - victim!dean winchester x ghostface!reader
not only are you his girlfriend, but you're the person behind all the killings in town. so when dean purposely gets caught by you? he enjoys it a little more than he should
quiet down (walking dead au) - simon 'ghost' riley x reader
to avoid getting caught by walkers, you and ghost have to hide away in the woods. only you can't keep quiet, leaving ghost to improvise and help you out a bit
i didn't plan on doing kinktober... yet here we are ! now i do not have any set dates that i will publish these, nor are they in any particular order, bc i am not good at planned schedules (obvi) now i know there is not much planned and i'm sorry </3 i might add more in the future, and if u guys have any ideas pls tell me them and i will TRY to add those in as well
anywho pls tell me if u would like to be tagged for these and specify which ones ! i love u all, and i can't wait to share these stories <333
it is no secret to anyone that your husband (satoru) is unbelievably handsome. dashing, sexy — other words he likes to use to describe himself. and because of this universally known fact, women often will stop him on the street for ridiculous reasons.
like right now.
satoru is leaning against his vehicle, earbuds in, humming to an odd tune as he waits for you outside of your work building. he isn’t even trying to look approachable. but of course — someone always stops him anyway.
“hey…” a woman strolls up to him, tucking her hair behind her ear. satoru’s gaze lazily flickers over, a kind smile playing on his lips — albeit disinterested at the same time.
because he knows what’s about to happen. and he wonders what method she’ll go with. an excuse for coming up to him, or boldly ask for his number straight up?—
“you look like you’re enjoying your music. what’re you listening to?”
ah, of course. a mischievous, toothy grin (almost ominous and cat-like) curls onto satoru’s lips as his face lights up with delight — almost as if he has been waiting for this moment since forever.
“wanna hear?”
the lady blinks, momentarily taken aback by his question before her smile widens, cheeks pink as she mistakes the edge in his voice as flirting.
“sure!”
he plucks out one earbud with deft fingers, leaning off the car door and close enough for her to get a whiff of his pricey cologne before slipping it smoothly into her ear.
it’s barely a second before her smile freezes in place.
the unmistakable sounds of a woman moaning — soft and breathless — fills one ear. the stranger’s eyes widen, releasing a mortified gasp as a flush creeps up her neck from humiliation. she rips the bud out like it burned her.
“w-what the hell?!”
but satoru’s smile only grows more menacing. the poor woman stumbles back slightly while he stands there with the ease of a man who isn’t listening to something so lewd and vile in public.
satoru chuckles, tilts his head, shades lowering on the bridge of his nose as he peeks over the dark lenses — revealing pale white lashes and glowing, dangerous, icy blue in its wake that make the lady tense up with a chill running down her spine.
“pretty, right?”
he taps the bud in his own ear.
“that’s my wife.”
p.s. — the moral of the story is don’t flirt with gojo satoru because he will make it known he’s a taken man in a shameless, scary way that will make you regret coming up to him in the first place.
clark kent x fem!reader
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press
a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3
for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.
he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.
all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.
so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.
that was until tonight.
you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.
but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.
unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.
he looked pissed.
he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.
you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.
"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.
"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."
"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.
"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."
he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.
he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.
clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.
after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.
you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.
"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.
"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.
you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.
"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.
"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."
"i didn't think-"
"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"
words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.
"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.
you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.
"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.
your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.
"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.
"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."
the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.
"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.
you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.
when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.
he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.
"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."
"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.
you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.
"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.
you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.
