#How Fish Is Made The Last One and Then Another

[azzibueckers5]

take another drag (turn me to ashes)

synopsis: messy fwb pazzi, extremely unserious angst, alcohol usage, sexual content, situationship final bosses paige and azzi but they're like really really chill about it, um. the only hint that i'm giving in terms of the smut is possessiveness. enjoy!

wc: 6.5k (part 1/2)

a/n: title is from lana's diet mountain dew. you gay bitches won you get the first half tonight. enjoy the repercussions (sexual frustration). this was a tad rushed so i could get it out before the weekend so there's bound to be typos i am. Sorry. also roommate pairings are entirely made up #sorry

azzi tilts her head back against the couch cushions behind her and closes her eyes for a second, trying to assess what level of drunk she’s riding in their game of truth or drink in preparation for her next turn. 

her teammates are scattered precariously around the room, all twelve of them making themselves at home in evina, aubrey, and piath’s small living room, and the half full handle of titos sits in the middle of the lopsided circle like some sacrificial token, daring azzi to test it. 

she’s been spared from any truly invasive questions so far, only having to answer one about her first kiss (a random boy named carlos in the seventh grade after a movie date that had been nothing short of terrible) and what the most scandalous place she’d ever hooked up with someone was (she’d hesitated before answering this one, not because a hotel pool had been that embarrassing, but because her counterpart in that particular rendezvous was sitting directly next to her, fingers fidgeting in her lap and eyes refusing to make contact), so she hasn’t had to drink to avoid anything. 

this was a team bonding event though– and the last one before the season officially started– so naturally azzi had been coerced into doing two separate rounds of shots by nika, in addition to sipping on a drink with god knows how many more, and the buzz in her limbs was starting to make tipsy feel like a thing of the past. 

it was at least mildly reassuring that everyone around her also seemed to have reached that tipping point as well, and she could feel the atmosphere descending into that loose, rowdy environment that only happened on the rare nights when they didn’t have an early practice the next day.

amari is getting grilled about, like, her ex boyfriend’s dick size or something– azzi’s trying hard not to pay attention– which means azzi’s turn is next. she lifts her head up from the couch and ignores the slight dizziness that accompanies it, focusing instead on the feeling of paige’s hand repeatedly poking her thigh. 

she tilts her head towards the blonde lazily and sighs, exaggerating her exasperation, and catches paige's finger in her own, stilling her. 

“what.”

paige grins, crooked but blinding all the same, and azzi knows immediately that she is also hurtling towards drunk by the slightly dazed look on her face. she tries to smother the excitement that bubbles up at the idea of what usually happens when they get drunk together, and only halfway succeeds. 

“nothin,’” paige says, unashamedly fishing for attention. 

azzi rolls her eyes, and ignores the flutter in her chest when paige laces their fingers together instead of letting go. 

“you’re an attention whore,” she declares, trying to scrunch her face into something that resembles annoyance. 

“don’t act like you don’t love it,” paige drawls, and, yup. definitely a little drunk, because she’s slurring the end of her words a little, in a way that shouldn’t be endearing but always is anyways, and is flirting a little more brazenly than she otherwise would, especially in front of the team. 

azzi is spared from having to respond when dorka kicks her right leg that’s splayed out on the ground in front of her and informs her that it’s her turn. 

“you ready to drink, princess?”

she blinks away from paige’s face and scoffs, trying to catch up to the rest of the room. the last thing they need right now is for someone to accuse them of flirting again. 

she pulls her fingers out of paige’s with a squeeze and says, defiantly, “m’not drinking. hit me with your best, dorka.” 

the older girl smirks from across the circle, and anxiety pools in her stomach. she prays this question isn’t about her sex life. 

“last person you got with. out with it.” 

what a surprise. a sex question.

azzi internally sighs and tries to keep the panic off her face, tries to ignore the flash of memory at the question:

paige, kissing her in the dingy bathroom of ted’s, hands on the back of her thighs under her skirt; paige, dragging them stumbling back to azzi’s dorm, fingers tangled; paige, pressing azzi into her bedroom door, mouth moving down her neck; paige, fingers between her– she shoves the memory away, willing her face to stay unimpressed. 

her rescue comes in the form of paige herself, which is, admittedly, a little incriminating, but she’s grateful nonetheless. “ya’ll must be extra horny today. how bout you go get laid instead of interrogating all of us about our sex lives.”

azzi nudges their ankles together in thanks, just as christyn groans somewhere to her left and says “don’t be a loser paige. we tryna make it actually fun,” and piath throws a piece of popcorn at paige and says “of course paige is defending azzi.”

damn it. 

there’s a chorus of agreement from the girls around them, and azzi sighs, glaring at the glass handle in front of her and mentally prepping for the shot that’s going to curdle in her stomach. 

but then, evina, who’s already properly sloshed, calls out impatiently, “yeah, come on az, last guy you got with. not that hard,” and azzi smiles. 

blessed reprieve in the form of heteronormativity.  

before anyone can object to the question, she blurts out “last guy i got with was james,” and hopes everyone is too drunk to inquire further. 

got with is kind of an exaggeration– they’d kissed at the afterparty at prom and azzi had let it happen for approximately thirty seconds before his hands had started wandering and she’d broken away to run off and find her friends– but it's not her fault if people assume it was more than that. 

she knows paige is gonna be sulky about the mere mention of him anyways, but that’s her problem. they’ve agreed to stop the whole messy hook up thing, what with basketball really gearing up and the fear of making things complicated, and that includes getting jealous when other people are brought up. never mind the fact that they’ve been absolutely terrible at adhering to that new rule.  

christyn narrows her eyes suspiciously and asks “what do you mean by guy,” just as aaliyah says, rather shocked, “your prom date? as in not since may?” 

azzi takes a sip of her drink and smirks. she should probably be a little bit more careful at what she’s insinuating, but she’s giddy at getting away without having to take a shot for a third time and also definitely a little drunk.

“i haven’t hooked up with a guy since may. that’s what you asked. paige’s turn.”

but they aren't letting her off the hook so easy, and olivia’s voice rings out over the rest of them, loud and laced with disbelief. “you brought someone home last month after the bar. nika and i had to sleep with pillows over our heads.”

nika is one of the two other people in this room that knows that that had been paige. azzi expects her to help them out a little bit here. 

“yeah, azzi, what was that about?” she says instead, smarmy and annoying and so totally enjoying this. 

so much for assistance. 

dorka piles on with “liars have to take two shots to make up for it,” and azzi shoots a death glare at nika and sighs. 

“m’not lying. evina said who’s the last guy. i answered the question.” 

the room erupts again into shrieks of surprise and someone says “the princess is into women?”

azzi just takes a large gulp of her drink, pushes down the feeling of indignation at the thought that it's this shocking she’d be into women, and tries really hard not to look at paige. 

she fails. 

paige, for her part, is putting up a solidly mediocre performance on how to be nonchalant: lazy smirk, legs spread casually, and eyes refusing to look at azzi for too long. azzi knows her inside and out though, and can see the clench of her jaw and the shift of her fingers on the perimeter of her solo cup, the way her gaze is flitting around the room, cataloguing the different reactions to azzi’s sentence.

she pulls her eyes off paige’s silhouette before she gives them away and fixes her stare instead on aaliyah. “dunno why you assumed i’m straight, that’s your problem. somebody ask paige a question already. i answered mine.”

christyn makes a couple more attempts at getting azzi to spill on who this mystery woman is, but she refuses, and eventually the group moves on to start plotting on how to get paige to drink. 

tomorrow, azzi will worry about the consequences of inadvertently revealing that she’s into girls– both because it makes her rather intense friendship with paige that much more suspicious, and because coming out to some of her closest friends via a shitty question in truth or drink is a admittedly a little pathetic. she’s never exactly tried to hide her sexuality though, it just turned out that when you’d only ever kissed one girl and were also trying to keep the fact that you were kissing said girl a secret, things tended to stay under wraps. 

azzi breathes out a sigh of relief at her turn being over and shifts her thoughts to trying her best to prepare for paige’s interrogation, knowing that it’s fairly likely the question will pertain to her in some capacity, seeing as the team is hellbent on asking about sex escapades. 

honestly. you’d think they were at a sleepover with sixteen year olds.  

she hopes everyone around them is drunk enough to miss the tension in her shoulders, and the glances she keeps taking at paige’s face. she pointedly ignores caroline’s knowing gaze from the other across the circle, the only other one in the room besides nika who’s aware of the tangle of something more between them, and again, takes a rather large chug of her drink. 

the relief of being out of the hot seat does not last long. because somehow the question that’s almost unanimously decided upon for paige is, in azzi’s opinion, seventeen times worse.

“p, how many bodies you got by now?” calls aubrey from where she’s stretched out against the tv stand, glee evident in her voice, and azzi’s heart sinks into her stomach. 

she’s confident the answer is somewhere between three and five, but despite the fact that her and paige have never kept things from each other, azzi has made a point to actively avoid hearing about paige sleeping with other people. it was sort of an unspoken rule– they didn’t talk about the girls paige got with before azzi came to uconn, and they didn’t talk about the boys azzi had gotten with her senior year of high school. 

they had a lot of unspoken rules. 

they’d been each other's firsts (azzi stops herself from thinking too hard about the fact that she wants to be paige’s last, too), fumbling around in the dark of a hotel room (azzi reminds her self that that had meant more than any rushed hookup paige had sought out since), and though they’d maintained the conviction that the other was allowed to do whatever they wanted with whomever they wanted, they’d never been exactly good at sharing. 

as the group around her debates what, specifically, has to meet the requirements for a body when it comes to having sex with girls, azzi racks her brain and tries to remember the last time paige had hooked up with someone other than her. 

it had only been three weeks since she’d made one of her more terrible decisions to let the fear that paige had starting meaning more to her than basketball dictate the parameters of their relationship, and she’d initiated the rule that during basketball season (and the few weeks leading up to it), the two of them should halt the rather non-platonic aspects of their friendship for fear of making things too complicated. 

she’d been half expecting paige to push back, would have most likely caved with merely a few sentences and a makeout as a counter argument, but paige hadn’t argued whatsoever, and they’d since been mostly successful at pretending everything was fine. 

they’d only slipped up once since the implementation of the new rule– a rather heated makeout session in the locker room of all places when they’d been left alone post practice, sweaty and sports bra clad (they’d never stood a chance)– and they had somehow miraculously managed to spend just as much time together as they’d had before, so azzi doesn’t think paige has had time to add to her body count. 

(god help both of them if she had, because azzi’s crashout would probably cause world war three)

that left only the ones she’d accumulated over the course of her freshman year, because paige and azzi had been effectively inseparable (and effectively exclusive) since their arrival at summer session workouts in may. 

still, this doesn’t halt the twist in her stomach at the idea of paige with anyone else, and she fights the icky feeling in her stomach with a sip of her drink. 

but azzi can handle this, definitely, and she’s prepared for paige’s answer when she takes a lazy sip of her drink and drawls out “four.” 

what she’s not prepared for is the general disbelief that echoes around the circle, and the insufferable comments from various teammates about how “that can’t be true,” and “it’s gotta be more than that.”

azzi wants to hit someone. preferably all eleven other people in the room. 

and then, her irrational anger at the rest of the circle refocusses to just paige because she humors it, leaning back and smirking. “what can i say? i’m picky,” grinning at the comments about how much of a whore she was the pervious year. as if it’s funny. 

if azzi believed in things like auras and spiritual colors, hers would probably look like a christmas monstrosity right now– green for jealousy clashing with the crimson of her fury. 

she shifts over, removing her leg from where it had been subtly pressed up against paige’s, and tucks her glower into the rim of her cup, plotting several murders as the group around them howls with laughter and continues reminiscing on paige’s escapades like it was a hilarious, wonderful time, and not the root of many sleepless nights for azzi. 

she really has enough when evina giggles out something about how “paige needs to get back out there” and christyn agrees, slurring about how they miss “big daddy bueckers.” 

azzi coughs. hard. 

and then she finishes the rest of her drink in one swig, ignores paige’s searing gaze on the side of her face, and stands up rather aggressively to go fix herself another. if she subtly kicks paige’s foot on the way past, that’s nobody’s business but hers. she’s not doing a particularly terrific job of subtlety right now, but no one is sober enough to notice.

nika joins her in the kitchen, and bursts out laughing as soon as she sees the expression on azzi’s face, contorted into what is probably a rather hideous scowl. 

“someone’s jealous,” she taunts, as she watches azzi pour a healthy amount of vodka into her cup. 

“i’m not jealous,” azzi hisses. jealousy would imply azzi had a right to care about who paige gets with. which she does not. she adds another glug of tito’s for good measure.

nika eyes the amount of liquid in her cup and raises an eyebrow. “no?”

azzi glares. “nothing to be jealous over. paige can do whatever she wants.”

nika has the audacity to laugh at her. “ooookayy,” she drags out, hands raised beside her head like azzi is a feral animal. she sort of feels like it. “as someone who witnessed paige last year, it wasn’t nearly as crazy as they make it seem.”

azzi wishes this made her feel better, but in all honesty it’s information she already knows, which reminds her of how irrational she’s being, which in turn makes her more upset, at like, the world. 

she huffs. “that’s none of my business.” 

“uh huh. that’s why you were eye fucking eachother in the living room and are now pouring yourself a triple.”

nika muhl and her psychology degree can kick rocks. 

“we told you, we’re not doing that anymore,” azzi muttered, doing a terrifically bad job at keeping the contempt out of her voice. 

nika eyes her with exasperation. “and who’s fault is that.”

azzi’s frown somehow deepens at the accusation. “it’s no one’s fault. it’s just the right thing to do.”

nika blinks, disbelieving. “if you say so. when paige walks out of your room tomorrow morning with her hood up i’m going to say i told you so.” 

“not happening.” 

nika just raises her eyebrows. azzi decides she’d through with this conversation. 

drink made, she stalks back to the living room, nika following close behind with thinly veiled amusement. she’s officially been added to azzi’s shit list of the night, directly behind one paige bueckers. 

she plops back down next to the blonde, careful to keep the space between their bodies reasonable, and takes a sip of her drink, wincing at how strong she’d made it. 

paige looks inquisitively at her, and azzi tries to ignore it, but then her head tilts back against the base of the couch as she sideyes azzi, brows furrowed in an unspoken attempt at asking if she’s good, which exposes the long, pale, extremely biteable column of her throat, and azzi jerks her head away before she does something stupid like lick it in front of their entire team, and ignores her. 

she’s still mad at paige. not for having four bodies– that would be ridiculous. just for other, secret reasons. definitely. 

she listens intently as nika immediately gets interrogated about the football guy she’s down bad for instead– serves her right for accusing azzi of being jealous– and decides that if the next question she gets asked is about her sex life, she’s going to take the shot. paige doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of hearing an answer that’s probably about her. 

but then, when her turn rolls around and olivia’s nosy fucking question of “azzi who’s the best you’ve ever had and why” causes paige to smirk next to her, azzi decides that simply taking the shot would feed paige’s ego far too much. 

so, she lets a smirk of her own cross her face and slurs out a massive fucking lie: “this guy i got with last year- charlie- very talented with his tongue,” and lets the room erupt into madness. 

the look on paige’s face is delightful. 

paige is by far the best azzi’s ever had– by, like, a factor of ten– and charlie had only been a brief fling senior year to (unsuccessfully) distract azzi from paige. he’d been mediocre at best. by the look on the blonde’s, face she knows that too, so the offense and shock laced into the outrage of her expression is beautiful. her eyes bore into azzi’s, drunk and disbelieving and pissed, and azzi swallows at the intensity of her gaze.

serves her right. 

she’s forced to tear her eyes away when christyn calls out “i’m sorry, you got with a girl last month and you expect me to believe that the best you ever got was from a guy?”

azzi flushes, but she holds her gaz, shrugging, and then decides to pour metaphorical gasoline on the fire that is currently raging next to her. “wasn’t really impressed with her skills.”

paige honest to god chokes beside her, and the room erupts into hoots and hollers. 

azzi lets the drunk commotion roll off her back, and makes the mistake of turning back to paige, feeling heat pool in her belly at the intensity she finds. 

“i don’t believe you,” rasps the blonde into the admittedly small space between them, low enough that no one else can hear her over the chaos that’s taken over the room. 

azzi smiles sweetly. “too bad.”

paige scoffs, and opens her mouth to respond with something presumably filthy, but then it’s aubrey’s turn to throw popcorn at them, telling paige to “lock in” for her turn. 

paige’s anticipatory smile at aubrey is more of a pained grimace, and azzi lets satisfaction settle in her bones for now, knowing she’s gotten under her skin.

she knows better than to think this conversation is over. she’s rather excited about that fact. stupid stupid stupid alcohol. 

the older girls convene in front of them for a second whispering ideas, and then they all seemingly agree on one with a chorus of excited yeses and christyn spins back to the rest of the group and grins. 

azzi braces herself with a shaky inhale. 

“tell the class about your favorite sex position, paigey,” christyn singsongs, and azzi's mind goes blank for a second. 

she tries to stop herself from thinking about it, about what position paige might be thinking about, but fails miserably, and then a series of images are flashing through her brain:

perhaps how much paige loves to be between azzi’s thighs, used to beg the brunette to let paige go down on her, or even more so maybe how much she loves azzi between her legs, tongue tracing lines against her clit and fingers dancing inside, or maybe even that one time paige made azzi work herself back onto paige’s fingers, bent over the bed, and paige had come untouched just from watching her, or when they’d put the small bullet vibrator azzi had secretly bought between them, grinding on it and each other until they’d both fallen apart more than once, or when– jesus. 

she needs to chill the fuck out. 

azzi is not built for the sexually frustrated lifestyle. 

she takes a large, large chug of her drink, and tries to focus on the burn of vodka down her throat, and not her absolutely filthy thoughts, nor the flush that’s coursing through her veins and making her skin hot.

beside her, paige smirks– a daring, cocky thing that pulls at the inside of azzi’s stomach– and doesn’t even think about answering, instead pouring herself a hefty shot from the handle in front of them and ripping it back, clearly enjoying the group’s groans at her refusal to answer. 

azzi tries extremely hard to ignore the peek of her tongue as she licks the residual vodka off the rim of the shot glass, but her whole body feels hot anyways. she blames it on the mixture in her cup.

“bruh, you just wanted to take a shot,” accuses evina, off to the left, as everyone watches paige wince and grab for a chaser. 

when she collects herself, she rasps out “yeah, or maybe i just think some things should stay private.” 

she says it to the broader room, refusing to look at azzi, but she knows the words are meant just for her anyways, and as anger rolls off of the set of paige's shoulders and curls in the now much wider space between their bodies, azzi juts her chin out in defiance.

whatever– let paige be mad. that is not azzi’s problem. 

she sees amari eyeing them warily, and caroline and nika have switched seats, no doubt so they can giggle to themselves about the tension they apparently think is hilarious, and azzi decides she needs a break. 

when the group conversation derails a bit, partly due to the collective level of hammered and partly due to the boredom of the game they’ve been playing for an hour now, azzi decides a pee break is in order, both because she actually has to pee, and because the heated glares paige is sending her from beside her are fucking with her head. 

she stands up off the floor– very wobbly mind you, the head rush at her upright position reminding her of the abundance of liquor in her cup– and stumbles down the hallway to the bathroom, trying to ignore how positively sloshed she feels. 

the silence of the bathroom is a welcome reprieve from the chaos on the other side of the door, and azzi takes a deep breath as soon as she closes it, leaning back against it and cursing herself for letting paige get under her skin. 

she knows she’s being unreasonable– that getting mad about the fact that paige has hooked up with people other than her is entirely ridiculous, one because it's information she already knows, and more importantly, two, because they're allowed to see other people– but she just looked so smug bringing it up. and the team thought it was so funny. and azzi wants to hit someone.  

lying as payback had been fun– the look on paige’s face absolutely worth it– but now azzi feels like she’s going to crawl out of her own skin at the tension between them and the inability to do something about it. 

she paces the small space for a second (noting in that slightly hysteric, satirical way that only come from drunkenness that evina’s bath mat is a hideous shade of orange), reeling with entirely unwarranted jealousy and fury and trying to pretend that the copious amounts of alcohol have not hit her bloodstream. 

she stops short when she catches her own eye in the mirror. she’s flushed, the range of feelings that aren’t hers to have painted across her face, and she looks exactly like a movie character in a melodramatic shitty pg-13 romcom who’s realizing she’s too drunk and too sad in a party bathroom. 

stupid stupid stupid stupid.

she spins away from her reflection, remembering that she does actually have to pee pretty bad, and plops down on the toilet, content to wallow in sexual frustration and misery for the remainder of the night. 

but then, while she’s washing her hands– rather aggressively scrubbing as if she can wipe away the itch in then that yearns to be on paige’s skin– azzi’s peace and quiet is shattered by the arrival of the one person she’s currently trying to convince herself she doesn’t care the whereabouts of. 

because of course paige had followed her.  

she doesn’t even knock– the audacity– just barges right in like azzi’s not having a private moment to herself (a mental break).

“paige!” she huffs out indignantly, moving out of the way of the door and doing her very best to glare menacingly. “get out- i could’ve been peeing or something.” 

paige looks entirely unbothered by that prospect. she closes the door behind her gently without turning around, arms crossed and jaw tipped down.

she looks infuriatingly good. azzi wants to hit her. like. with her mouth. 

“nothin’ i ain’t seen before.”  she pairs this aggravatingly calm sentence with a step into azzi’s personal space, and it's outrageous how affected azzi is by simply being in close proximity to her in private. 

and how pretty she is. god damn it. 

even with the edges of her vision blurring from the liquor, and the fact that her feet feel rather unsteady on the hideous bathmat below her, azzi can tell that paige is mad. 

that type of focussed, heated anger that very rarely laces their interactions, not just simple annoyance. it unnerves her as much as it excites her, which is surely another sign that she’s going insane. 

she chooses not to respond to the insinuation that paige has seen her in every state of undress, for her own sake, and tries not to think about her and paige in states of undress at all. which is actually a supremely difficult task, particularly when, again, they’re in such close proximity. 

she’s starting to deeply regret that last chug of her drink. 

the silence hangs around them, tense, and she suddenly realizes that somehow paige has backed her up into the sink. which is odd. considering last time azzi checked they weren’t merely inches apart. so that’s. concerning. or exhilarating. who’s to say? not azzi. 

paige’s smirk is a little mean on her face, eyes wild, and she tilts her head, using the measly one inch she has on azzi to try and make her feel small. azzi refuses to let her. 

“charlie?” she says, voice unimpressed. her hands coming up to rest on either sides of azzi on the sink, caging her in. “really?” 

they’re not touching– not yet– but azzi feels the ghost of her hands anyways. 

“what about ‘m,” she breathes. their faces are really close. and paige’s eyes are really blue. 

“you expect me to believe the best head you’ve ever received was from a guy named charlie?” the and not me is unspoken, but azzi hears it loud and clear. 

she scoffs, spurred on by the fire in paige’s eyes. she delights in this game. “why wouldn’t it be?”

paige’s eyes narrow. “i don’t know, maybe because last time i ate you out you came so hard you cried.” 

azzi’s blood gets impossibly hotter at the reminder, but she stays strong, lifting her chin even higher. “was faking it,” she breathes. “like i said earlier, i wasn’t impressed.”

“really,” is all paige drags out, low and dangerous, and azzi feels the tension crackle between them like a physical brand on her skin. they’re not even fucking touching yet, and she can already feel the lining of her underwear growing impossibly wet at paige’s anger. 

she refuses to contemplate the implications of that. 

she hums in agreement and doesn’t say anything else, and paige just looks at her, lets the weighted silence settle around them.

and. okay. azzi’s not proud of this necessarily, but paige is looking like that in front of her and her mouth is turned downwards because she’s jealous and trying to hide it, and her sweats are slung low enough on her hips for azzi to see the waistband of her boxers, and.

and then they’re kissing because azzi apparently has absolutely zero self control. 

her hands come up to grip paige’s shoulders, immediately opening for it, and though azzi was the one to close to gap between them, the one to tug paige down into a kiss, it’s paige that sets the pace, immediately rough and unforgiving, pining azzi hips against the counter with her own and nipping at her lips. 

and god is it good, and god has she missed this in the last few weeks. 

she’s vaguely aware of their new rules, that there are reasons they’re not supposed to be doing this whole kissing thing anymore, reasons she came up with, but she can’t for the life of her remember why she’s supposed to give a singular fuck about that right now when paige’s hands splay out across the skin of her sides underneath her shirt, and her hips are pressing into azzi’s, and her mouth is doing that delicious thing where she licks into azzi’s mouth and slide’s their tongues together, and. 

and azzi decides that this can be an exception. 

she groans into the kiss, tangling her fingers in paige’s hair, and lets her press closer, relishing in the feel of paige all over her for the first time in too long. 

the kiss is mean, claiming, and azzi knows without a doubt that paige is trying to remind her why she will always be the best azzi’s ever had. 

it makes liquid heat pool endlessly in her stomach, and she lets out a strangled cry when paige shifts to press her thigh between azzi’s legs, letting the taller girl swallow her sounds and somehow press impossibly closer. 

fuck. 

it’s always so, so good with paige. it almost makes azzi angrier, and she lets her hands tug at paige’s hair a little rougher, bites into the kiss a little meaner. 

paige must be aware that they’ve only got a few minutes before people get suspicious, because she’s sliding a hand under the waistband of azzi’s shorts and boxers after only a minute or two of making out. 

which makes the fact that azzi’s completely soaked all the more embarrassing. 

she breaks the kiss to gloat, rasping out “you get this wet for charlie?” against azzi’s lips, and. 

azzi’s completely forgotten about why he’s relevant. and then she’s yet again reminded of why paige is insufferable, because why did she have to bring that up. azzi figured the whole kissing furiously against a bathroom sink thing sort of implied charlie didn’t hold a candle. 

however. azzi would never be the one to back down from what was clearly some version of a competition, and despite the fact that, no, she’d gotten nowhere near close with him, azzi locks eyes and breathes “yeah, you’re not special.”

her voice gets choked up halfway through because paige decides to slide two fingers down and circle the entrance of her cunt, because she’s a smug bitch, and. jesus christ. azzi is criminally wet.

paige knows that they’re both aware of this. 

“is that right,” she taunts, the hand that’s not currently working lazy circles on azzi’s clit coming up to grip the base of the younger girls neck. 

self-assured prick. 

azzi only has the brain capacity to gasp out “uh huh” in response, and paige smiles at that, wicked and. pretty, actually, even though she’s an asshole. 

“want me to prove you wrong?” she pairs the question with the breach of a finger at azzi’s entrance, and. 

god help azzi. 

she whines out a “please,” before catching herself– this is a game, afterall– and adds “can’t hurt.”

somewhere in the back of azzi’s vodka-and-paige addled mind, it occurs to her that paige is being suspiciously forgiving, but she lets that thought go in favor of the approving kiss paige gives her, their mouths moving together in that delicious, all consuming way that quiets every part of her brain. 

she has half a mind to protest when paige pulls away, slipping her hand out of azzi’s shorts and tearing their mouths apart, but before she can, paige is sliding down her body to be eye level with the tops of azzi’s thighs, knees cushioned on that horrible bathmat.

god. 

azzi lets out a strangled whine when paige’s hands come up to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. the vision of paige below her is too much, and she has to close her eyes for a second.

“you wan’ it?” she asks, looking up at azzi like a fucking siren, eyes wide and pleading like she wants it just as bad. 

and. azzi should say no, considering their entire team is on the other side of what is surely a very flimsy door, and getting eaten out on a bathroom sink that isn’t hers is probably a little distasteful. 

unfortunately for said teammates, azzi is despicably wet and paige is between her legs looking like she’ll die if azzi doesn’t say yes, and, most of all, azzi is too drunk to give a single shit if someone hears them. 

she chokes out a “yeah, need it” and is too focussed on paige’s answering grin to care about how desperate she sounds. 

instead of tugging down her basketball shorts, paige rucks up the material around one of her thighs, and latches onto the inner most sensitive part, sucking hard. she’s merely inches away from where azzi desperately needs her, and the feeling lights azzi on fire, head thumping back against the mirror behind her as pleasure takes over. 

paige works on the mark, intent on claiming, biting the sensitive flesh and then laving her tongue over it to soothe, and azzi feels drunk on not only the vodka but the pleasure too, whining quietly when paige presses a kiss to the darkened skin and pulling back with a smile. 

and fucking then. 

paige breathes “too bad,” matter of fact and smug, into the mark.

azzi’s confused as fuck at her words, has forgotten what they were saying, and then. and then paige just. stands up. 

“should call charlie to deal with that, hmm?” she pouts, fake pity lacing her words, and then she fucking pats azzi’s thigh in mock consolidation and walks out of the bathroom. 

azzi’s disoriented wail of “wait,” is too late, paige already out the door like she hadn’t been on her knees seconds prior, and azzi is suddenly alone with her muddled thoughts once more, breathing uneven, skin flushed, and rage bubbling up inside of her. 

along with, like. intense sexual frustration.  

what the actual fuck.

azzi should’ve known paige would be too petty to let that go, and she’s both furious at the blonde for setting a fucking trap, and herself for falling into it. but what an fucking self-inflated egotistical asshole.

god. 

azzi wants to march right out of the bathroom, knee paige in the stomach, pour the remainder of her drink on top of her stupidly perfect head, and then maybe possibly lick off said drink from the dip in her collarbone. and the line between her breasts. and perhaps her bellybutton. 

being mad at and being attracted to paige were two sides of the same coin on a good day, but on a drunk one? azzi wanted to solve their issues with bitemarks and bruises. which was entirely stupid and counterproductive and irrational, three qualities that seemed to follow azzi around almost as much as paige did. 

she inhales, several times, trying to clear the fog from her brain and calm the racing of her heart, and tries to push away the lingering disappointment that she won’t be coming apart at the hands of paige tonight, or anytime in the future really, seeing as��� due to most of their roommates not knowing and the fact that azzi was far too prideful– she couldn’t exactly drag paige back to her room and have her way with her. 

this, coupled with the fact that it wasn't like she could just stroll in to paige’s room in two days time when they both inevitably got sick of the fight and wanted make-up sex because of the stupid fucking rules, meant that not only was azzi angry at paige for her little stunt, but she was also a little annoyed at her apparent disregard for their limited opportunities to have sex.

paige was wasting extremely precious time in which they were alone and drunk, guards lowered, and neither of them had had a singular orgasm.  

what a fucking stupid bitch. 

azzi checks her phone, happy to see that it was already past 11:30, meaning an acceptable time for her to feign exhaustion, and, with renewed anger, pushes herself off the edge of the sink and stalks out of the bathroom, intent on socializing for maximum ten more minutes before retreating to the solitude of her bedroom and getting herself off. 

to the thought of paige. 

which was something she’d unfortunately become quite familiar with ever since she’d had her awful, horrible, no good very bad idea to stop letting paige get azzi off instead, the much preferred but decidedly unavailable option. 

whatever. at least paige would probably also die of sexual frustration, and then they could rot in hell together.

a/n: sorry to edge you (paige and i will make it up to you <3) as always pleaseeee tell me if you liked it and i will die of happiness and probably kiss you <3 i hope to have the second part put early next week!

[blooddlusts]

MANCHILD ⋆｡°✩ lee heeseung

( WHY YOU ALWAYS COME RUNNING TO ME ) ── ex boyfriend!! lee heeseung x fem! reader

synopsis: in which you awkwardly cross paths with your ex-boyfriend. and for him to pick up a desperate phone call when you needed it the most (read part one here)

fic notes: ex boyfriend! lee heeseung x fem! reader, suggestive language, cursing, angst, a little bit of reconciliation, very slowburn interactions

kiara's notes: due to popular demand, y'all asked for a part two. y'all can thank my bestie @nocturnebite for actually helping me come up with a happy segway into this story because i was prolly gonna make it more angsty lmao. if this needs a part three —feel free to yell at me (it prolly does)

word count: 2.7k

his phone number blocked, the pictures of you both ripped in two and thrown in the trash. every memory of his face, of his lips kissing your skin, his laughter ringing in your ear —erased, deleted, gone. that was the end of the chapter between you and lee heeseung. and perhaps it was better off that way.

it had been months since you had last spoken to him. while you promised yourself that it was't a big deal, the hole in your heart was begging to be filled, replaced with someone else. it took some motivation to get yourself out of bed, to try going out to clubs, to put makeup on and make yourself presentable in public. he had made you an emotional train wreck, which meant dragging your shaky feet out on the ground to find the confidence that had seemingly left your body the day that he shattered your heart into a million pieces.

and while the confidence returned —your luck with finding a better boy to date seemed physically impossible. no literally. the saying "there are other fish in the sea," must have been a lie. because the men on your dating apps, the men that approached you at clubs, were absolutely horrendous in every way possible. that's not to say that they weren't attractive (in fact, many of them were drop dead gorgeous) but you could spot their imperfections from the first date.

if heeseung had done one thing right, it was for your eyes to be open to the men that would sit in front of you. from the way they ate their pasta to the way they would snake an arm around your waist. the attention to detail made it so easy for you to reject another date, you didn't want to pursue another romantic relationship if they were going to be the same as your ex-boyfriend. but the one thing that lee heeseung had cursed you with was the magnetization. no matter where you went, you were always attracting the same type of men. the "man child" and it was fucking annoying.

they were the ones that played hard to get, the ones that like to linger and make you squirm in your seat wondering if you were going to be given the chance to go on a second date. the ones who promised to pick you up for dinner at seven only for you to be sitting in your living room almost an hour later, wondering when they would show up. the ones who talked passionately about their own hobbies without even batting an eye when you spoke on your success. you don't know what you did to attract such a form of men —but it was completely exhausting.

you prayed that they would be different. so maybe that's why you found yourself getting ready for another date. another dude from another dating app you were on. he didn't seem like a "man child" (but that was just your optimism speaking). and yet, you found yourself waiting in the lobby of your apartment, looking at the hands on your watch tick forward. he was late —of course he was.

"you look nice,"

his voice was unexpected. like a random bolt of lightning striking a clear summer day. it immediately took you out of your bored dazed as you looked up to see him staring at you. how many months had it been since you'd see his face? how many times had you spent trying to block him out of your head? surely, this was a figment of your imagination —but the tiny smile that touched his lips professed that the man standing in front of you was real.

"um thanks," you awkwardly replied, feeling your cheeks turn pink as you politely accepted his compliment.

the silence that between the two of you was as thick as a slice of texas toast. after all, what was there to say? how could you casually strike up a conversation with someone who casually threw your heart to the side?

"are you going on a date?"

"something like that, if he's planning on showing up," you scoffed as you looked down at your phone. no new messages, brilliant.

"how are things with your going with your girlfriend?" you asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject. you were mentally begging that your date could show up any minute now to save you from the jaws of the awkward conversation you were forced to be in.

"we broke up,"

great, so much for making the conversation less awkward.

what were you supposed to say? "i'm sorry that you two broke up?" you weren't. in fact, there was some form of satisfaction knowing that things with his ex-girlfriend didn't work out again. and yet, you found yourself awkwardly shifting in your chair praying that some sort of words could slip out of your lips to answer heeseung.

"oh..."

"...yeah,"

as much as you were curious to know why the relationship had ended. you had no choice but to plant a tiny smile on your lips and let out a sigh of relief as your phone screen lit up. saved by the bell-ish. the likelihood of this date being better than your previous ones seemed unlikely but it was better than spending any more time with heeseung. those were minutes you were never going to get back.

"well, that's my date," you said as you got up from your seat and smoothed out your dress. for a minute, you could have sworn that there was a tiny grimace on his face when he heard those words slip out of your lips. but it was almost immediately replaced with a faint smile. it had to be your imagination.

"it was nice seeing you heeseung,"

and with a polite smile, you walked out of the lobby with confidence in your footsteps, masking the sinking pit of anxious feelings that swirled in your stomach. you had a date to worry about and yet, he was there crawling his way back into your mind like a parasite.

it had been so long since you'd last seen him. so why out of all places did you have to see him now? more importantly, what was he doing in the lobby of your apartment building?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

your date was going horribly. not much of a surprise there. after being picked up forty minutes late, your date reeked of cologne. not that his cologne smelt bad, but it was like the man practically bathed in it. he was chivalrous enough to open the car door for you —that was about it. he chewed with his mouth open, he would constantly interrupt you when you had anything to say, and let's not forget how his phone wasn't silenced so you could hear the tinder notification constantly beeping on his phone.

you couldn't even keep track of what he was talking about. you were just waiting for the bill at this point. you were already planning on calling an uber instead of letting him drop you back at your place. the last thing you needed was his lips covered in pasta sauce trying to kiss you —ew.

"well, this has been a fun date but i should probably go home now," you started to say as you watched the waiter place the bill down in front of you. your date didn't even pay attention to what you had said, he took one glance at the bill and looked back up at you.

"aren't you going to pay?" he asked.

"excuse me?"

that was a quick slap to the face. now he was really racking up the points for being the worst date you've had. picking a fancy ass restaurant and expecting you to pay? of course, you should have picked up the sign sooner. there was a card on the dashboard of the car he picked you up in that was from some car rental business. he decided to pay for the most expensive bottle of wine and gorge himself on an expensive plate of food. great, another man child.

"i asked you out on the date, the least you can do is pay for the food," he replied casually while wiping the pasta sauce off of his chin.

"you've got to be fucking kidding me. is this what you do to all women that you take out on a date? order the most expensive meal and expect them to pay for it?" you snapped as you glared daggers at you date.

the fact that he didn't say anything made things even more upsetting. all he did was blink at you, as if you should have known this was how the date was supposed to go. "look, it's not that big of a deal. besides, i promise i'll make it up to you once we head back to your place," he said as he tried to place his hand on top of yours.

"oh really? is that what you think is going to happen? that i'm invite you back to back to my place and i'm gonna let you fuck with that tiny thing you call a penis?" you grit your teeth before getting up from your seat.

"go call your parents and ask them to help pay for your meal," you said as you opened your purse and threw some cash down in front of him. "here's my half of the bill," you added on before walking out of the restaurant, leaving behind your date jaw dropped and confused.

you stepped out of the restaurant into the darkened sky. the only thing lighting up the world in front of you were the city lights and the billboards that illuminated advertisements of happy smiling faces beaming in fluorescent colours in front of you.

while you should have felt relieved that you called it quits with that dude that just wanted to get in the sheets, there was something about this date that was the last straw. they were all the same, all of the dates that you had been on were just stupid men seeing you as another way to get their body count up. it was fucking disgusting. you craved the romantic life, you begged to be loved again, you wanted—

—and in that moment, your impulsiveness took over. you found yourself fishing your phone out of your purse, your hand going to the settings, clicking on a blocked phone number that you had memorized by heart, and pressing the call button.

you paced around in circles. a thousand thoughts accumulating in your head as you continued to hear the phone ring in your ear. until you heard his voice on the other line.

"hey, do you think you can pick me up?"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the car ride was completely silent. no questions asked, no small talk to be made, just you two sitting with the radio as ambience to fill the void that was between the two of you. you didn't think he was going to answer, let alone pick you up. yet, you found yourself in the same car with your ex-boyfriend, with lee heeseung, the man you swore you never wanted to see in a million years —all because some stupid date went horribly wrong.

for the first time in a while, you felt like you could actually breathe. like you could sit back and pause in a world that was constantly moving. or maybe it was because you were in a car with someone that you had once been vulnerable with, someone that you had completely poured your heart and soul to. whatever the reason, you were able to rest your head on the side of the window and relax in the passenger seat.

"so, do you want to talk about what happened?" there it was. the moment that you weren't necessarily dreading, but knew that was going to happen. it was only a matter of time before he was going to confront you about the situation. or why you decided to call him up out of all people.

"not really," you muttered. you refused to make eye contact with him. one look into those doe-like eyes and hating him was a lost cause. you couldn't give in to him that easily.

"it's just, all of these dates that i've been going on are awful," you started as you finally moved your head away from the window and turned to look at him. "i mean, every guy i've been going out with these past couple of months have been the same. i'm so sick of attracting men that act like children!" you groaned as you threw your hands up into the air.

heeseung only chuckled as you finally started opening up to him again. there was something about seeing your face getting all red and flustered that made his heart skip a beat. he wanted to tell you, he needed to tell you—

"—he asked me to pay for the meal, hee. the dude literally ordered the most expensive meal on the menu and expected that i was going to pay—"

"—you called just me hee,"

you paused and turned to look at heeseung who was staring directly at you. thankfully you two were at a red light, so it wasn't like any car was going to come crashing into you but still. the nickname had slipped out of your tongue so casually that you didn't even notice yourself say it. but he did.

you didn't say anything to him after that. it was an instant "keep your lips" quiet moment after that. he caught you slipping once, you weren't going to let it happen again. so when he drove into the parking garage of your apartment complex you couldn't help but eagerly take off your seatbelt.

"well, thanks for the ride," you said already moving to open the car door. but before you could make a swift exit, heeseung was already out of the car, outside opening the door for you.

what was this feeling that was swelling up in your chest? you should be hating him right now. yet, you didn't shoo him away when he started to walk with you up to your apartment. he didn't say anything, just had his hands in his pockets, keeping his eye out for anyone that seemed suspicious. it was the tiny things that made your heart continue to skip a beat, even when you knew that you shouldn't.

"you know you didn't need to walk me to my door," you said as you fished your keys out of your purse.

"i know, i just figured that maybe it would save you from any other creeps trying to hit on you," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

"i appreciate it, heeseung. thanks for picking me up tonight. i honestly didn't think that you were going to pick up the phone,"

"well i'm glad i did. i've missed talking to you,"

you could only nod and smile at his comment. and then came the awkwardness that you two were so familiar with. it's not like you could give him a hug, or the usual kiss on the cheek when you first started dating. you two were just strangers, exes that picked up the phone for one small favour. nothing more nothing less.

"have a good night, heeseung,"

"sweet dreams,"

and while you watched him walk down the hallway as you stepped into your apartment, your stomach was greeted with the same pit of butterflies fluttering around. you shook your head, you couldn't fall for him again, that would mean neglecting everything that he had done. the way that he had taken your heart, smashed it into a million pieces and left you lying trying to fix everything he had broken.

but he answered your phone call.

you watched him turn the corner, a sigh escaping your lips before you closed the door behind you. now was not the time to catch feelings for the man that had cursed you to find every "man child" in the city. now was not the time to fill the hole in your heart with the same man who inflicted the damage you were trying to fix.

but everything about that night had brought back the tiny spark that you had put out so long. the wave of emotions coming back like a tide the more you played them over in your head. and so you went to bed with a confused head and a stomach swirling with butterflies.

he had left you once before. but he came back.

if only he never answered your phone call at all.

taglist: @keehoes @daisyintherainsposts @evxnsbae @douqhnxtss @mimimovv @sunooqvrlsx

reblogs, likes, comments & feedback are appreciated!

[ryomenslvr]

feedback

interlude

rockstar!ryomen sukuna x reader x rockstar!satoru gojo

synopsis: Two rival bands. One sound engineer. Trapped between Gojo’s charm and Sukuna’s intensity, you navigate a world where music is war, tension runs high, and falling for the frontman, or both, could change everything.

a/n: this fan fiction is heavily inspired by @/indiewritesxoxo ‘s no. 1 party anthem series! (which you should 100% check out! it’s such an incredible concept and it’s very addicting. you can find it here)

content warnings: MDNI, emotional conflict, slight smut, blurred boundaries, complicated relationship dynamics

series masterlist

You’re not sure why you agreed to this. Maybe it was to avoid what happened at the venue. Maybe it was because, deep down, you really did want to go back to Sukuna’s place.

You weren’t sure.

That’s what you were thinking as you sat in the passenger seat of Sukuna’s, admittedly nice, car. Clean leather, deep red interior lights, quiet music pulsing through the speakers like a heartbeat. It didn’t smell like him, not exactly. More like winter air, soft cologne, and something faintly metallic. The kind of scent you couldn’t name but would remember.

He didn’t talk much on the drive.

You didn’t either.

And maybe that was the first thing you noticed, how silence with Sukuna didn’t press in the same way it did with others. It wasn’t awkward. It was patient. Steady. Like he knew the words would come eventually and he wasn’t going to fish for them before you were ready.

When he pulled up to the curb outside a tall, narrow building tucked into a dim side street, he glanced at you, not expectantly, but just to check.

“You good?” he asked simply.

You nodded, even if you didn’t fully mean it.

The inside of his apartment was… unexpected.

Clean. Minimalist. Dark wood floors and black walls, lit only by warm, golden track lights and a single floor lamp. A guitar rack stood against one wall, lined with instruments that looked expensive and well-loved. There were band posters too, some framed, some slightly crooked. Not all of them were his.

He toed off his boots by the door and gestured for you to come in. “Make yourself at home.”

You hesitated before stepping fully inside, your fingers brushing the doorframe like you were trying to get a read on the space through touch alone.

“It’s nice,” you said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d be surprised by furniture.”

You snorted softly. “Didn’t peg you as someone who dusts.”

“I don’t. My manager sends someone once a month.”

You wandered further in, pausing in front of a set of black-and-white photos hung over the couch. One showed a younger Sukuna on stage, no tattoos yet, hair longer, his mouth open mid-scream. Another showed his band’s first tour lineup, all in sharpie-scrawled t-shirts, sitting on a cracked curb with fast food bags between their feet.

“You look… lighter here,” you said without thinking.

He joined you, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the photo. “I was.”

You nodded slowly. “What changed?”

He was quiet for a beat. Then: “Success. Pressure. Satoru.”

That last word made your chest tighten.

He didn’t elaborate. Just walked to the kitchen and pulled two bottles of tea from the fridge, same kind he always left on your console.

He handed you one.

“Thanks.”

You both sat on the couch, and for a while, the silence returned. He flicked on a playlist, mostly instrumentals, ambient and slow. Nothing flashy. Nothing with words.

“Why’d you say yes?” he asked eventually.

You turned to him. “To coming here?”

He nodded.

You stared at the tea bottle in your hands. “Because I didn’t want to go home.”

“That all?”

You exhaled. “I don’t know. It’s like, being around you is confusing, but being away from you is...”

That earned a small, sardonic smile. “You’re not exactly easy for me either.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, then turned fully to face you. “You walk into a room and everything feels like it’s about to change.”

You blinked. “That’s dramatic.”

“It’s true,” he said, and there was no teasing in it. “You ask questions no one else does. You make things feel like they’re worth saying out loud.”

You looked away. “Gojo says stuff like that too.”

“He would.”

You turned back. “He’s not a bad guy.”

“I never said he was.”

“You hate him.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened slightly, but he didn’t deny it.

“I respected him once,” he said. “Maybe still do, in ways I don’t like admitting. He was the first person who made me feel like I had to prove myself. I used to think that was a compliment.”

You let the silence settle again.

“He’s in love with you,” Sukuna added, like it wasn’t a question.

“I know,” you whispered.

“Do you love him back?”

You didn’t answer right away. The words tangled up in your throat.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I think I did. Maybe I still do, in that way you love the people who grew up beside you. But he’s… he’s always been my anchor. And lately it feels like I’ve been trying to swim, and he’s afraid I’ll drift too far.”

Sukuna’s eyes stayed on you, unreadable.

You reached for something to change the subject, heart pounding.

“Earlier, when you were teaching me guitar, can we go back to that?”

He blinked. “Yeah. You still interested?”

“Sort of,” you said. “It just felt like something I didn’t have to overthink.”

Sukuna stood up and retrieved a guitar, handing it to you with careful hands. It wasn’t the same one from earlier in the day, no, this one was a deep red. It matched his eyes.

You held it like it might break.

“Relax,” he said, moving to sit beside you. “You’re gripping it like it owes you money.”

You laughed. “Sorry. It’s expensive.”

He chuckled and shifted closer, knees brushing yours. “Here. Try this chord.”

You fumbled. He reached around you, one arm across your back, his hand guiding yours into position.

Your breath hitched.

His voice was low, barely above your ear. “There. Feel that?”

You nodded, unable to speak.

He didn’t move away immediately. His hand lingered on yours. His presence wrapped around you like gravity, quiet and impossible to ignore.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

His breath was warm on your neck. His arm still draped lightly behind you, steadying the guitar, steadying you. You weren’t sure when you’d started leaning into him, or if you had at all, but suddenly the space between your bodies didn’t exist. It was like the air itself had shifted, grown heavier, slower.

“You’re holding your breath,” Sukuna murmured.

You exhaled, shaky, caught.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

He tilted his head just enough for his temple to brush yours. “You always apologize when you get close to something.”

Your fingers tensed slightly around the fretboard. “Close to what?”

He didn’t answer, not directly. His hand ghosted down your arm, knuckles skimming your wrist as he took the neck of the guitar from you and gently set it aside. His other hand landed on your knee, barely touching, just enough for your breath to catch again.

“Maybe it’s not the guitar that’s making you nervous,” he said, voice quiet but deliberate.

You met his eyes.

It was hard not to.

In the soft light, his expression was unreadable again, but his focus was unshakable, like everything about him was wired for intensity. He didn’t look at people, he looked into them.

“I don’t usually do this,” you admitted, voice low.

He gave a slow nod. “I figured.”

You laughed once, awkwardly. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone who notices,” he said.

His hand slid just a little higher along your thigh, resting there with purpose. Not pushing. Not testing. Just letting you feel him.

“Sukuna…” you said, unsure of the rest.

“I won’t rush you,” he said quickly. “If you’re not sure, just say so. I don’t need the wrong kind of silence.”

But you weren’t unsure.

That was the terrifying part.

Your whole body felt like it was strung on a wire, every nerve humming. You weren’t afraid of him, you were afraid of how easy it was to want him. How easy it was to forget the rest of the world existed when his voice dropped to that tone and he looked at you like nothing else in the room mattered.

“I’m not confused about this,” you whispered.

A pause. His gaze sharpened just slightly.

“Then what are you confused about?”

“Everything else.”

That made him smile, small, crooked. But real.

“Good,” he said, leaning in closer until your noses nearly brushed. “Let everything else wait.”

And then he kissed you.

Not cautiously. Not testing the waters. It was deliberate and slow, confident in a way that left no room for doubt.

His mouth was warm, more grounding than dreamy. Where Gojo’s touches always felt like flirting with gravity, Sukuna’s felt like being claimed by it, steady, certain, unmistakably real.

You opened to him without meaning to, lips parting as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands moved to your waist, the other brushing your jaw, holding you still like he didn’t want to let you drift.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath, to feel your pulse in your throat. “This isn’t complicated for you?”

He shook his head. “It could be. But it’s not. Not when you’re here.”

You swallowed.

“Then take me out of my head.”

He didn’t need more than that.

In a fluid motion, he leaned back into you, drawing you into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips on the couch. The guitar was forgotten, pushed somewhere behind you. His hands slid up your thighs, then under the hem of your shirt, thumbs tracing slow, grounding lines against your skin.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said against your throat, even as his lips pressed there, open and slow.

“I’ll tell you,” you breathed, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, though it didn’t sound like a question.

“So are you,” you whispered back.

That got a laugh out of him, a low, warm sound that vibrated against your collarbone. His hand moved higher, palm splaying across your back as he pulled you closer.

Then his mouth was on yours again, hungrier now. Like something in him had snapped once he knew you wanted this too. His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you gasped, heat licking through your body at the sound of it.

You didn’t know when your hands started tugging at his shirt, or when his fingers found the waistband of your jeans, but suddenly you were drowning in sensation. His body against yours. His breath against your skin. His voice, low and wrecked, murmuring things you couldn’t even process as his mouth moved along your jaw, your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, the word barely holding shape in your mouth.

He looked up at you, eyes heavy, pupils blown wide. “Say it again.”

You did.

You said it again and again as the couch shifted beneath you, as his hands mapped out your skin like he was memorizing you, as the last of the distance between you disappeared.

And by the time the room had settled again, clothes discarded in a lazy trail to the floor, your body aching in the best possible way, there was only one thing you knew for sure.

You hadn’t just gone to his apartment to forget what happened at the venue.

You had come here to be seen.

And Sukuna?

He had seen all of you.

You woke to quiet.

The kind of quiet that felt unfamiliar, not the cold stillness of your own apartment, not the background hum of an empty venue. This silence had weight to it. Warmth.

You didn’t open your eyes at first.

There was pressure against your back, steady, strong. A forearm draped loosely over your waist. The slow, measured rise and fall of a chest behind you. You were still tucked under a blanket, curled up in a bed that wasn’t yours. The scent of tea, cedar, and that faint metallic note from last night lingered in the air, now mixed with something warmer. Skin and sleep.

Sukuna.

Your stomach twisted, not with regret, but with the soft jolt of realization.

You’d stayed.

You’d fallen asleep in his bed. In his arms.

And he hadn’t let go.

Carefully, slowly, you shifted your arm and reached for your phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a low glow, casting blue light across the room.

It was past ten.

You blinked.

Two messages at the top of your screen made your stomach drop:

[10:07 AM] Ijichi (Venue Manager):

Hey. You and Ryomen were scheduled for load-in yesterday—everything okay?

And then another, from someone else entirely.

[9:46 AM] SATORU:

Thought you said you needed space.

Guess I just didn’t realize who you wanted space with.

There were several more messages from him, all scattered across the night, each one a little softer… and a little sadder.

[11:12 PM] SATORU:

You’re not answering. That’s fine.

I just wish you’d tell me when things change.

[11:24 PM] SATORU:

I keep wondering when I stopped being enough.

When did you stop telling me things?

[11:46 PM] SATORU:

Sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m just—

I don’t know what I’m doing either.

[12:03 AM] SATORU:

Forget it. Pretend I didn’t say any of that.

[12:19 AM] SATORU:

I hope he makes you laugh the way I did.

Or better. Maybe you deserve better.

[12:47 AM] SATORU:

I keep checking my phone like an idiot.

Why do I do that?

[1:03 AM] SATORU:

I miss you.

Even when I try not to.

[1:26 AM] SATORU:

I’m going to bed. Don’t worry. I won’t message again.

You swallowed hard, pulse tightening behind your ribs. You turned your phone screen over, pressing it to the mattress like that would erase what you saw. Was satoru drunk? Why would he message all those things to you? It wasn’t like him at all.

Sukuna stirred behind you, it ripped you out of your thoughts. 

His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, pulling his arm back and propping himself up on one elbow to look at you.

“You’re tense.”

You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “We missed rehearsal.”

His brow furrowed. “Shit. I didn’t even set an alarm.”

You shook your head, not angry. Just… overwhelmed.

“I’ve got like five texts from Ijichi,” you added. “And a few from Satoru..”

That last part came out quiet.

Sukuna didn’t say anything. You looked over your shoulder at him.

He was watching you, awake now, his expression unreadable again. His hair was mussed and falling into his eyes, and there was a crease on his cheek from the pillow.

He looked human.

“What did he say?” Sukuna asked, voice steady.

You reached for your phone again and turned it around so he could read only the first message.

Sukuna’s jaw ticked just once. “Of course.”

“He’s not wrong,” you said, softer than you meant to. “I didn’t tell him anything. I didn’t even tell him I was with you.”

“You didn’t owe him that.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I owed him something. A conversation. Honesty.”

Sukuna leaned back, resting against the headboard. His voice was quiet now. Careful. “Do you regret being here?”

You looked at him, and you hated that you didn’t have a quick answer.

“No,” you said eventually. “That’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

You sat up, pulling the blanket with you, suddenly too aware of your bare shoulders, of his sheets, of everything intimate and raw that had been left behind from the night before.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “With any of this.”

Sukuna nodded once, like he’d been expecting that.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked.

You hesitated, then shook your head. “I don’t want to go home. I just… need to think.”

He stood up then, grabbing a hoodie from the chair in the corner and slipping it on. “You can think here.”

You glanced up.

His voice had changed, less clipped, less guarded. A little gentler.

“I’ll make something,” he said. “You eat eggs?”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Don’t go ghosting on me while I’m in the kitchen.”

A faint smile curved your lips. “Not planning on it.”

He disappeared down the hall, and the sound of cabinet doors and the hum of a stovetop filled the silence he left behind.

You sat there for a long moment, the smell of coffee starting to drift into the room, mixing with the warmth left in the sheets beside you.

It was quiet again.

For the first time in days, it didn’t feel like running. But how come you couldn’t stop thinking of Satoru?

dividers by @/redroud1 <3

header art by @su2kuna on twitter <3

taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @evilari111 @ssetsuka @not-aya @macchianikato @kitassecretgf @universal-s1ut @kitty-yaps @shinrjj @linaaeatsfamilies @justanothersunflowergirl @nana1344 @bbokariii @reicyberia @bxnfire

[10thmusemoon]

Rotating an older river demon yqy picking up SJ and spending a year or two trying to get him ready to apply for CQMS.

SJ, of course, is paranoid that YQY is gonna eat him and then a little offended that that he isn’t even good enough to eat.

YQY is amused about how many demon-like qualities this kid has and thinks it’s endearing how much he hisses and spits without having any claws or teeth to back it up. SJ thinks it’s pathetic that yqy is so much of a failure of a demon that he can’t even find it in him to kill some half starved kid. He complains and curses, all while secretly pleased at finally having a full stomach and having a demon claw through his hair to put it in a neat braid every night.

SJ enters CQMS with an eclectic fighting style but a lot of practical experience with demons and a nearly useless amount of information about different river beds. As SJ starts to climb the steps he looks back one last time at YQY’s pleasantly smiling face and promises to become strong enough to be recognized by yqy as a proper threat some day.

YQY lingers around the city at the base of the mountain until the end of fall, occasionally seeing SJ when he descends the mountain to look for him. Eventually YQY has to idk hibernate or something and return to the river he used to live on, jokingly telling SJ that if they meet again, maybe he’ll be worth eating by then.

“As if I’d let you!”

When the last of the snow thaws, SJ waits at the base lf CQMS, disappointed when YQY doesn’t return.

In his third year at CQMS, a plain package is delivered to QJP, the characters for SJ carefully written by a clumsy hand. There is no letter inside, only a perfectly polished grey stone with a low thrum of demonic qi. When SJ prods at it with his own qi, a cooling sensation spreads from the top of his head to his the tip of his toes. It brings to mind the countless summer days SJ spent sun burned, complaining of the heat, while yqy sunned on a warm rock or sandy river bank. If he closes his eyes, he could almost picture YQY’s toothy grin right before biting into a raw fish.

Demons don’t experience time in the same way as humans, YQY’s gifts coming sporadically over several years. A knife made from some creature’s bone, a particularly strong rope, an ink stone with something that looks suspiciously like blood in the design’s crevices. A handful of trinkets that could be easily mistaken for garbage slowly accumulates in the qiankun pouch that SJ always carries on his person.

But still no sign of YQY.

Of course SJ looks for him.

He retraces their journey for to the sect, pouring over countless maps to stop at every river or stream. YQY had been already returning to his home when he found SJ, taking an extended detour to take him to a sect.

When thirteen years go by without a single gift or sight of the demon, SJ is reluctant to accept the possibility that his qi-ge might have met his fate at the end of some cultivator’s sword or in the jaws of another demon. The years have washed the details away, he had no way of knowing how strong YQY truly was, or the precise tilt of his lips when he smiled in the way to hide his teeth.

SJ thinks of his time with yqy often, to the point that when he sees a dirty boy digging a hole rubbing a stone tied to a string around his neck, he reacts immediately. The boy looks up at SJ confused, the flush on his cheeks slowly receding with the cooling effect of the stone. Curly hair tied back neatly into a tight braid. Well fed.

Good enough to eat, even.

“You there, what is your name?”

The boy bites his bottom lip, trying to discretely tuck his necklace into the collar of his tunic. Clumsily, he brings his fists up in greeting, looking up at SJ through curling lashes.

“This unworthy one is Luo Binghe, immortal master.”

An itch at the back of SQQ’s brain prompts him to ask, “Luo?”

“For the Luo River, sir.”

[mai505]

Now playing || Reflections by The Neighbourhood

Heimweh

or: A girl away from home finds one in a soldier

No one knew what exactly she was doing. Not her family and her friends were silent they might have known yet their mouths were sealed shut, unbudgingly not spilling a word.

Her parents didn’t even know. A question about her presence was enough to irk the middle aged adults. Her father’s face would scrunch in disgust before spitting something in his own language. Her mother would simply stop short a blank look forcing itself on her face before blocking rapidly the tears appearing in the corner of her dark eyes as she would pretend to now have heard the question and switch topics as fast as she could manage.

It wasn’t that they were ashamed well they certainly were no doubt but they found it quite easier to just forget her instead of embracing the life of shame their daughter led.

Now she yes she was thriving. Growing up under the harsh containments of her obsessive family and hurtful society she found her opening to freedom in no other place but the prison of a school. “Scholarship in Berlin” read the colourful banner as she had walked back from yet another depressive class of mixing alphabets with numbers. It was an opportunity a big one.

So she applied it was the last year of school anyways. She didn’t tell her parent nor her friends. The flyer plucked off the bulletin wall then lay on her desk as she hurriedly filled out the forms before her mother could come home. Then when the front door opened with a jolt the tired looking woman clutching a bag in her hands her gracious daughter didn’t mention that she had just sent off all her life details to a university half across the globe. Even as she sat her mother down the whistling kettle breaking up their conversation as the mother like everyday asked how her day in school was. This had gone on for weeks. She had made sure to keep her school in check she had a bit to get her grades back the academic validation a need for her plan.

So one night she wandered her hometown aimlessly her bag slung across her shoulders the heavy piano book filled with classics and markings of her teacher where he urged her to improve her playing. Her gentle fingers rustled in her jacket pocket as she walked by the neon illuminated grocery store blinking in the dark streets. Fishing the stale coins out of her pocket she swiftly held them to her eyes counting the amount second guessing if it was enough for a baked good. She had used the money for snacks at her piano lesson the fact that she hadn’t practised catching up to her as she buried her head in the thought of counting the M&Ms littering her hand.

Now the result of her snack showed as she picked up the cookie box the sugary treat promising American glee. Just then her phone pinged the loud sound making her flinch and look up at the other customers in embarrassment. Her mother’s consistency to keep her phone on loud had shown. Glaring at the screen she was about to call her mother making up a false excuse of how her bus was cancelled so she walked since it was quicker.

Of course that was a lie she just wanted to clear her head. She always did this and she had a faint feeling that every time her mother called to ask if she had gotten lost it was just to reassure her that her idiot daughter wanted a bit of a break. The screen lit up the proud label of email flashing. She usually didn’t check her email the junk mail folder overfilling yet the headline is what caught her attention. Berlin it read in white letters. Her hand started to shake the cookies a forgotten item in her arms as she opens the mail in the bright light of fluorescent blindness.

She stumbled across the long text searching for only one word „accepted“ there it stood proudly her name accepted. She was accepted. She would leave. She had the chance to leave. The chance to drown the town in a distant memory. To throw away the experiences the thoughts the past. She could start fresh. For the first time in a while hope played along her heartstrings as a wide smile slipped across her lips.

Walking up the bored out cashier she placed the cookies in front of him as he lazily scanned them. She held out the coins before he could respond. The cashier mustered her smiling face joy oozing from her pores. The judgemental stare didn’t go unnoticed by the young woman yet she was over the moon. Nothing could bring her down. Almost humming she walked the rest of the way until she reached the tall apartment blocks.

Outside stood her neighbour like every evening his thin fingers held a dying cigarette between his pale lips as he like the cashier took a double take on the girl. Especially her like clockwork she would come home every Thursday practically glooming muttering a quick hello to the shared building user before pushing the door open letting the metal snap closed. It was clear there was a difference in the way she held herself. Not only the fact that the man could now say he had saw the girl smile for the first time. The dimples deep indents in her cheeks giving her a youthful look.

At the age of 18 she had already slurred around like her daily life was in midst of a mid life crisis yet now she stopped infront of the puzzled man. Exclaiming a cheerful hello she waved at the man before offering him a cookie. It was a strange sight. The overjoyed young woman offering a Paling man cookies the depressing blocks of concrete complementing the dark atmosphere in the gloomy shreds of night. As the man didn’t move to accept her invitation a blank face still stretched upon his features she simply shrugged turning on her head before waving at him moving into the apartment block.

Taking the elevator which surely had broken down at least every month she stopped at the 14. Floor she continued the humming of unfortunate tune as she shuffled through her bag in search of her house keys. Her piano lesson had ended 2 hours ago her mother would be furious. Opening the door she came with no surprise that everyone was still awake. Her footsteps creaked on the dark wooden floor as she hastily undid the closed of knot. Just on time her mother rushed to the hallway catching her daughter in the midst of shrugging off her jacket.

With a pointed glare her mother raised an eyebrow waiting for the overpour of excuses and apologies. Yet it never came. Instead the young woman stood fairly still infront of her mother fidgeting with her jumper. This moved a frown over the older woman’s face at the sight of her usually careless daughter being nervous. It didn’t matter how her daughter tried to play it off she knew something was wrong. She was her mother after all. So in calming tone the young woman asked her adult to sit with her for a talk.

Moving to the old table littered with scratched over the passage of time she glanced at her siblings who seemed intact with themselves gazing at the old TV hanging from the wall. A familiar show played from the system as her brother eyed the sweet treat still unflung in her arms. Her appetite long gone she placed the cookies in her younger sister’s arms as the toddler cooed at her. A deep breath of confidence and bravery filled her as she faced her mother the frown an upset look anxiousness teasing at the corners of her aging face. She fished out her phone opens the email and instead of confronting the issue let her read.

With each passing word spun across the phone her mother got worried in her eyes her daughter was still young she didn’t want her to leave especially to this big city. After a gentle explanation the short fused daughter ignored her mother’s pleading words harshly explaining there was no point in discussing. She was leaving that was the end of it.

As her graduation rolled around her 18. Birthday did so aswell. Coincidentally it was both at the same day. She stood tall infront of her graying mirror the graduation gown signifying her years of hard work. Around the bustle of students she clambered onto her friends celebrating with them each individually proudly standing on the stage they once dreamed about. Yet the ceremony ended and she was left alone.

The deep ache and bitter taste in her mouth as she watched her friend with her family. Each smiling at each other the day one not to forget. The weight of her phone in her gown pocket became heavy as the text her mother had sent her flashed across her mind. A pathetic excuse of work being too much to handle. Her father was a lost cause she didn’t even spend her mind wondering where he was. Yet the hope she held for her mother hurt as her tears pressed against her eyes. Tomorrow she’d be gone. She knew it ,the booked ticket on her desk knew it ,her packed suitcase knew it.

The darkening clouds accompanied her home as the bus shook viciously crossing the gravel road. She stood still as a tree the old woman next to her mustering her since quite a while. “Your graduation?” The aging woman finally asked. With a nod of her head the old woman perked up retelling her graduation in great detail.

As the agonising bus ride came to an end she walked past her usual grocery store. The faint running of the bell signalling her presence as she roamed toward the sweet area picking out a box of muffins and a candle. It had become a weird tradition. When her 11. Birthday had ended with a suprising separation and hateful words from her father she had succumbed to her room lighting a tea candle and eating a chocolate muffin. Since then on her mother was either too busy to actually do something for her birthday or simply forgot to. She never complained though. Her mouth screwed shut internally exited for the little ritual of hers. Paying for the treat she wanders to her apartment knowing no one was waiting for her. Slipping off the gown and sitting in her bed she light the candle and shoved its wax end into the chewy muffin. Closing her eyes briefly she mumbled a wish under her breath before blowing the illuminating stick out. The deafening silence of the flat a familiar feeling as she peels the covers over her body. Tomorrow she promised herself. Tomorrow she leaves.

[lunameimei]

Curly always enjoyed watching f̵̞̲͍̆̓̂̏̕͢ȉ̷̡̛͓͓̫̞͌̿s̸̢̛͓̗͍̟̈́̿̑̓͋h̵̰̘̠̦͗̀̾̋̕͢ͅ

And a version without filters and fish!

[thepie]

Consume.

For together we are one.

[jaynco]

Connector charm concept

[anendtopursuit]

curly's dialogue from the last one and then another (the how fish is made dlc used to promote mouthwashing), because i feel like it's an interesting insight:

it's easy to get on this boat when you have to. you say to yourself, this is just temporary. just until i get what i need. got bigger things planned! then suddenly you're one year in, five years. ten. first i couldn't stand the constant, constant noise. now i can't sleep without it. a lot of things can't follow you out here. but it also means the outside world moves on without you. won't even notice until it's too late... easy to get on, hard to leave.

do you want to hear a joke? three men are in the hospital. the first man cries "i lost both my hands, they told me i'll never work again!" - the second man wails "i lost both my legs, they told me i'll never work again!" - the third man? he rejoices "i lost my hearing, they'll never be able to tell me i'm fired again!" hahahah! good one, huh?

next comes spite. first it stares back at you in the mirror. then it's those around you. they're wearing your face, and you theirs... you know. he joined because of me. what were the words i used? ah, right. "it's a great opportunity. easy money, just a trip or two." someone else's words in my mouth. hey, worked on me as well, right? change hurts, but worse things fester for a long time. i told him as much. i tried, i really did. we're defined by our past, but not slaves to it. we said tomorrow will be different. today would be the last day. the last one. the last one and then another. and another, and another, and another...

[strudeljell]

A

[fishcuitss]

The Last One And Then Another mentioned mwhahaha this is my interpretation of something curly mentions in the very end about the guy he’s unfortunately friends with…

(Play the mouthwashing dlc rn if you haven’t it’s so good)

[swordsandspectacles]

[curlyflesh]

CURLY - the last one and then another (pt.2)

so, curly is sorry for being somewhat complicit. and for being … another cog in the machine, maybe. he should have changed, but he didn’t know the weight of his reluctance until now that “worse things fester.” he claims he tried which is interesting. but unfortunately, he ended up becoming a slave to his past, much like jimmy did (except in a more delusion way)…

“we” said tomorrow will be different, but wasn’t he the one who said that? that “this time won’t be any different” from all the times jimmy has apparently fucked up? or did he say all that because it’s smth jimmy would say? grabs him by the shoulders WHO ARE YOU FIRSTNAME CURLY!!

but alas, it’s the last day. the last one. and then another.

curly is the “last one,” survivor of the tulpar crew.

“and then another” a certain someone haunting his conscience forever.

because instead of making his life one he wouldn’t run away from, he’s having cake with his friend.

…

side note: if the last one curly turns out to not be canon or is just another figment of jimmy’s imagination (bc my Secret theory is that the fish could be jimmy but i digress) then whatever!

see pt.1 for more context

[agentlove]

So the next time you see a raw meat twitching, don't worry, it's safe to eat knowing it's very fresh. 🥩 🎣

[exclusively0ccupied]

how fish is made fan-animation :3 this game seriously deserves more love.

[catastrophic-crisis]

Katamari for freaks.

The Last One and Then Another, an expansion for How Fish is Made by Wrong Organ.

Mouthwashing is planned to release Q1 2024.