do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you
sukuna x reader
summary: the higher ups succeed in kidnapping you and sukuna doesn't know if he'll get you back alive.
w/c: 2.85k
tags/warnings: fluff and angst. reader is kidnapped and gravely injured. depictions of blood. canon typical violence. "good girl". cursing. ft gojo. aged up!yuuji. fem!reader. not canon compliant. no use of y/n. *please mind the warnings for this chapter*
a/n: and finally folks, we've reached the climax of the series. there will only be one more official chapter after this one, so i hope this lives up to expectations. this could maybe be read as a stand alone, but it's certainly better when serving as a culmination to the other chapters. i'm a little nervous posting this, so i'd love to hear your thoughts :)
series masterlist // masterlist
brontë
sukuna isn't sure at first why the name is familiar, but he soon realizes that a great many of the books on your shelf are authored by women of that name, including jane eyre.
though he finds your copy of wuthering heights, written by an emily brontë, tucked away in the drawer of your nightstand, the headphones you'd asked him grab lying on top of it.
he pulls the book from its spot with care, as the cover is worn and frayed at the edges. flipping through the pages, there are quite a few quotes underlined and countless scribbles in the margins.
while you'd forced him to read jane eyre, he tucks wuthering heights under his arm of his own volition. he isn't sure if it's because you've kept this one separate from the others, or because it might give him an opportunity to know you better, or because he's positive it will make you happy, but he does it all the same.
when he steps back into the living room, he drops your headphones in your lap and takes the seat beside you, wasting no time in beginning the first chapter.
"what've you got there?" you eventually question, even though you know the answer.
he doesn't spare you a glance when he responds, "a book."
"oh, yeah? what kind of book?"
he elects to ignore you, which only serves to encourage your mischievous tone. "i thought romance novels were beneath you and your refined taste."
finally looking at you, he narrows his eyes at your childish taunt. "do you want me to read it or not?"
"of course—"
"then i suggest you be a good girl and behave yourself."
your mouth snaps shut so abruptly that your teeth click as they meet, something sukuna takes note of with a raised brow. you're thankful when he returns to reading rather than saying anything more.
so without any additional interruptions, he delves into the tragic story of heathcliff and catherine. or more precisely, the pain and destruction that follows it.
the further he reads, the better he discerns that while you seem to have a penchant for the brontë sisters, they seem to have a penchant for writing about men that are wicked and callous.
the very notion makes him chuckle.
maybe it explains why he's sitting here with your feet in his lap, while you try and fail (rather cutely) to stifle your giggles at some stupid youtube video.
"what?" you ask, taking out one of your headphones once you notice he's staring at you with a small smile.
"nothing. just enjoying the story."
the way you beam in response makes his mouth go dry.
"hah! i knew it! you're a romantic at heart."
you make a big show of pressing your hands to your chest and swooning.
"settle down there," he chides, his hand patting your thigh. "you're getting ahead of yourself."
two days later, sukuna feels that something isn't quite right. it's barely perceptible, nothing more than a minute shift in the atmosphere, but it grows more palpable as time stretches on.
yuuji's mission takes him farther from home than usual, to a little town about two hours outside of the city.
the curse he exorcises upon his arrival is much weaker than he's grown accustomed to, probably only a third or fourth grade.
yuuji doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, or at least, he pretends not to. sukuna thinks that's the problem with optimists— they don't take action quickly enough, too busy wasting their time hoping for the best.
when he returns home late that afternoon only to find your apartment door slightly ajar, his hand hesitates before pushing it open.
he discovers that the living room is littered with residuals, but it's eerie how nothing else is out of place... save for you, who is no where to be found.
in a disbelieving panic, he begins checking all the rooms, not hearing sukuna's frantic voice even though it's coming from inside his own head. "she's not here... idiot, she's not here. we have to go. we have to go now."
he eventually finds a note lying on the coffee table, but even this he hardly processes— something about surrendering himself and sukuna to the higher ups at headquarters in exchange for your life.
"listen to me, brat... you're wasting time... idiot!"
"what?" he barks abruptly.
"she isn't far, a couple blocks to the east at most—"
"it doesn't matter. headquarters is to the west. that's where we need to go."
"have you failed to comprehend a single thing i've said about the higher ups?" sukuna sneers. "they'll kill us, then kill her too. she knows too much about jujutsu society. they won't let her live, and that's if she's not... if she isn't already..."
he can't get the word out.
"no... no, they wouldn't..."
"now is not the time for your blind faith in the integrity of others." sukuna tries again and again to assume control of his vessel, and while the force behind it makes yuuji's head pound, it's no use. "for fuck's sake— please, yuuji!"
it's the first time he's heard the curse occupying his body say his actual name or use the word please, and in a strange way, it seems to ground him to some degree.
itadori yuuji has always been uncannily fast, but as soon as he makes his way out onto the street, it's like his feet aren't even touching the pavement. he appears as a blur to the people he passes by and it happens so briefly that they more than likely disregard it as a trick of the light.
the ruby decorating your neck leads them right to you, a low hum of frequency that only sukuna can hear.
yuuji comes to a stop in front of an old warehouse building. there are several wooden boards nailed across the main entrance, which splinter and fall to the earth under the impact of his impatient fist.
although the people down the hall quiet themselves upon hearing the crash, he can still sense their energy. he just can't seem to pick up on yours.
maybe sukuna is wrong? maybe you're not here after all.
"no," comes sukuna's voice, cold and hard. "she's here."
he makes his way down the stretch of hallway and to an open door where he stops, both of his feet planting firmly on the ground. everything appears to be frozen as he stares at ten sorcerers who quietly stare back.
it's clear they were not expecting yuuji, but he knows the higher ups assigned so many sorcerers just in case he did somehow figure out where they brought you.
he recognizes many of their faces and even knows some of their names, their familiarity no doubt intended to discourage him from engaging them.
after a few moments, yuuji's eyes land on your figure— motionless on the floor.
he has to admit, the higher up have put together a fairly sound plan. it's just that there's one small detail they failed to account for.
a curious and constraining sensation erupts from the center of his chest, and yuuji doesn't quite understand what's happening until he registers he's no longer the one in control of his body.
the king of curses remains completely still as he studies you from afar with a slight tilt of his head, his mind refusing to believe the scene right before his eyes.
when the gravity of the situation finally settles in, a gut churning agony blossoms in his stomach and bleeds into every part of his body. every bone. every pore. every vein.
the entirety of him burns, both inside and out.
the air in the room is heavy, overburdened with hostility and raw power. it makes the sorcerers' knees buckle and they nearly collapse beneath the immense pressure.
as sukuna takes a step toward the nearest person, the edges of his vision turn white.
he moves with deadly precision, at a speed which very few people on earth could even begin to comprehend.
it's a joke how quickly it's all over.
some of them are in pieces. others have exploded into nothingness. a few are burnt to ash.
in his haste, sukuna nearly misses the final sorcerer. he's probably the youngest of them all, cowering in the corner of the room. his eyes are wide with horror and his body shakes with fear.
"p-please, spare m-me. i didn't touch her," he sputters out.
the laugh that follows is utterly humorless. "do you actually believe that makes a difference to me?"
"i told t-them not to hurt her! i swear. that's how i got this." he points to his bottom lip, busted open and swollen. "she even told me she was sorry that i got hurt... that i didn't have to defend her."
this gives sukuna pause and his jaw clenches as he considers what you would tell him right now were you conscious.
so even as every fiber of his being screams at him to end the sorcerer's miserable, pathetic life... he restrains himself and pins him to the wall instead, pressing a forearm to his throat.
"go back to the higher ups. go and tell them that if anyone lays a hand on her ever again, i will ruin them," he spits, venom lacing each word. "i'll slaughter every last one of them. i'll level their homes. i'll take everything from them. tell them this is a promise they shouldn't take lightly."
when sukuna takes a step back, the young sorcerer crumbles to the ground. "i- i- i will."
"then get out of my sight," he growls.
returning his attention to you, his demeanor shifts in every respect.
you're going to be okay. you're going to wake up. he's going to take you home and it will be like none of this ever happened.
but when he falls to your side, his knees meeting the ground so brutally that it cracks beneath his weight, his conviction falters.
your blood is spilt onto the concrete. your skin is cold. he can't tell if you're breathing. he can't feel your heartbeat.
he determines that the gash across your side deserves his attention first and his hands tremble as they move to cover it.
he puts every ounce of power he has into his reverse cursed technique, but your eyes don't flutter and your chest doesn't rise nor fall.
his palms stain crimson, and while blood has never bothered him before, the fact that it's yours forces the bile to rise from his stomach and into his throat.
and his face is wet.
why is his face wet?
why are his lips trembling?
why is his vision blurred?
he wipes at his cheeks, leaving a trail of your blood across his face in the process.
"no," he chokes out. "please, don't do this. you're fine. please, you have to be fine. please."
the king of curses begs, but he has no idea who his desperation is directed toward. maybe it's you. maybe it's the gods. maybe it's some entity that's unknowable to him.
hell, maybe it's just whoever will listen to him. there has to be someone out there, right? something.
unbeknownst to him, and poetic in sorrowful sort of a way, his next pleas are reminiscent of heathcliff's after he learns of catherine's death.
"be with me always"
"stay with me, angel. please don't go."
"take any form"
"hate me for this if you want, for being the reason you're in this mess. you can't hate me anymore than i already hate myself."
"drive me mad"
"i'll read every single stupid romance novel on your bookshelf. i promise i'll play all of your ridiculous card games."
"only do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you!"
"just don't leave me here without you. i don't want to be here without you.
"oh, god! it is unutterable!"
"please," he whimpers.
"i cannot live without my life!"
"you're everything. you are everything. you can't leave me with nothing."
"i cannot live without my soul!"
"i love you," sukuna laments. "i love you."
he doesn't even comprehend the words that have been tumbling past his lips, because they're coming from a part of himself that he long believed to be dead and buried.
it's the part of him that can feel suffering and regret and loss and love.
it's the part of him that you've been painstakingly unearthing whenever you send a smile his way. whenever you curl into his side. whenever you press your lips to his.
and he's so undeserving of it each and every time. he's known that. god, has he known that.
he thinks bitterly of the night you'd walked to the park together hand in hand— when you told him the universe had sent you to knock him down a peg.
turns out you were wrong.
the universe gave you to him, but only so it could take you away too.
and it won't just knock him down a peg. it will fucking destroy him. it will completely and irrevocably destroy him.
this is what he does deserve.
how is it that you can be both his salvation and his undoing?
"i love you," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.
it's ironic that the three words he's never once said in his entire life are the only ones he can manage in this moment.
he hears a quiet sigh escape your lips, but he knows that it's just his imagination— nothing more than the universe playing its final sick joke.
the sun is out and its rays are peeking through the window of your bedroom. sukuna thinks it's despicable.
everything should be cold and dark today.
you're lying in bed half dead and the only thing keeping sukuna's sanity intact is the shallow rise and fall of your chest.
he should go to jujutsu headquarters and deliver a slow, painful death to every single person involved in yesterday's events. then he should turn their headquarters to ash and stand there watching until the wind blows every last bit away.
but more than that, he should be by your side, so that's where he's remained.
it's been nearly a day and you still haven't woken up, so he's taken to performing reverse cursed technique on you every few hours.
yuuji had shoko come by last night and she assured him your body just needs time, but sukuna doesn't intend on taking any chances. aside from the brat, there isn't a single sorcerer he trusts.
so naturally when gojo teleports directly in the middle of your living room unannounced, sukuna moves swiftly to his feet and blocks the doorway to your room.
gojo regards him nonchalantly, hiding his surprise that yuuji is not the one to greet him. "what are you doing... out and about?"
"that's none of your concern."
"right. well, i came to check in."
"that's not necessary."
the two men watch one another carefully, before gojo eventually chuckles. "god, you actually care about her. i guess the whole soul thing should have been proof enough, but i couldn't bring myself to really believe it until now."
sukuna doesn't respond, so the other man continues. "you should know that the threat to her has been... dealt with."
"that so?" sukuna asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
"mhmmm. word of this spread to the three clans and they agreed civilians have no place in jujutsu politics if it can be helped. not to mention your little... messenger. it all caused quite the ruckus for the higher ups."
"i don't think ruckus is enough to deter them." his tone makes it clear that he feels gojo is wasting his time.
"this isn't the heian era anymore, you know. the higher ups may still be the figureheads of jujutsu society, but they have little say when all three clans concur on a matter." receiving nothing more than a blank stare, he adds, "besides, i'm rather fond of her myself, so i may or may not have made certain threats of my own."
sukuna's eye twitches. "anything else you feel compelled to share before you leave?"
"can i at least see her before i go?" gojo questions, peering over sukuna's shoulder.
"if you do not value your life, i welcome you to try."
a sly grin breaks out on gojo's face.
"eager to make good on your promise of killing me from all those years ago?" he pauses, his hand coming to rest on his chin as if he's pondering something of great importance. "as much as i'd love to see you try, we shouldn't wake our precious sleeping beauty before she's ready, so maybe another time."
with that, he disappears, leaving a very irritated sukuna in his wake.
"our," he repeats under his breath, shaking his head. "that unbearable imbecile."
when he turns on his heel, however, the malicious look is immediately wiped from his face because you're awake.
you're awake and peering at him from behind heavy lids.
"hey," you greet in a small voice.
his eyes grow impossibly soft and he sits on the bed beside you, his hand moving to caress your cheek. your skin is warm again.
"hey, angel."
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Don’t Want You Like A Best Friend
17+ content; mdni!
Part I | series masterlist | my Coryo masterlist
summary: You and Coriolanus have been best friends ever since you can remember. You've always thought of him as the protective older brother you’ve never had, but lately, your feelings towards him have changed - not quite so pure and innocent anymore ...
chapter tags/warnings: some best friends to lovers angst and emotional confusion, lots of fluff, slightly ooc Coryo (don't worry, the possessive jealousy borderline crazy obsessive behavior will come in later parts!), a lil smutty treat at the end of the chapter
word count: 5,7k (it’s worth it, I promise!!)
You and Coriolanus have been best friends ever since you can remember.
You’ve grown up together, experienced everything together, with your family living just across the street from Coroy’s family’s apartment.
You’ve been there for each other during the dark days of the war, when both his parents and your father died. You’ve attended the academy together for years.
You’re planning on going to University together as well, though that is still in the future, seeing as it will be a few more months until you’ll both finally graduate the academy.
Really, Coriolanus is such a constant, important aspect in your life, you can’t imagine life without him.
He’s always there for you - whether it be to laugh over a silly joke one of you two made or to hug and console you after a bad day or to look out for you and protect you.
You’re inseparable, really, spending almost every moment together.
Before, you’ve always thought of him as the protective older brother you’ve never had, but lately, your feelings towards him have changed - they’re not quite so pure and innocent anymore.
Lately, you’ve caught yourself staring at Coriolanus more and more often, gaze lingering on his bright blue eyes, his mischievous smirk, his blond curls or his toned, muscled arms or chest.
When he hugs you, you can’t help but notice how good it feels to be pressed against his toned chest, feeling his heartbeat against your skin.
When he reaches out a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, you have to fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into his warm, comforting touch.
When he reaches out to draw you closer, his hand settling possessively on your waist, the first thought in your head is that this - this feels right. You and Coryo together, as close as possible.
And you can’t help but want, no, crave, more of it.
More of Coryo, more of you two together, more of that dizzying, heady feeling you get whenever he touches you that sends your thoughts spiraling and makes your heartbeat go haywire.
You’ve started to crave his touch more and more, always trying to come up with ways to inconspicuously touch him - letting your hand brush against his, laying a hand on his arm to steady yourself or reaching out a hand to brush a stray curl from his forehead.
You feel yourself starting to get addicted to him more and more - and you have no idea how to stop it.
Though, if you’re honest with yourself- you don’t want to stop it.
You want to get lost in this snow storm of feelings.
“Let’s go through this one more time”, Coryo says from his place at your desk, prompting a sigh from you.
“Coryo”, you say, whining, “we’ve been going through this this whole afternoon. I think you’ve got it. Besides, the test is not until next Monday, you’ve got the whole weekend to continue studying - not that you need it.”
“You know that I can’t afford to get anything other than an A on this test, right?”, Coryo replies, sighing.
“And you know that you’ll get an A, even without studying, Coryo”, you reply, finally sitting up from your sprawled-out position on your bed.
You can see Coryo shaking his head, about to say something else, so you hastily add: “Please, Coryo. I know how much you worry about your grades - I get it, I really do. But, you’ve slowly been driving me insane this afternoon, I can’t go through this stuff yet again, at least not right now.”
When Coryo doesn’t reply immediately, you nervously bite down on your lower lip. You didn’t want to sound so mean, but the truth is that he has been driving you crazy this afternoon. You’ve already gone through all your notes of ancient history three times and you really don’t want to go all through 18 pages - front and back, in Coryo’s small, neat handwriting no less - of notes yet again.
Coryo sighs frustratedly.
You look up, only to find his intense gaze fixed on you, his blue eyes boring into yours. “I’m sorry, you’re right”, he says, sighing again and running a hand through his blond curls. “Maybe I just need to take a break-“
“That sounds wonderful”, you say, cutting him off before he has the chance to add a but to his suggestion.
You get up from your bed, walking over to your desk and grab both of Coryo’s hands, trying to get him to get up, but Coryo doesn’t cooperate, becoming a dead weight to you.
“Coryo, come on”, you plead, huffing a sigh of frustration, when he still makes no move to get up.
You take another step closer to him, putting even more strength into the motion of your arms - just when Coryo smirks up at you, before tugging hard on your hands, causing you to stumble forward; right into his lap.
“Asshole!”, you exclaim, pushing against his chest with your hands, but Coryo doesn’t budge.
He just looks up at you with a triumphant smirk, a daring expression in his blue eyes. Daring you to do what exactly, you’re not quite sure. You just know that you’re trapped in his gaze, unable to do anything but look at him and get lost in his blue, blue eyes.
And - this isn’t the first time that something like this has happened lately. In fact, lately you’ve found Coryo’s eyes lingering on you more and more often, his intense gaze seemingly burning you.
And it should frighten you, how much you’ve come to crave the feeling of his eyes on you. And it does, but there’s something else there as well - a yearning for his attention that hasn’t been there before.
The soft sound of Coryo chuckling at your scowling expression draws you out of your thoughts.
“Need some help?”, he asks you, smirking.
You huff a sigh of frustration, trying to push against his chest again - at the same time that Coryo tugs on your arms again, causing you to shift even more forward in his lap, until you’re pressed flush against his strong, muscular chest.
Flustered, you feel your cheeks warming, your heartbeat quickening. Coryo is so, so close to you, you can feel his breath on your skin, his heartbeat under your hands.
And - well, you’re sitting right in his lap, and once you’ve worked through your initial confusion at his sudden closeness, you can feel something else as well. Something hard pressed against your stomach-
Coryo clears his throat then, gently pushing you away. You stumble, disoriented from the sudden motion, but then Coryo’s hand is there on your waist, steadying you.
He leans in even closer towards you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He smiles softly, as if nothing has just happened. “You were saying something about taking a break?”
You swallow, trying to calm your still erratic heartbeat and forcing a smile onto your face. “Sure. How about a snack and some hot chocolate?”
“Finally satisfied with all the torture you’ve put me through today?”, you say, yawning, when you see Coriolanus finally closing his folder - you feel like you’ve been studying for ages and you never want to see his ancient history notes ever again.
He laughs softly, the sound reverberating against your back. You don’t quite know how you’ve ended up in this position - both of you on your bed, Coryo sitting behind you, you sitting between his legs, your head leaning against his chest.
It shouldn’t feel so good, being this close to him, especially after that incident earlier this afternoon- that still has your mind reeling and your cheeks heating up whenever you think about it -, but it does.
In fact, now that you’ve got a taste of it, you don’t ever want it to stop.
You bite down hard on your lip, trying - and failing - to stop this dangerous line of thinking. Because allowing yourself to let your thoughts spiral like this, allowing yourself to feel this nervous, heated energy that’s coursing through your veins, instead of suppressing it, like you’ve done until now - is dangerous.
It will only lead you down a road of heartbreak. Yet you can’t seem to find it in you to hit the brakes and stop.
„Torture?“, Coryo now says, drawing you out of your thoughts. „You seem to be in an awfully good mood for suffering through a whole afternoon of torture.“
You can’t help but smile at his words, though you’re glad that Coryo isn’t able to see it - he’d just call you out and tease you for smiling like an idiot to yourself.
„Yes, well, going through eighteen pages of notes - front and back - four times is torture-“, your words are cut off by a surprised, startled yelp, when suddenly, Coryo starts tickling you.
„No - Coryo, please!“, you manage to get out, but he’s unrelenting, only tickling you harder despite your protests.
Both his hands are wrapped around your waist and your back is pressed flush against his broad chest. And even though you’re still giggling, trying to fight him off, you can also feel that nervous, heady feeling that sends your thoughts and heartbeat haywire again.
You give up trying to fight him off, then, which Coryo immediately notices. He laughs softly, before finally ending his tickling attack and resting his head on the crook of your neck. „Enough torture for today?“, he asks and you can hear the smirk in his voice.
You try to turn around to face him then, but both his hands are still on your waist, trapping you in place. „You’re a jerk, you know that, right?“, you say, though your voice doesn’t sound quite as steady and dry as you’d intended it to.
Coriolanus just laughs, the sensation of his warm breath ghosting over your skin causing you to shiver involuntarily. „You’ve never complained before.“
You huff, rolling your eyes. „Well, you’ve never bothered to acknowledge it.“
„Mhm, that’s probably for the best …“
You roll your eyes again - his answer is just so typically Coryo.
„What, no witty retort?“, Coriolanus asks, but you only shake your head, yawning.
„We both know that you can be quite the jerk, ’s nothing new … besides, it’s late …“, you mumble, trying to suppress another yawn and leaning back against his chest again. It is late - already way past eleven, the street outside your window already dark, safe for the streetlights.
You close your eyes, wishing that you could just stay like this, wrapped in Coryo’s comforting embrace, if only for a short moment longer.
„You’re right, it’s late“, Coriolanus now says. „I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have held you up so long, I should get going …“
„Or you could stay.“
The words are out of your mouth before you’ve thought them through and you can feel yourself flushing again. Now, you’re really glad that you’re still facing away from Coriolanus - you feel like you’d die from embarrassment if he could see your face going beet-red.
„I could …“, he says, his voice uncertain.
„Yes … you, uh, could …“, you say, feeling your cheeks heat up. You’re glad that Coriolanus isn’t able to see it - really, you’re just glad that he hasn’t noticed how weird you’ve been acting around him lately, your heartbeat picking up, your cheeks flushing, your hands getting sweaty when being around him; sometimes just from a single touch or a lingering look from Coryo.
It’s not like you’ve never done this before, like this has never happened before. This wouldn’t be the first time that Coriolanus sleeps over at your place. In fact, he used to do so a lot when you were younger, right after his parents died and he was plagued with nightmares. It stopped happening as often when you both got older, and now, it hasn’t happened in years.
And somehow him sleeping over at your place now seems to be something totally different than him sleeping over at your place when you were both little kids.
You’re not little kids anymore - you’ve changed. You both have. Your friendship has changed, evolved as well.
Coriolanus is still your best friend, the one person you wouldn’t want to live without; but somehow, he’s not just that. He means something more to you as well, something else, something much less innocent than friendship-
„Yes, I could - I mean, only if that’s alright with you and your mother-“
„Sure“, you interrupt him, your voice sounding incredibly high and nervous. Fuck, you think, running a hand through your hair, and trying to calm your erratic heartbeat. „I mean, it’s no big deal …“
Lie.
It is a big deal, but it’s probably for the best that Coriolanus doesn’t know that the thought of falling asleep right next to him excites you way more than it probably should.
Coriolanus laughs softly. „Great … Should we get ready for bed then? It’s quite late and you always take ages getting ready for bed-“
„Just admit that you need your beauty sleep“, you interrupt him, teasing him back. You don’t need to turn around to know that he’s rolling his eyes at your remark.
„Exactly“, he says, dryly, before gently losing his embrace and getting up.
You follow him to the bathroom, your mind still spiraling. Just minutes earlier, you were complaining about going through Coryo’s ancient history notes four times; now, you’re following your best friend to the bathroom that’s connected to your room, to get ready for bed - with your best friend who’s sleeping over.
In your bathroom, you hand Coriolanus a spare toothbrush, a comb and a towel, trying to ignore the tingly feeling in your fingertips when your hands brush against his. But then, he draws you closer with one hand, his hand resting on your waist for just a moment too long and you’re blushing again, the thought that you shouldn’t feel so excited and nervous about your best friend sleeping over already forgotten again.
It takes you quite some time to get ready for bed. Not, as Coriolanus keeps insisting, because of your way too long and time consuming evening routine; but because of him distracting you with his lingering touches and stolen glances - messing your hair up again right after you’ve combed through it; catching your gaze in the mirror over the sink again and again while you’re brushing your teeth; drawing you closer just when you’re about to reach for your night cream.
It’s way past midnight when you’re finally laying down in bed - right next to Coriolanus, who turns to look at you with a soft smile on his face after you’ve reached for the bedsheets, drawing them over you both.
He scoots closer to you, before wrapping an arm around your waist, bringing you even closer to him, your back flush against his chest - the gesture so casual and natural, as if it doesn’t make your heartbeat go haywire.
„Good night“, he whispers, before resting his head on the crook of your neck.
Your heart skips a beat then.
„Good- good night, Coryo“, you manage to get out, your voice wobbly.
You close your eyes, though you already know that actually falling asleep will be almost impossible - how are you supposed to just fall asleep with Coriolanus right there, your back pressed against his chest, his hand on your waist, his head resting on the crook of your neck?
No - you probably won’t even catch a single second of sleep this night.
But somehow, that doesn’t sound too bad. (Not when you get to spend the night like this, with your best friend wrapped around you.)
The next morning, you’re the first one awake.
Coriolanus is still soundly asleep, his even breath ghosting over your skin, causing you to shiver. You’re in almost the same position as you were when you fell asleep, with Coriolanus’s hand on your stomach, his head resting on your shoulder.
You were right, you think, yawning, you didn’t get much sleep. It took you ages to fall asleep, your mind still reeling from Coriolanus’s overwhelming closeness. You must have fallen asleep at some point though, because you distinctly remember waking from Coriolanus tightening his hold on you and muttering some unintelligible.
You yawn again, carefully turning around to face Coriolanus.
He’s still asleep.
You can’t help but let your gaze linger on him, study his face - as if you haven’t already memorized every single one of his features. He looks so calm and peaceful when he sleeps, his expression soft and open.
Without thinking, you reach up with one hand and brush a stray blond curl from his forehead. The motion seems to wake Coriolanus though, because his eyes flutter open, and then he’s looking at you - his blue gaze still a bit disoriented, but you feel caught up in his gaze nonetheless.
„Hey“, he says, his voice still a bit sleepy, „sleep well?“
You quickly withdraw your hand, forcing a smile onto your face. „Well, could’ve been better if you hadn’t snored so loudly“, you say, trying to sound nonchalant.
Coriolanus just scoffs. „I do not snore“, he says, indignant.
No, you think, but you still kept me awake all night long, just by having your hand splayed across my stomach, your head resting on my shoulder.
Still, you force yourself to shrug. „Easy for you to say.“
Coriolanus just scoffs again. But even though he’s annoyed by your comment, shooting you another indignant look, you can’t help but think that you want to spend every single morning just like this.
You want to wake up right next to Coriolanus every morning - something you shouldn’t even be thinking about, but something that you still desperately crave nonetheless.
It becomes a habit, then - Coryo sleeping over at your place.
At first, he only does it after one of your study sessions, once or twice a week. But then, it starts happening more and more often - him sleeping over after a movie night (considering that it took you a lot of convincing to get him to finally agree to a movie night, he seems to be enjoying himself quite a lot, cuddling up to you on your living room couch, resting his head on the crook of your neck, sending your heartbeat haywire) or after an evening of cooking together or after a long evening spent together at the Academy’s library, finishing an assignment for Professor Sickle.
At first, you don’t really think anything of it.
But then, one Sunday morning you’re going through your clothes (for once, Coryo didn’t sleep over at your place, because he and Tigris promised the Grandm’am an early breakfast before helping her out with her roses) and suddenly, you realize that there’s a whole stack of Coryo’s clothes in your closet. Dress shirts, plain shirts, pants, even one of his favorite shirts - it’s all here, in your closet.
Without allowing yourself to think too much about it, you grab a simple long-sleeved grey shirt from the stack with Coryo’s clothes and put it on. (It’s oversized, the sleeves way too long, but you don’t care, the shirt is so soft and comfortable. And besides - it still smells like Coryo, like roses and powder and something else, something that’s entirely him.)
After throwing on some simple, comfortable pants as well, you walk over to your bathroom - and startle when you see the box with Coryo’s things on one side of the big, marble sink. A toothbrush, a comb, even a small tube of Tigris’s face cream that he secretly uses - you’re the only one who knows and he’d made you swear not to tell a single living soul that fact.
You smile at the memory, absentmindedly running a hand through your hair and letting your eyes wander through the bathroom.
But everywhere you look, you see Coriolanus. Everything seems to somehow remind you of him.
That towel on the sink, which is lying neatly folded right next to the box with Coryo’s stuff. It’s one of your own towels, nothing special in your opinion - you’ve got lot of other towels and really, a towel is just a towel - but Coryo insists that it’s softer than your other towels and feels better on his skin.
That old butterfly-shaped hairpin of yours, lying abandoned on the windowsill. You only have to look at it to be taken back to Thursday night when you were getting ready for bed, brushing your hair in front of the great mirror over the sink, when suddenly Coryo walked into your bathroom, your old hairpin in hand.
„That’s the hairpin you got for your tenth birthday, isn’t it?“, he asked, smiling to himself.
You nodded. „Yes, I thought about giving it away, maybe gifting it to my little cousin, because I don’t really think that it suits me anymore.“
Coryo’s smile seemed to freeze at your words. „Really? I still think it looks great, look“, he said, drawing you closer with one hand whilst reaching up with his other hand to place to pin in your hair.
„See?“, he said, smiling.
You laughed, shaking your head. „I mean, yes, it’s beautiful, but I’m not ten anymore, Coryo.“
You wanted to put the hairpin away, but Coriolanus insisted on you keeping it just a little longer - maybe you’d change your mind about it.
You reach for that hairpin now, absentmindedly running your fingers over it. Coriolanus is right, the pin is beautiful, even though it looks a bit worn down after years of usage.
You decide to keep the pin, then. Not because you think that you’ll wear it again, but as another reminder of Coryo.
It is in this moment that you realize that your feelings towards your best friend have changed - you no longer view him as just your best friend.
You no longer want him like a best friend.
You don’t want to be just his best friend anymore - you want so much more than that. You want - no need - his attention, want his lingering eyes on you, want his warm, comforting touch before falling asleep, want to wake up next to him, want to feel his lips on yours.
You tighten your grip on the hairpin, until you feel it starting to dig uncomfortably in your skin, but the pain still can’t distract you from your thoughts and the heavy, crushing feeling in your chest.
Because no matter how much you might want to be more than Coryo’s best friend - to him, you’ll never be anything else. He’ll never see you as anything other than his best friend.
It somehow becomes both easier and harder to be around Coryo after your realization.
Easier, because it means that you still get to be around him, get to talk with him, fall asleep with him at your side, ly next to on your bed while he’s motivating you to study.
Harder, because it means that you still get to be around him - all the time. Looking at him, laughing with him, touching him; fantasizing about him in ways that you definitely shouldn’t think about your best friend.
His presence is almost like a drug to you; addicting and intoxicating, leaving you craving more of it, even though you know that it’s not good for you - in the end it’ll be your heart that’ll be broken.
„Something on your mind?“, Coryo’s soft voice draws you out of your thoughts, his hand absentmindedly drawing circles on your back.
It’s already late evening and you’re lying together in your bed - you wearing one of his shirts, which he noticed with a satisfied smirk earlier, over your nightdress.
You shake your head, thankful that Coriolanus can’t see your face, seeing as he’s spooning you from behind. „Not really, no … just all these papers we’ll have to hand in during the next two weeks …“
„Well, if it’s nothing else …“, Coriolanus says, laughing softly, his warm breath tickling against your skin, but something tells you that he doesn’t quite believe your words.
„Nope“, you say, trying to sound nonchalant, before freeing yourself from Coriolanus’s grip, taking off his shirt, so that you’re left in only your lacy, red nightdress.
The distraction works - Coriolanus’s swallows, the expression in his eyes darkening. „Won’t you - uhm, freeze? If you’re only sleeping in that, I mean, it doesn’t look very warm …“, he stutters - actually stutters.
„Freeze?“, you ask, grinning, „with you right next to me?“
Coriolanus just scoffs, rolling his eyes. It’s a discussion you’ve had quite often these last few weeks - with you convinced that his body temperature is too high, and him convinced that yours is running too low.
Though maybe Coryo does have a point and you always feeling so hot when you’re being embraced by him has more to do with your heartbeat quickening and your palms turning sweaty from being so near to him and less with his body temperature.
Suddenly, Coriolanus sits up, leaning in towards you, before closing both his arms around you, caging you in his embrace. Both of his hands are splayed possessively over your stomach, though one feels dangerously close to your chest.
Though - maybe that is just your imagination running wild with you again.
„Warm enough for you?“, Coriolanus asks, resting his head on the crook of your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin.
You laugh, trying not to squirm - you’re insanely ticklish, something Coriolanus very much know. „Yes, Coryo, more than enough …“
„Hm …“, he laughs softly. „Can’t have you freezing now, can I?“, he adds, reaching for your blanket and draping it around you both.
„Hm ...“, you hum, closing your eyes and leaning your head back against his chest. You feel so warm and content, being so close to Coryo. It’s so easy to get lost in your imagination like that, to pretend that you can actually have this with him, to pretend that this is not just your best friend messing around with you - to pretend that he feels the same way you do.
You stay like that for a moment - Coryo holding you in his arms, bodies pressed flush together.
Then, after a while - you can’t tell whether it’s been only a few minutes or a few hours; time always seems to either stop or pass you by in a blur whenever you’re with Coriolanus - he clears his throat, breaking his embrace.
„It’s late, we should probably try to get some sleep …“, he says, trying to suppress a yawn.
You nod, forcing a smile onto your face. „Sure … can’t have your mind in a foggy, exhausted state when you want to make a good impression in Sickle’s class tomorrow morning …“
Coriolanus scoffs, laying down on your bed.
The moment you’ve lain down as well, he scoots closer to you, enclosing you in his arms. Something he does every night when he sleeps over, though your heart still skips a beat at the action.
This is dangerous, you think. You can’t keep thinking about your best friend like that, can’t keep falling and falling for him-
„Good night“, Coriolanus says - and then he does something he’s never done before: he leans in closer towards you, pressing a gentle, soft kiss to your hairline.
Your heartbeat quickens and you can only hope that Coryo won’t be able to pick up on it.
„Good - good night, Coryo“, you say, your voice shaky, barely being able to get the words out.
Coriolanus laughs, before resting his head on the crook of your neck again.
You swallow, trying not to shiver.
This night, it takes you a long time to fall asleep.
When you wake up, Coriolanus has wrapped himself around you, caging you in between his arms, one of his hands splayed possessively across your stomach, his other hand dangerously close to the hem of your admittedly quite short night dress. (You may have decided on deliberately wearing this particular lacy red night dress, seeing as it has made Coriolanus look at you with a dark expression in his eyes when he’d seen you wearing it once before.)
His strong, muscled chest is pressed flush against your back - though that’s not the only thing pressed against your back.
You feel your cheeks heat up when you realize what this means. This has only happened two times before, and both times Coriolanus was quick to embarresedly scoot away from you when he woke up, realizing that his erection had been pressed against your back.
Now, though, Coriolanus seems to be asleep and in no hurry to move away from you. In fact, he suddenly makes a low muffled noise, his grip on you tightening, his hand at the hem of your night dress moving up even higher until you can feel his fingertips brush over the soft skin of your inner thighs.
You can’t help the surprised noise that escapes you then - even though all of this should feel so wrong; it doesn’t.
It doesn’t feel wrong at all. In fact, you want - no, crave even more of this, of you and Coryo pressed so closely together that not even a single leaf could fit between you, Coriolanus’s hands on you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck.
You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Coriolanus suddenly says your name, his lips brushing against your skin, causing you to shiver.
„Cory?“, you ask, trying to turn around, but his grip on you is too tight, keeping you in place.
Then - your name falling from his lips again, followed by a loud, coarse moan.
„Yes, right there - fuck, so good, so good“, Coriolanus moans, one hand suddenly finding its way under the skirt of your night dress, his fingers moving up higher and higher on your thighs, coming dangerously close to the hem of your panties-
„Fuck!“ Another loud moan, followed by Coriolanus’s hips moving against yours, his erection pressing against you.
Oh, you think, cheeks impossibly warm, biting down hard on your lip to keep yourself from making any sound.
Besides your imagination running wild these last few weeks, one dirty fantasy of you and your best friend chasing the other, this has never happened to you. You thought that it never would happen to you - at least not with Coryo.
Though he’s only caught up in a dream of his own, you try to remind yourself, when his hips move against yours again.
It’s only a dream. But why is it your name that he’s moaning then, not any other? But maybe it’s just a coincide-
Every single thought is wiped from your head, when Coriolanus’s fingers brush over your panties, teasing your clit though the thin fabric.
You can’t help the moan that escapes you then - not when this feels so good, Coriolanus’s fingers teasing over your clit, his hips moving against yours, his lips pressed to the skin of your neck, his other hand still splayed across your stomach.
Coriolanus moans your name again then, his fingers cupping your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties, and you find yourself moving your hips against his, driven by pure instinct.
The low, coarse groan that escapes Coriolanus then has you wanting to squeeze your thighs together, but his fingers are still there, still teasing over your clit.
Suddenly, his fingers start to move, drawing teasing circles over your clit, and it’s all too much for you. Overwhelmed by all the different emotions coursing through you, you tear yourself away from his grip, getting up on shaky feet and walking over to the bathroom that’s connected to your bedroom.
Your head is still spinning when you find yourself leaning against the cold, marble walls of the bathroom, your core still aching, yearning for Coriolanus’s touch.
You shiver, even though you feel too hot, your skin feeling like it’s been set on fire. Coriolanus touched you. Your best friend’s fingers were almost inside you and-
Fuck.
Fuck, you’ll never able to look your best friend in the eyes again, even though all you want is to be as close to him as you were moments ago.
Acting on pure instinct, you shimmy out of your nightdress, letting it fall to the floor, before stepping inside the shower. Maybe a good, cold shower, will help, you think, turning on the shower.
You step back, letting the cold water hit your body. But even though the cold water feels like needles prickling against your skin, you still feel as if your entire body was set on fire, your core still aching and empty.
Almost on their own accord, your fingers find their way to your clit. You bite down hard on your lip, trying to blink back the tears in your eyes that are suddenly threatening to spill.
Still, you can’t help the low moan that escapes you when your fingers find their way between your folds.
You close your eyes, letting your head fall back - letting pure instinct take over, as you fuck yourself on your fingers, wishing that it were Coryo’s fingers filling you up instead.
When you come, it’s with a desperate, breathless cry and images of Coriolanus pressed against you playing over and over again in your mind.
What you don’t know, though, is that Coriolanus has been awake all this time - every single touch was a deliberate, strategic move on his part and you’d reacted even better than he could have imagined. He followed you to the bathroom when you got up from bed, and now he’s watching you come undone from his position behind the door that you forgot to properly lock in your haste.
He feels like he’s going crazy, crawling out of his skin as he watches you screw your eyes shut, throwing your head back. Your breathless whimpers and moans are all that he can hear, echoing through his mind.
Wracked with shame, guilt and desire coursing through him, he shoves one hand into his pants, his eyes still fixated on you.
It only takes a few strokes over his already achingly hard length until he comes undone as well.
And when he unravels, it is with your breathless moans echoing through his mind, his eyes on you, and your name like a bittersweet, deadly poison that he just can’t get enough of on his lips.
sooo ...? please, please lmk what you think, I'm so excited to hear your thoughts!
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