synopsis . Thigh riding with your boyfriend. content . afab!reader, established relationship, teasing, he's kinda mean, slight size kink, degradation, praise, etc. (this is a repost from kamitv)
Your boyfriend makes you drag your drooling pussy all over the expanse of thick thigh while he's leaning back—manspread like some slut—against the couch with hungry eyes and a mean grip on your hips, just for fun.
Groaning a teasing, "You look so fuckin' pretty on me like this," as if he wasn't using you like some sort of entertainment right now.
He loved watching the way your gorgeous face twisted up all needly and nothing satisfied him more than gifting your hand a rude smack when you tried to grab at his cock.
Some fuckin' nerve you had.
Here he was trying to be nice, complimenting you, and let you get off all prettily on his thigh but you wanted to be greedy and reach for his dick instead? Suguru scoffed at you and sliped one of his hands in between your lewdly parted legs just to pinch your clit and listen to the way you whine.
Scoffing at your whole dramatic display, "Aw, what's the matter now, you mad?" He'd go on and tease, just to earn that frustrated pout of yours and smile at the sight.
You'd frown at him fully and your nails would go digging into the skin of his arm where your hand was holding onto, "When I said I wanted to ride you... this isn't what I meant, Suguru."
Your boyfriend only makes the most delighted expression that manages to piss you off even more before he says, "You should've been more specific then, huuuh?" in that mocking tone he knows you hate love so much.
To which you groan and jerk your hips forward as if to make some kind of point. Not that it helps much with the way he steels that hand on your hip and forces your cunt to grind smoothly over the slick mess you've already made on his naked thigh.
And he'd start flexing the muscles of his leg, making sure you really feel the pressure in between your sloppy folds. The whole act makes his cock ache and throb beneath the confines of his boxers but for right now, he couldn't care less. Not when he's got you moaning from his leg alone and making the filthiest expressions even as you complained about how much you "hated" this.
"C'mon, admit it. You're just as into this as I am," Suguru purrs, as if he can't literally feel the way you're sobbing all over his leg—slick dripping down his skin and wetting up all of his thigh. You were literally leaving a trail of arousal on his leg right now so it's not like you could sit there and try to play it off like you didn't agree to do this in the first place. "You're glaring at me like your pussy's not leaking all over the place right now."
You grit your teeth and let your eyes shoot elsewhere. You so desperately wanted to argue him down and deny deny deny the fact that you were actually about to cum from this but, of course, you couldn't exactly do that. Especially not with the way Suguru presses his thumb against your clit just as you roll your hips forward.
"Fuck-," You gasped before your forehead was meeting his shoulder and you began grinding harder against him.
"Uhuh, thereee she is. There's my slutty girl," Suguru taunts—again, as if he didn't place you here himself—a lazy smirk drawing itself onto his flawless features. Then he's turning his lips to your ear and moving both of his hands back to your hips to drag you against him slower, "I missed you like this, baby. So fuckin' needy against me."
You can't help the way your cunt clenches against his thigh when he says that. Not to mention the way he angles your hips to slip backwards and how he motions his leg up and rubs against your clit again. "Goddamnit, Suguru. This.. ah-, this isn't what I w-wanted." You manage to complain as you fight the fluttering of your lashes.
"Yeahh? Poor girlll." Suguru chastises against the crown of your ear. You feel the way his warm breath tickles your skin and he decides to taunt you further with a mean smack to your ass, making you jump a bit in surprise. He scoffs, " You wanted to ride my cock sooo badly, didn't you?"
Groaning again, "You know I did," You whine as your back arches a bit.
Suguru merely cocks his head to the side and looks down at the way you're clinging to him.
He could feel every twitch and nasty trickle of arousal that poured out against his leg so, it's only natural that he flashes that sly knowing smile again, "Oh, is that why you're cumming on my leg right now?"
Sometimes you hated how well he knew your body.
The way he could feel you getting even messier against him was almost more annoying than the situation itself. So, you end up searing into his shoulder, "Shut up-"
"You don't want me to," Suguru cuts off rudely, and of course his smile widens when he hears the sloppy squelch your cunt makes in reaction. "Not with the way I can feel that pussy dripping allll over me. Fuuuck, lean back, pretty girl. I wanna see her."
Do you deny Suguru? Of course not. You don't think you've ever denied this man of anything in your entire life and you damn sure weren't about to start now.
Your upper half leans back oh-so-gorgeously and you catch the way his cock jumps in reaction. Now that makes you smile, hands going back to keep yourself propped up perfectly on his leg as your eyes lowered on the sight of your starved boyfriend and your hips picked up their pace.
Suguru tips his head to the side slowly and his hands dance up and down your body slowly, "So perfect f'me." He whispers, trailing those violet eyes down your figure and pressing his leg up again jsut to watch your folds part nastily, cunt aching against him. "God, maybe I should've put you on my cock instead..."
"Ya' think?" You huff, earning a telling look from him.
"Don't get smart with me, you'd need me to stretch you out on my fingers before that anyway." Suguru argues, scoffing at your confidence. He maneuvers a hand to your ass before lifting you up ever so slightly to catch sight of the sticky muddle of cum you've left there. "Mmh..." He hums deeply, "Can't think of a single time you've taken every inch of me without complaints."
Then he sets you back down and smacks your ass again. To which you're left gasping before a sneaky smile sparks across your lips, "Moaning isn't complaining by the way. Not my fault you're fuckin' huge."
Suguru knew what you were doing when you said that.
Hell, his cock was practically crying to feel you by this point, leaking whorishly against his sweats. He tries to play it off by clearing his throat and raising a brow, "Are you talking like that on purpose so you can get what you want outta' me?"
Your smile widens, "Maybe."
You knew you had him now.
Hence why he scoffs almost immediately and rolls his eyes all sassily before saying, "Well, it's working. Lift those fuckin' hips."
banner art from “Toile No Jimiko To Omukae No Gokusotsu” || perm suguru tags (1/2):
✮ "tengo un delincuente en mi habitación! a vece' me lo meta el pelo y a vece' con condón. tengo un delincuente en me habitación, me lo mete en la cocina y a a vece' en el balcón!"
✮ everyone warned you that getting a public safety boyfriend was a bad idea. too bad a pretty face (and a mean dick game) was all it took to make you forget about that. (or; the one where uni!reader and aki match each other's freak.)
✮ cw/tags: pwp, smut, fluff tho too i swear, its somewhere in here, lust at first sight, situationship but it works out this time, whatever the opposite of a slow burn is, premed!reader, boyfriend/tutor!aki, shes a tiny bit of a bimbo, if you squint, cockwarming, oral sex, they're so fucking nasty. omg, facials, improper use of university furniture, squirting. no beta, we die like. ahem.
✮ a/n: HELLO! Okay so i know its definitely NOT kinktober anymore but... uh... happy valentines day?? lmfaooooo! in honor of the bunny bowl, yall get a slutty spanish song. google the lyrics, you'll understand. enjoy my babies x
✮ wc: 11.5k
EVERYONE WARNED YOU about him. You were a student, he was a Public Safety worker and, after all, all they do is cheat and leave… if they don’t die first. Truthfully, you couldn’t have been more glad that you didn’t listen.
No, Aki Hayakawa was the best boyfriend in the whole wide world.
Your relationship wasn’t exactly expected. In fact, you were fresh out of a break up with a shitty boyfriend the week you met him. Or, well, the week the two of you crossed paths.
One autumn night, as you were walking home from a 5-7:45PM Chemistry lecture, you decided to take the scenic route. Normally, you took the main road – the one that wound through the buildings on campus, took you around the road, and led you right up to your not-quite-off-campus dormpartment.
That night, you decided you quite enjoyed the fall weather.
It was one of those few weeks between October and November where the weather was perfect – the trees were painted with hues of red, orange, and yellow while the faint breeze rustled the leaves, carried them into the street.
The Skyline, they called it – the longer route you decided to take. It had earned the name because it was the only place near campus where you could see the entire Tokyo Skyline, and what better time to explore it than at night, when the city became a sea of golden light?
So, there you were, walking up the length of the dimly lit skyline wearing your Wednesday best – a hello kitty baby tee stretched taut over your tits, a pleated denim miniskirt with a belt, a fuzzy pink Juicy Couture jacket covering your arms, and an amount of midriff that most definitely did not suit the weather. Your platform Mary Janes thudded rhythmically against the concrete, and the only sound to be heard for miles – with the exception of some city noise and a few stoners toking up a bong a little ways ahead – was the sound of your gold jewelry jingling about.
Nowhere near as scared as you probably should have been, you flicked through a playlist on your phone, a grin befalling your pretty, glossed lips when one of your favorite songs came on.
The path ahead was dimly lit. The trees shrouded most of the light coming down from the full moon. It wasn't until you rounded the corner, in fact – lost in thought about what costume you would wear in three weeks for Halloweekend – that you began to feel unsettled.
You had to pass through an alleyway between two tall buildings to get back to your dorm.
Again, not that you were scared, or anything.
You kept telling yourself you weren’t scared – you’d done this walk before, you were tougher than you looked, whatever– but that didn’t stop your pulse from ticking high beneath your perfumed throat, didn’t stop the way your fingers twitched in your fuzzy sleeves like maybe you should’ve just taken the normal route like a sane person.
Then something moved.
A flicker in the corner of your eye – too fast, too wrong, like a glitch ripped out of a nightmare and dropped right into your pretty little walk home. A shape, small but crooked, like a child drawn by someone who had never seen one before. Pointed ears. Needle–thin smile. Eyes glowing like embers in dying ash, hungry and bright.
It tilted its head. Your breath caught.
And then, because of course your life was a fucking joke, the tiny thing hissed – high and shrill, like a kettle boiling in Satan’s asshole – before launching toward you.
Your brain short-circuited. You shrieked – a sharp, startled noise you would absolutely deny later – and suddenly you were running, platforms slapping stone, jewelry chiming frantically like little golden alarm bells. The thing skittered after you, claws scraping, teeth clicking.
You didn’t look back. You really did not want to see it again.
Your heel caught on uneven pavement – because the universe hated you – and you went down hard, ass smacking cold concrete, palms scraping. Pain shot through your thumb as your nail snapped clean in half.
Fuck!
“Oh my god,” you gasped, staring at the broken acrylic like the world had ended. “No, no, no–”
Those were $120 nails.
But there was no time to mourn, because the devil-thing was still coming, and your heart was punching through your ribs, and you were scrambling backward on trembling legs, skirt riding up, knees stinging, breath shaking as you pressed yourself into the corner of the alley, small and desperate and very much regretting your scenic route.
Air shifted – a cold exhale, pressure looming over you. Its claws lifted, casting a jagged shadow across your face. You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers digging into gritty pavement–
And then a wet, tearing sound split the air. A strangled, guttural squeal – cut short.
You screamed anyway, hands flying up, because something had died right in front of you and you were not built for this and–
Silence.
Slowly, trembling, you opened your eyes.
The creature hung impaled, pinned like some cursed insect on a gleaming blade. Blood spread across the pavement, steaming in the cold night air. And behind it – tall, composed, backlit like a dark seraph with a sword instead of a halo – stood a tall man.
Dark hair tied back. Sharp jaw. Broad shoulders that blocked half the moonlight. Blue eyes that seemed to rival the ocean. A poker face, like he did this every night and the universe had yet to surprise him.
He withdrew his sword like the entire situation meant nothing to him. You physically flinched at the sound of the creature’s body collapsing into a wet pile at your feet. Then, slowly, you wiped the goop off of your chin and looked up at him.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, clothes rumpled, one nail ruined forever, adrenaline buzzing under your skin.
You weren’t dead. Furthermore, he was fucking hot.
The man extended a hand down to you, clearly aiming to help you up, but the moment you heard his voice, you damn near melted into the floor.
It was a deep, velvety, dreamy croon of, “Are you alright?”
And, just like that, you were sucked in.
Completely bewitched by him, you accepted his hand and let him tug you to your (unsteady) feet. You swayed a bit, still finding a balance on your shoes, and he caught you before you could take a tumble.
He was tall. Obnoxiously, unfairly tall. The kind of tall that made you feel both tiny and protected and, honestly, kind of stupid for wearing platforms, because even with them, you still had to tilt your head all the way back just to meet his gaze.
Your eyes definitely had little cartoon hearts in them. Whatever. You were a sucker for a Prince Charming.
His gaze flicked over you – your messy skirt, scraped knees, glimmering gloss, trembling breath – and when he spoke, his voice dropped even lower.
“A girl like you shouldn’t be out here alone this late.”
Oh, wow. Yep. That one went straight to the puss. Healthy? Probably not. Did your brain care? Absolutely not.
You stared up at him, heartbeat tripping, sparkles still dancing in your head. “Who… who are you?” you breathed, voice embarrassingly soft. “And how did you– I mean, what are you doing here?”
Like you were trying to piece together reality while your brain was actively melting in real time.
He didn’t answer yet – just looked down at you with that cool, steady calm, sword still dripping in his other hand like it was the most casual accessory in the world – and the only thing louder than the silence was the absolute chaos of your pulse screaming:
This man? Dangerous.
Unbelievably dangerous.
And you?
Unbelievably turned on.
Before you could ask the handsome stranger his name, he answered your question from earlier. “Aki Hayakawa. Lieutenant Captain of Public Safety Special Division Four,” He answered, with the kind of stern tone that suited someone of his position. “I was on my way home from patrolling the area and I heard you screaming.”
He handed you his handkerchief. Without thinking, you took it. Used it to wipe your face.
Oh my god.
He’s a Public Safety Captain.
“You saved my life,” You stated the obvious. Then, quickly, you searched your pockets. You could have sworn that you had a twenty or a fifty tucked away in there. “Here– Let me… Let me repay you.”
“I don’t need your money,” He deadpanned.
You huffed, shoving the fifty back into your pocket, cheeks hot – not from embarrassment, obviously, but from indignation (and maybe the way he was still so close). “I don’t like owing people,” you muttered, arms crossing, even though one of your knees was still shaking from the whole almost-being-maimed-by-a-devil thing.
He didn’t move. You could feel his gaze, heavy enough to press into your collarbone, tracing the lingering tremor in your hands, the stubborn lift of your chin.
“It’s not a debt,” he said, slow, low, like his voice had hands and they were brushing against your spine. “You don’t owe me anything.”
God, why did that make your lungs feel weird?
“Okay, well,” you sniffed, refusing to just stand there being… grateful and flustered and whatever else this was, “I’m doing it anyway.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked – something between faint amusement and disbelief. It made him even hotter. Which was honestly rude.
“I work at the Pink Lotus,” you continued, words tumbling faster than your brain could filter them. “If you ever come by, I’ll comp your first drink.” You lifted a hand, as if sealing a contract in the air between you. “Not because I owe you. Just… consider it courtesy for saving me.”
It was a ridiculous proposition.
“I’ll be there late tomorrow,” you added, trying very hard to sound casual and not like you had just been rescued by the hottest man alive. Then, being sure to bat your lashes real pretty at him, you said; “Come stop by… Lieutenant.”
His eyes flickered – surprise, amusement, something dark and unreadable – and you felt heat spark under your skin like someone plugged you into a socket.
And somehow far too gentle for someone holding a smoking-sharp blade, he replied:
“...We’ll see.”
Truthfully, you weren’t sure where you’d gotten the confidence to ask a Lieutenant Captain out (kinda). Hell, you didn’t even think he would really stop by.
But, there he was, right when you came back from your 15 the next night, perched on a stool at the end of the bar in a suit that looked identical to the one he’d been wearing the night before. He looked like something straight out of a fucking dream.
You turned around before he could see you, straightening out your pigtails, your apron, your obnoxiously low cut shirt (which you wore to get good tips, just like the pigtails).
Shit. He’s here.
Act cool.
Act cool. You inhaled, rolled your shoulders back, then walked over like your legs weren’t stress–jello.
The moment his eyes lifted and locked on you, you felt it – that flash of recognition, something dark and sharp. It stole half of your breath and your entire moral compass.
Oh, he’s bad news.
“Well,” you teased, leaning lightly on the counter like your heart wasn’t punching applause inside your ribs, “look who survived another night.”
A faint curve at the corner of his mouth – almost a smile. “Pigtails, huh?”
The tone slid right through your spine – like a serpent, wrapping its body around your neck until you felt like you couldn’t fucking breathe.
“What?” You teased, “You don’t think I look cute?”
His gaze lingered – slow, deliberate, taking you in like he was cataloguing details you didn’t even know you had. The corner of his mouth dipped, not quite a smile, more like the idea of one he wasn’t ready to let you see yet.
“I didn’t say that,” he replied, voice dipping low. “There’s a better word for it.”
Your pulse tripped so hard you nearly leaned on the bar to stay upright. Heat curled under your skin, fast and embarrassing and stupid and God, why did he get to sound like that?
You bit your lip before you could swallow the reaction down – and his gaze dropped to the movement like he’d been waiting to see it. “Dangerous compliment for a man in uniform,” you murmured, trying – failing – to sound unaffected.
His brow arched slowly, like he was enjoying this more than he should. “Is it?”
Why did his voice sound like that? Why did everything always sound so erotic when he was the one saying it?
You swallowed, fingers curling lightly around a bar rag. “Alright, Captain. What can I get you?”
“Surprise me.”
That tone should’ve been illegal. That voice should’ve been regulated. It made a shiver skate down your ribs and you hated how obvious it probably was.
“I’ve been told I make the best mojitos in the area,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, playful instead of breathless.
“Give me one of those,” he answered. “And whatever you do, don’t hold back on the rum.”
Word.
“Aye aye, Captain,” you cooed, and it came out way more flirty than you intended but there was no saving it now – your cheeks were warm, your pulse fluttering, your hands suddenly efficient and clumsy all at once as you grabbed mint and sugar and ice with the giddy urgency of someone making a drink for a man who could ruin her life simply by existing in it.
You snuck glances at him while shaking the cocktail – and every time, he was already watching you. Languid, a little amused, like he could see straight through your intentions and didn’t mind one fucking bit.
By the time his glass hit the counter, hours – or minutes, who knew – had melted together.
You were leaning forward over the bar, then, chattering with him between orders, chin propped on your hand, neckline of your shirt dipping, voice soft and exaggerated… just for him.
You flirted shamelessly on the clock – smiling too much, laughing too easily, letting your fingers trail the bar top right near his drinks like gravity was tugging you toward him.
And him?
He just sat there, cool and still, sipping your cocktails like the world outside didn’t exist – eyes fixed on you like you were the most interesting thing that had walked into his night.
God, you were in trouble.
So deep in trouble, in fact, that you played right along, batting your lashes and leaning into him like you weren’t still on the job.
“So,” he said finally, voice smooth and low, “do you live around here?”
You leaned forward on your elbows, chin tilted, “Mmhm. Student apartments up a few blocks.”
“The University?” He quirked a brow. When you nodded, he added, “No shit. What do you study?”
For some reason, out of all the flirting he’d done that night, that was the comment that made you blush. “I’m, uh…” You cleared your throat. “Pre-Med. Senior.”
Hayakawa’s eyes widened at that. “Didn’t know I was speaking to a physician. My apologies, doctor.”
You grinned, bright as the sun because no one ever talked to you like that. Most guys never saw past the whole bimbo getup and huge rack. Most guys didn’t care about what you wanted to do with your life.
“Not quite,” You giggled.
“So why a bar?” He asked.
A light shrug, hair swaying with you. “It’s close to my dorm. I walk.”
His eyes flicked briefly toward the door, toward the street beyond it. “You don’t have a car?”
You popped your lip gloss open purely for something to do, reapplying slowly, deliberately, like every swipe might be seen by him and you very much wanted it to be. “Never got my license,” you said with a little bite to your lower lip afterward – shameless, sure, but subtle enough to pretend it wasn’t on purpose. “Guess I like being chauffeured.”
His eyebrow twitched – amused, but not fooled. “Is that right?”
You smirked, leaning just a little closer like you were sharing a secret. “Mm. Makes me feel… taken care of.”
Your pulse was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. But the way his gaze sharpened, softened, heated – all at once – made every ounce of embarrassment worth it.
“Pity. I made the commute on foot myself.”
“Right after work?” You asked. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Aren’t you scared? That walk gets a bit dangerous where I found you,” he hummed, quiet and thoughtful, pretending not to notice your blatant attempt at being irresistible even though you could feel he did. “And dark.”
You traced the rim of a clean glass with your fingertip, eyes lowering then lifting back to him slowly, purposefully. “It’s okay,” you breathed, feigned innocence dripping into a slow grin. “I can handle myself.”
He held your gaze – steady, heavy, fond in a way that punched a hole straight through your chest.
“Maybe,” he murmured, leaning just the tiniest bit forward. “You’re a big girl. I never said you couldn’t.”
And, okay, that line felt like a sucker-punch – somehow hotter than any playful line you’d thrown at him tonight.
Just like that, you were ready to be bent over the counter right then and there.
Who said that?
His voice softened, still threaded with that cool composure but warmer underneath. “If you’d like… I can walk you back. Make sure you get home safe.”
Every bone in your body – all 206 of them – screamed at you that this was a horrible idea.
Not that he would hurt you, but that something would arise from this. It was simple really. A hot Public Safety officer walks into a bar and asks to walk you home, and you hadn’t gotten any action in weeks…
“Don’t want you getting yourself in any trouble again.”
Your brows lifted, lips curling slow. “Oh? And here I thought you wanted an excuse to spend more time with me, Lieutenant.”
All 206 bones.
Shit, I’m tryna make it 207.
His gaze dipped – just a fraction, down to your chest, your lips – then returned to yours with a flicker that made your stomach drop.
God, he’s devilishly handsome.
“Maybe I do,” he said quietly. “You’re awfully trusting of a stranger.”
“You saved my life,” You reiterated.
“So, what, some guy saves the day in an alleyway, and you trust him?”
Your heart actually stuttered, and you fought the urge to fumble your shaker like an idiot.
“Well,” you whispered, all sugar-strung confidence, “if you insist on protecting me, I guess I can’t say no.”
He exhaled something close to a laugh – soft, brief, still unbelievably fond – before settling back in his seat. His eyes dropped down to your hand. “You fixed your broken nail.”
“Oh,” you breathed, trying not to visibly preen at his comment. “Yeah.” Your tone turned playful with the flick of a switch. “You like them?”
Before you could stop yourself, you held your hand out for inspection – way too close to his face, way too obvious – but you didn’t care. He didn’t, either.
A set of long stiletto acrylic nails – pink french tips painted on the tops.
His fingers brushed yours like he had been looking for an excuse to touch you, lifting your hand into his. His thumb traced the sharp edge of a nail like he wanted it to cut him, and it wasn’t sensual on purpose – you could tell – but god, it might as well have been a hand around your waist with the way your stomach flipped.
Your face was on fire. Your pulse felt like it was trying to escape your body. If he didn’t let go soon you were either going to pass out or climb into his lap.
His attention on you alone made you feel like every other man on earth was irrelevant.
You snatched your hand back at the last reasonable second, tapping the bar twice, licking your lips like you meant to look composed. Working. Right. I’m working.
“Ready to settle your tab?” you asked, “I can get you your first drink for free, like I promised.”
He shook his head once. “I’m paying full price.”
You pouted – flirty by accident. “Will you ever let me settle my debt with you?”
He slid his card onto the bar. Not a smirk, not really, just the ghost of one, like he wasn’t allowed to give you more. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “Will you let me walk you back to your dorm?”
Your heartbeat did some embarrassing gymnastics.
Only if you fuck me until I can’t walk.
Damn, must have been the wind.
You twirled a lock of hair, trying to play it cool when your knees already felt weak. “Sure,” you breathed, girlish and smug and dizzy. “Yeah. I get off in a few. Can you wait?”
His answer came quicker than you expected: “I have all night.”
You turned around before he could see the way his words melted every vertebrae in your spine, forcing yourself to focus on polishing down the bar. But your hands shook just enough to give you away.
By the time the two of you reached your building, you were practically buzzing, the night warm around you and your brain absolutely useless from replaying the whole walk on loop. You stopped in front of your door, turning to him with that little grin you couldn’t get rid of if you tried.
“Oh– wait.” You fumbled in your apron pocket, triumphant when your fingers brushed soft fabric. “Let me give you back your handker–”
“Just keep it.” He cut you off, gently, like he already knew what you were doing and wasn’t about to indulge your excuses. His gaze dipped to your hands, then back to your mouth. “You’ll see me around.”
Your pulse tripped. “When?” you breathed, stepping closer – way too close, close enough your perfume hung between you, sweet and shameless.
His eyelids lowered just a little, like this was testing him. “How’s Thursday at seven sound?” He paused the exact right amount of time, like he was letting you feel the weight of it. “There’s this restaurant I wanted to go to. Could use some company.” A beat. “You know… if you want to repay me with your presence.”
Your brain immediately went oh hell yes and also I will absolutely disgrace myself for this man.
You tilted your head, lashes batting just enough to be dangerous. “Are you asking me out on a date, Lieutenant?”
“Depends,” he murmured, voice steady but eyes betraying him. “Only if you want it to be one… Do you?”
For half a second you just stared at him, heat curling up your ribs, breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. Then, bold and stupid with adrenaline, you rose up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek – wicked with intention.
“Have a good night, Lieutenant Hayakawa,” you whispered, stepping away with a sly little sway in your shoulders, like your body couldn’t help but gloat.
You made sure to sway your hips as you walked away. You know, give him something nice to look at.
The date went ridiculously well.
He showed up early, dark button‑down, coat draped just-so, flowers in hand, and your chest already did that stupid fluttery thing before you even smiled. Actual flowers. Wrapped carefully, like he’d thought about it, like he cared.
He held the door, pulled out your chair, tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d been doing it his whole life.
You kept sipping your drink, trying to look calm, trying to act like you weren’t thinking about how ridiculously good he smelled, how close he sat, and definitely not how safe you felt in his company.
By dessert, you were buzzing. Not drunk – not yet – but he made you feel like you were fucking floating.
Of course he paid. You reached for your purse, full of stubborn, independent pride, and he just slid his card forward like it had never been a question. Gentleman, menace, heartbreak in one tall, dark package. You bit your lip, pretending it didn’t feel like a punch of something – something dangerous and thrilling – straight through your chest.
The drive home was a blur of gold streetlights and soft hum of the engine. You were a little tipsy, a little giddy, a little… undone. The world outside the window could have been smoke for all you cared, because sitting there next to him, even across the console, felt like standing too close to fire. Not enough to burn – yet – but enough that you could feel it.
When he pulled up to your building, your stomach knotted.
You turned toward him, soft grin spreading, a little breathless, and teased, “You know… now I owe you again. ’Cause you paid and all.”
Hayakawa – whose name you learned was Aki – didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he just kind of looked at you, like he was savoring your presence.
“I was only doing my job,” He said, “I don’t expect any payment from you. I did it because I wanted to.”
God, this whole chivalrous act is making me wetter than the god damn ocean.
Of course he had to say it like that – all earnest and heroic and stupidly noble – like he wasn’t single‑handedly responsible for the way your stomach was somersaulting and your knees felt suspiciously weak.
Chivalry should have come with a warning label. Side effects may include: dizziness, racing pulse, and uncontrollable urge to bounce on it like a fucking rabbit.
You stepped in closer – close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. Your fingers found the end of his tie, tugging it gently between them.
“That’s a shame, Lieutenant,” you murmured, gaze tipping up through your lashes, “because I can think of one other way I could get even with you.”
It wasn’t subtle at all.
His eyes sharpened. “And what’s that?” he asked, voice suddenly lower.
God, you thought. Your best friend was going to kill you when you told them about this.
“You got anywhere to be tonight?” Soft. Curious. Innocent enough – if one ignored the way your fingers still toyed with his tie.
A smile tugged at his mouth, unguarded and devastatingly attractive. You really were doomed. “No,” he said, nose almost brushing yours, the space between you too thin.
You hummed like this was brand‑new information and leaned in just a hair. “Because it gets sooo lonely living here all by myself,” you whispered dramatically, feigning a pout but failing miserably at hiding your true intentions. “I get scared, sometimes.”
You paused, worried your lower lip between your teeth – then brightened like an idea had just struck.
“Maybe you should come up. You know… in case any scary devils try attacking me in the stairwell.”
He exhaled – slow, amused, and dangerously pleased. His tongue flicked across his bottom lip as he considered you, gaze flicking to your mouth, then back up, like he had to remind himself to fucking behave.
“That simply won’t do,” he murmured, eyes warm and infuriatingly attentive. “Can’t have you breaking a nail again.”
Your smile curled, sweet and wicked in equal measure. “I could use some protection,” you teased lightly, tug still gentle on his tie. “And it’s not every day a tall, strong, handsome officer walks me home.”
A beat. Two. His jaw flexed, slow, measured, but his eyes softened. “Be careful saying things like that,” he said, just above a whisper. “You might have worse problems than a devil attack.”
You tilted your head, letting a slow, mischievous smile spread across your lips. “Oh? And what kind of problems would you be thinking about, Lieutenant?” You traced the length of his tie with a finger, eyes daring him to answer.
And moments later, you had Lieutenant Captain Hayakawa in your bed – pressing you up against the sheets while he nipped and sucked at your neck. His hair was down, tickling your back when he leaned down over you. The taste of his lips lingered – wine, mint, something smoky.
But, fuck, you couldn’t even think straight, not when he was driving you into the mattress from behind like you were a toy. One hand was pulling on a fistful of your hair while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise.
You couldn’t hold back the sounds spilling out of you – high, unsteady, too loud, too needy to hide. He chuckled against your shoulder, breath hot and infuriatingly calm even though you could feel the strain in every inch of him.
“You’re getting loud, pretty baby,” he murmured, voice low enough to vibrate through you. He pressed in closer, chest flush to your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You trying to get a noise complaint?”
You tried to form a retort, or anything that sounded like control, but all that came out was a broken gasp – and his quiet laugh told you he liked that more anyway.
“Careful,” he whispered, tugging you back into him like he wasn’t done proving something tonight. “Keep sounding like that and the whole building’s gonna know who’s fucking you like this.”
As if on cue, you gasped out, “Aki– hah– fuck!”
You didn’t give a shit who heard. You were being fucked within an inch of your life.
Who would have thought that the best dick of my life came from a Public Safety Lieutenant?
“You like being fucked dumb, hmm?” He teased you, but never once did he stop rhythmically pounding you into the bed. Without another warning, he tugged you up by the hair until you were kneeling, fucking you at an angle that had you seeing stars.
Again, again, again, he drove his hips into you, burying his dick so deep inside of you that you couldn’t even think straight.
His hand left your hair to snake its way around your jaw, stuffing two fingers into your mouth to keep you quiet when you began to cry out louder.
Then, before you could stop it, you felt it – something like an urge to pee, but it felt too good to be that. No, you were about to–
“Mnh!” You moaned out, hips stuttering widely while you squirted all over your beloved Lieutenant (and your even more beloved Juicy Couture sheets). The pleasure rippled through you, dripped down your thighs while you made a mess on his cock. The sensation was strong enough to make you double over.
Never done that before, you thought.
He was there to catch you before you could keel over, pulling you back up and craning your head back against his chest while he fucked you stupid. “Shit, You’re so fucking beautiful,” He panted, “Fucking perfect. And you’re all mine, yeah?”
“Fuck, yes!” You shouted, feeling his teeth graze your neck while he kissed his way up it. “‘S yours– all yours–”
At this rate, you were about to cum again, which would set a new record for you. Was it the third? Fourth? You couldn’t remember. One minute, he had been eating you out like a man starved, and the next, well…
“Aki! Oh my fucking God–” The pleasure practically had you melting. You were close. So close. So fucking close. “Fuck me!”
And then his hand slipped up, gentle but sure, fingers claiming your jaw as he craned your head back toward him. The room blurred; your pulse didn’t. His forehead brushed yours, breath shuddering against your mouth like even he wasn’t steady anymore.
His kiss wasn’t frantic – it was deeper than that, reverent, like he wanted to breathe you in before you slipped out of reach. His lips caught yours again, slow and shaking, like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how he fucking tried.
“Perfect. Such a good girl for me. So perfect for me.” he murmured against your mouth, voice ragged and earnest in a way that felt dangerous. His thumb swept the corner of your lips, tender like you were something fragile and holy at the same time. “I need you to cum for me, pretty.”
You swore the world dropped out beneath you at the sound of his voice – not just because of what he said, but because of how he said it.
Like he meant it. Pretty.
Your body was breaking on another orgasm before you could stop it, back arching against him while you let it wash over you.
One heartbeat you were arching against him, toes curling against the sheets, breath shaking – and the next your body seized around a feeling so intense it made sound rip out of you without shape, without thought, without anything except him.
“Aki–” It came out like a strangled prayer, like you were saying his name at the moment your world cracked wide open.
He went rigid behind you.
A sharp, stunned breath broke from his chest – not controlled, not quiet, nothing like the disciplined man who always held himself together. His hand clenched at your waist, his forehead pressed to the side of your neck like he needed you to feel all of him while he followed you right over the edge.
“God–” His voice fractured against your skin, low and helpless. “I got you. I got you, Baby.”
You didn’t even know what your body was doing anymore. Everything pulsed, tightened, unraveled; you shook so hard it felt like something inside you snapped. Your vision blew white. Your lungs forgot how to work. Your fingers dug into the mattress, then into nothing at all.
Somewhere in the rush, you heard him gasp your name – broken, reverent, overwhelmed like the feeling dragged him under just as violently.
And then it was too much.
Your body convulsed once in the aftershock, a trembling, uncontrolled clutch of sensation – and consciousness just… slipped.
Yeah, you came so hard you passed out.
And, around thirty minutes later, you woke up on the couch – groggily trying to make sense of your surroundings before piecing the scene in front of you together. Your thighs, bare. Your body, draped in his dress shirt like a nightgown, a sliver of skin revealed by the buttons that showed a collection of nasty looking hickeys on your tits. And, across the room, a shirtless Aki – doing… laundry?
You groaned, reaching for your sore back, and the sound caught his attention.
He turned around, dumping a cup full of laundry powder into your machine before closing the door and hitting start. Then, with a smile, he walked over to where you were sprawled out like a painting – leaned down and kissed you slowly, gently enough to make you horny all over again.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he murmured again, voice low and amused like he already knew what you looked like right now – dazed, ruined in the softest way.
God, he looked unfair. Hair falling loose around his face, chest bare and sculpted in a way that made your stomach do a little humiliating flip. Light caught on the faint sheen of sweat still drying on his collarbone, glimmering along the edge of muscle like someone had painted him in gold leaf. His slacks hung low on his hips, like he’d dragged them back on in a hurry.
The domesticity of it was what really undid you – the laundry machine humming, the quiet apartment, his stupidly gentle smile aimed only at you.
You blinked up at him, still wrapped in his shirt, and felt that tide roll in your chest again.
“Hi,” you breathed, because your brain apparently only had one syllable left in it.
His smile deepened. Damn him. “Back with me?”
You nodded, but your eyes were already trailing down his torso – the cut lines of muscle, the faint bruises your mouth had left like little trophies across his throat, the dip of his waist before sense stopped you from staring lower.
He noticed.
Of course he did. A soft laugh escaped him – quiet, fond. “Careful,” he teased quietly, brushing his knuckles along your jaw. “You look like you’re planning something.”
You didn’t deny it.
Instead, you curled your fingers into the front of his waistband – just enough to pull him closer. He yielded instantly, knees sinking into the cushion beside your hips.
“I am,” you whispered, tugging him that last inch until his breath ghosted your lips. “Come here.”
His eyes darkened. “You just woke up,” he said, like he was reminding you, like he was reminding himself, voice barely steady. “You sure?”
“Yes.” Your voice wasn’t strong, but it was certain. “Come here.”
He exhaled through a smile, helpless. Not cocky – overwhelmed. Like you could ask him for anything and he’d breakhimself trying to give it to you.
Then he leaned in, not pouncing, not rushing – lowering himself over you slowly, one palm resting beside your head, the other brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek like you were fragile crystal and not the same person who had passed out on him thirty minutes ago while he spilled white hot pleasure deep inside of you.
His forehead met yours. His breath mingled with yours. And then he kissed you again.
“You’re going to kill me,” he whispered against your mouth, voice so soft it made your heart flutter. “And I think I’m gonna let you.”
Your fingers slid up his ribs, slow, savoring, like you had all the time in the world – because right now, in your quiet living room with laundry spinning and your body wrapped in his clothes and his heartbeat pressed to your chest, it felt like you did.
You pulled him down on top of you and he followed, willingly, quietly, like gravity had nothing to do with it.
That became a habit. For a few weeks, the two of you kept seeing each other. It was the same thing every time – he would take you out at least once a week. The two of you started out at your apartment, but before long, the once a week turned into twice. Once at yours, once at his. He would show up to your bar sometimes, too, just to keep you distracted. He would walk you home – date, bar, school, you name it.
You were dickwhipped. You’d met his roommates, his coworkers. He’d met yours. By the time two months of this had rolled around, the two of you had slipped into something so close to a relationship that it drove you crazy.
Why? Because neither of you decided to label it.
One night, when he had brought you out to drink with him and his coworkers at a local izakaya, his partner, Himeno, made a joke to you.
He’d taken his hair down at some point, soft strands skimming his jaw, and the collar of his shirt sat just a little too open from the heat and the sake. Every time he leaned in to say something – to order you another plate you pretended you didn't finish on purpose, to murmur a quiet “you tired?” like it was just the two of you in the room – it sent something embarrassingly warm through your chest.
You, meanwhile, were trying very hard to look normal. You weren’t sure how successful you were. Especially not after last night.
And then Himeno plopped into the seat across from you, chin in her hand, eyes glittering with the kind of amusement reserved for people who know too much.
“So you two are disgustingly cute tonight,” she whispered, already tipsy and delighted about it.
You blinked. “We’re not–”
Himeno raised her brows, slow, dramatic. “You’re not?” she repeated, like she was confirming whether the sky was still blue.
“No,” you insisted, maybe a little too quickly. “We’re not dating.”
A beat. The longest beat in recorded history.
Finally, Himeno smiled wickedly. She leaned forward like she was letting you in on a secret.
“…Does he know that?”
Your brain malfunctioned. Fully short-circuited.
You swallowed, unable to meet her eyes. “I mean… we never… we’re seeing each other, but it’s casual,” you muttered, attempting humor to save face, voice embarrassingly soft.
Himeno snorted into her sake. “Sweetheart, nothing about this is casual.”
Aki finally glanced at you then, lashes low, expression unreadable in the dim light – except it wasn’t. Not to you. There was something in it that made your stomach drop and your heart stumble and your breath go nowhere useful.
Possessive. Tender. A little smug. Like he wasn’t planning on correcting her..
Like the only person who hadn't caught up yet… was you.
And when he quietly nudged your knee again under the table, all you could do was stare down at your drink and try not to combust.
That night, on the walk home, you asked the question.
He slowed a half-step, not stopping but shifting like the question tugged right behind his ribs. He turned his head toward you, eyes dark and steady.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” You swallowed. “Everyone thinks we’re dating. What are we?”
A beat. His brows knit, genuinely confused.
“…Are we not?”
Your heart stuttered. “You never asked me to be your girlfriend.”
There was a flicker in his expression – surprise, then something like embarrassment, like you’d caught him committing a social crime he didn’t realize existed.
“Oh.” He blinked once. “Right. I guess I didn’t.” He scratched the back of his neck, sighing softly. “I’m sorry, I’m not exactly… experienced with this.”
You lifted a brow. “With what?”
He looked away, cheeks faintly tinted – whether from the cold or you, you couldn’t tell. “Dating. Relationships. I just kinda assumed we both knew we were together” His voice dipped a little, and you could hear the edge under it – not aggressive, just possessive in that quiet, Aki way. “We go on dates, don’t we? I take you out. I stay over. You wear my clothes. We fuck. A lot. I don’t do any of that with anyone else.”
Your breath caught. Fair point.
“And you look at me like…” he stopped himself, “I don’t know, I just kinda thought we both agreed to date.”
You nudged his arm, forcing a little smile. “Usually, you ask.”
A frustrated exhale left him – not at you, but at himself. Then he stopped walking, turning to face you fully, snow-melt softness in his eyes and something steadier beneath it.
“Right. Okay,” he murmured. “Let me be clear, then. I want you. I want to be with you – be your boyfriend, If you’ll have me.”
“I want that too,” you whispered.
Something loosened in him, visibly – shoulders lowering, breath easing out. Then he stepped closer, hands warm as they cupped your jaw, and kissed you – slow, sure.
Like a boyfriend would.
When he pulled back, forehead leaning against yours, his voice was soft, almost shy. “So… we’re together, right?”
“We are,” you murmured.
And that’s how you wound up here, seated on his lap with his dick buried inside of you while he helped you study for a history Gen Ed you couldn’t quite understand.
History was a point of contention for you. This was evident to anyone who knew you, and anyone on your Close Friends story who subjected themselves to viewing since you had taken the course up. It seemed simple enough upon registration, truly, I mean, how hard could Japanese History get?
Very hard, apparently. Hard enough that – in a last ditch effort to pass – you enlisted the help of your tired, overworked Public Safety boyfriend. In all honestly, you weren’t entirely sure if he had a historical basis to begin with when you’d proposed a study session. In your eyes, he was the dictionary, the search engine, and the thesaurus. He could have lied to you, and you would never have doubted him. Not even for a second.
So, on the topic of hard things, that’s how you wound up situated on the chair with him, seated on his cock while he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Your eyes traced the length of the paper, scanning the reading. The chair wasn’t exactly built for two, and you had to shift every so often to keep your legs from going numb – that was withoutaccounting for the dull, throbbing need that bubbled in your core.
You tried to focus on the dense block of text about the transformation of the early Edo period, but your mind refused to cooperate. His warmth seeped through the thin fabric of your clothes, through your walls. His breath brushed against the side of your neck each time he exhaled, slow and unhurried, and it kept throwing your concentration off.
Like he wasn’t so deep inside of you that you could hardly think straight.
“You’re not reading,” Aki murmured against your ear, his voice low, more amused than scolding.
“I am,” you muttered defensively, though the words sounded weak even to you. You adjusted again, tucking one leg under the other. His hands instinctively shifted with you, steadying your hips. His thumbs dragged, almost absentmindedly, over the fabric of your skirt.
You swallowed hard, staring down at the same sentence you’d been rereading for the past five minutes. “I’m trying.”
He hummed softly in response, a low sound that reverberated through his chest and into your back. “Doesn’t look like it.”
You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved despite yourself. “You try reading history, asshole.”
“I did. I aced it in highschool,” he countered lazily, “Or maybe, stop squirming and study.”
Slowly, teasingly, his hands inched below the fabric of your skirt, finally hiking it up and exploring the smooth skin beneath. Large hands, warm hands, running their way up your thighs, your hips, then settling on your ass, where they massaged the skin there.
You could feel him, practically pulsing with the urge to move. You could feel his heartbeat, the echo of it deep inside of you, nestled deep, so deep. The sensation was enough to make you squirm.
But he didn’t move, of course, as controlled as ever.
“Read,” he said softly. Not a command, exactly, but close enough that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Start over. Early Edo period.”
You inhaled, steadying yourself, and forced your eyes back to the page. The words were there. Your mouth even formed them, though your voice trembled slightly as you began reading aloud.
“Tokugawa shogunate established–” You stammered. As if on cue, his dick throbbed inside of you, effectively making you fumble your words. “Shit.”
A sharp smack to the side of your thigh – just below your ass – made you suck in a harsh breath.
“Full sentence,” He corrected you. It wasn’t rude, per se, but…
Fuck, it turned you on.
“The Tokugawa shogunate established a centralized government under Tokugawa Ieyasu…” You gritted out. It took every ounce of strength you had left in you – which, admittedly, wasn’t much – to not roll your hips back and forth. Not by much. Not enough to give you what you needed, but maybe he wouldn’t notice.
Maybe, just maybe… it would take the edge off. Just a little.
“Good. Next,” He practically purred into your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe while his thumb rubbed circles on your thigh.
“The daimyo were reorganized through… land distribution and the sa… uh…” You trailed off.
Another quick slap to the side of your ass made you jump, cunt pulsing around his thick cock in a way that had you gasping for air.
“Say it right,” He commanded.
You swallowed, “And the sankin-kōtai system…”
“Good girl,” Aki’s fingers tightened at your side, fingers digging into the plush skin just enough to serve as a reminder – you weren’t getting anything until he was satisfied with your literacy. “And the purpose?”
“To reduce their military… independence,” You panted, squeezing your eyes shut. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple. You wiped it away, adjusting your glasses. “And to ensure loyalty to the shogunate.”
Then, slowly – slow enough that it was hardly noticeable – he began to move you. His fingers, which were gripping your hips like a vice, began shifting them back, then forth. Though the movement itself was small, it was enough to make your breath catch on a moan.
Your boyfriend hummed in approval, chin hovering close to your shoulder. You tried not to lean back into his touch, but it was no simple task. His hands kept moving you just enough to make you lose control – back and forth, back and forth. Every time you felt his cock shift deep inside of you, white-hot pleasure exploded behind your eyelids, shooting down to your toes and making your legs shake.
That’s not fair.
“And the side effects?” He continued. Save for the slight rasp – the slightest breathiness – to his voice, he acted like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Fuck, he felt so fucking good that your mind was going numb. You were desperate – so desperate, that each time you rutted your hips back and felt him press up against that spot that made you gasp and shudder, you fought the urge to pin him down and bounce on it like a fucking madwoman.
“Ec–onomic – hah – growth along the major routes. Inns, post stations, merchants– those developed because of the daimyō processions.”
Aki squeezed your hip. Not praise, but pressure. A reminder that he would stop the second you slipped. Then, seemingly satisfied with your response, he lifted you off his lap ever-so-slightly.
You moved with him like it was second nature, ass bouncing against his lap each time you took him down to the hilt. You felt like you were on fire – a sticky warmth rolling over your whole body in dizzying waves.
“Cultural impact?” He asked, but it was growing to be more difficult to hear him when you were finally, finally getting what you wanted. Not all of it. Not enough to bring you to the edge, but enough to soothe the ache in your core.
“More unified national culture… increased circulation of goods, literature, i– uh, ideas–” You whimpered, glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose.
A smack landed harder this time, biting into the skin of your ass in a way that had your breath fucking stuttering. “Ah–”
Aki corrected you, “Be specific.”
But he didn’t stop moving your hips. No, in fact, he picked up the pace, bringing you up off of his lap a little further, then bringing you back down – fucking you a little harder than before. The wait had been enough to warm you up. You were embarrassingly wet – the slick of your arousal made a mess of the junction between your body and his, running down your trembling thighs and onto his pants.
Not that he seemed to care.
Your mind was going blank. All memory of the material – of the shogunate, of Japanese history as a whole – effectively vanished, replaced by overpowering need.
The only thing you could think of was him, and how good it felt to have him inside of you.
Aki swatted at your thigh again, bouncing you a little harder on his dick. “I didn’t say you could stop.”
“Oh fuck–” You whined, bracing your hands against the desk while he fucked you open. “Baby, I can’t–”
“Yes, you can,” He replied. “You want me to stop?”
“No!” You gasped out, eyes nearly rolling back in your head when he shifted his hips down the seat and began rolling you back and forth. “Fuckkk…”
“Then keep going,” He grumbled, teeth grazing the sensitive slope of your neck when he pressed a kiss there. “I’ll give you everything you want if you can finish this section for me.”
You nodded, trying to regain your composure just a bit – which, again, was rather difficult considering your current predicament. “Ukiyo-e prints. Kabuki theater. Haikai poetry.”
“Social structure.”
“The shogunate promoted Neo-Confucian ideals which sha-aped the four-tier social order – samurai, farmers, artisans… and–” You gasped. “Merchants.”
“You’re doing good. Almost done,” He kissed your neck again. “The purpose of that hierarchy was…?”
Just a few more words.
“To reinforce stability. Social harmony–” His tip caught on your g-spot, then, and you damn near doubled over in pleasure. “And the… political authority of– the shogun…ate.”
I did it.
“…Fuck,” you murmured.
A good moment passed where neither of you wanted to move. Then, there was a subtle shift in his body beneath you and a faint exhale of breath against your skin.
“See, I knew you could do it,” He grinned against your neck. “Good job, Baby.”
His hands slid up your sides carefully, then suddenly, he was standing – lifting you up with him so easily it made your stomach twist and turn. Your chair scraped softly against the linoleum floor as he guided you forward, gently bending you over the desk.
Fuck yes, you thought.
Aki leaned down, forearm muscles rippling as he reached forward to close the text book. His voice dropped a notch, devoid of its previous teasing tone. “You did such a good job,” His lips kissed hot skin, working their way up your jaw. “God, you’re so…”
Your fingers curled slightly against the wooden edge of your desk, fingertips digging into the hard surface. Your heartbeat thrummed loud in your ears. You were painfully aware of how close he was, how deep he was buried inside of you while you desperately tried to regulate yourself.
“You really know how to get what you want from me,” He chuckled.
Then, he was moving. Gently, with a hand on your hip and the other tangled in your hair, he began to thrust his hips forward, and fuck, that was good.
It was too good. Finally, finally, he was fucking you right. A little deeper, a little rougher each time. Your gold necklace tinked against the desk every time he pulled out. It was mind-numbingly good, as it always was. The pleasure washed over you in waves – a warm, honey-thick heat that spread from your chest to your trembling thighs each time he fucked into you.
You were embarrassingly wet from the buildup alone. As you began to rut your hips back to meet him halfway, acrylic nails practically leaving marks in the desk, you could feel it – the syrupy mess of your arousal that dripped down your inner thighs.
You moaned into the hard, unforgiving surface below you – cold oak wood pressed into your cheek while Aki pinned you down by the nape of your neck and made you take it.
“Shit, you’re fuckin’ soaked,” He breathed out – something between a laugh and a groan. You could hear it – the wet noises your greedy pussy made while it sucked him back in. And judging by the way Aki slowed his thrusts to a deeper, more intentional pace, he was listening, too.
“Fuuuck, you hear that, pretty girl?” He teased. “Is that all for me?”
He was so fucking deep – each time he rolled his hips into you, tip pressed as deep inside of you as he could fit, your eyes rolled back, vision blurring from the pleasure. Your mouth was open, drool dripping shamelessly onto the desk because, fuck, it was good.
You reached back as far as you could, grasping at air in search of his hand, something. In response, Aki grabbed it, pinning your arm against your back.
“I asked you a question, Baby,” He reiterated. “Who does this–” he punctuated the question with a harsh slap to your ass. “Belong to?”
“You!” You choked out a gasp as he pressed you deeper into the desk and picked up the pace again – back and forth, until your brain was going numb. “Fuck, Aki, harder!”
You could feel yourself teetering close to the edge of the orgasm you’d been chasing all night – warmth bubbling up in your gut, sensations kicking up a notch while your cunt squeezed his dick in like it never wanted to let go.
Aki – ever the service dom – obeyed happily, snapping his hips against your ass a little harder. Hard enough to make the desk scrape the linoleum floor, wooden shelf thumping rhythmically against the wall you shared with your roommate.
If there was a God, you thanked him for making sure she was out for the night with her other friends. If she had been here, she would’ve thought you were being murdered.
You only got louder when he gave you what you wanted. Your moans bounced off the desk, the walls, and fuck, you didn’t even give a shit who heard. You fucked back against aki, ass jumping each time he bottomed out inside of you. There was almost no resistance anymore – nothing but the sound of your pussy gushing all over him, the sound of both of your gasps and groans.
Aki relented his grip on the back of your neck to brace his arms on either side of you. His biceps flexed as he brought himself a little lower. Then, he snaked a hand around your mouth and jammed his index and middle finger into your mouth.
“You feel so fucking good,” He panted, voice breaking on a whine, “Shit.”
Your jaw hinged open to accommodate his digits. He pressed them against your tongue and then drove into you even harder – hips angled down just enough to have you seeing stars. Your cries were muffled by his fingers, and before you could stop yourself, you bit down. Not hard. Not enough to hurt, but…
Aki groaned at the feeling. “Fuck.”
Edging closer to release, you let yourself fall over the desk, legs falling limp as you let him fuck you within an inch of your life.
You were so fucking close. It snuck up on you. One moment, Aki was kissing up your neck, sucking a bruise onto the tender skin just above your jugular. Then, he was grazing his teeth over the spot, biting gently over the mark, and then–
“Cumming, fuck!” You cried out – though, admittedly, it sounded a little strange. Almost unintelligible – more like a sob around the spit soaked fingers gagging your mouth.
The feeling hit you head on with a force that had you convulsing, hips jumping wildly against the desk, pussy squeezing him for dear life. You came with a disgruntled cry of his name, making a mess all over his dick. You could feel yourself creaming before your ears began to ring.
“Holy shit, Baby,” Aki faltered for a moment, fucking you slowly through your orgasm like he wanted to drag it out all night.
You practically collapsed against the desk the moment you came down. Aki caught you, holding you steady. He paused.
“You okay?” He laughed, breathless as hell.
You looked back at him. He looked just as disheveled as you felt – raven hair a frizzy mess, bangs sticking to his forehead with slick. His face was dusted with that pretty shade of pink that suited his skin tone so well – eyes half lidded, lashes low over his cheeks. His chest rose while he tried to catch his breath – trembling pants leaving his pink lips.
Then, you felt him twitch inside of you. In response, your pussy gave him one final squeeze.
His lips curled up into a grin. “You tapping out already?”
You shook your head. Reaching your weak arm behind you, you pushed against his chest, urging him to pull out. Gently, he did, leaving you clenching around nothing.
On unsteady legs, you turned around, flipping your hair over to one side while you caught your breath.
“I think we’re done studying for today,” You teased, a breathless smile crawling over your face. Your fingers grazed his collarbone, nails scratching his skin. “How much do you charge?”
Aki leaned down to your height, “On the house.”
You pushed him back, watching as he fell into your wooden desk chair. Then, you reached for your tank top and pushed the neckline below your tits, letting them spill out.
Your boyfriend practically groaned at the sight, wrapping a hand around the shaft of his cock like he couldn’t bear the thought of no longer being inside of you. A pretty bead of precum glistened at the tip, but the entire shaft was still wet from your last orgasm – an obscene mess of his and your cum dripping down like something out of a porno. He smeared it around with his thumb. Then, languidly, he twisted his hand around the head, using your juices as a lubricant.
Unable to hide your hunger, you watched him stroke himself slowly – not enough to feel like much, but just enough to take the edge off.
And, as pornographic as the sight was, you really wanted to see your boyfriend’s face when he came. So…
“Pity. I don’t want to owe you again,” You teased him. You walked closer, swaying your hips enough to make your skirt float against your curves. Then, slowly, you lowered yourself to your knees before him, fingers splayed out over his thighs, nails digging into the bunched up fabric of his pants. “Is there any other way I can repay you?”
“I can think of a few,” He played coy.
You smirked, reaching for your glasses before he stopped you with a gentle hand around your wrist. You knit your brows at him.
“Glasses stay on, yeah?” He insisted, tapping the edge of your round lenses with his finger.
He’s so nasty, you thought. Still, with a devilish little grin, you scooted a little closer to him, wrapping your hand around his dick – pretty pink stilettos standing out against his flushed skin. You let a drop of spit dribble out of your pursed lips onto his tip and twisted your hand to get it nice and wet.
Not that there was any need, though. No, he was still coated in a layer of your slick, which made it easy for you to touch him just the way he liked – the way that made him squirm.
“Fuuuck,” Aki moaned, head arching back until the column of his throat was exposed – Adam’s apple bobbing beneath a swallow as he licked his lips. A hickey from last weekend was only faintly visible, a faded mark where your lips had been.
Without wasting another moment, you lowered your head and wrapped your lips around him, finally getting a taste. His skin tasted salty, a little tang that you recognized well from the many times he’d kissed you after making you cum on his face. You licked over the underside, sucking gently on the head while your hand worked up and down his shaft.
You started slowly at first, lips forming a seal around him, cheeks hollowed.
But then, Aki looked down at you like he was so close to breaking and breathed, “You look so fucking pretty, Baby,” and you were gone.
Yeah. I need that, you thought.
You picked up the pace, loosening your jaw and bobbing your head up and down with newfound purpose. You used both of your hands to stroke and twist the rest of him, licking your tongue wherever it could reach.
Your lips stretched to fit him. Aki reached down and gathered your hair into his fist, keeping it out of your face.
And they say chivalry is dead.
“Not g’nna last if–” He shuddered, a broken gasp tearing from his pretty, parted lips. “You keep going like that.”
That was precisely what you wanted. You wanted – no, needed to watch him fall apart above you. He always looked so pretty when he came.
Even still, his body told a different story. He bobbed your head down a little lower, almost like he couldn’t control it. You took the hint, moving your hands out of the way so you could loosen your throat and take him all the way down to the base.
Aki’s reaction was instantaneous. He shuddered, mouth dropping open to make way for more of those deep, satin-smooth moans you loved so much. The sound of him – so debauched, so undone – was enough to have you ready to go another round. “Ah, fuck–”
But this wasn’t about you.
He wrapped your hair one more time around his fist, tightening his grip until you felt him pulling your hair. He looked down at you, face flushed and contorted with pleasure, then licked his lips. With a fistful of your hair, he coaxed your head up and down.
“You take it so fucking well,” He breathed out.
It was hard to keep your throat relax when he was big enough to make your eyes water, but the way his whole body arched beneath you made it all worth it. You let him take the reigns, allowing him to use your mouth to get himself off.
You tried looking up at him through teary, mascara-streaked eyes, glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as he fucked your throat – but your vision was growing blurry. The two of you worked up a rhythm – a nasty ‘gluck’ sound filling the room each time you gagged around him.
“Holy shit,” He worried his lower lip between his teeth. “Fuck, I’m getting close.”
You adored how vocal he was. You slid your hand up over his abs, fingernails grazing hard-earned muscle beneath his shirt, and grabbed his chest. Aki reached down and wiped the tears away from your face.
He looked so pretty.
He fucked your throat a little harder. Mouth open, you let him – spit dribbling out of your mouth and all over his cock every time it bumped the back of your throat. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was looking down at you like was trying to commit the scene to memory.
He slicked his bangs back, and his forehead made a rare appearance. “Shit. Wait– I’m close already, slow down.”
You didn’t listen, squeezing his pecs a little harder while you worked him up to an orgasm. He was panting, lashes fluttering shut. Before long, you felt his legs twitch, and you knew he was about to break.
So you pulled off of him with an obscene little pop, a bridge of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the head of his cock. Then, peering up at him through damp lashes, you jerked him off with two hands – one twisting around the tip, and the other working up and down his spit-soaked base.
“Fuck–” He gasped, hips jumping with sensitivity, and hot damn, you were unbelievably aroused by the sight of it.
“Cum on my face, Baby,” You pleaded with him. “I fucking need it. Please?”
“Mmmh,” He moaned, fingers gripping your hair a little tighter like they didn’t know what else to do. “I–”
“Make a mess, it’s okay,” You teased, stroking him up and down until his breath broke on a gasp. “I’ll clean it up.”
“Fuck– Shit–” Aki gasped out, brows furrowed. He let out the prettiest moan as he tossed his head back and came hard. All over your hand, your face, your glasses – painting your glasses and your open mouth with heat.
He stayed there for a moment, coming down from his high while his chest heaved.
You giggled, letting him go so you could lick his seed off of your fingers.
He looked down at you, lifting his head so he could get a look at your debauched appearance. Your hair was a mess. Your lips were swollen, and you had a face full of his spend.
“Fuck, Baby, I wish I could take a picture of you right now,” He groaned, tugging your lip down with his thumb so he could push the cum back into your mouth. “So fucking hot.”
“Do it, then,” You grinned.
You didn’t have to tell him twice. Aki reached for his phone, swiping into his camera roll before aiming the camera at you.
“Smile for the camera, pretty girl,” He cooed.
You stuck your tongue out, showing the camera what was left. The flash went off once, twice.
“Shit,” Aki groaned. Leaning to the side, he plucked a towel off of your bed – the one you’d just used to shower an hour or two earlier – and wiped your face clean with it. He pulled your glasses off, shooting you that breathless smirk of his that made you fall for him all over again.
You rose to your unsteady feet, allowing your boyfriend to practically drag you into his lap. Once he had you where he wanted you, he grabbed you by the neck and kissed you like he didn’t give a shit what he tasted. You sighed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tangling your fingers into his hair – nails scratching his scalp just the way he liked.
“I love you so fucking much,” He grinned against your lips, “You know that?”
“Love you more,” You giggled.
Yes, Aki Hayakwa truly was the best boyfriend in the entire world.
a/n: happy vday you sick freaks ;) mama loves yalllll -- lmk ur thoughts as always!!!!
creds: i don't own csm obv. credits unknown for banner art! if you know pls lmk... she was unlabeled on pinterest x
ੈ✩ synopsis: aki finds himself in a predicament when you aren't yourself after a mission.
ੈ✩ tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, enemies to lovers, workplace relationships, sex pollen, dubcon for that reason, smut, hate sex, fingering, face fucking, dom!aki and brat!reader, degradation, biting, choking, drunk sex, impact play
ੈ✩ a/n: happy belated thanksgiving yall
It was your fault – it always was. If you hadn’t directly defied Aki’s orders, maybe you’d be conscious enough for him to take you back to headquarters. Enough to stumble back home at least, instead of sprawled out on Aki’s lap in the backseat of a cab. The look he’d given the driver was apologetic, gentle enough to assure that no, sir, I’m not bringing home an inebriated girl to have my way with her. Work happy hour got a little too crazy.
Of course, that was a lie.
Your impulse control was terrible. It didn’t help that your temper was worse than Power’s – at least when it came to dealing with Aki, who hated that you got under his skin in a completely different way. Only one year his junior, you had kept to yourself when you had joined Public Safety. It was only a matter of time for him to find out you were an insolent bitch whenever he tried to exert his authority.
It was supposed to be a sting operation. Take down some yakuza members who had liaisons with certain devils. Easy work for you and Aki.
Despite the mission brief, the two of you had met an entirely different beast. In the back rooms of some dingy bar, the Devil had throbbed and moaned through its leaking pores, its body an amalgamation of every victim that was its prey. The gangly limbs of naked women were encapsulated in a transparent yet muddy flesh.
Before Aki could so much as whip his katana across the dripping flesh, you extended your daggers quicker than he could blink. You were fast. He hated admitting that. A contract with the Snake devil matched your personality, he always thought — you and your venomous tongue.
A quick slash triggered the Devil’s aggression even more, and out came the fumes. You had dropped to the floor with a thud by the time Aki could make sense of his surroundings, his throat burning from holding his breath. He carried you out of the building as quickly as he could.
Now, here you are, sprawled on his couch, chest rising and falling with deep sleep. Aki is relieved for that, at least – the slaying of the Devil was exhausting on his own with you being passed out.
Fuck, he needs a drink.
He opens the liquor cabinet to pour himself a glass of Suntory, cringing at the burn of it sliding down his throat. He glances at the couch to check on you and widens his eyes when he sees that you’re awake. Sitting up, eyes darkened with an emotion he’s never seen in you before.
“Welcome back,” he mutters gruffly.
You say nothing. You only stare back at him, pupils dilated to the max. Transfixed. You’d never looked at him like that before unless you were several beers in, and even then, he ignored the fact. You say his name in a way that makes his insides heat, his heart blanching in the deep pool of your pupils staring back at him. There’s a frisson of wariness that slices through him as he blinks.
“You need water? Hungry? You were out for a while,” Aki offers politely. His fingers strain against his whiskey glass.
You shake your head, still staring at him. You blink slowly. His heart stutters.
You close your eyes, shaking your head again. You scratch the back of your neck, cross your arms in a defensive stance as if you’re trying to fold into yourself.
Your mouth is bone dry and tastes like carpet glue. You want to spit, but Aki’s fuzzy rug looks expensive, so instead you glare at a spot near your feet until your vision stops shimmering. Every cell in your body aches, raw nerve endings sparking against the inside of your skin. Your hands flicker, restless, like you could wring the world’s neck if you tried hard enough.
Aki watches you from his kitchen, shoulders set in a way that’s meant to project calm, but his grip on the whiskey glass is so rigid you expect it to shatter. You think about how long it would take for those fragments to embed under his skin, how much pressure to split the veins on his hand. The thought makes you smile, your lips splitting before you can reel yourself in.
Fuck. The Devil’s not done with you.
You can tell by the way every face and voice in your head smears together, blurring into a chorus. Everything feels raw, open to the air—like you've been skinned. You try to sit still, screw your eyes shut in focus. You try to remember your training, but the memory of the operation keeps looping; flashing back to the Devil’s whine, the glisten of its jelly skin, the gloom-thick stench of lust marbling the air. The need to bite something — someone — buzzes under your tongue.
Aki still hasn’t moved. You can almost see the thoughts grinding gears behind his eyes, all those rational synapses clattering: She’s still high as balls, he’s thinking, need to keep her calm, need to keep her from stabbing me in the chest.
He watches as you hunch forward, elbows to knees, hands knit tight under your chin. Your breath is uneven. The horror of the Devil’s lair should’ve rattled you, but there’s no trembling this time, not even a trace of the shakes you got after most jobs.
Instead, your energy spikes sharp, restless — a low whine in your bones, a hunger that makes your teeth clench. Something is still inside you, and not in the spectral, symbolic sense. The Devil’s residue is in your blood.
Aki sets the glass down. You were always a little unpredictable after missions, but not like this. Not so… untethered. He crouches in front of the couch, careful not to crowd.
“You okay?” he whispers. You open your eyes. Pupils blown wide, almost animal.
Smells hit you: aftershave, briny sweat, whiskey, a bitter-laced edge beneath it all. The air is saturated with him. It makes your head spin, suffocating and sweet. You pick at your sleeve, unpicking a loose thread, then press a fist to your mouth to bite it off, but your teeth won’t cooperate. You want to bite something, but not fabric.
“I’m hungry,” you say, forcing the words past the pressure in your throat, the softness of your tongue. Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. Aki nods, missing what you mean entirely.
“I can heat up some leftovers. And there’s frozen gyoza in the freezer — lemme —” He starts to stand, but you grab him by the wrist. Hard. A strange sensation buzzes in your fingertips.
His warmth floods your palm, so much more solid than you expect. Bones and sinew under skin, somehow both fragile and immovable. You can feel his pulse, not in his wrist but inside your own chest. Aki tries to pull free, politely at first, and then with a controlled twist. You don’t budge.
“I’m hungry,” you repeat, aware that your voice comes out odd, almost childish, stringy with saliva. You want to gnaw him down to the marrow.
Realization passes over his stormy blue eyes. He gives you a look, neutral as possible, like a pane of glass over fear.
“Huh. You’re still under the Devil’s influence,” he says, voice low. “It’ll pass. Just — just hold still for a second.”
He reaches again for his whiskey, but this time you yank him all the way down to couch-level. The bottle tips, and you barely notice. His face hovers a few inches from yours, raven-black hair falling out of its neat tie. The urge to laugh, or bite, boils up your throat. You don’t know which will come out first.
He tries to keep his breathing even, but the scent of him fills your lungs, as deep as the Devil’s maw. It’s a miracle he hasn’t cuffed you already, called for backup, or tranquilized you on the spot. Self-control: the virtue he worships. You ache to see if you can break it.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Aki says, maybe to himself, maybe to you. “You need to just ride it out, okay?”
From this close, he can see the faded mark of a cut that ridges underneath your bottom lip — a nick you’d gotten in a fist fight weeks ago. He remembers the blood, the way you swiped at him with your sleeve and laughed at him for caring. Even then, your face was full of drunken ecstasy, eventually softened with the dullness of cheap bar drinks. There’s nothing soft in your face now — only hunger, deep as a pit.
“No,” you gasp. “I need— I need to get it out.”
The room’s heat prickles your skin, sweat gathering at your collarbone and pooling in the dip of your thighs. Your body feels like it’s stitched together by an invisible string pulled too taut. Muscles at war with your nerves.
Aki’s face, blushing against porcelain skin, radiates a morbid magnetism that you can only attribute to wanting to see a car crash. Your hands shake with the possibility of your touch being destructive, every cell under your skin scraping desperately to the surface in a seething crawl.
Your vision whites out a bit as you feel heat fogging the inside of your skull — a smothering, hormonal blanket. Aki pulls away ands spoons some leftover rice into a bowl as you watch him, the careful movement of his forearms, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he regards you with the wary cadence of someone handling a wild animal. It takes everything in you not to reach for him, to unspool all the tightness in your skin to lick the salt off his sweat.
You’re fucking burning. The stench of the Devil still permeating through your pores, turning itself into something utterly terrible. You can hear your pulse in your ears, static thickening everything. Somewhere across the apartment, the microwave beeps. Aki sets the bowl in front of you and keeps his hand on the rim, steadying it. His other hand hovers level with your face, palm out, halting.
His face in the lamp-lit apartment is tired, blue-shadowed beneath the cheekbones, but his gaze pins you. He’s fighting the habit of walking away, leaving you alone to self-destruct. That’s new. He’s always been a dick about personal boundaries — his and everyone else’s — but right now, for once, he’s not treating you like a bomb. He’s treating you like a person in the middle of coming apart.
You reach out and take the bowl, but your hands don’t quite work. The rice tastes like nothing. Cigarette ash and wet chalk. You feel Aki’s stare on you, and when you look up, he doesn’t flinch or look away.
You want to lie down and float until the next morning, maybe for a week, but Aki hovers with that draining, careful patience that’s almost sympathy. He sits, hands loose, knees apart, breathing through his nose. You can taste the air. Salt. Sweat. Cherry trees blooming in the spring.
He’s waiting for you to come back to yourself. That’s what he does, the professional: waits things out, nurses the process, ignores the mess until it stops being inconvenient. Except you’re not sure if it will, not this time.
You want to tell him: There’s something wrong inside you, and if you can’t get it out, you’ll ruin the room. The staccato itch in your gums, the ache in your bones — if it was possible to peel yourself open right here, you’d claw your ribcage empty.
You eat spoonfuls of rice, bites of gyoza. The meat still feels frozen and the rice feels stale.
“Think I lost my appetite,” you mutter.
Aki glances at you, but you can tell from your peripheral vision that a glare is pulsating underneath his stoic face.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” you bark back. Aki scowls the way he always does, venom spreading on a tongue that he refuses to use because he knows better. He knows you’re incapacitated in a completely unprecedented way, so he doesn’t snap back at you. Just this once.
He mumbles something under his breath and puts away the dishes carelessly as he swigs more whiskey. When he sits down next to you, your pulse jumps at a depth that makes your chest hurt. As if your heart is trying to dive itself down into the deep end of the pool.
“I’ve never seen shit like that, you know,” he murmurs, trying to make conversation. An attempt at casual. “That Devil. I don’t even know if a Sex Trafficking Devil could even be real — not that it’s not a human fear, but it’s too specific.”
“There’s a fear for everything,” you mumble.
You think about how much your heart is lurching, how the cells underneath your skin are thrumming. Yearning for contact.
Lust is what is plaguing you, ultimately. It clouds you too much for you to say it out loud. Instead, you pounce on the person who cares enough to feed you.
The forward momentum knocks the air out of both of you — a dusty cough from your own lungs, a grunt rumbling somewhere beneath his ribs. You pin his shoulder under the cut of your jaw and clamber across his lap, knees punching into the sad couch cushions. There’s a sour, animal joy in the way he tries to block you, hands rigid and hovering at the jagged notches of your hips. The heat under your skin spikes. Every neuron in you is tuned to the need for friction. He’s solid, all sinew and stubbornness. The world teeters on the edge of dizzy white noise.
“Stop it,” he snaps, more bark than bite, but you can taste the fear in it — righteous, responsible. Professional. You ride the tremor of his voice, intoxicated by the pushback, how he refuses to meet your stare even as you press your fever into him. The hardness of his thigh is a dare. You aren’t sure whose heart is hammering harder.
“Make me,” you bite out. Your tongue is numb, every word dragging velvet behind the teeth. You hear him swallow, feel the reverberation of a grunt against your chest. He manages to wedge a forearm between your bodies, not enough to push you away but enough to set a boundary and define the line.
“Don’t,” he says, voice ragged. “This isn't you right now.”
He says it like an apology. Like he’s sorry to remind you of yourself. Meanwhile, you want to crack his name open on your teeth. His cologne — firewood and amber — floods you, making the bitter strand of want under your tongue tingle again. You press your mouth to the hollow above his collarbone, his pulse vibrating against your lips.
Aki says your name, voice tight, and only then do you realize your rough grip on him, fingers fisted in his shirt hard enough to rip. You stammer out an apology, but it feels like your senses are flooded with an offending gas. Sweet aroma, the taste of his sweat.
“Please,” you gasp, the sensation in your throat hideous and radioactive. Your jaw grinds as you rock into him, climbing onto his body into a straddle. “Aki-kun—”
Shame flashes bright in your throat at the high-pitched plea that falls out of your mouth. It’s not like you. Aki knows that, especially, because his blue eyes are bright and wide with shock, cock stirring at the implication of it. You want to open him at the seams, so you’re clawing at his collar, fiddling with buttons with childlike frustration.
“Stop,” Aki scolds. The calmness in his voice is infuriating. He has you by the upper arms now, fingers pinning into muscle.
“No— just let me—”
“No,” he says firmly. “You need to wait it out.”
It goes against everything in your pulse, your state of mind. Bruises you in a pulsating pain. You want skin and weight and teeth and he won’t fucking give it to you. You press your pelvis against his, the ache in your thighs forcing you to press harder, to find a calm within the blizzard inside your bones.
“Just — fuck, please,” you slur into his shoulder, tongue failing. “Need you. Need you to make it better.”
Aki breathes heavily, closing his eyes in a useless attempt at containment. He doesn’t open his eyes as you rock harder into his lap, the wet heat of you stirring his cock in ways he wants to curse God for. You can feel the slightest bit of friction when he’s half-hard, and it makes you laugh, snarling as you dig your fingers deeper into the muscle of his arms.
“No,” he mutters, trying to wrangle your wrists into submission, but you’re able to break free with the whip of your hands. You can feel tears stinging from the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill over. The heat underneath your skin feels unbearable now — you don’t even want to rip him open more. Your urges are reduced to a tiny animal’s, feral and chaotic and frustrating in its repression.
You press your forehead to the knot of his tie, fingers trembling at the steady column of his neck, and say, “Help me.”
Your voice is terribly weak. The gnawing inside you is starting to hurt in a way that feels irreversible. He feels like the only way to drown the ache out, and you’re too frenzied to examine the reason why. You beg in wet gasps, drowning in suffocating heat.
He freezes at your plea. It’s broken, almost pathetic, coming out of your mouth, which doesn’t suit you. It doesn’t sound like your voice. He strokes your cheek like you’re something wild and half-tamed.
“It’s the Devil’s effects," he murmurs, trying to soothe you, "It’s not real. You’ll feel normal tomorrow.”
“It hurts,” you whimper, clutching the front of his shirt. A sob bubbles up raw and ugly in your throat, not even from the excruciating illusory hot flashes from the Devil’s effects, but for the sole fact that Aki refuses to touch you back.
You needed it, needed him. Did he hate you so much to refuse you relief?
The synapses in your brain flash. It’s all too loud in your head. When you look at him, something changes — if he won’t help, you’ll have to take it for yourself, won’t you?
You kiss him.
It's not a gentle brush. Your lips press against his in a collision that leaves his teeth rattling. You grab at his face, palms flat against his cheekbones as if you could climb into his head and startle him into coherence by force. Aki tenses, a hot silver of shock lighting through his body before he jerks his head away, electrified and breathing through his teeth.
“What the fuck —” Aki spits out, his voice strangled. A string of spit snaps between you, embarrassment flashing nuclear inside the both of you.
A dark flush bleeds lightly under the pale skin of his cheeks, settling into his neck that reminds you of sweet prey ready for teeth. You expect him to push you off, grab one of his weapons, summon Kon for the sake of restraining you. Spit in your face and call you worthless. Instead, he only stares at you.
You should retreat. You want to crawl into yourself — the mortification of kissing him breaking through the Devil’s haze to remind you of the reality of your relationship. The humiliation of it all sobers you, makes you square your shoulders, even if the gnawing ache in your chest is about to crawl out into a new beast.
The self-loathing throbs in your throat, shame blanketing your body and turning it frozen. Your brain frenzies beyond the Devil’s heat — fuck, I should apologize, or I could kiss him again and make him want me, or I could run away and find someone else to fuck, or maybe I should kill myself—
Your train of thought is interrupted by Aki yanking you forward by a fistful of hair. His mouth crashes into yours, heat funneling into the narrow point of contact where lips feel like carnations. His tongue slashes into your mouth, furious and unpracticed, hurried as if he's the one affected by the spores of lust instead.
Aki bites you like a warning and you let the pain bloom on your mouth, salty copper bleeding on your tongue. His fingers bunch at the roots of your hair, pulling slightly through the strands. His roughness might make you laugh if you could breathe at all, but you’re too engrossed in the taste of whiskey and blood and the sharpness of his teeth. At least a year’s worth of unvoiced feelings melting into unfettered lust.
You push him hard until his back hits the back of the couch. Your mouth descends onto his jugular, then the side of his neck, chasing his pulse. You bite him hard and he groans, feeling the draw of blood.
“Ow! Crazy bitch,” he mutters, pupils midnight against the moon-paleness of his face. “I should fucking sedate you.”
“You don’t want to,” you slur, teeth bared and taunting. “You like me crazy. You love how much I want to fuck you right now because it’s what you want when you’re sober. Without a fucking Devil.”
You crash your lips to Aki’s again — desperate and rough, teeth catching, defenses breaking like shattered porcelain. Saliva, spit, the resinous taste of his cologne. You claw at him, breaking the buttons of his shirt like you want crawl inside his sternum to feel how he ticks.
He groans as you bite the hard line of his jaw. He fists your hair as you find the skin above his ribs, his own hands going to your hips the way a man might try to cage a rabid thing.
Aki pulls away from you to see you beyond the ruination that his hands will extend. It’s why he blocks out the Future Devil during times like these — he could see your death if he wanted to, the way you’d come undone from his actions with a sob. Anything that could make his cock throb.
“Aki,” you whimper. “Please.”
Your whines raise in pitch as you rut against him. It’s only then, out of his feral haze, that Aki realizes how fucking hard he is. He groans as he feels you through the wetness of your panties, which drips through the thin linen of your trousers.
“Fuck,” he groans, grabbing your wrists, “Wait— wait. Just—”
“I can’t,” you rasp. “It hurts. Hurts so much. Need you—”
He gasps when you pull him onto the carpet, kneeling as your nimble fingers tug down the zipper of his trousers. He was aroused from the moment you kissed him, he realizes. Aki can only resort to calming you down with calloused fingers combing through your hair.
“Shhh, shh— just wait—”
But you can’t wait. Neither can he — not when you’re in between his legs, kneeling with your mouth watering. It doesn’t even feel fair at this point to let you suck his dick — aren’t you the one who needs relief?
Aki takes your hand and pulls you upward, coaxing you into straddling his lap again. You don’t protest, merely kissing his neck with feverish eagerness as you lift yourself enough to tug your trousers off. He groans, every kiss feeling like a branding, like liquid gold burning molten upon his ordinary flesh. Was he affected by the Devil too?
You take a reprieve from kissing to nuzzle into his neck. Of course, this is what makes him freeze — the tenderness.
He had gotten used to your chaos, shed his reservations along with your humility when the fever truly hit you because in the back of his mind, it would always be tongue and teeth with you.
The thought of fucking you would flicker in his brain at the rarest moments. When it did, it was always rough, you attempting to dominate him to prove a point, him putting you in your place just because he could with sheer strength.
He hadn’t prepared for softness.
“Aki-kun,” you sob. “I can’t—”
The pit of his stomach deepens at the sound of your voice.
“It’s okay,” he mutters uselessly, petting your hair.
“No,” you whimper. “F-Feel like I’m gonna die if you don't —”
He realizes, acutely, at this moment, that his dream was never a passing fantasy at all. It was what he wanted most, buried under layers and layers of professionalism, of uncaring faux-placidity that called to logic.
You are nestled at the crook of his neck, tears falling onto him, whimpering out of sheer desperation. Admittedly, this was another passing daydream of his. You being cute. Pathetic. Malleable.
“Please, Aki-kun,” you whisper into his neck. “I want you. It feels terrible.”
He hitches his breath before lowering his hand to the apex of your thighs, gathering your slit upwards to lubricate your throbbing clit. You gasp at the intrusion, your cunt pulsating automatically at the prospect of finally getting filled.
His touch is all knuckles and heat as his hands fumble past the shoddy elastic of your underwear. The wetness startles him, his hand trembling a little as he touches you, like he’s bracing himself for a shock that doubles back through his bones. Maybe he is.
You buck against his fingers, ungraceful, grinding against him like he’s merely an object — a handle or hinge or switch to be thrown. The ragged drag of his fingers against your clit sparks the air inside your head, blowing out every rational thought in your mind and reducing it to the need to come, god, just fucking come, and then maybe you’d stop shaking.
He kisses you again. Catches your mouth and sucks on your tongue as if to wring out the poison from you himself. It’s difficult to breathe. You don’t care much. You want him to suffocate you at the root, lips bruised and sloppy. Fist-fight intimacy, skin to skin in collision. You bite his bottom lip and the guttural noise from his mouth has you careening.
His fingers are long, knuckle-deep inside your pussy until he hits the spot inside you that feels like bruised fruit. The delicious pressure of it makes you whine against his mouth, breathless, eyes rolling back into your skull at the pleasure.
You claw at each other until your shirt is completely unbuttoned. Nails snagging at skin, not knowing or caring if red trails are left behind. Aki’s fingers curl inside, blunt force fucking you open while his thumb rolls around your clit. His other hand seizes a fistful of your hair to control the angle of your mouth, teasing your eagerness by pulling his own mouth further away from you.
You gasp at the slight pain in your scalp, only soothed by the peak growing inside you.
“That’s it,” he sighs. “That’s a good girl. Just listen to me and I’ll take care of you, alright?”
You whimper in response, looking submissive for the first time in your life. He feels fucking insane as he overstimulates you, watches the tears flow from your eyes.
Aki cants your hips forward, the knuckles of his hand rough and merciless in the way they work you open, and your soggy cunt pulses around his fingers with such frantic need that your vision flickers with motes of black. His teeth scrapes your jaw, biting deep at the bone and bruising your resolve to fight back. You’re broken apart for him, humiliating in its helpless immediacy, and the aftershock leaves every muscle in your legs fluttering at the edges.
“Aki—”
“Shut up,” he grits. “Shut up and fucking come on my fingers.”
The room fades away until it’s just you and him and the ache. Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, the dusty warmth of whiskey radiating from his neck mixing with the sweetest aroma that you would only be able to describe as otherworldly. It had to be the Devil’s doing. You’re coming on his fingers alone and everything feels like daisies.
He groans as he watches you come. As your body relaxes from your high, you feel the precise shape of his cock underneath you. You wriggle against him, hard enough to grind your clit against the head of his cock. He grunts like he’s been punched, making you want to rub harder, to coax him through the threshold of his pants.
He pulls his hand free with a noise, then smears your wetness along the hungry seam of your mouth. The taste of yourself is sharp and musky and obscene, and you lick his fingers despite it, kitten-like. He grunts and pushes his fingers onto your tongue. You can feel the violence of his dislike for you sizzling under the surface, even as he thumbs your lips and pulls them open for a real kiss.
You let him have you. There is nothing left to do. The Devil’s heat left you helpless, skin flayed into strips, but his touch is the salve now, the only way to cool the fever thrumming through your bones. He sits back, spreading his knees, the tent in his pants lurid and obvious. You want to laugh in his face, tease him about it, but your voice is broken. All you can manage is a hungry gasp of his name, soft and desperate through the tears you’d almost forgotten were pooling in your eyes.
You paw at his crotch frantically. With a groan, he yanks your hands away and you make the most pathetic noise.
“I need—”
“Calm down,” he commands sternly. “I won’t fuck you if you’re not patient.”
“I feel like I’m dying —”
He grabs your face roughly, squeezing your cheeks with his long fingers. “Go into my bedroom and wait for me there. Make sure all your clothes are off and fucking behave.”
He watches your face sour like a child’s and his lips almost quirk up at how it’s a reprieve from whatever beast is inside you at the moment. His eyes glance at your pert ass, the soaked lace of your underwear taunting him as you walk to the bedroom.
Aki swears under his breath and drinks another gulpful of whiskey. Takes his gun out of his holster and morbidly contemplates how worse this can get. Whatever (unfortunately common) dream this was of his, the image of you nearly naked in his apartment, it had manifested into a nasty curse. He’d have to live with the fever of it.
Anticipation sparks up your arms and across your shoulders as you enter his bedroom. You’ve never once slept in his bed, never crossed this particular threshold except to rifle his room for evidence of pssible embarrassing secrets. There isn’t much: the linen is stark, the books beside the low bed are dog-eared as hell, the closet so empty you can count every hanger. The only things out of place are your own, scattered in a pathetic trail: panties, blouse, blazer. All a little torn. All smelling like the inside of his jacket now.
You want to stuff your mouth with the pillow and scream through it. Instead, you flop onto your back, blood humming in hot, angry pulses. You’re so wet you half expect a slick mark to stain the sheets when you sit up again.
You hear Aki’s footsteps before you see him, deliberate and mean. There’s nothing of his usual stiffness when he enters; his shirt is already unbuttoned, sleeves rolling back to the torque of his forearms. Black hair down, tie discarded. It’s obscene how self-contained he is while you twitch on the mattress like a deboned fish. The assessment in his eyes is flat, clinical.
He flashes you a stern look and you lay back down on your elbows, scowling like a rejected dog. He almost wants to laugh. He sighs instead.
“I should fuck your mouth with the way you’ve been acting,” he grunts. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
You pretend your mouth doesn’t water. He can see the flash in your eyes, the tantalizing glint displaying what’s probably going on in your head right now. Better not poke the bear if he’s supposed to tame it.
The thought of it makes your mouth salt over, thick and selfish. He should fuck your mouth. For the sin of biting him, for the humiliation of lust collapsing your body so quickly, for the crime of wanting, more deeply than air, the specifically horrid, beautiful taste of Aki.
He stands at the edge of the bed, gaze raking you up and down, and the lines at his mouth are deeper than you’ve ever seen them. He’s so still, even the breath in his nose is almost silent. Disgust, amusement, hunger — you can’t tell which occupies more of his face. He doesn’t smell like soap, just that flat chemical of his body, maybe some lingering pepper of cordite and ash under his fingernails. He’d touched his gun five minutes ago. You can smell it.
With the first step forward, Aki’s whole body resolves into force. This isn’t the Aki from the office, or out in the field, or the bored, ceremonial Aki who covers his mouth when he yawns. It’s something else: a heat with nowhere to go except toward you. He grabs you by the hair at the root, hard enough for your scalp to sting a bit. You feel giddy.
“You’re going to behave,” he says flatly.
“If you don’t get in me now, I’m going to kill you.” You glare. He tugs harder.
“You’ll have to try harder,” Aki says, a sneer curling at the edge of his mouth. His grip at your scalp is calculated, the flex of his arm telegraphing how little it would take to break your neck, if you were anyone else.
He doesn’t move, not until your glare softens and your body slackens, sopping-wet and almost cowardly in the sheets.
Then, a single motion: he yanks you upright, plants you on your knees, bends your head back until you’re looking up at the cloudy lampshade and his knuckles are digging into your hairline. Your eyes cross with the pressure, and you suck in a breath. There — already, just like that, all the fury is sluiced through your nerve endings and replaced with that keening hunger.
You want to bite his hand. Instead, you flatten your tongue out, panting open-mouthed at his wrist.
He holds the back of your head, other hand wrestling the mess of briefs and pants lower on his hips. Then he’s hard and right there and he presses the crown of his cock to your lips, cool and clinical, a doctor measuring your reflexes. Your voice is gone, burned up in all the other screaming, so you show him: mouth wide, tongue wet and shameless on the tip, fucking delighted when he twitches against your taste buds.
Aki hisses — a cuss exhaled to the ceiling — and shoves past your teeth in one go. Your eyes water, and the hand tangled in your hair tightens.
Your mouth feels fucking amazing. Your lips suck into what feels like an incredibly tight ring.
“Careful with your teeth,” he groans, tapping your face unkindly. “Told you to fucking behave.”
You moan, taking him down to the shaft as you choke on his cock. He gasps when he hits the back of your throat and hears you gag. He makes the terrible mistake of looking down to see you choking on him and his stomach stirs with overwhelming lust. Any longer and he feels like he’ll blow his load.
This is not going to help her, he thinks briefly. She needs to cum.
He exhales as he pulls on your hair, your mouth whining as you chase the head of his cock. It’s almost precious how much you want him. Maybe it would be if you weren’t ravenous.
“Hey,” he warns. “Relax.”
He manhandles you onto your back and you nearly drool, blown-out eyes wide as saucers. You already look fucked out, wet eyelashes sticking together.
He circles your clit and you make a wounded noise that gets swallowed by his mouth. Aki has never cared much for kissing — it was always easier to bite and lick, fuck whoever wanted him hard and fast so he could send them away quicker. A dirty, rough fuck that ended clean, nothing to be developed afterward.
Unfortunately, kissing you feels like a drug.
Aki loves the plushness of your lips, wet moans spilling in between spit. His fingers are deft at your clit, grind and rhythm offset just enough to keep you guessing, desperate, never able to draw a proper breath. He reigns you in by the nape of the neck, hand planted at your jaw to catch the noises you make.
You want his fucking cock inside you. Nothing short of that will satisfy the hollowed-out ache. You push against his thick length with shameless impatience, nails catching on the line of his hip. Your legs fall apart and your heat stains his skin, enough that he shudders. For a moment the only sound is breath, the wet drag of his shaft on your cunt.
He lines up at the entrance, splits you open in a lazy push. The slow threat of being filled in one measured movement — Aki is determined to make you feel every last inch. It’s a violence, the way he feeds himself inside you, but your whole body sings for it, nerve endings shrieking in relief as you pulse around him.
His chin tucks at your ear as he pushes deep, hands pinning your wrists above your head. His cock is so thick inside you that you can barely breathe, but you drag your body against his desperately as if you could manage to get him any deeper.
“Aki,” you whimper. “Aki-kun—”
“I know,” he mumbles. “I know. That’s it. Just take it.”
“Faster,” you gasp, squirming against him. Your heel knocks against the small of his back. “More—”
“I’m the one in control, you brat,” he hisses. “Be good so you’ll feel better.”
“Keep being mean,” you grin, your disposition nearly hypnagogic. “Makes me wet.”
He shuts you up with two fingers shoved in your mouth. You can feel his pulse in them, each shiver a counterpoint to the brutal invasion of his cock inching deeper between your legs. Aki fucks you with precision, like he wants to prove a point about what you’re capable of taking.
Your jaw aches from the stretch, but the ache between your legs burns hotter; you clench around him and revel in the frustration that creeps into his face, hair falling over his sweat-damp brow. You want to kick him in the chest and split your knuckles on his ribs, but what you do is slither your tongue along his fingers and bite.
He hisses, lets go of your wrists with a long snap, and then you are everywhere at once — your nails clawing at his shoulders, your thighs binding him in place, your teeth grazing skin when you pull his hand away from your lips and clamp down, savoring the copper taste of blood. He lands a smack against your cheek hard enough to light up your vision. You don’t flinch. You giggle.
“You like it filthy,” you laugh, high and uneven. “What would your little office rats say, seeing you fuck me like a animal?”
He grinds your clit with his thumb, no mercy, and your words melt into a gummy moan. The devil-spawned need in your gut is a siren song, and he’s matching the rhythm of it, hips slamming you open, cock hitting deep enough to make your bones shake.
After a minute you’re lightheaded, your nails embedded in his arms. He leans close, flattening you to the bed, his hand at your jaw so your face opens to his mouth — or to a slap, you don’t care which — and you’re trapped in the best kind of panic. Every time his hips hitch forward, you feel the collision of your thighs together. His cocks grind ups against the patch inside you that’s so raw it doesn’t feel pleasure, just bright light and sound. You float in it. You want it to drown you.
He pistons harder and slammins that spot so fiercely your teeth buzz. You arch your back, delirious, moaning at a fever pitch. Aki looms over you, his black hair swinging forward in wild streaks, the shadow of his cheekbones stark and mean. Sweat drips down the hard line of his neck onto your chest, each drop a scald that makes you keen.
“Is this what you wanted?” he hisses into your ear. “Needed it this dirty? You’re a fucking mess. Look at you—”
You whimper, wanting to answer but all that comes out are wet, slurred noises. He snakes his hand down, pinching your clit between two knuckles hard enough to make you sob.
“Speak.”
“Yes, yes, fuck, yes, Aki, just—” You swallow, tasting salt-iron from your own bitten tongue.
You lose the thread of the next few seconds — everything is a swirling, seething pulse of wet friction, the push and burn as Aki rams you open, his grip implacable at your hip. The ache in you subsides and is replaced with delicious pleasure. Despite the ache being soothed, the hunger seems to grow.
You want to say: You are in control. You want to prove it by making a mess of him, make him come before you do, draw his resolve out and snap it between your thighs. But every time your body tries to obey that ambition, he pins you firmer. Hands flattening you, forearm heavy across your collarbones. He angles your pelvis, the length of him pushing deeper than you knew was possible. You gasp, and your next moan is a shiver right at the line of pain. Cleansing, almost sacred.
“Holy fuck,” he moans. “You’re fucking dripping all over me.”
“Oh god,” you gasp, your orgasm blinding.
“That’s it,” he rambles. “Ride it out, baby. Cum on my cock. I’ll fuck it out of you.”
If you didn’t already know what the end felt like, you’d think you were dying. It’s the kind of climax that steals voice and thought and snaps a white-hot fuse along your spine. It detonates against the scarred insides of your skull.
Your nails dig into Aki’s arms so deep you feel tendon slide, and there’s a bleak little joy in knowing you’ll both see the marks for days. Every muscle in your thighs and belly knots and holds you rigid around him, every nerve a wire pulled so tight it threatens to bust. Your body convulses, seesawing against the length of him, pussy squeezing in desperate waves.
Aki is whimpering, something you didn’t think possible. He’s glassy with sweat and shaking as he fucks through your aftershocks. His hands digg into your hips like he could anchor himself to you and survive the flood. He slows down slightly.
You come back to yourself with a mouth full of his palm — he’s covered your sobbing, bitten-wet mouth with his huge, shaking hand to quiet the next insane sound. His cock is still throbbing inside you; you feel every pulse ringing in your lower stomach.
“Shh. It’s okay. Stop crying.”
You’re not crying, you want to spit at him. Instead, you suck his index finger into your mouth, drag your tongue from knuckle to tip, and stare him down with wild, ruined eyes. Defiant even in devastation.
He leaves the hand over your mouth, just until your spasms subside, until the arch in your back collapses and your legs fall open, boneless and twitching. Then he pulls away, a string of saliva glistening between your tongue and the rough pad of his thumb. He’s breathing like he’s just run a mile. You reach u -- grasp his wrist, keep his hand just above your face, ready to bite or beg again if it comes down to it.
“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down,” you choke out around the edges of his skin, your voice shredded and hoarse. “If you stop now, I’ll never forgive you—”
He slides his hand down, palm cradling your cheek with unwarranted gentleness.
"Tell me how it feels,” he snaps. “I’m not stopping.”
You want to throttle him; you want to praise him. You’re trembling, not with fear, but with the sense that if he pulled out now, the rest of you would follow—your tongue, your heart, your spinal cord, all in one long red string.
“Keep going or I’ll—”
He bucks against you, rough and animal, just the way you like. Your orgasm has made you so loose and slick it’s an invitation: come apart again, this is what you’re for.
“Shit. Good girl,” he pants, and you hate him for it.
You buck hard, knock his jaw with your head, and he’s so surprised at the pushback that for a second you can flip the balance. You straddle him in one twist, slamming down, and his cock splits you open so hard your vision goes white for a second. He tries to choke you just to regain control, but you wrench out of his grasp.
Every fiber of muscle in your body spasms at the stretch of this new angle. You gasp.
Unconsciously, you clench around him, and Aki swears under his breath, violent and soft, gripping your ass hard enough to leave fingerprints. You set the pace, frenzied and clumsy at first —then more confident, riding the sluggish roll of his hips until something inside you starts to melt. He feels impossibly thick, every controlled pulse of his body grazing the spot that’d make you lose your balance and brains in a single blow. You brace yourself with a palm against his sternum and dig your nails in, using it for leverage as you grind downward.
Aki exhales hard. You feel the tremor in his thighs as he tries to keep up. You stare down at him, shaking. His face is a snarl, but behind it his mouth trembles with restraint. His hands clutch your hipbones, fingers scoring red into your skin, and you get the hint — rock faster or lose the upper hand. So you do.
You grind down until the only thing left of you is sensation — a hot, wrung-out rag, sore and fevered, nothing but a mouth to open and a cunt to fuck.
He knows it; he feels it in the way your body seizes, the way your voice devours itself: Aki, Aki, Aki, please, more, more, you’re killing me, I love it, I’ll do anything, anything, anything you want.
He lets you ride him until you’re undone. Then, at the flashpoint just before you break again, he grabs your hair at the nape and yanks you down to kiss him. It’s all teeth: he bites your lip so hard the copper of blood is clear against his tongue. It’s a gasp, a lurch, and suddenly he’s on top again, turning you over onto your stomach and pushing a hand against your shoulder blades.
He thrusts so deep inside you it’s unreal, It almost hurts, the pleasure so sharp you see nothing but afterimage and dye-bloomed shadow. You know it’s meant to be a punishment, but you only feel pure bliss. You can feel your peak building again, empty-headed, mouthing obscenities into his sheets as your body flails and shakes.
“Gonna come?” he growls, striking the plushness of your ass with a slap. “What happened to that attitude, huh? Now you’re fucked out and taking it like a good little slut.”
You can’t answer — your jaw’s slack, and every muscle in your body is twitching with white-hot need. You grip the mattress so hard your knuckles turn bone-white; the sound you make isn’t even a real word, just a raw, kinetic groan torn wide open by his hand beating a fresh red bloom across your skin of your ass.
“That’s what I thought,” he sneers. The satisfaction is real, but there’s a ragged edge to him, too. Like it costs him something to hold you down, to fuck you so furiously, to let this side of himself win.
He birds his hand in your hair, bunching the strands at the base of your skull, and yanks your head up so your back arches obscenely, so he can see your face in profile.
“Look at you,” he spits, grinning feral, “all cock-drunk. How’re you gonna go back to work after this, huh?”
Your eyes flutter; in the blur, you crane your neck to see his face, red and splattered with sweat, pupils so wide it’s almost demonic. You try to snarl at him but your mouth’s as raw as the rest of you. You can only gasp his name.
“Please, I’m so close,” you gasp. “Don’t stop—”
You’re whimpering, knees shaking in the sheets, each thrust landing like a hammer blow in the base of your skull. The world has collapsed to two points — the slice of Aki’s grip in your hair and the brutal, friction-ripped seam of pleasure where he splits you open. With every slam and slap, your body tenses tighter, until the only thing left is a coil of pressure along your spine, ready to snap.
He wrenches you up by the roots so your back arches more, chin thrown high, and you hear in your own ears an inhuman wail, a scream too raw for language. Your cunt clamps down, milking his cock in wild pulses. You spasm through your climax, tears streaming down your face as every muscle in you goes rigid and then shudders apart.
Aki is cursing you — he’s lost his own cadence, the measured rhythm giving way to ragged, uneven pounding, like he’s desperate for release but determined to gut every last tremor from your body first.
His voice is close to your ear, filthy, insistent, babbling curse after curse with your name laced through it—fucking take it, you brat, you wanted this, didn’t you, always such a greedy bitch, can’t get enough, gonna make you so fucking sore—and you know, with bright certainty, that you’ll never want anything else again.
You crumple forward as your orgasm rocks through you, half-sobbing, face mashed into the damp sheets. Aki keeps rutting into you, slower but impossibly deep, letting you wring out the last dying electric arcs of the orgasm. Your legs are numb, shaking uncontrollably, but for some reason, your mind is completely blank.
Aki just keeps hitting that deep, devastating place over and over, groaning filth in your ear—"Yeah, that’s it, make a mess. Wanna feel you milk me dry — fuck, you’re tight — you want my cum that bad?”
You nod, or try to, but your neck won’t cooperate. You only whimper and sob. He pushes you down, burying your face into the pillow, and the suffocation makes your last spasms of need clench down tight.
He fucks you through the comedown, doesn’t even slow or coddle. He just holds you under the crux of the shoulder, rutting, cock twitching so hard you can feel every jolt as he loses control. You can’t beg anymore, can’t even think. You want him to fill you so bad your stomach hurts. When he shoves in, bottoming all the way out, the heat inside you is electric.
You sag in the sheets, face mashed sideways, Aki’s teeth pressing into the tendon of your neck. His free hand claws at your thigh, jerking you back onto him. The second he cums, it floods you so intimately. Sugar boiled down into syrup.
He collapses forward, grunting, weight pinning you to the mattress. His tongue flat against the back of your ear. All salt and exhaustion. You can’t move, can’t think, don’t really want to. You lose track of how long you lay there. Maybe you black out.
Aki appears in the edge of your vision, outline blunted by exhaustion. You expect him to light a cigarette, maybe nudge you off the bed with the tip of his shoe, but instead he throws his shirt over your hips and crouches low.
You feel your wakefulness go in and out. When you open your eyes, he’s holding a wet hand towel, steaming faintly, probably microwaved. He kneels beside you, eyes slitted with an anger that’s less about you and more about the failure of his own professionalism.
“You with me?” he asks, voice stripped of all the venom it had from before. He checks your pupils, the tender press of his thumb to your cheekbone almost apologetic.
It would be comforting, if you weren’t sure that he’s mentally reviewing all the ways he let shit get this bad.
You don’t respond. You can only blink dumbly back at him. He frowns.
“Hey,” he says softly, tapping your cheek. “Say something. You alive, baby?”
The endearment knocks the air out of you, hangs heavy in the back of your head, somewhere beyond the whirring static noise.
He just called me baby. He is not joking. Aki is too tired to ever really joke.
“Uh huh,” you mumble, voice hoarse, as if it’s your job to apologize for the entire preceding event.You haven’t cried more than twice in your adult life, but you know if you open your mouth again, tears will fall out. That’s another thing you can’t tolerate: crying.
Maybe Aki wants you to. Maybe you want you to.
All you can do is hide your face and bite down on the sound trying to rip itself free from your chest. There was a point, hours before, where you would have given anything for the soft, deep velvet of his voice in your ear. Now, his hand at your temple feels like something soft wrapped in barbed wire.
“Nngh,” you gargle, trying to roll away, but your body’s at heavy odds with you. Your arms don’t want to listen. Your legs aren’t attached. You feel like a crash-landed ship.
Aki sighs and hauls you upright. He sits on the edge of the bed with your limp shell in his lap, legs bent at grotesque angles. You try to protest, but your forehead thumps against his collarbone, and it’s the first time in memory you’ve ever felt so fragile.
“Don’t move. Let me take care of it.” His hands are pointed and mean as ever as he wipes your thighs, the sticky mess of lust and shame and need, but there’s a tenderness to it.
“I feel weird,” you mumble, suddenly feeling as if you’re hungover.
“You are weird,” he scoffs. “And you fuck like a coked-up pixie.”
The smile you find for him is a strange, not-quite-human thing.
“You loved it,” you rasp, just to needle him. “Blew a huge load, didn’t you, Captain?”
If this embarrasses him, he hides it well: only the hard swallow at his throat, the brief flicker of his tongue at a split in his lip. He swipes the cloth between your legs, utilitarian, but with odd care. Enough to make you squirm at the memory of how thoroughly he carved you open.
You expect a reprieve, the post-coital flicker of contempt he’s built up over years of policing his emotions. But he only looks at you, long enough you wonder if you’ve actually died. He cups your chin in two hands and tilts your face up.
He almost looks like he’ll kiss you.
Instead, he looks at the bruises on your body, the shape of sex taking formation in blotted colors. He clears his throat, shame tinting his face.
“Sorry,” he says, and his voice is steady now, softer than even the echo of your own pulse. That gets you: Aki Hayakawa, apologizing to you after years and years of your careless mouth and his mean precision. His thumbs brush the hothouse of your cheekbones. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to—”
“Liar,” you snort, and the effort of it sends a shiver from your shoulders all the way to your toes.
He shakes his head, eyes sharp and silver under the salt-smudge of sweat. “No. I’m not lying. But you’re impossible to handle. I should’ve just tied you up.”
You bat your eyelashes, or you try, but it’s more of a series of uncoordinated blinks. “Next time.”
Aki’s breath hitches, the faintest spark behind the exhausted mask.
“Don’t say shit like that,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes. You think it’s hilarious considering the filth that came out of his mouth earlier. “Makes me think you’re still not you.”
“I was always me,” you scoff.
“No,” he grimaces. “You acted like you were fucking possessed.”
“I was still in there, though.”
His eyes soften, almost, but the steely facade he usually puts on wins over. “Yeah. Guess you were.”
There’s a minute where neither of you say anything, but it’s not the loaded simmer it once would have been. There is no longer rage between you.
You’re sitting in his lap, both naked, both trembling, and neither of you seem equipped to handle something so frail as aftercare. Still, he wraps his arms around you, brings your chin to his shoulder in a way that means comfort even if it’s never been offered before.
The next morning, you regain consciousness, the world recalibrating itself around the fact that you can barely move. For a moment, you’re convinced you’re still back on that Devil sting mission, trussed up by yakuza as leverage. Then you realize: this is Aki’s bedroom, haloed early sun strobing through the curtains, the smell of his sweat and your own sex clotted thick in the air.
Your body is folded into a knot of blankets — no, not blankets, his jacket, the sharp-wool lining scratching your cheek. You can’t feel your hands. You try to move them, and only then do you see why: Aki has bound your wrists in the sleeves of his own button-up, coiled so snug the pulse at your wrist stutters.
The little creep, you think. You never expected he’d have such a sense of humor.
He’s beside you, lying on his back, the profile of his face sharp and battered in the predawn light. The inside of his forearm is smudged with marks — yours, probably. For once, he isn’t pretending to be asleep or already up grinding coffee beans at the first hint of morning. He’s there, a real person, shell-shocked and vulnerable. He blinks at you.
“Hey,” you murmur.
He looks over at you, his expression not moving. “Hey.”
“Care to explain why you tied me up?”
“You’re still a liability,” he says flatly
“Right. Because the most recent collection of UNIQLO is going to restrain me.”
He considers this, meets your eyes, and snorts.
“Couldn’t be too careful.” Then, quieter, “You kept trying to touch me. Even in your sleep.”
You try, for his sake, to look abashed, though beneath the thump of your headache, there’s the pulse of something that almost feels like pride.
“In a pervy way?” You raise a brow.
“Not at first. You kept grabbing my wrist.” He holds it up, and you see the angry pink trenches from your nails. “And then you stole my phone and texted Makima at four in the morning.”
“About what?”
“…You told her you loved me. Also said I had a giant cock and made you see god.” The flush at the shell of his ear is the only proof it’s not a total lie.
You close your eyes and let the humiliation wash through you. “So, what did she say?”
Aki scratches the scar near his eyebrow, sheepish. “She said to keep you hydrated, and recommended two paracetamol every six hours.”
You let out a genuine laugh this time. His lips quiver at the effort of holding back a smile. You make a child’s show of straining against the makeshift bonds. The effort spikes needles up both your arms, but that only makes the reward — Aki’s hand touching your forehead, the gentle brush of his thumb at your eyelid — feel like a contact high.
“Still you in there?” he asks, barely voiced.
“Still me.”
There’s a charge in the air as you lie there tangled in the aftershock, blankets twisting the two of you together in a makeshift shroud. You count out breaths, running a tally of damage: thighs burning, wrists tender, lips bruised. When you move, Aki’s arm slides over your midsection, pulling you closer with proprietary gentleness. You never knew such a thing existed between the two of you. The heat in his palm spreads under your ribs, far softer than his cut-glass voice has ever allowed.
“For the record,” he says, slowly. “I’m glad I was your victim and not someone else.”
You want to say something pithy, call him a simp, a weak-ass bitch, but nothing makes it past the tickle in your throat and the way your cheek is pressed to the back of his hand. It’s so easy to close your eyes and float, just for a second. Even the pressure at your wrists doesn’t bother you. If anything, it’s the only thing binding you to the world.
“For the record, you’re better than my last three victims combined.”
He snorts, half laughter, half bitter disbelief, and for a second the space between your bodies is a live wire.
“Sorry I made you do that,” you say, eyes tight against the morning glare.
“You didn’t make me do anything.”
“You sure?” you laugh, just a puff of breath between your teeth. “I could try harder next time.”
He lets the suggestion hang. You wonder if you mean it as a threat or a promise. He shifts his weight, rolling so that your wrists are pressed to his ribcage, snug, and leaves a palm splayed on your lower back. The weight of it keeps you from drifting off.
You try to catalog the feeling in your chest — a spasm eating up all the leftover shame. It feels like biting into a perfect, stolen persimmon. Terrible, too-sweet, impossible to stop. It’s not romance, exactly. No one would call it that. But it’s… something.
“We both have the day off, by the way,” he murmurs.
“You’re saying I can do whatever I want today?” you ask, tilting your chin in a challenge.
“Absolutely not,” he snorts.
“You’re basically asking for it.”
“You’re not going to seduce me this time,” he replies, his voice almost wary.
“So you’ll just make coffee and pretend you don’t want to rail me into unconsciousness,” you suggest, with what you hope is a steady voice.
He sighs. You catch, in the brief twist of his lips, that he’s considering the offer on its full spectrum.
You muster the strength for another wild strike: “Maybe I do want to seduce you. Did that ever occur to you, Aki?”
You hope the invective lands like a brick, but instead he just looks at you long and hard. There’s an unspeakable flash of interest and amusement, a flicker of weird kinship that makes your insides squirm.
“Later,” Aki promises, surprising you. “First, you need food and three liters of water.”
Instead of hauling you out of bed, however, he keeps you corralled against his chest in the starchy tangle of sheets and ruined uniforms, warm and lazy. You can sense his heartbeat in the wall of muscle pinning you, each pulse steady as a clock, as if his body requires you to re-time yourself to its cadence.
Aki’s thumb, as if by accident, strokes the hollow at your chin. He's not big on physical comfort — prefers to bark orders and slam doors and keep the world at a safe radius, but in the bleached honesty of morning, he can't resist the compulsion to check that you're real. That you're not just a fever dream or a devil hallucination. You realize he’s watching your eyes for signs of relapse; there's a tension in his brow that shows he’s still being cautious.
You swallow thickly. “It’s still me.”
He stares at you another second, reluctant to yield. Then nods, once, and releases your hands from the neat knot of his sleeves.
You press your ear against the metronome of his pulse, close your eyes, memorize the way the shape of your face fits against the hollow beneath his collarbone. Somewhere below the blanket, his knee presses against your thigh, bracing you in place. In that weird, bitter-light morning, you think he could die like this, both of you wound up together like blown fuses. Perhaps it would be an okay way to end.
your boyfriend was never good at controlling himself around you. even if you two were merely kissing, he couldn’t fight off the enormous boner he got within a matter of seconds.
and this time was no different.
his hand was caressed under your head, the other already clawing your shirt off. it had hardly been five minutes, but he already turned you into a blushing, dripping, whimpering mess under him.
“haah—can’t...we can’t...” you softly whine as you try to push him away, hands gripping onto his sides in hopes of stopping him, but he holds your waist tightly, keeping you in place while he rutted against your wet, clothed cunt.
although it was dark in the room, you could make out every feature of his face. his eyes lock onto yours, his pupils blown wide with lust, making your protests die in your throat.
“but you’re soaking wet...and y’feel so good on me,” your boyfriend mumbles against your mouth, bunching your soft sleep shirt around your armpits. it didn't matter if there were no condoms to use; he didn't want to stop.
even with such little fabric separating you two, every inch of his girth was pressed right against your soaking wet folds. his dick was so close to where it was needed, and you were practically panting at this point, back arched so far off the bed your boyfriend felt he needed to hold you so you wouldn’t hurt it. “j..just the tip, okay...”
you knew that was all the confirmation it took for him because it was no more than three seconds before his boxers were down to his thighs and pushing your panties to the side.
“just the tip.” he echoed back to you, and he wasted no time. with a slow, gentle thrust, he sank just the head into your warm, wet pussy. as promised, it was just the first two inches, but oh my god, he’s so big that you could’ve sworn he pushed it all in.
you mewl, which mingles with a strangled groan from your boyfriend as your walls clench and twitch around his swollen cockhead. your hips buck upwards inadvertently, making him slip in a bit further.
“shit—can’t do it,” he shakes his head, hugging your torso against him tightly in weak restraint. you were about to tell him not to go any further, but then he thrusts forward suddenly, causing you to shriek instead. his first thrust was accompanied by several more and small whispers of “sorry, baby,” as he continued to pound into your pretty cunt.
Aki Hayakawa/Reader (9.5k words)
FANFICTION MASTERLIST
[AO3] [Fanfiction.net] [Wattpad]
Summary: After your devil contract proves difficult to manage, Public Safety decides you need supervision. Aki Hayakawa has the experience, the spare room, and the unfortunate job of keeping an eye on you. There are rules in his apartment: no leaving without telling him, no strangers, no smoking inside, and no summoning your devil. Nobody says anything about what happens when he hears you moan his name through the wall.
Notes: You can see the list of characters I will take requests for here.
Aki Hayakawa brings you home in his Public Safety uniform. That's the first problem.
You're already nervous. You'd be nervous even if he looked like any other guy. You've just been transferred into a division where the casualty rate for newbies is treated less like a tragedy and more like a weather forecast, after signing a contract with a devil that almost bit your tongue off during negotiations. You were told, very calmly by Makima with that creepy smile of hers, that your new living arrangement is "for monitoring purposes" and that Hayakawa will be responsible for reporting any irregularities.
As if you're a machine that leaks oil, not being assigned a live-in babysitter with a sword.
Then Aki shows up outside the briefing room in a dark suit, white shirt, earrings catching the nasty office light. An expression on his face like he's already decided you're going to piss him off.
Fantastic.
You look at him once and immediately wish your thoughts had a shut-off switch.
Makima keeps smiling when she says, "Please take care of her."
Aki glances over, and you stand a little straighter, because apparently that's what your body does when a hot man looks disappointed in you.
"Yes, ma'am," he says.
That's basically the whole conversation. He's not pleased, though. You can tell. He goes still in a way that makes it obvious he's irritated, just not willing to waste energy showing it.
He barely speaks to you on the way to his apartment. Rain taps against the umbrella he's holding over both of you, even though he never offered and you never asked. You walk half a step behind him because he's got longer legs and because his suit jacket does absolutely nothing to hide the width of his shoulders. How exactly are you supposed to live in the same place as someone who looks like that?
By the time you reach his street, the rain's settled into that steady, miserable kind that makes every shop sign bleed into the pavement. The apartment block ahead looks exactly like the sort of place Public Safety would dump people it expected to die young: narrow balconies, outside corridors, bikes chained under the stairs, vending machines humming by the entrance.
Aki doesn't point it out, but you know it's his before he turns toward it.
"You'll follow the rules," he says.
You look up too quickly. "I know."
"This isn't a social visit."
"Yeah, I got that from the sword."
He steps around a puddle without breaking pace, leaving you to hurry after him. "You don't leave without telling me where you're going. No bringing strangers back. No smoking inside. If something feels off with your devil, you tell me. Don't wait until it becomes a problem."
He lists it all while walking, as if he's done this many times before and hated it every time.
"And for fuck's sake, don't summon it inside my apartment."
"You smoke?"
"On the balcony."
You glance up at the rows of narrow concrete platforms stacked above you, each one half-sheltered and damp at the edges. "Right. Anything else?"
"Just…" He pauses, like this one's somehow worse than the devil thing. "Please clean up after yourself."
You look at him. "That sounded personal."
"Yeah. You're not the first hunter Public Safety's dumped on me."
When you both reach the entrance, Aki folds the umbrella with two sharp shakes, and you make your way up to his apartment in a rickety elevator ride that feels about three hours longer than it is.
His apartment is cleaner than you expected, though definitely not fancy or warm in the way normal people's homes are warm. There are no useless decorations or soft little personal things scattered around—everything is in its place. The sink is empty. The zataku in the living room has been wiped. The whole place smells faintly like detergent, tobacco, and whatever he cooked before coming to work that morning. There's a small fan on the floor, a first-aid kit on top of a chest of drawers, and piles of books stacked so neatly it feels vaguely threatening.
Aki points out your room, the bathroom and where he keeps spare towels, bedding and cleaning products. He does it all in the same flat voice, like he's just listing equipment before a mission.
You stand in the doorway of the bedroom that is now apparently yours and try not to stare at him again.
He has rain on his lashes. Public Safety should warn people about this shit.
"Unpack. Training starts at six," he says.
"In the morning?"
"Yes," he replies, as though there's no other possible answer.
"That's evil."
"Devils are evil."
"I don't think devils invented waking up before sunrise."
"You'll manage."
He turns away before you can think of anything clever to reply, and you watch him go down the hallway, sword case shifting against his back.
Your contract stirs under your skin, restless and amused. It likes him. Or hates him. With your devil, those feelings are basically cousins.
Hungry? It whispers.
You press a hand to your chest.
"Shut up," you whisper back.
Aki pauses near the kitchen.
He looks over his shoulder. "What was that?"
"Nothing."
He notices your hand against your chest. Of course. That is the entire point of you being here after all.
"Report it if it speaks again."
Then he disappears into the kitchen, and you shut your bedroom door before your devil can start mistaking attraction for hunting instinct again.
**********
The first week is mostly rules—Aki is strict at work. And even worse at home, because at home you can't escape it.
He wakes up too early and moves around the apartment as though he pays his rent with discipline rather than money. He has a whole system: coffee first, balcony doors open, cigarette, shower, breakfast. By the time you drag yourself into the hallway, he's already in a pressed suit with his tie done and his hair up, looking mildly offended that you weren't ready fifteen minutes earlier. The only proof he's human is the faint, dark circles beneath his eyes that he can't quite hide, even after coffee.
By the second week, though, you start noticing the rest.
As the routine becomes easier, you start catching him in the morning before he ties up his hair, making coffee in a faded long-sleeve shirt and sweats. He coughs a little after his first cigarette. Washes rice with methodical hands. Shifts vegetables into neat little piles. He calls your convenience-store dinners disgusting and then starts cooking enough for two without asking.
He's a great cook too, which becomes a problem. At first, you refuse because living under his roof already feels like owing him something.
He glances over his shoulder from the kitchen.
"You need to eat properly. Keep your strength up."
"I can feed myself," you say.
"Pudding cups and instant noodles aren't food."
So you eat what he gives you. Grilled fish. Rice. Miso soup. Vegetables that taste better than they ever have before. You make a whole thing out of not reacting too much, but he notices when you finish everything. And, the next night, the same amount is waiting for you.
He's still mean, technically. That's the thing with Aki. He doesn't say nice stuff if he can avoid it. He just does things and pretends they don't mean anything.
But whenever you come home bleeding, he cleans the cuts himself. When your hands shake too much after a rough mission, he puts a cup of tea in front of you and says nothing.
When your devil wakes you at three in the morning, whispering through your bones until you are sweating into your sheets, Aki knocks and opens the door with a knife already in his hand.
You're sitting on the floor with your back against the bed, palms pressed to your ears as if that will help.
He takes one look at you, then crouches in front of you.
"Name three things in the room."
"I'm not a kid."
"Just do it."
You hate him for the fact that it works.
"Wardrobe," you mutter. "Lamp. Your ugly slippers."
His eyes narrow.
"These are house slippers."
He says it with enough offence that you almost laugh.
And then he stays.
He stays until the pressure under your skin fades. He doesn't touch you. He doesn't soften his voice. He just sits on your floor in old clothes with his hair down, knife resting loose in one hand, and waits out the devil with you.
That's when the crush stops being a crush and becomes something far more concerning.
You try to act normal. You're terrible at it.
By week three, you know too much about him.
You know he likes the kitchen cleaned before bed. You know he smokes more after reports with high casualty numbers. You know he checks the lock twice at night. You know he gets annoyed when you leave crumbs on the counter, but he still makes you breakfast anyway.
You know his hair is longer than it looks when it's tied up. That he has a small mole low on the left side of his neck, almost hidden by the collar of his shirt. That his shower gel smells like lemon and cedarwood, the kind of clean, practical scent that shouldn't be distracting and absolutely is.
You know his forearms are ruining your ability to function. (That last one's his fault. Nobody told him to wash dishes like that.)
Tonight, you're at the zataku, eating dinner while rain specks against the balcony glass.
He is in a loose dark shirt with the sleeves shoved up, grey trousers low on his hips, hair tied back badly as if he did it without a mirror—a few strands have slipped free around his face. He looks tired. He looks good. He looks like you should get up and leave the room for your own safety.
Instead, you stare at his hand when he reaches for the soy sauce.
Bad idea: his sleeve shifts, his forearm moves. Your brain immediately starts acting like it's never seen a man before.
"You're quiet tonight," he says.
"You complain when I talk," you murmur, focusing hard on your rice now.
"I complain when you say stupid things."
You huff a laugh. "Yeah, well... unfortunately for you, that's most of my personality."
"Yeah, it is."
You kick him under the table before you can stop yourself.
Aki pauses with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth and looks at you.
You wait for the lecture.
Instead, he takes another bite of fish. "Childish."
Your face heats because that shouldn't do anything for you. But it does. Lately, every blunt little comment from him seems to take the shortest possible route straight between your legs.
After dinner, you help wash up. He dries. Steam rises from the hot water and dampens the little hairs at your temple. He reaches across you to put a bowl on the rack, and his shirt pulls tight against his stomach. Your shoulders nearly touch. Now and then, your fingers brush as you both go for the drying rack.
It's boring. It's painfully domestic. It's making you insane.
Hungry? Your devil asks again, smug as hell.
You almost drop a plate but Aki's hand closes around it before it slips.
"I'm going to bed," you say quickly, retreating to your room.
"You're never tired this early," he says, confusion in his voice.
"Congratulations, you've witnessed personal growth!"
Then you slam your bedroom door before your face gives you away.
The apartment doesn't go quiet. That's the issue. You can still hear him in the kitchen—water running, cupboards opening and closing, his footsteps, the balcony door sliding open. He's smoking. You know exactly how he'll be standing: one arm folded, cigarette in the other hand, head tilted slightly as he looks out at nothing.
You collapse on your bed and press your palms over your eyes.
This is so stupid.
Aki is your supervisor. Your housemate. The guy who has to report if your contract devil starts acting weird. The guy who told you this morning that your footwork looked like "panic with shoes on."
And still.
You think about his forearms half in the soapy water, his mouth when he says your name in that irritated way, his fingers around a cigarette, the hard lines of his body under clothes he wears around the house because he isn't thinking about what he looks like.
Your hand slips under the waistband of your underwear.
"Fuck," you breathe.
Too loud. Maybe. You stop, listening.
Nothing from outside your room except the distant rush of rain and the low hum of the fridge.
You continue because you're weak and alive and twenty-something and sharing an apartment with Aki Hayakawa, which should count as an unsafe working condition.
You're wet embarrassingly fast. You try to keep quiet at first, biting the inside of your cheek, fingers moving under your underwear. It's not enough. Your brain keeps handing you more of him. Aki looking down at you. Aki telling you to behave. Aki's hand in your hair. Aki hearing you right now and finally doing something about it.
Your hips jerk.
"Aki," you whisper.
Then again, louder.
Your own voice embarrasses you so badly you cover your mouth, but that does not help the bed, or the slick sound between your legs, or the way his name keeps wanting out. There's no way the room's silent enough to hide everything, not if he's still awake, not if he's anywhere near the hall. That thought should stop you.
It really, really doesn't. It makes you come.
Harder than you expect, thighs shaking, and afterwards you lie there horrified, hot all over, listening for proof that your life is over.
The balcony door slides shut.
Footsteps pass your door.
Pause.
Your soul leaves your body.
Then Aki keeps walking.
You pull the blanket over your face and silently beg for a devil to eat the entire building.
**********
The next morning, the embarrassment hits before you're fully awake.
It's Saturday. Your first rare day off since moving in, and his too, which means you were supposed to spend the day sharing the apartment with him like a normal person. Maybe grabbing a takeaway so he doesn't have to cook for once. Maybe sitting across from him at the low table and watching something trash on his crappy little television, which you're pretty sure you've never seen turned on.
Instead, naturally, you picked last night to masturbate over him loudly enough that he might've heard you through the wall. Excellent timing.
You stay in bed longer than you need to, listening, trying to decide whether it's better to pretend nothing happened or fake your own death before breakfast.
Eventually, you force yourself up and head into the hallway, already cringing hard enough to make your shoulders ache.
"Aki?"
The apartment gives you nothing back.
You check the kitchen—empty. His cup has been washed and left upside down by the sink. The balcony door is locked shut, and his shoes are gone from the entrance.
Your phone buzzes on your bed. When you go back to check it, you find a message from him sent twenty minutes earlier.
Hayakawa:Gone grocery shopping. Back later.
You stare at the message for longer than you need to, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen. Grocery shopping? On the one day you're both supposed to be off, at an hour when the shops are barely worth escaping to. The heat crawling up your neck tells you what you already know: he heard.
*********
Later turns into hours.
You spend the whole day flipping between wanting to die, wanting to laugh, and wanting to throw yourself at him the second he comes back. Because he heard. He definitely heard. You know he heard. The man notices when a spoon's in the wrong drawer. There's no way he missed you moaning his name through a thin apartment wall. Then you get angry because if he did, he should just say that. Then you get even more embarrassed because what the hell would that conversation even be?
Hello, yes, sorry for masturbating loud enough for my supervising officer to hear. Won't happen again (unless you're into it).
You clean because sitting still feels dangerous.
You wipe the counters, fold every item of laundry in the basket, then panic halfway through because some of it is his. You find yourself holding one a bit too long like a total creep, then catch yourself and shove it onto the folded pile like it's likely to bite you.
"Shit, I'm too far gone," you mutter. Your devil laughs beneath your skin.
You make rice. Badly. It goes a little sticky, but edible. You chop vegetables because you have seen him do it enough times now, and you only nearly cut your finger off twice.
By evening, the apartment's tidy, and you're one awkward conversation away from phasing into the walls.
Aki gets back after dark with shopping bags in both hands and rain on his coat.
By then, you're at the zataku, trying to be casual by pretending to read a Public Safety file while your entire body is trying to crawl out of your skin.
He steps inside, takes off his shoes, and then sees everything: the cleaned kitchen, the folded laundry, the food on the stove. And you.
"You cleaned," he says.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because I live here too."
"Uh-huh."
Aki doesn't look at you. He takes off his coat, hangs it by the door, then carries the bags into the kitchen. You, on the other hand, want to be consumed from the inside out by your contract devil. It would probably be less painful than this.
"You were gone ages," you say, drifting over to the counter like you haven't spent the whole day rehearsing how not to sound weird.
It comes out casual. A little too casual. The kind of casual that makes everything you're trying to hide painfully obvious.
Aki sets the shopping on the counter and starts unpacking it like every item has an assigned place, and the whole place will collapse if he gets it wrong. Spring onions first. Tofu. Fish wrapped in paper. A bag of rice with a brand that you recognise from the shop, literally two minutes down the street.
"The shops were busy," he says.
You lean against the edge of the counter. "For eight hours?"
He puts the spring onions in the fridge with intense focus. "I had errands."
"What errands?"
"Household ones."
You stare at the back of his head. "Okaaaay—and I couldn't have helped?"
"I'm done talking about it."
Yep. He heard.
Your face goes hot so fast you nearly get dizzy. The silence after that is awful.
You need a different subject. Immediately. Your gaze darts over the kitchen, uselessly, until it lands on the little beer bottles lined up along the bottom shelf of the fridge.
You point at them before you can overthink it.
"Shit—do you want a beer?"
Aki follows your finger to the bottom shelf of the fridge. For a second, he doesn't answer. He just stands there with one hand still on the door and the other holding a packet of tofu, as though the question has just made unpacking groceries deeply more complicated.
"That's a bad idea," he mutters.
"Probably."
He puts the tofu away and then shuts the fridge with more force than necessary.
"You have training on Monday."
"And... right now it's Saturday?" you reply.
He turns back to the shopping bags, still not looking at you, and pulls out a bottle of soy sauce he definitely didn't need to buy. There's already one by the stove. You both know that. Neither of you mentions it.
"You can't control yourself."
There it is again; not about beer. Not really.
And this time, it pisses you off a little. Not because he's wrong, exactly—last night isn't giving you a lot of room to argue. But he's standing there in his tidy apartment, putting spring onions away, acting like he's never done anything stupid in his life.
You've heard about him at the welcome drinks: knocking back beer like it's part of the job, getting too serious, then too drunk, while Makima sits there smiling, watching her useful little experiment.
You lean back against the counter, arms folded loosely, trying to look less affected than you feel.
"Well—neither can you! I've heard the stories."
Aki doesn't answer right away. He folds the receipt once, then again, making the crease too sharp for something he's going to throw away.
"One beer," he says eventually.
Then he exhales through his nose, opens the fridge and takes two beers from the bottom shelf, looking about as pleased as he would if he'd found a devil in there.
**********
One beer becomes four.
Not in any wild way. You eat first because he tells you to, and you have to pretend not to like he orders you around like that. Your cooking is nowhere near as good as his, but he finishes it anyway.
He even tells you "it's alright," which from Aki is basically applause.
Then you sit across from each other with beer bottles sweating on the table and the rain making the apartment feel smaller than usual.
The beer helps because it gives your hands something to do. It helps him too, though he would deny it under oath. His shoulders lower a little. He leans back onto one palm, beer in his other hand, his legs stretched out under the edge of the zataku. Most importantly, his eyes don't move away from you as quickly now.
His hair is down, a little stringy at the ends from the rain, and he has changed into a loose pale shirt and grey sweatpants (actual grey sweatpants!?) that you are trying very hard not to look at.
You fail several times.
Aki catches you around the fifth. He finishes the last of his beer, throat shifting as he swallows, then sets the bottle down with a quiet click. "Stop staring at me. It's creeping me out."
"You stare at me all the time!"
"I'm monitoring you. It's my job."
"Right." The beer has made you braver or stupider. Hard to tell. "Is that what we're calling it?"
His eyes narrow, but there is colour at the top of his cheekbones. The beer has done that too, and the idea makes you reckless. You lean back from the zataku, trying not to smile.
"We've had enough," he says, suddenly, standing to grab his cigarettes.
You scoff dramatically.
"Come on, Aki, we've had a couple of beers!"
"Then you handle your booze even worse than I do." A pause. Then: "You're trying to start something you'll regret."
It annoys you. Mostly because part of you is scared he's right. Not about wanting him; that's not the regret. The regret would be wanting him and finding out he only sees you as a problem with tits.
He slides open the balcony doors before you can respond and disappears out onto the balcony. Classic Aki: retreat to smoke, avoid all human consequences.
"Don't follow me," he calls behind him.
So, obviously, you wait all of thirty seconds before following him.
The balcony's cold and narrow, damp air, wet concrete smell. The street below is all car spray and convenience store lights and people hurrying with umbrellas. Aki stands under the small overhang, cigarette already between his lips, shoulders hunched slightly against the chill.
"You never listen," he says without turning.
"You're only just learning this?"
You stand beside him. The rain does not quite reach you under the overhang, but the air is cold enough to raise goosebumps along your arms. His gaze drops, then moves away.
"You're going to catch a cold."
"That's such an old man thing to say. Besides, I have my beer jacket on."
Bad idea number whatever: taking the cigarette straight from his mouth.
That gets his attention. Aki turns his head, eyes fixed on you as you put it between your lips and inhale like you've done this a hundred times, which lasts about half a second before the smoke hits wrong. It tastes awful. Hot, bitter, too much like him for that to be fair. But somehow, by the grace of every devil in Tokyo, you don't cough.
He snatches it back. "You don't even smoke."
"I could start."
"No."
"You're so bossy."
"You're so drunk."
"I'm really not." You lean against the balcony railing, feeling far too pleased with yourself for someone whose throat is still burning from one drag. "I'm not a lightweight like you, Hayakawa."
He looks away, cigarette back between his lips, and you catch the almost-smile before he can get rid of it. Tiny. Annoying. Devastating.
The beer warms your face while the cold sharpens everything else. Okay, you're not sober-sober. But you're not gone either, not even close. You know where you are. You know who he is. You know exactly what you want, and that's part of the problem.
"You were avoiding me today," you say.
Aki's jaw tightens. He flicks ash into the little tray balanced on the balcony railing. "I had things to do."
You should stop. You know that. But there is a version of you still in your room last night, hand over your mouth, his name slipping through anyway. There is a version of him outside your door, pausing. There is the whole day he spent anywhere but here because neither of you could stand the apartment with that sound still in the walls.
"Because you heard me."
Aki goes still. The cigarette burns between his fingers.
Your stomach drops, then twists hot.
"Oh my god," you say, half laughing because you might cry otherwise. "You did!"
"Go inside."
"No."
"That wasn't a request." His eyes cut to you. "I'm not having this conversation right now."
The tone should sober you. It does, partly. But it also sends a bright line of heat through you because you are apparently built wrong.
You step closer, and he doesn't move away. Instead, his gaze drops to your mouth so quickly that anyone else would miss it.
"Everyone knows you're obsessed with Makima," you say.
Aki turns back toward the street.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he says, quieter than he needs to.
You watch him inhale, then watch the smoke curl from his lips, soft and pale against the wet dark of the balcony.
"I know she tells you where to stand and you act like it's where you wanted to be anyway."
Aki's jaw clenches. "That's enough."
There's that voice again. The one he uses in training. The one that means stop talking, fix your stance, don't make me repeat myself.
It should work. It does, most of the time. Just not tonight.
You are jealous. You are embarrassed. You are so full of him you can hardly stand upright with it. All those weeks of being fed and scolded and patched up and watched. All those mornings seeing him half-awake at the kettle. All those evenings with his cigarette smoke at the window and his hands doing ordinary things, like he could keep a normal life running if nobody looked too closely at how hard he was trying.
"She gets this perfect version of you," you continue. "The suit. The yes, ma'am. The bleeding on command. Whatever she wants."
Aki says nothing.
You didn't plan to sound this upset. You planned to be sexy. Annoying. A tiny bit mean. You had this whole stupid idea of showing off, pulling your top low, making him look at you instead of her. But now you're here, cold and turned on and humiliated from last night, and the joke isn't landing right because none of this feels like a joke anymore.
"She doesn't see you," you say. "Not properly."
He's still staring down at the street. The cigarette has burned low between his fingers, ash bending at the end, but he doesn't seem to notice. You hate how calm he looks, and how much you want to get under it.
"I see you making breakfast for me even when I'm too stubborn to say thank you," you say. "I see you checking the door twice before bed. I see you pretending you don't care when you care so much it's actually kind of annoying."
"Just stop." He turns his face sharply towards you, and his eyes aren't angry in the way you expected. They're tired—almost empty, which somehow feels so much worse. "You're saying things you don't understand."
Your throat feels tight, but you keep going because if you stop now, you will lose your nerve.
"And yeah, I'm younger than you, and I'm a mess, and my contract probably wants to chew through half the office." You swallow. "But I'm here. I'm looking at you. Not your job. Not your contracts. You."
Aki turns fully toward you.
You're close enough now to see the rain caught on his lashes again, just like that first night he brought you here under the umbrella. Back then, he was all suit and sword and clipped orders. Now his hair is loose around his face, cigarette burning low between his fingers, and his breathing isn't as even as he's trying to make it.
You reach for him.
His hand catches your wrist before you get anywhere close. Of course, Aki has a habit of stopping things before they become a problem. Except his thumb stays there a second too long, and suddenly he looks like he might be one too.
Your eyes meet.
"Don't say things like that just because you're drunk and pissed off," he says.
It breaks your heart a little.
You step closer until your toes nearly touch his.
"I meant them yesterday too."
His grip on your wrist loosens very slightly.
"I meant them before the beer," you add. "I'll mean them on Monday when you're being a dick about training."
Aki's eyes close briefly, as though you've just made his life very difficult and he needs one second where he isn't looking at you.
Then he drops the cigarette into the tray, pulls you in by the wrist, and kisses you.
It's not smooth. Not at first. His mouth meets yours with too much restraint still in it, like he's trying to kiss you and hold himself back at the same time. Then you make a sound against his mouth, and his hand slides to the back of your neck.
That's when it goes bad.
Bad as in your knees nearly give out.
Bad as in his mouth opens against yours and his tongue slips into your mouth, and suddenly he tastes like beer and smoke and the person you've been thinking about every night for weeks—real in a way your fantasies never managed.
You grab his shirt.
Aki breaks away first, breathing harder than before, eyes lowered to your mouth.
"You're not going to blame this on the beer tomorrow?"
"The beer gave me the confidence. Not the idea."
His brows draw together. "That's not reassuring."
"Then kiss me again and stop making me fill out a safety form."
His mouth gives the smallest twitch. He looks into your eyes again, really looks, and whatever he sees must be enough.
So he kisses you again.
The second kiss has less argument in it. His hand grips your waist. Yours slides over his chest, then lower, over the hard line of his stomach under that stupid pale shirt. You feel him tense, feel him decide not to stop you. That alone sends heat down your spine.
You touch the front of his sweatpants.
Aki inhales sharply through his nose.
He's hard.
Not a little. Not maybe. Hard enough that your brain goes bright and empty for half a second before every filthy thought you had last night comes back with a vengeance.
You look up at him.
His jaw is set, but his face is flushed pink now, which is probably the alcohol, but the look in his eyes isn't. It's dark and hungry and intense in a way he's obviously embarrassed by—only Aki could be standing there with his cock straining against your hand and still look like he's deciding what the correct procedure is.
"You heard me last night..." you whisper.
"Yeah..."
"You thought about it."
His hand tightens at your waist. Aki looks at you for a long second, then takes your hand and presses it harder against him. You feel him twitch beneath your palm.
The answer goes straight through you.
You sink to your knees before he can tell you not to.
"Here?" he says, his voice lowered.
"You want me to stop?"
He looks over the railing, then back at you. The rain's thick enough to blur most of the street. The city is too wet and tired to care. Still, this is reckless. It's exactly the kind of thing he would usually scold you for.
His hand comes to your cheek.
"No, don't stop," he says.
Your hands shake a little as you pull at his waistband. Not from nerves anymore. From the unreal fact of him letting you. Aki Hayakawa, who corrects your form and counts cigarettes like sins and pretends his whole body is a locked door, is standing over you on his balcony, rock hard only inches in front of your face. He sees you trembling and helps, jaw tight, one hand braced on the rail.
Then you free his cock and nearly lose your mind.
He's pretty everywhere, apparently; long, flushed, already leaking at the tip. Your mouth waters so fast it embarrasses you. You wrap your hand around him and hear his breath catch above you.
"Fuck," he growls.
That word from him almost makes you moan.
You lick him first, just the head, tasting the salt-bitterness of pre-cum and warm skin. His hand grips tighter on the rail, and you see his knuckles go pale. So you do it again, because you want him like this—you want proof that he can be shaken, to give him something he can't organise or clean or file away under work. You want the sound of your mouth on him to be something he can't pretend he didn't hear.
Then you take him into your mouth. Aki makes a sound you know he meant to swallow.
It comes out broken off and low, and you feel it all the way between your thighs. So you take more of him, lips stretching around his girth, hand working at the base where he doesn't quite fit.
You look up.
Bad idea. Amazing idea.
The balcony tile is cold under your knees. Rain hits the roof. None of that matters because Aki's above you, head tilted back slightly, throat exposed, hair falling loose around his face. His shirt hangs off one shoulder from where you grabbed it. He looks nothing like the clean senior officer who brought you here under orders. He looks young. Tired. Turned on enough to hate both of you a little.
Aki's other hand comes to your head and settles in your hair.
You hollow your cheeks and keep your eyes on him while you take him deeper.
His hips jerk at the sensation.
"Don't," he says through his teeth, then immediately looks down. "I mean—don't push yourself."
You pull off just enough to speak, hand still moving slickly over him. "Are you seriously supervising my blowjob?"
You grin and ignore him, because obviously the correct response is to slide him down your throat until his careful little warning falls apart above you.
The groan that comes from above you tells you he's lost the argument.
You get messier after that because you want to. Because last night you were alone with your hand between your legs, terrified he might hear, and now he is hearing everything on purpose: the wet slide of your mouth, your soft gag when you take him too far, the way you hum around him when his fingers tighten in your hair.
It goes on long enough that your jaw starts to ache and your knees complain against the cold tile, but you don't care. You keep working him with your mouth and hand, pulling off just enough to breathe before taking him back in. Each time you pull back, he's slicker, heavier and throbbing against tongue, the head of his cock catching your lower lip before you take him in again. You're drunk on the way his control keeps slipping by tiny, humiliating degrees, and the longer you stay there, the worse he gets at hiding it.
It makes your cunt ache so badly that you have to press your thighs together for friction.
He sees.
Aki pulls you off him with more restraint than mercy.
You gasp, lips wet, fingers still wrapped around him.
He looks down at you, his chest rising and falling hard.
"Inside," he says.
Your stomach flips.
He tucks himself away badly, just enough, then hauls you up by your arms. You barely find your feet before he is kissing you again, walking you back through the balcony door. You laugh against his mouth because it's absurd, because you're dizzy with it, because Aki nearly trips on the door track and glares at it as if the building has personally betrayed him.
"Shut up," he mutters.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were going to."
"I was gonna say... you're very graceful."
He gives you a look that should kill you, but you're thriving.
Then he picks you up.
Not in some perfect romantic sweep. More in an irritated, practical, I've run out of patience with your legs and decided to solve the issue kind of way. Your arms go around his shoulders, your legs around his waist, and the feel of him hard between your thighs wipes the joke clean out of your head.
"Aki—"
"Quiet."
You grin into his neck—you can't help it. You're excited. Giddy, even. It's stupid, but you've wanted him for weeks, and now he's carrying you down the hall like he's done pretending this hasn't been happening.
He carries you past your room, to his.
You've never been inside before. That fact hits you when he sets you on the bed.
It's exactly what you'd expect and somehow still too much. Clean sheets. A spare uniform jacket hung on the back of the chair. Laundry basket tucked away. Nothing excessive. Nothing careless. His whole room feels like he lets himself need as little as possible, and maybe that's why sitting on his bed with your mouth still glossy and swollen feels even more obscene than the balcony.
Aki watches as you take it all in.
"You can still leave—if you want," he says.
You look back at him.
His sweatpants are sitting wrong. He's tense and hard and still, somehow, trying to be decent about it. Still giving you an exit when he looks like he's one breath away from losing the last of his control. It's so him that you want to kiss him for that alone.
It makes you ache.
"I don't want to leave."
He drops to his knees in front of you.
Your brain goes blank.
"Aki..."
He reaches for your waistband. "Lift your hips."
You do it so fast you'd be embarrassed if you had any dignity left.
He pulls your shorts and underwear down together, over your thighs, your knees, your ankles, then drops them on the floor. Cold air hits the wet between your thighs, and you realise, with a fresh wave of humiliation, that he can see exactly how gone you are for him.
His eyes drop.
The small silence after that is packed with every hour he spent avoiding you today.
You start to close your thighs, but Aki catches your knee.
"Don't."
One word. Quiet. Direct. Horrible for your self-respect.
You let him open your legs and lean in.
The first touch of his mouth makes your whole body jump.
He starts careful, which is insane because there's nothing careful about the way you react. His tongue moves over your clit with firm and wet pressure, then dips lower to taste you properly. You grab the sheets. Then his hair. He makes a low sound against you when your fingers slide into it, and that nearly finishes you on the spot.
Your hips jerk before you can stop them. He puts an arm across your stomach and holds you down with insulting ease.
"Oh my god," you gasp. "Aki—"
He looks up at you from between your thighs.
His mouth is wet. His hair's fallen forward, brushing your inner thigh. He looks focused, serious, devastatingly calm, as if he's taking in every twitch and sound and filing it away.
"You're loud," he says.
You make a strangled noise. "You knew that already."
His gaze sharpens.
Then he lowers his mouth again.
Bastard.
He uses it against you; every time you try to bite back a sound, every time your thighs try to close around his head, he does something worse. His arm stays over your hips to keep you where he wants you the entire time, and the fact that he can hold you there so easily makes you even wetter.
He's far too good at it, because he's Aki: the kind of person who learns fast and refuses to half-arse anything that requires a little patience, even apparently eating pussy. He pays attention to everything, which is unfair. The way your hips twitch when his tongue moves slower. The way your breath catches when he presses harder. The way you say his name, which makes his fingers work a little deeper, as if he heard it and decided to reward you for being so vulnerable.
His tongue stays on your clit while two fingers press inside you. He curls them until your back arches, and you grab the sheet so hard it pulls loose from the mattress. He doesn't rush. That's the worst part. He keeps you there, pinned and shaking, building it up like he's got no interest in letting you escape, even when it gets too much.
Your orgasm starts building too fast, but he keeps it just out of reach until you are furious with him. You hear yourself begging and don't even care what the words are, only that his name is in them.
"Please," you whine. "Please, fuck, stop being good at this and just—"
He lifts his mouth. "Just what?"
You could kill him.
You could kiss him until neither of you remembers how to go to work on Monday.
"Fuck me," you say.
Aki's fingers stop inside you.
"Please, Aki, I need you inside me. Right fucking now."
You are both breathing harder now. He looks at you from the floor, and for a second, the whole thing threatens to become serious in a way neither of you is ready for. Then he withdraws his fingers, stands, and pulls his shirt over his head.
You are not prepared.
You have seen hints of him. Lines under fabric. Forearms. The shape of his body when he stretches in the kitchen. But seeing all of him, bare, in the low bedroom light is different. He is lean, built from work rather than vanity, hard through the stomach and shoulders. Hipbones. Scars that interrupt his skin in small pale marks. A dark line of hair disappears beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, where the fabric sits low enough to show the cut of muscle at his hips. There's a damp mark at the front from where his cock strains against the grey cotton, and that's where your ability to think like a normal person gives up entirely.
He sees you staring, and this time he doesn't tell you to stop.
Maybe he likes it? The thought makes you clench around nothing.
He gets a condom from the drawer, then hesitates.
"I'm on birth control," you say, face hot. "And clean. Public Safety tested me after the contract. Everything."
You catch the tiny inhale before he can hide it, his eyes lifting to yours. "You sure?"
"Yes. Very. I need to feel you."
Aki's mouth presses into a line. He looks almost pained by your answer.
He puts the condom down and pushes his sweatpants off.
Your whole body trembles with anticipation.
He climbs over you, one knee on the bed, then the other, and suddenly he's close: warm, bare skin, dark hair falling around his face, the weight of him above you. You reach up and touch his chest because you can. Because last week you were afraid to brush past him in the hall, and now he is above you with his cock sliding hot against your inner thigh.
His hand comes to your face. Thumb under your chin.
"If your contract devil reacts, you need to tell me."
You blink. Then laugh once, breathless and a little mad. "That's what you're thinking about right now?"
"Yes."
"You're literally about to fuck me."
"I can do both."
The annoying part is he absolutely can.
You pull him down and kiss him, and he lets you for a few seconds. His cock presses against your cunt, slicking through the mess he made with his mouth. When you angle your hips up and the head of him catches at your entrance, your whole body goes tense with wanting. He breaks the kiss and looks down between your bodies as he guides himself slowly into you.
Your attitude dies immediately.
It's a lot. He's a lot. You feel every inch because he makes you feel it. The stretch burns in the best way, and he's watching your face, easing in with his jaw tense and one hand braced beside your head, ready to stop if you so much as flinch wrong. Your nails dig into his back.
"You're tight," he murmurs, pausing and sweeping the hair out of his face. "Are you okay?"
"Fuck—yes—keep going."
His forehead drops near your shoulder, and you feel the small huff of something almost like a laugh against your skin.
Then he pushes the rest of the way in.
You forget the room. You forget devils, Makima, Monday, every rule he gave you at the door, yourself. There is only the stretch of him—hot, deep, filling you so completely that your body needs a second to work out what to do with it—and the harsh little sound he makes when his hips meet yours.
Aki stays still, head dipped beside yours, hair falling against your cheek.
You turn your face into it.
"You feel so good," you whisper.
His hand grips the sheet beside you. You can feel the tension in his arm.
Then he starts moving.
Slow at first. Deep enough to make your eyes flutter shut. His hips roll into yours, controlled and steady, like he's still trying to keep the whole thing neat even while his cock's buried inside you and your legs are wrapped around him.
Each thrust makes the bed shift under you, makes heat climb through your stomach and chest until you are clinging to him because there is nowhere else for your hands to go. Every time your mouth opens, every time your eyes squeeze shut, every time his cock hits the place that makes your thighs tighten around his hips, he adjusts until you are making noises that don't even sound like your voice.
"You like that?" he says.
It comes out rougher than his usual voice. Less polished. More dangerous for your health.
"Yes," you pant.
"Here?"
He does it again.
You gasp. "Yes."
His pace changes. The bed knocks once against the wall, and he immediately puts a hand behind the headboard to stop it.
You would make fun of him if you were capable of anything beyond taking him.
Instead, you pull him down by the back of his neck and moan his name until his rhythm slips and comes back rougher. Messier. His hips snap into yours hard enough that you feel him everywhere: the weight of him over you, the drag of his cock inside you, the heat of his breath. Your thighs tighten around him, keeping him close, and he groans like that's the last thing he needed.
His hips find a rhythm that makes sense of every fantasy you had and then improves on it. Sharp hipbones against your thighs, stomach tight under your hands, hair falling in a curtain around both of your faces until the room narrows to just him.
"Fuck Aki, you're—fuck, you're so hot—so good at this," you breathe.
His hips stutter.
You say it again, because feeling him lose control drags you closer and closer to the edge.
"Aki, you're so fucking incredible."
He kisses you hard, trying to shut you up.
"You started all this," he whispers into your mouth.
"You heard me—fuck!—coming over you and still... put on those grey sweatpants."
His face flushes darker, and he answers the only way he apparently can: by fucking into you harder until whatever you were about to say breaks apart in your mouth. Then his fingers find your clit, and there's nothing left in you clever enough to answer him.
"Talk less," he growls.
He rubs you in tight, firm strokes, still driving into you deep, and your body folds around the pleasure.
The orgasm comes up fast. You feel it coming and panic because it is already bigger than you expected. Meaner than last night. Stronger because it's him, because his mouth is near your ear, because his cock's dragging through you exactly right, because he's watching you come apart and won't look away. Your legs tighten around him. Your hands slide over his back, then into his hair.
"Aki," you whimper, and it sounds too close to last night. "I'm gonna—"
He changes the angle of his hand before you even finish. His fingers press down on that swollen little point of your clit, faster and more exact, and the pleasure snaps so sharp through your hips that you can't get the rest of the sentence out.
You nearly sob.
"Come," he says.
Not pretty. Not coaxing. An order.
So you do.
It tears through you hard enough that you grab at him with everything you have, cunt clenching around his cock, hips lifting into his hand. For a few seconds, you cannot hear anything. Your body takes over completely. You say his name again, too loud, shaking under him while he fucks you through it with his face pressed near your temple.
Aki curses. His rhythm breaks.
You feel him try to hold back. Feel the strain of it in his shoulders, the way his hips slow like he is giving himself one last chance to be sensible. The last stupid bit of discipline.
So you tighten around him on purpose.
His eyes snap to yours.
That is all it takes.
He comes with a low, helpless sound, burying himself deep and trembling as warmth spills inside you. His body goes rigid above yours, then shudders once, hard. You hold him there with your legs around his waist and your fingers in his hair, feeling each pulse of him until he has nothing left to hide behind.
Afterwards, he does not collapse on you. Aki catches himself on one arm, breathing hard, face turned partly away as if he can somehow be modest.
You smooth damp hair from his cheek.
He lets you.
That feels almost more intimate than the sex.
He pulls out very carefully, and you wince.
"Sorry," he murmurs.
"I'm fine, I promise."
He doesn't believe you. He gets up, pulls his sweatpants back on, and leaves the room. You hear the bathroom tap. When he comes back, he's got a damp towel and a glass of water.
Your chest does something stupid.
He sits on the bed and takes care of you without making it weird. Or he tries not to. It's still weird because you're naked in his bed and his cum's leaking out of you and he's dabbing at your inner thigh like this is a first aid situation. The sex is one thing; his cleaning you up with red ears and a serious face is another entirely.
"So," you say, because silence might kill you. "Great supervision tonight."
He closes his eyes. "Don't start."
"You're really committed to your job, Hayakawa."
"I said don't."
But his mouth twitches.
He hands you the glass of water. "Drink something that's not beer."
You take it because you know he'll just sit there holding it until you do.
"Bossy," you mutter, before swigging some down.
"You like that."
You nearly choke.
His face goes blank in self-defence. "See, this is why I don't drink."
You laugh so hard you have to press the glass to your chest to avoid spilling it. "Because you end up fucking your subordinates?"
His ears go redder. "Because people make stupid decisions when they're drunk."
That kills the laugh a bit.
"...Was it stupid?"
The question sits there, ugly and honest.
Aki looks down at the towel in his hand, then puts it aside. His hair's still damp around the edges of his face. There's a scratch on his shoulder from your nails.
"No."
Your chest loosens. The relief is embarrassing in its size.
He rubs a hand over his face. "Just—complicated."
"Yeah..."
"We work together," he says softly, taking the glass from your hand and setting it on the floor.
"Yeah..."
He gives you a tired look. "Makima will notice if this affects anything."
There she is. You hate that her name can enter his bedroom so easily. You pull the sheet up over yourself, not because you're shy, but more because the mention of her suddenly makes your skin feel too exposed.
"She notices everything," you say. "Doesn't mean she owns everything."
Aki goes quiet.
You watch him start to shut himself away piece by piece again. It's subtle, but you know him better now. Maybe not enough. Enough to see when he's leaving without moving.
"She's not good enough for you," you say.
His expression hardens by habit. "You don't even know her."
He looks toward the window. Rain moves down the glass in thin, uneven lines. His profile is severe again, but tired under it, old grief sitting somewhere behind his eyes.
"It's just work," he says finally, quieter now.
"No," you keep your voice softer, more careful this time. No balcony bravado. No showing off. No trying to win. "It's not just work."
You wonder if he knows how young he looks when he has no uniform to hide inside.
"I don't know what she is to you," you add. "I don't even know if you know. But I know how she looks at you. Like you're—I don't know—just useful."
"I... don't know what it is," he says.
That honesty costs him. You can tell.
So you decide not to push. Not tonight. Not after everything. The last thing you want to do is put a sour taste on all of this. Instead, you reach for his hand where it rests on the bed.
He looks down at your fingers covering his.
"I'm not asking you to figure everything out right now," you say. "I'm just saying... I see you. That's all."
His fingers shift, barely, then settle under yours.
"You should sleep," he says.
"Are you kicking me out?"
"No."
The answer comes fast enough to make both of you lift your heads. He clears his throat and looks faintly mortified by it.
"I mean... You can stay—if you want."
You lie back and settle beneath his duvet before he changes his mind. "How very romantic of you."
He shoots you a warning look, but there is no real bite in it. Then he gets into bed beside you, stiff at first. You can hardly believe that he's still not realised that there's no way to do this neatly.
So you shuffle closer. He sighs, but his arm comes around you anyway.
The apartment feels different now. Same clean sheets. Same rain on the balcony glass. Same quiet rooms. Only now you know what he sounds like when control finally slips, and he knows exactly what his name sounds like in your mouth. Monday will bring uniforms, reports, training, Makima's calm smile, and whatever version of normal you're both supposed to perform after this.
But tonight Aki's skin is warm against yours, his hair down and tickling your cheek, his hand resting at your waist by accident and staying there by choice.
Your contract devil stirs sleepily under your skin.
Hungry?
You close your eyes.
"Not anymore," you whisper.
Aki's head lifts slightly from his pillow.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He exhales against your shoulder.
"Get some sleep," he says.
You close your eyes, and this time your devil stays quiet.
You thought it’d be funny to try that “calling your bf your friend” trend you saw on tiktok on Satoru, just to see how his hopelessly in love ass would react.
Pressing the record button on your phone, Satoru stands just slightly behind you, his arm wrapped around your neck. He’s grinning into the phone, putting up a peace sign as if to say hello.
“Hi guys! Today I’m here with my friend Satoru,” he freezes against you instantly, his arm going firm where you can feel it against your neck. “We’re gonna try some new pastries…”
You keep talking into the camera, but you can see him through the screen, he’s glancing at you through the phone as well as craning his neck to look at you.
“Want to try it first?” You turn to him, holding the whipped cream stuffed bread out to him. He makes eye contact with you, his piercing blue eyes unwavering from your gaze.
“What was that?” He murmurs, his gaze hardening. You can see his jaw clench when you ask what he’s talking about. The video long forgotten.
“No,” he reaches out for your phone, not breaking eye contact as he sets it down, not caring enough to stop the recording. “We’re not doing this.”
You step back, his arm still wrapped at your neck curls in, pulling you up against his chest. He slides his other hand down to your waist, holding it firm.
Satoru’s eye twitches with anger, his jaw still tense as he speaks again. “Friend? Hm?” He brings his hand up to your cheek, cupping the side of your face as he leans in close.
He places a kiss against your lips, it's slow and tender, but you can feel the heat and passion behind it. He pulls back, just far enough he can speak freely.
“I am,” he leans in again, pulling back just as quick as he leaned in. “Not your fucking friend.” He mumbles against your lips in between kisses.
⋆˚꩜｡
“Is this what friends do, hmm?” Satoru growls into your ear, his breath hit against the shell of your ear. His large hand resting your the small of your back as he fucks into you with insane force.
You frantically shake your head, your tears wetting the satin of the bed sheets. “N..No!”
He rolls his head back on his shoulders, his Adam's apple bobbing as he suppresses a groan. “Tell me,” with a rough snap of his hips you're pushed higher up on the bed. “Who fucks you like this?”
A whine escapes your throat as he bites down on your shoulder, his pace quickens from your lack of an answer. “You! Fuck.. You, Toru!”
His large hands wrap around your stomach, his chest flush against your back as he pulls you back on him until you're on your knees. He’s still inside, in fact you’re taking him to the hilt.
“Good girl,” he hissed, his lips trailing the back of your neck as his hips twitched into yours. Your head falls back against his shoulder, a clear view of his glistening face, and that shit eating grin he’s got.
You barely have time to react before his hips snap again, fucking into you at a rapid pace. Still making eye contact with you, his hands slide up to your breasts.
His fingers playing with your nipple as he dips his head down to lick your other, the contrast of the cool air and his hot tongue are enough to make you cum right then and there.
“M’gonna- fuck,” you interrupt yourself, his free hand trails down to your clit. The pads of his fingers circling your clit as he pumbles into is too overstimulating.
“Cum for me,” he whispers against your breast, nipping at your perky nipples. Satoru seems put together, as if he’s not even close, but you feel the way his hips start stuttering, his legs shaking against your thighs. “Cum for your ‘friend’”
With one last thrust you come undone, the knot in your stomach breaking as you fall back into him. His body trembles beneath yours, hips staggering as he cums inside you.
The feeling of his thick, warm cum filling you up makes you fold over. Your head hitting the pillow as he falls with you, chest pressed against your back.
⋆˚꩜｡
When you fix yourselves up and go back to the kitchen, you notice your phone’s still been recording. The timer just hitting 2:30:00.
You sit down on the couch beside Satoru and play the video back, both laughing at how upset he was. Then you skip to sometime later in the two hours it recorded.
…
“I’m cutting that out, oh my god.” You flush, hiding your face in your hands. Satoru stole your phone from your hands, pressing play.
Loud moans from both your ends cut the silence and he laughed, sending the video to himself immediately.
“No, keep it in,” he pulled your hands away from your face. “Let em know I’m not your friend.”
Synopsis. Tall, gloomy, and really good with the g-string. There’s nothing that Geto Suguru - rockstar, campus heartthrob, lead guitarist of the Sorcerers - doesn’t have. Except for a new song idea. And you, his cute new muse.
Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, rockstar!Geto, rock band AU, meet-cutes, he’s down bad, song-writing, you’re his muse, Geto with tattoos and piercings, parties, body shots, concerts, campus gossip, pússydrúnk Geto, oraI (fem rec.), spìtting, chokìng p talking, fìngering, ringed fingers, he’s feraI, in the backseat of his car, he’s BIG, D piercings, cervìx kìssing, running from it, headIocks, manhandIing, slight impactpIay, rough s, dùmbifìcation, creampìes, cùmplay, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 11.6k
A/N. Y’all wanted so daddy Tony provided mwahahah…
“P-please…” Drool cascades down your mouth at an incredible pace, and your neck feels numb from how long you’ve been holding it up.
From how long you’ve just been staring at him—Geto Suguru.
Fresh off of his latest concert, he’s delving his tongue between your folds like an animal. Like he’d been starved all throughout the night- and he can’t seem to stop. He’s got one ringed hand pressed down on your stomach, and the other rovering across your sensitive nub.
You feel him purse his pretty lips and spit, letting the syrupy knot dribble down your thighs like a waterfall.
Geto throws his long, inky hair back; that curved piercing on his lip glittering with the wads of your mess. And he groans, “I have to make it up to my gorgeous muse in some way, yeah?” Especially after the best set of his entire life.
He was insane.
And you’re wondering how the hell you even got here.
.
.
.
“Fuck-” Geto sighs between his clenched teeth, one hand gripping onto his scribbled sheets. The other runs through his hair until it’s all unruly. A few bystanders swoon- it almost makes him feel better.
He’s pacing through the corridors of campus, solely because his bandmates had banned him from pacing inside the practice room. Long legs taking about five normal steps a stride, he absentmindedly nods at all the starstruck passerbys, the fans.
Being in the midst of writing a new song usually does get him this way - for about a day. Two days. Maximum.
But it’s been weeks and he hasn’t been able to jot even a single verse down, hasn’t scrambled together anything for the upcoming gig. Gojo said it was alright - that they could scrounge up something off the old EP - but Geto knew it rested on him, as lead guitarist, and vocalist.
Imagine, an opening act with no fresh songs.
If only he could just write—but what about? Heartbreak? Love? He’d rather write about Yaga.
“Fuck!” He spits again- just in time with your very own startled profanity. A pretty voice.
A cute bump! before the two of you stumble backwards, colliding into each other. A plumage of papers burst into the air, and start showering the smooth tile below. Geto’s down at the mess and internally groaning; all those half-written, mostly-crossed songs mixed in with what looked like your lecture notes. Perfect.
Without looking up, he’s bending down to rifle through them, when-
“Oh, you’re in a band?”
“Yes?” Geto snaps his head up, somewhat shocked that you’re speaking to him, even though he knows he shouldn’t be. And then Geto Suguru - campus heartthrob, gets a laundry list of numbers after every concert, the untouchable - catches a glimpse of you and just…stares.
With his raven brows slightly raised, and the shapely curve of his mouth parting. Ever-so-slightly.
“Hi.”
You have to fight back a smile, “Hi.” Was that seriously the red tint of a blush crawling across his handsome cheekbones?
Oh, he can’t stop staring.
It’s long enough that you’re clearing your throat, dropping your gaze as you pick up your own papers. “I should have probably started off with that. Sorry I uh- I just see you’ve been writing songs.”
“Trying to,” he huffs. Half-joking.
And then the intricate metal of his ring brushes your own fingertips as you hand him one of his sheets; less song lyrics and more ugly caricatures of Nanami. He lingers the touch. It’s electric.
It makes the forefront of his fingers twitch. Almost jolt. And they itch towards you as if trying to prolong the skin-to-skin contact, as if trying to hold onto a pen.
It suddenly hits Geto - he needs to write.
“Hey uh- do you have a- thank you.” His voice trails off as you catch his drift and quickly hand him a pen, Geto then rapidfire scrawls down a few words. Phrases. Not even entire sentences, just an explosion of feelings that pulsed like the thumping of his own heart.
And then someone calls out his name - perhaps in greeting, perhaps in a yell to move off of the middle of the hallway - and his hand stops writing. Fuck- what was that? He looks at you again, and hands you back the pen, “I promise I’m not usually this unsmooth.” Holding out his hand for a handshake, your palm fits in his and he hears nothing but melodies in his head. “The name’s Geto, Geto Suguru. But you can call me Suguru, all my friends do. I’m in the band ‘Sorcerers.’”
You’re introducing yourself with your own name and he almost has the urge to write that down, too. Humming, “It’s alright, band stuff, I assume?”
“Band stuff.” You were walking with him now, side-by-side.
“Keyboard?”
“Guitar.” It made sense - the tattoos that crept all over his strong, beefy arms, those twinkling piercings. What didn’t make sense was just why he felt the need to show it all off for you; like the minutes before a big concert, his fingers trembled. But he grins, and it’s something devilish. “And vocals.”
Walking backwards now so that your gorgeous, gorgeous face can face him. You slow down your walk and he’s realizing that you’ve arrived at your class.
He’s realizing that he just might not see you again.
And he wanted to see more of you.
A lot more of you.
A few of your classmates throw the two of you looks as they pass, walking inside the class. Geto was a bit of a campus legend; and for as popular as he was, seeing him talk to someone outside of his band - especially during his song-writing blues - was rare. Exceptionally rare.
So he bites the inside of his cheek, “Actually…you think you’d wanna see it in person sometime? Like—tonight?”
“Oh?”
.
.
.
“Man, a grown-ass man should not be giggling like that.”
“I would hate to remind you that you do nothing but giggle.”
“I’m just special like that, Nanamin~” Gojo winks at the blond-haired drummer, who makes to throw down his drumsticks before paying attention to the concert setlist instead. Anything but him.
Unfortunately, Gojo does not have that willpower and was entirely too invested in whatever had his best friend acting like a middle-schooler with a crush. Bright-eyed. Flush-faced. Glued to his phone since before rehearsal started. Skipping around the corners of the practise room—skipping, he swears.
He throws a wadded up ball of paper - yet another one of Geto’s failed lyrical attempts - at the back of his head. It hits. And he doesn’t even notice.
Shoko herself looks up from her phone, “But in all honesty, what is up with you today?”
“Did a new type of guitar drop or—” Gojo grumbles from his other guitar station, looking above the metal rim of his glasses. Yes, the ones he wore indoors.
Geto pulls himself away from his glaring screen with a low, mindless, “Huh?”
“For fuck’s sake what’s got you so-”
“Hi, sorry- I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Just then, you walk in. Door opening; there’s no way you could’ve gotten in without invitation. And there’s no way you weren’t invited by Geto.
Because, immediately, your eyes meet his deep, amethyst ones. Like two ships at sail, you’re beaming a smile at all of them - but the brightest one for him. Going to stand at his side as he plunges his phone back in his trousers. And then he gets it.
Oh, they get it.
Nanami blinks.
Haibara waves.
Shoko takes a picture (with flash, of course.)
Gojo whistles.
And then Gojo promptly gets smacked upside the head - by two different hands, two different people. Geto makes a note of wiping off his palm before introducing the rotation of amateur musicians and visitors to each other.
“Now what she’s really here for isn’t your dumbasses.” He’s rolling his eyes, pulling on the lightning purple guitar of his. “It’s for the music-” He tilts his head with a smile, “-and me.”
You were here for a few demonstrations, after bumping into Geto and exchanging numbers - to which they gladly pump out the best of their best for a pretty girl. Hell, Geto thinks he even sees Nanami and Shoko putting in a lil’ extra effort, and can’t help but strum even louder.
Letting the electric twang of his guitar take over.
It still rings in the air after they finish a runthrough of their first three songs. And you’re clapping fervently by the end of it.
“That was amazing.”
“Why thank you, sweetheart-”
“Why thank you, gorgeous.” Geto quickly takes over, silently glaring at Gojo to leave. He gets the message - albeit reluctantly, and soon enough is being dragged by Nanami, Haibara, and Shoko out for some fresh air and a brief break outside the room.
Leaving the two of you alone.
“So…”
“So.” Geto’s scratching behind his neck, where there was a massive inky tattoo of a dragon. Snaking. Fuck- when has he ever had this much trouble talking to…well, anyone, really?
And he’s clearing his throat, not letting the silence drag out for much longer before the thick fabric of his guitar strap loops over your own neck. Safely swaddled. You’re looking up at him with such adorable confusion as he snickers, “Wanna learn how to play?”
“Hell yeah.” And before long your fingers are twisting over a few chords - tangling. He’s attempting to teach you about the G chord and the E major, and you’re attempting not to fall to your knees.
After a few unsuccessful tries, he’s catching onto your desperation and gesturing for you to sit on the carpeted floor. Perhaps to teach you hands-on, perhaps to make you relax- but whatever it was, you certainly didn’t expect him to sidle up behind you.
For his toned pecs to press up against your shoulders, you could hear Geto’s gravelly breath graze the shell of your ear. He leans over, his lengthy hair tickling your neck. “Like…” Much larger hands covering yours, “-this.”
And then he’s just so gentle.
You’re not sure what exactly you expected, but he holds your hands in his like glass. Oh-so-softly helping your fingerpads prick at the strings of his guitar, “S’easier this way.”
“Yeah–” you’re breathing out, practically in his lap with the way that his long legs were curling underneath yours, nowhere to go. And his tone core presses against your back, weight leaning slightly on you so that he can see what you do.
You don’t know what you’re doing.
You grin once your hapless chords actually start to formulate into something that sounds like it’s part of a song. Something slow. Almost sensual. “It’s beautiful- what song is this, I don’t think it’s one you played?”
“Because it’s not.” He’s purring from behind, piercing catching the light as he grins. “You really like it~?”
Something was dripping darkness in his voice, and your breath catches. “Y-yes.” He was taking over completely. Guiding your hands with his experienced ones, they slide looooong and slow down the neck of the guitar.
From the back of Geto’s throat, he’s murmuring a barely-audible few words. “Come and get it now. Come and get it now.” Lowered eyes gliding in a feline manner to you, “Baby show me what you’re doing- hm.”
You snap out of your little bubble as he stops abruptly.
Looking somewhat sheepish, “It’s a work in progress.”
“I think it might be my favorite already.” You admit. And you don’t know whether it’s your imagination - you don’t know whether you’re projecting - but you could’ve sworn that his heat does a thunderous ba-dump–! from where his chest was plastered to your body from behind.
You’re yelping, jostled as he pulls you in even closer. “That so? Maybe you can help me write it then?”
“Me?” You balk, “How-”
The plump end of his lips curl, sinfully. It was almost unfair how he could look so attractive without even trying- “Just by sitting there. Just by being here. It helps.”
“By being here with you?”
“Being here with me.” Confirming. And by the way he was gazing upon you through his peripheral vision, fingerpads still tracing your digits, your knuckles, even though you weren’t playing anything. “S’that a problem?”
You find it hard to swallow. “Not at all.”
Close.
You two were too close.
And that wouldn’t have been a problem if you were moving away—but the fact of the matter is that you were moving closer. Your lashes flutter, and his own dilated pupils alternate in a triangle between your right eye, your left eye, your mouth.
Closer.
Until-
“I’m coming in and you two better not be fucking in there- ouch! What was that for Nanamin?”
“You’re a bad wingman, Gojo-senpai.”
“Sorry, Haibara.”
Before the Sorcerers can bustle their way through those soundproof walls once more, you’re hastily scrambling off of Geto’s lap. For now.
.
.
.
“I heard you’ve tamed the cult leader of Tokyo Tech-”
“The who?” You squint at Utahime, trying to figure out whether she was simply trying to raise your blood pressure so early in the morning. No. She was dead serious.
“No need to hide it, Shoko already told me everything. So- about the cult leader of Tokyo Tech?” she repeats, as if that was enough. And when you look dangerously close to an aneurysm, she’s sighing. “Geto Suguru? Tall, tattoos, piercings, dark hair, devastatingly hot- you know who I’m talking about, I can see you fantasizing about him already.”
“I’m not fantasizing.” You’re insisting, though it sounds as if you’ve been caught. Any louder and Yaga would give up on glaring at the two of you, and instead send you out of the lecture completely. Only just started, but already the gossip was hot in class.
You just couldn’t believe it was about you and him.
With your pitch slightly back to normal, you try to sound as civilized as possible as you say, “I am not fantasizing. Nor will I ever.”
Utahime puts her face in her open hand and shakes her head, “Right. Nor will you ever. So that means you completely, totally wouldn’t fantasize about him walking into this class right now and sweeping you off of your feet?”
Well, you had to admit that class was getting a bit droning…but you had to stick to your claim. It was the principle of it. “Correct.”
“And so that means you completely, totally wouldn’t care about the fact that he just did walk into this class?”
“Corre- what?” Your desk rattles, just a little bit, as you turn your body around to face the entrance. And you find that Utahime hadn’t been lying: not the part about him coming to class, or the part about him being ‘devastatingly hot’ from prior.
He saunters in with such confidence, Yaga himself doesn’t point out that he’s just about fifteen minutes late. And he stands at the foot of the lecture hall, eyes scanning the seat and- you don’t think you’ve moved faster in your life than at that very moment. You’re throwing both yours and Utahime’s bags onto the floor from where they’d been placed on the empty seat beside you.
Ignoring her half-hearted ‘hey!’ you let Geto spot you. Like his eyes were drawn to you.
It’s then that you’re noticing he’s wearing glasses. You think he should wear them more often.
And he’s gladly taking the seat, his dark, skin-tight arm-cut pressing against your side. “Thanks, gorgeous.” Noticing all the stares, perhaps even a few whispers that erupt. He leans in real close to mutter in your ear, “They’re just jealous.”
Somewhere in the distance, you think you hear your friend gag. After some brief introductions, you ponder, “I didn’t know you were in this class.”
“Never attended.” He slumps in his chair, making himself look almost too lanky for it, almost too big. In front of you, you think you see Yaga’s bushy brows raise at the interaction - and the fact that Geto Suguru was actually here. “Yaga doesn’t count it. Only reason I’m topping the class—” He smiles, showing off his lip piercing. And if you didn’t know any better, you swear you could see that he had a tongue piercing, as well. “-second place.”
“Braggart.”
“Sore loser.”
“Nerd.”
“That I am,” he chuckles. Geto shuffles through his backpack, patch-worked with various pins and decorations of bands—you think you can make out Green Day, Nirvana, The Garden, and a few more that he’s more than happy to show off.
What he pulls out isn’t his laptop, or a textbook of any kind - it’s his lyrics notebook. And he spreads it open between the two of you, to a page with a few half-written verses.
Met each other just the other day.
But you got me feeling some type of way.
And then past an empty space where you assume he wanted to add in some more:
I wanna hear you…
I wanna see you…
With your own pencil, you’re making a few tweaks. You finish off that second-last sentence that he seemed to be stuck on—I wanna hear you confess.
Geto’s pearly white teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he toys with the chunky rings on his fingers for a few seconds. You’re unsure if that meant he was hesitating. If that meant he was thinking. Considering.
Before he leans over and finishes the other line—I wanna see you undress now.
Something zips down your spine, your thighs clench- and you find that he follows them with his own. Bumping his knee against yours. And you push right back against his, following the quiet scritch-scratch of his graphite starting to jot down a few more lyrics.
You got me down on my knees.
It’s getting harder to breathe out.
You always did seem to pull that out of him.
Utahime pinches you as the two of you continue, whispering in your ear so that only you could hear. “What was that about not fantasizing?”
“Shut up.”
.
.
.
A party.
An open bar.
And the thrumming music.
But you and Geto weren’t anywhere near the dance floor, or the lengthy drinks table, or where the couples sneak off to make out- actually, scratch that. Because you two might just be occupying a lil’ alcove in Gojo and Geto’s penthouse apartment.
With the heady college party raging around you two - one that the band had been the one to invite you to - somehow, you’d found yourself with him. Shoulders against shoulders. Skin against skin. Your hands brushing against his when you pick up the pen from his hands–
“Oh, I like this one better than the last-” You circle the lyric that he’d just jotted down, with a few notes of your own that he always loved to read. Something about ‘churning his gears’, whatever that meant. He was almost done with the song now, it seemed.
“Mmm, that’s what I was thinking.” He hums, thoughtfully, dark bangs falling across his face. It was no wonder that half the party was split between waltzing past the alcove merely to get a glimpse of him.
And the other half was on the other side of the penthouse, out of pure shyness.
The thick pads of his fingers scratch out some more writing on his notepad, messy and masculine. His rings glint as he’s scrawling, “If I can figure…it out. I’d take you…back to my house and—” He halts, unsure how the rest of that sentence would go. With his tongue still rolling on those words, he’s glancing at you sidelong.
As you tilt your head in confusion, he’s smirking. “No, s’just funny. You’re already in my house.”
“Mhm, and what are you suggesting?” You raise a brow.
“Ohhh, nothing. Just the song.” And he raises one right back, teasingly. His cherry-vodka laced breath wafting across your features, “And what are you suggesting, gorgeous?”
“Nothing, just the song.”
“Are you sure?” He’s tilting his head down at you, even in the cramped space he somehow seemed to tower over you with his hulking frame. Sheer size. And his deltoid pushes against the side of your body, “You’re awfully close, y’know?” The way that he was leaning even closer.
And you can only sputter at his audacity- “Are you sure?”
“Oi! You two—” Gojo Satoru always did seem to have a penchant for interruptions. You don’t know if you’re maddened by it or grateful- the air was thick, and you couldn’t seem to breathe as well as you might have.
Directly in front of you, from the other side of the room right opposite, Gojo’s waving his hand frantically. His booming voice echoing all across the house, “Stop flirtin’ in there and take a shot!”
Oh, you could imagine the rumors that were taking root already.
Geto flips him off. With a deadpan expression that told his best friend that he’d be staying here with his work (and you, mostly just for you), thank you very much.
Gojo trills, “We’re doing body shots~”
“Let’s go, gorgeous.” Instantly, he looks at you.
“Wha- huh?” You don’t know whether you’ve sustained whiplash by how fast he’s changed his mind, or by how fast he’s moving. With his fingers smoothly replacing the pen in your hands with his own set of digits—big n’ warm.
Geto holds both his lyrical notebook and you as close as possible as he’s meandering through the party. Through the slightly taken-aback gasps, the flirtatious waves, and the grinding bodies.
Gojo looks smugly accomplished by the time you’re making it through the whirlwind party in the middle to reach their table of alcohol. There’s a small group forming now already, cheering on the reunion of the main duo.
Geto looks at him, and there’s a small flicker of understanding that passes. Invisible but existing.
“You two go first-” The white-haired man then thrusts one full shot glass of tequila into Geto’s hands- then immediately grabs ahold of you and cricks your head side to tap out a line of salt down the column of your throat. A wedge of lime between your teeth, pulp side out. Without any adhesive surface, it was messy, scattering nearly up to your jawline. It tingles on your skin once you realize just what was about to happen.
As Geto’s mouth tightens at Gojo’s rough handling of you, the other finishes off. “-I’ve gotta find Nanamin first so he can do one with me.”
Shoko groans. “You’re a lightweight.”
“Exactly.”
“Kento ran out of the building I believe, senpai.” Haibara beams.
And as Gojo whines his protests, Geto can only shake his head- partially because of his band’s antics, partially to clear his fuzzy brain because of you.
You. You. You.
Oh, what gave you the right to present that sensual neck up at him like that? Your teeth worrying your lower lip as if you were nervous. He catches the way your gaze slightly tracks towards the cat-calling crowd, and one roughened hand of his cups your cheek.
Tilting your face ever-so-carefully to look at him instead of the audience.
His pinkish tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he leans in close- as if he was going to whisper something. As if he was going to kiss you.
Before Geto immediately downs the acrid liquid in the glass, barely even reacting. Barely even finishing his swallow before his long, flexible tongue glides up the salt lining your throat. And then where he didn’t hesitate before, didn’t even slow down: he takes a look at the sour lime between your lips and grins.
Slowly, agonizingly.
He’s moving his greedy maw forwards, the plump edges of his mouth hovering above your own. You feel the pressure on the lime as he lightly sucks—and as your knees weaken, he’s easily taking it into his own mouth.
With just the lightest graze of his lips on your lips.
An indirect kiss? A direct kiss? You didn’t even know at this point.
Geto stares at you through his wispy bangs, dead-straight in your widened eyes when he sucks on the lime. Easily ridding it of all juice, he takes it out.
Then, like a gentleman, the fat crown of his thumb wipes away the stray salt that dusts your jawline. Somewhere near the edge of your lips that you’re sure wasn’t coated in salt at all. But you weren’t complaining.
Your ears were ringing, and only too late do you realize that the half-drunk students around you were in uproar. Gasping. Fanning. Staring.
Gojo himself gapes slightly speechless.
“Meddle about.”
“What?” You startle, it had been thick silence in your little bubble until now–like an extension of the alcove. But Geto was the first to break it.
He’s smiling down at you like he knew something you didn’t, then taps the song notebook in your hands- when did it even get in your hands? “If I could figure it out-” Smoky breaths, like he’d just run a marathon. Pants. Heaves. His eyes draaaag down your body, that special outfit you’d put on just for the party. “-I’d take you back to my house, so we can meddle about.”
Oh.
Oh.
It takes you far too long to recognize he’s talking about the song. The song.
Even if he’s looking at you in a way that shows otherwise.
“Just get a room- honestly-” Gojo whines, but then promptly turns to Shoko. “Tell me you got that on camera- please tell me you got that on camera.”
“I did.”
It was palpable. To just about everyone in the room—including a gruff Nanami Kento who walks back in after a few urgent calls from Haibara, then immediately blanches as he looks around the room. At the two of you.
He turns to run.
And as the three others turn to run as well (towards Nanami, in order to catch him), you turn to Geto- only to find that he’s already looking at you. He takes a long lick of his lower lip, lapping up the remnants of liquor. Something glinting in his dark eyes, as if he was trying to figure something out.
Something.
.
.
.
“Hey, let me try something.”
It was the day of their concert, just before. And you’re looking on in slight confusion as Geto taps away the last few notes of his rehearsal, in the green room. The other quartet had slipped out for last-minute drinks beforehand, it was a somewhat dingy hole-in-the-wall bar, but Geto had told you that the music here was legendary.
You trusted him. So you don’t question it either when he’s dragging you by the hand to sit upon one of the big, boxy speakers they kept in the corner of the room.
Making sure the cable connection with his electric guitar was alright- before he strums.
You gasp—the vibrations were tingling all the way at the tip of your feet, and up to the very crown of your scalp. And everywhere in-between. Especially between your legs.
You gape, and Geto snickers like he knew exactly what you were thinking. He hums, low in the aftermath of the guitar screech. “Pretty nice, huh? D’you wanna sit on one of those while we play up there?”
“A-are you sure?” Could you even handle that?
“Mhm. And I think it’ll help to have you so close, too- when we play our new song.” He’s helping you hop off the speaker and stand on your slightly wobbly legs. Arm still helping support you as you teeter your way towards the green room sofa.
It was covered in a blanket of parchment. Sheet music, papers, lyrics.
As you silently look through all the different versions of that song he’d been writing, Geto sits beside you. Arms against arms. Thighs against thighs. Bodies against bodies. Shuffling through all these papers, it almost reminds you of the day you met.
“So many rewrites,” you giggle. Looking through all the infinite crosses and scratches on the papers as he wrote, and rewrote, and rewrote. All day and all night, it seemed. And yet he’s found that everything, words especially, just seem to flow easier around you.
“I wrote it for you.” His dark lashes lower, confessing. “They’re all for you.”
Your heart races- a part of you expected it. A part of you still can’t believe it. “You did?”
“Yeah.” He turns to face you, properly, now. With his predatory gaze making a beeline for your mouth, “S’that a problem?”
“Yeah.” You swallow, “And I like it.”
And then your back’s splayed out across the couch, draped all over Geto’s toned front. He’s got one of his knees wedged between your thighs, and you’re yelping at the sudden movement.
You were just so cute- he’d barely even done anything, and yet you were starting to drench those poor panties of yours already. If he grinded his knee any harder, then he’s sure he’d have a splotchy dark spot that all the audiences would see once he’s up on that stage.
But right now, he didn’t care.
Not at all.
One tattooed hand of his pins down two of yours somewhere by the armrest of the couch.
And your cunt twitches when his face starts looming closer. The shimmering tip of his tongue toying with his lip piercing for a few seconds. Eyes partly-closed to watch you through his lashes, and his mouth greedy to taste yours. He throatily whispers, “I think I just finished the entire song right now, gorgeous.”
Like this, you’re raising your head to meet Geto halfway with a whine. Fluttering your gaze shut as you ready yourself to kiss him—
“Hey, d’you wanna shot before we head ou- ohohoh?!”
“Oh.”
“Congratulations, Geto senpai!”
Nanami leaves, the only one out of the four that seemed to have some inkling of respect for your privacy. Though, to be fair, this was the common green room. And as you try your very best to block out Gojo’s screeches, and Shoko’s constantly shuttering camera, Geto dips down.
Not to kiss you - not right now - but rather, to whisper in your ear. “After the show, m’gonna take you back to my house so we could meddle about.”
.
.
.
After that, it wasn’t just meddling about.
Hell, after that, the two of you didn’t even make it to his damn penthouse.
The minute the concert was over to roaring cheers and quite a few bras thrown on-stage- Geto’s meaningful eyes had locked straight with yours. Seated upon the speaker, and dripping wet from what he could tell from your face.
He doesn’t think he even debriefed with the band or said his goodbyes.
Just a hand on your wrist, the other on your waist. Attached meanly so that he can give the side of your ass a good smack- Geto’s pushing you into the back of his 2018 jet-black Dodge Demon, parked outside the dingy bar. Thank fuck he didn’t decide to take the bike today.
Slamming you into the leather backseats, pinning your hips down.
You’re fucking them back into him already, just as he cups your drivelling pussy through your panties. Whining, “P-please, Suguru. Don’t tease.”
“Fuck-” He’s hissing, taking his hand off of your cute cunt as if it burned. And it did - not to have you in his mouth and around his fingers, that is. First, he’s letting his dark leather jacket drop to the floor, right along with his undershirt.
And you take the time to admire how sexy he was.
From the detailed tattoos that trickled down his neck, to the dragon on his back, to the side of his hip that was decorated with one of a sting-ray. Right on his v-line.
Then he’s moving to take off his fat, silver rings—but you stop him right there. And the look on your face must say enough for you, because just then you’re seeing his features split with such a brilliant smile. Oh, he knew what you wanted. Geto huskily spits, “Alright then, naughty girl. So take it.”
You’re letting off a sudden yelp once he plunges his cold, ringed fingers between your spit-slicked lips.
He’s swabbin’ them all around like an animal, letting your maw suck on him like your favorite lolly. And, fuck, he can’t lie- watching you drool and whine around him like this might just be the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
With two glittering rivers of spit dripping down either side of your mouth, you’re moaning once you catch sight of his hand snaking down to his pants. “Mmm, gorgeous, I wanna make you sing.” With only one hand, he’s undoing his chunky belt and the rest of his buttons.
He looks you right in the eyes - not even the slightest bit shy - as he pushes down his dark pants so that you can see the bulging outline of Geto’s erection through his boxers. Rock-hard.
And just as you gasp—his fingers reel back from your slobbery mouth, and slightly teases down your slit. You gush with the drag of his thick thumb, all around him till his wrist was all wet with sweet syrup.
You hold onto his flexing shoulders, “O-oh.” Your hips rutting directly into his hands.
“Oh- oh, gorgeous.” Geto doesn’t even want to speak too loud, not when your pussy was echoing out the most lewd squelches. “She’s reeeeeally happy to see me, huh? Haven’t had a warm welcome this nice since- ever.” His fingers swirl ‘round your tight hole and watches as you just keep on pushing out wave upon wave of your juices. Swirl upon swirl.
Until his digits were just so glazed in all your cream that he couldn’t help but carnally yearn for a little taste. Just a little - you can’t blame him.
Glistening rivulets of slick travel down his pale forearm as he lifts his hand up- you were just that wet for him. And then Geto sucks—then his eyes widen. Then he pants. Then he almost flinches at just how cloyingly good you tasted on his savoring tongue.
Looking you right in your eyes, Geto licks up every last drop from his fingers. And he gusts out the most primal slurps as he does so.
“Oh, gorgeous,” he’s repeating, like before. But there was something different this time. Something faintly…wrecked. As the last few dollops of slick disappear down his throat, he groans. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, “Oh, fuck- that’s not enough.”
It all happens at once. All of a sudden, he’s on his knees on the floor of the backseat. Knees digging into the carpet below, your upper half being more or less propped up on the cushion.
It’s giving you whiplash how fast it happens, and you’re staring at Geto in slight shock at his strength. To which he catches your cute, bulged gaze and answers, “M’not playing around anymore, gorgeous.”
Skirt, panties—everything is torn off of you with only one of his hands. That lacy lil’ underwear of yours in particular catching his interest. He makes sure to put it in his back pocket - then turns on the backseat light. Uncaring, because his windows were tinted pitch black.
Right now he just smears apart your pussylips with his two thumbs. He’s never seen a prettier fuckin’ sight; how glittering and wet you were, with your folds so swollen that it looked like you were pouting up at him.
Geto plants one sweet lil’ peck right in the middle of your cunt and lingers, just smelling the sugary whiff of your body wash. And that primal scent of your pussy—
“Mmm, y’know what they say about guitarists?” He’s murmuring wetly, right against your sex so that you’ll squirm all cutely.
“Wh-what?” You puff out, a heady breath.
He doesn’t answer- that’s because your wettened pussy is answering for you. With a great, upheaving squeeeeelch he’s sinking inside his lengthy tongue. Past your folds n’ all the way to spearhead into your gooey insides. Muffled, “That.”
It’s barely even registering in your mind, because then Geto’s thrusting his ridged tastebuds in n’ out like he’s gone insane.
In and out, in and out.
With such vulgarity, he’s pressing himself nose-deep against your cunt and breathing you in. Letting the sharp edge of his nose just press on your clit, Geto’s jaw works overtime to prod his bludgeoning tongue.
Slapping against the roof of your pussy, he’s prolonging his muscle into spots you didn’t even know you had. “Oh my n-ngh, fuck!” And so thick, just stretching out your damp hole until you see white.
You gurgle on your own spittle at the sloppy drags of his tastebuds, and pathetically attempt to push back on his clammy scalp. “W-wait, I can feel a- ngh, don’t tell me you really have a…”
“Have a what, gorgeous?” Just to tease you, Geto jerks his head back- letting his tongue flop out of your pussy for just a second. And you’re missing his size inside you, but most of all you’re awestruck by the cold metal piercing right in the middle of his pink tongue.
And he was proudly stuffing it straightly back into your entrance, this time spitting. He smears the line of saliva that glues to your sultry folds, “A piercing- yeah. S’that a problem?”
“N-no…” Your head starts to drop backwards at the sudden usage of his piercing now. You could feel that circular orb poke into your soft innards, like a cold finger almost. You’ve never felt anything like this. “I like it- oh! I like it, I really do—”
“Mhm, glad we cleared that up, baby.” Geto purrs, and he lightly smacks the front of your pussy in adoration. Watching as specks of pearly slick spurt all over his hand, “Now, how about this?”
Before you know it, he’s squeezing in the crowned tip of his finger past your hole - two of them, in fact. And your elastic entrance stretches with the most rawly wet noises, ones that he leans his ear closer to hear even better. Even louder.
Geto snickers meanly once one of his rings catch on your snug hole, and you flinch. “There we go-” He eases them in with repeated pumps, “Theeere we go. Hah, told you I wanted to make this pretty lady sing.”
“Fuh-fuuuuck, I can’t help it, ngh.” Your entire body breaks out in trembles, and the bottom one of your lips starts wobbling.
Oh, he could write songs- fuck that, he could write an entire album about you at this very moment.
But right now, he had more important things to do. Namely: you. And Geto plucks apart your sticky folds to take a good, long look at your cunt swallowin’ in his fingers. Push after push. Probe after probe.
The knobbly, scouring ends of his fingers delve in deep and send you spiralling. “You don’t need to mmm, help it, gorgeous.” He’s continuing where your conversation had trailed off. “You just need to…”
And he’s gulping wet wads of saliva that just slide down his throat.
His thick Adam’s apple bobbing, Geto’s flaring his nostrils- making sure to focus his entire aim on exactly hitting that one spot he knew you’d love. That one spot he’s thrusting in with a rough jackhammer and pushing—“-to project.”
And you were projecting that pretty voice alright.
You’re screaming almost feverishly at the sensation of him scraping your inner lining, your walls cling onto him maddeningly. Gobbling him up as he hits your g-spot at a frenzied pace - once, twice, thrice.
“Please-” Babbling out stupidly, tears cascade down your cheeks when he manages to shove your wet orifice apart. You’re drip-drip-driiiiping gummy wetness once he pushes in a second fat fingertip, the globular edge of his swipin’ each nook n’ cranny of your cunt. “Please please please- I need ngh-”
“Yeahhh, who do you need, gorgeous?”
“Y-you…”
Geto cups his ear with a mocking smile, and he’s crushing your throbbing clit between his front teeth. Just gnawing. “Mhmmm—?”
“You-” You’re sobbing out - squealing. Your back hits the seat of the cushion as you slump over, and he’s forced to push down on your stomach with one hand just to stop you from rovering about. Pinning you down.
“Babyyyy, you know I love to hear your- hah, voice.” He’s drawling out, and his words were just as sloppy as his mouth. Just salivating all over. “I have a feeling you can be louder though.”
“Sugu-”
“Louder~”
Putting all the pressure on your lower body when he sliiiiides every inch of his long, knobbly fingertips inside. The doughy pads of them push into your g-spot just right, until you felt all battered n’ bruised by him. “Please- you- ngh, you, Suguru.”
“There- what did I tell you. Fuck, I wish I could h-have this on speaker.” Groaning. Panting. “Yeahhhh, you like that, huh? Want my tongue, t-too? Oh.”
But then you’re clasping his sweaty forehead and shoving him down between your legs. Where his curving tongue was sloppily zig-zagging all over, and you’re trilling. “K-keep going, mmm.” Cock twitching. Rutting so hard that his damned muscle car jostles.
He couldn’t even catch his breath - and he didn’t want to. “Well, I hafta make it up to my muse in some way, yeah?”
His tongue is so expert, too. You’re easily getting louder - even more than you first thought possible. Partly because of the way his pierced tongue was resting on your overstimulated nub. Flicking your ruddied clit until it felt all raw, again n’ again—you were so far gone by this point that Geto can feel each pulse of your hot core on his mouth.
And he counts it - one, two, three, four. Like the beat of his favorite melody- fuuuuck, he was so pussydrunk right now that he might just memorize it and write it as the next beat of his song.
“Y-you’d- hck! what?” You’re hiccuping in pure disbelief, unsure if those words had actually (accidentally) fallen from Geto’s mouth, or if he was makin’ out with your cunt so good that you were hearing things. You wouldn’t be surprised.
“Exactly what I jus’ said.”
And Geto isn’t, either.
Of course, he was bound to be fucking stupid on the sultry taste of your pussy. Especially when you were streaming out wet ribbons of slick with each rovering push of his fingers.
He vulgarly wets his lips a lil’ in the liquid leaking out, and then promptly plops his open mouth over your sopping hole. Geto had lapped up all the slick stuck to your folds, your thighs, your clit - now the one place left was inside.
And he was still hungry.
His pierced lip draaaaagging over your quivering orifice, Geto starts to push his tongue in eagerly. Uncaring for the way he was already barreling his fingers inside. Uncaring of the absolutely incredible stretch that was making your back arch.
N’ he’s so dexterous. Alternating between wet whacks! at the front channel of your walls, and then licking over your clit. He was plastered to your pussy in a way that felt maddening- “Sh-shit, I don’t think m’gonna last, Sugu—”
“Sugu, huh?” He raises a neat brow at the nickname, “I like that.”
And if it was possible, his narrowed strikes are accelerating. More honed, more precise to your g-spot, it’s like a cute lil’ bullseye that he can’t stop hitting. All because it makes you shake and whine like that.
“Mmm, yeah, just like that. C’mon, gorgeous girl- come and get it-” Geto gruffs now, the back of his throat all hoarse. His baritone voice was on the verge of breaking at this point. “Ride my mouth, would you?”
You’re whimpering, because Geto’s then opening his pretty mouth even wider for you to ride him - but you’re so weak.
Your limp knees struggling to keep on rutting- only for Geto to then shift a free hand underneath you.
Feeling all his firm biceps n’ muscles bulge as he keeps you up, just so strong- fuck, was it all those guitar sessions? He gurgles out, “Upsy daisy. Lemme help you cum, baby.” Dragging; he’s just moving you like a ragdoll, push and pull of his slippery tongue.
Just babbling nonsensical syllables.
And he’s gluing his upper lip to your clit, to your folds, to your weepy hole. Everywhere and anywhere that you’ll be feeling the most pleasure, then he’s twirlin’ the pointed tip of his tongue inside like he’s reaching for your g-spot with that.
Like he’s fucking you with his cock. Craving to.
Again and again, it makes you squirm.
Your syrupy goodness starts to drip down his forearm at the sheer pressure, showing him that you’re close. And with each bash of his three fingertip circumferences, Geto grunts. “Lemme help you- let me- ngh, you have to cum, okay? Cum alllll over my tongue.”
“Yes-” Being moved. And soon enough, with a few more vicious thwacks! your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. “S-Sugu, I’m…”
It’s the only thing you’re able to intone at the moment. The only thing that you can even think of - your heavy orgasm. You’re being manhandled, with your hips gyrated onto his face through every burst of pleasure.
Somehow, you start to wonder whether he doesn’t need to breathe.
And he’s the one who doesn’t care about it. Doesn’t even care if he suffocates just as long as his mouth can remain plastered onto your pussy. Eating you out till he’s feeling dizzy.
And you? You’re seeing white, before it’s a kaleidoscope of color because of the tears.
You hiccup, your chin dropping down to your chest to stare at him through comically swirling pupils. Practically heart-eyes at this point. “Ngh, it feels so g-good, Sugu-” Your thighs start to twitch, feeling his orbed piercing spank down on your clit. Your very own tastebuds water at the stinging euphoria, the way he was scraping your innards. “M’so sensitive.”
“Mhm, and you’re not tapping out now,” he’s challenging. Looking up at you through shaggy bangs, Geto grins around your thoroughly puffy folds. “Because my throat is parched after the concert.”
You squeeze, so hard that he can feel his rings pushin’ against your sultry walls. Oh, he won’t be giving up so easily.
And by the time that Geto’s popping himself off of your treacly cunt - with a wet noise, with a few more kisses to your silvery slope, with a final bite on your clit - you’re run rightly ragged. You can barely even speak, occasionally tremoring at the shockwaves still bubbling through your veins.
“P-please—” You’re running your fingers tenderly through his dark locks, pushing them away from his face. And luckily for you, what a sight it was.
Because Geto’s high cheekbones were just cherry red in color from all the blushing and lack of air. From the way he was so pussydrunk on your cunt that it was starting to make him look oh-so-ruined. Eyelids heavy. Lips swollen.
He had a sheen of your slick splashed from his pointed chin, all the way up his cheeks. His jawline. And his lengthy tongue pops out once more to stretch n’ lick up those clingy wads. Making sure you see.
Bit by bit, your mouth grows more agape. “Please, I wan’ your cock now, Sugu…” And you wanted it badly - that glimpse from before was enough to get you all antsy on his seat.
Slowly, sensually, Geto reaches out his fat thumb - the one from his left hand, that wasn’t covered in your shiny juices - and wipes off the slobber trickling from one end of your mouth. Putting it in his own maw, he sucks it up like he sucks up the slick all over his other set of digits.
“Anything you say, my muse.”
He sounded husky, even more so than after the concert.
And you barely even have the time to touch whatever was left of the rest of your clothes - before Geto gently repositions your hands away and onto hold his slim waist. He undresses you himself, as if he was opening up a cute lil’ present.
Then he’s patting a thumb down onto the hem of his boxers, where black curls of his happy trail rested. Teasing.
“Don’t tease.” You have half the mind to take them off yourself. Before Geto finally puts you out of your needy misery, and rids himself of those boxers.
And you were right - his bulging dick-print was huge, but the real thing was even more massive.
And hard. Rock-fucking-hard. Geto’s plump, puckered cockhead was a bright red that looked angry, and he was flushed all the way down to his heavy balls. All twitchin’ and tight at the thought of being inside you.
Hell, you swear you could even count the mere throbs of his veins, so far-gone that they seemed to make his decorated cock twitch in midair. But what you were gazing at the most wasn’t all of that - even though it did catch your eye - it was the small, circular piercing that rested underneath the slit of his tip. A Prince Albert’s piercing.
Geto’s feeling the intensity of your stare and and leaks out a wad of buttery precum, a few droplets of it making it down his shaft. He wipes away the rest of it with the front pad of his thumb, and then pushes it between your gawking lips. “Shut that hah, pretty mouth, gorgeous, don’t wanna catch flies.”
You moan at the slightly salty taste, and it only makes your cunt grow even wetter. Only made you lean in even closer without even realizing - and Geto lets it happen.
He lets your pouty mouth slip all the way across his furiously weeping tip, pressing just one wet kiss in hello before a hand at your throat wrenches you away. “Don’t even worry about it, baby—” He uses his chokehold on you to lift you up.
To flip you around and then smack the side of your asscheeks. You were on all fours now, with him pressing his muscular weight into your arched spine.
Geto gutturally groans out in your ear, “Tonight’s—” And you feel something poke at your entrance. You feel something hard. “-allll about you.”
He rests a hand on the side of your hips, attaching, and then uses the force to drag you back into him. All filling up your gooey orifices with his erection, he’s squeezing himself inside like he’s gone feral.
Oh, he’s squeezing himself inside like he’s trying to make you feral.
That flared, mushroomy tip of his pryin’ apart your sticky walls, Geto uses his honed shaft to push n’ push n’ push. Too big to completely bottom out for now, but still making your mind spin with rapid, hard half-thrusts. You whine, “Oh- oh!” Voice reaching a fever point. “Please, a-all the way in, Sugu.”
“Mmm, want it all the way ngh, in, huh?” Doing the exact opposite, Geto then slows. He then stops. His cute, orbed piercing rubbin’ the roof of your cunt frigidly back and forth. Ever-so-slightly. Teasingly.
It’s only once you start huffing and puffing in disappointment that he’s chuckling, thinking that delirious expression was just too adorable on you. And in a low bass, Geto purrs out. “Come and get it now.”
“You’re not seriously–”
“I am, show me how you do it-” His hand on your throat twists your face backwards - all tear-stained and fighting the urge to let your eyes roll to the back of your scalp. The moment he catches sight of your face properly, you feel his blistering hot cock twitch inside you. “-fuck, turn around.”
And he was urging you to fuck your hips back into his. Goading you into it, practically.
Firstly, you start off with a few tentative bounces. Just gyrating your hips, almost shy of his size. “L-like this?”
“Nuh uh, baby.” He’s tutting from behind, other hand scraping down your tummy. He wants to feel himself as he sinks in. “You n’ I both know that you can do muuuch better than that.” And even though he wasn’t moving, his cock seemed to be growing even bigger. Swelling. Elongating.
One of his curly veins rub up near your g-spot and you trill, “But you’re just so…”
“So?”
The most shallow, wet grinds. Not enough to take him entirely, not enough to satiate you. “Big.”
And then you’re blessed - well, more like punished - with a semi-rut, swabbin’ his thickened tip even deeper. You can’t help but squeeze your plush walls around him, expecting more. “Wan’ it that bad?” Swatting your ass, the force is enough that your flesh jiggles and he grins. “Take it, then. M’all yours.”
So you’re raising your ass up even higher, arms wobbling limply in front of you. You use up all the energy left in your shattered body to perk your waist up just a bit, then slam down the rest of Geto’s length. Hitting his hard v-lines. Bottoming-out.
Taking him all the way from the fat, split-ended tip- down, down, dooooown till his hairs tickle your slope.
Geto raises a brow at the way you’re mewling uncontrollably by taking all of him, then his right hand starts to push n’ pull you with the restraint at your neck. “S’it that big? Hah- ya like it thaaaat much, gorgeous?”
“Yes- oh, f-feels so good having you like this.” You moan, every time he was elongating his words, Geto made sure to glide the cold metal of his piercing down your spongy cervix. “Fuck, can barely even ngh! take it.”
And you have the feeling that if he could reach even further than that, then he would in a heartbeat.
“But you are.”
Before you know it, a wet splat! of something strikes your cunt folds. You’re turning your head over your shoulder to find out that it was Geto spitting on your already-dripping pussy, an invisible string of it still connecting his mouth to your entrance.
“Because m’proud of you, my muse.” He drawls out, and he sounds drunk. Geto swerves around the tip of his thumb all over your pussylips, just like he was stirrin’ around his cock by now.
Circle after circle. Prodding into hidden spots you didn’t even realize were there- he then catches the slightly pouty curve of your mouth and coos. “Awww, what’s the matter, baby- fuck.” In response you only clamp down on him, the textured ridges of his shaft so sensational that it leaves your mouth ajar. His lip curls, “Oh, I get it.”
“H-huh?”
Just then he leans over, and it leaves his curvaceous tip poking in even deeper. Melting his sweaty abs on top to the back of your spine, Geto purses his lips and spits. Straight into your mouth, then he smiles all handsomely like he’d just done you a favor.
You look at him with bulging eyes. He’d read your mind.
“Fuck, you’re getting even w-wetter.” He’s sputtering out- fucking up into you. Chasing your pussy. Every hard thrust of his left you shoved forwards a few inches, and Geto’s reeling you back in just so he won’t lose you.
Just so the feeling of your pulsing, velvety walls won’t be lost- soon enough, he’s wrapping his beefy left hand over your neck to hold you in a headlock. “Gonna hafta give me a show- we can do that, ngh, can’t we, gorgeous? Gonna drive me wiiiild w-with that pussy, huh?”
“O-oh my god-” you’re blabbering out. A sparkly sheen of saliva forming down his forearm, trickling from the front of your mouth. “I think you’re doing the- driving wild- oh.”
You could barely even string together the sentences.
Your entire body twitches at the sudden change in angle; with him bent over and leaning his weight into you like this, you felt like you were being crushed in the best ways. Geto’s constant pummeling reaches deep into the back spots of your cervix, leaving a cute lil’ bruise of his circumference.
He kisses the side of your head sloppily- and you’re realizing that Geto had forgotten to take off one of his silver chains. Or maybe he didn’t want to. Because there was just the rhythmic, cold bang-bang-bang of his jewellery that was greeting the back of your neck in time with his furious ruts.
All the way from his hard, globular tip n’ dooooown to where his shaft was the thickest. His drilling pace left your plush insides being all straightened out on his length. His girth.
Just fucking you like an animal.
You can feel your head start to slowly tip forwards, too heavy and filled with cotton. But Geto would never let you get off that easy, “Hey, hey—look at me.” Pulling you back in with his headlock.
Geto’s tone was firm, he meant it.
You struggle to blink your lids open properly, all sticky with the residue of your tears. Yet once you look at him, you can still make out the sultry twinkle in his eyes.
He lifts his right hand up to your bleary line of vision, “You see this?” And you have to take a few seconds to note that he’s talking about that tattoo that slithers across his entire arm - a snake. With its fanged maw wide open where his thumb separated from the rest of his fingers, “Mmm, nice, huh?”
Absent-mindedly, you nod.
That’s when you register what’s happening - the snake. With its mouth wiiiide open, creeps down to your pussy, and he’s cupping your delicate folds. Almost as if to swallow. As if to strike.
Geto’s pounding you into the expensive backseat of his car like he’s devouring you. Pinpointing each n’ every leaking crevice with his buttery precum, letting the mound of his palm slide back and forth down your slit.
You gush out a wet splatter! of syrup straight into his palm and he grins, “Really- oh, ya really are drivin’ me wild, baby. Look into my eyes now.”
He wanted to stare away into your beautiful, stupidly dilated eyes as he mazes his entire length inside you. The forefront of his piercing acting like a searchlight, you can feel the exact moment that Geto smears apart your walls n’ precisely bashes your g-spot.
“S-so unfair that you have a- hck!” You can’t even finish your sentence. You’re choking on so many whines n’ copious amounts of drool that wash down the front of your chin like a fountain.
Geto himself finds it adorable how you’re cockdrunk already. And it almost feels like that night at the party when he leans in, parched tongue licking up your web of drool - why waste it? “I don’t hear her complaining.”
“M-maybe she is-” You insist back stubbornly, just for something to say.
And at that very moment, one of Geto’s long fingers extends so that he can drag them down the dribbling crevice of your pussy. The edge of his middle finger slide-slide-slides between your slit with the loudest, most primal slurp. “Mmm, I don’t think she is. Not when she’s- ngh, singing f’me.”
His words are enough to make your eardrums pop at the filth - but then again, so is the way he was driving his hips into you. Repeatedly, like a train. And so was the way the crowned tip of his ringed fingers start rolling over your clit.
You prattle out, just when he uses his large index to draw a heart on the very tip-top button of your nub. Just the pressure felt too good. “S-sooooo cocky–”
“Damn right n’ you’re full of it- literally.”
Perhaps it was the way he said it - reminding you of the thick, solid inches that were filling you up - or perhaps it was his newly-drawn patterns on your clit, but you’re growing even wetter. Dripping in thick, glittering wads of slick that trickle down Geto’s own legs.
Feeling the sloppy wetness, he’s looking down- and then immediately grinning to himself. He whispers, “Wonder if I can…”
“What are you-”
“Shhh, told you tonight was all about- hah, fuuuuck- you, my muse.”
Oh, you don’t know how well that boded for your poor pussy. Or your walking abilities for at least the next week.
In a mere few nanoseconds, Geto has his hips churning out an interesting angular cadence. Not only was he pumping his red, swollen cock into you- he was also shiftin’ his hips in grinding movements so that the edge of his Prince Albert’s piercing would swab its way ‘round and round.
Sticking his glazed tip into each spot, the icy circle of his piercing was just driving you wild. Making your toes curl and your feet anchor- almost in an effort to run–
“Ah ah-” Only for him to pull you back in with his constraining headlock, flexing so that his sexy biceps are squeezing your neck even tighter. “We’re getting- ngh, doooown and dirty, girl. Don’t run.” Then he’s repeating the scrape-scrape of his decorated crown down your walls, red n’ rude.
“F-fuck, could you feel that, gorgeous?” Geto’s voice breaks at some point, after a particularly drawn-out drag of his rovering tip. And he has the audacity to giggle, “That one was a heart.”
Your eyes snap open, mouth plummeting out a low- “Oh, fuck.”
Because Geto wasn’t just fucking you with his pierced cockhead anymore; he was using that orb at the beginning of his slit to draw on you. Right at the very end of your sponged cervix, in ravenous strokes, he was buttering you up. Painting you.
Next, he glissades a swooping motion that makes his veins push up against your roof. Uttering a low hiss, “Mmm- my- hah, my name’s a bit harder…”
“L-let me help.”
And that makes Geto’s heart skip a beat.
He slides his hand up n’ down your slit, prodding at your clit lovingly. “O-of course, my muse.” Letting you push backwards in a figure-eight, until his dark happy trail was rubbing your ass cheeks raw. “Harder-” A vulgar spank to your ass. “Harder. Show me how you can d-do it.”
“M’going- ngh, fuck. Wan’ more, Suguru.”
Anything you say. Anything you do- fuck, he almost thinks he could cum right here, right now. That’s why he’s instead focusing his attention on manhandling your body back in ruts, to hit his massive girth with such rough recoil.
Again. And again. And again and again—
Until you’re feeling his pulsing mushroom tip glue up against your womb, carving along a whalloping bruise. And you swear - with whatever frenzied brain cells were left within your skull - it formulates the zig-zagging motion of an ‘S’
“And thaaaaat was my n-name.”
Maybe he got lucky. Maybe he was just that good.
Sobbing, “F-fuck!” You don’t get to find out whether he’s able to finish off the rest of his name - whether that was even possible - because immediately you’re bucking back n’ forth. “Oh my god- i-it’s almost- ngh, too much.” That lecherous action sending sparks of pleasure to your brain. Having him try n’ claim the very back spots of your pussy. Those hidden crevices.
“Easy, eeeeasy there, baby. What did I say—don’t run.” Pulling you back with his headlock, “Don’t make me- ngh, choke you like that- gorgeous-” Even though he already was.
You’re getting easily dumbified as he repeats those movements a few more times. Needily moving faster to chase those sparks he’d erupted before, “Please- please want it- ngh, close-”
“Nice try.” Body so weak that he was the one predominantly in control now. He’s matching your pace- surpassing it, all with a thumb that tweaks your clit until you see white. That snake. Maw ajar. “But you’re the one that’s gonna, mmm, cum first.”
You whine. Geto was just so mean- was he always this mean? Because he surely was fucking you like it; now three different points of pleasure. From your throbbing clit, to your g-spot being massaged by his decorative veins, then that lewd lil’ pattern he drew at the back of your cervix. So much. Too much.
You’re so close that you’re slobbering out in waves at this point, and he has his mouth slipped to the side to lick up any n’ every sap you were leaking.
Pierced tongue slimily slithering allll the way down the side of your lips, you mewl. So filthy. “Fuck- y-you’re right-” His blushing red tip twitches at those words. “M’gonna- gonna…”
You can’t even finish your sentence.
With a few more sinful strokes, you’re falling apart on his creamy cock. Letting the heatwave of your high take over you- you throw your head back, resting upon Geto’s collarbone, toes curled, mouth shrilling out his name.
After each and every sloppy drag of his vein-covered cock, he was fucking you through your high so perfectly. The frigid tip of his piercing pushin’ into your g-spot, that makes you last even longer.
Even more.
And Geto himself was just as drunk on your pussy- “F-fuck, m’gonna cum.” He moans, tonality hollow in a way that made him sound so wrecked. Just then, you’re feeling something warm and gooey fill up the nooks and crannies of your cunt.
Webbing you up from the inside. It sticks to you like a second skin and he’s overfilling you to the point where you can feel a sheen of white drip down the insides of your thighs. Gluing them together. “Shit- don’t even have enough, ngh, space.”
“Oh, you will.” Through labored pants, Geto looks down where you were taking him - and he doesn’t think he’s seen a more heavenly sight. With your damp folds glazed in ivory, glistening after each pump of his hips. It’s forming a ring around his bulky base, soaking his happy trail.
He smears the droplets of cum that are part of the spillage, layering them onto the padded top of his thumb. Then, immediately, you gasp as you feel the stretch of him pushing those knots back inside. “Listen to that-” The loudest wet noises. “Wonder if I’ll be able to hah- sing as good as that at my next concert, hm?”
“Shut up.”
Geto doesn’t stop just yet.
Not until his ravaged, red cock feels raw—oversensitive. Not until he’s properly fucked you through the hazy peaks of your high and you’re left merely trembling. Not until he’s squirted every ounce of pure white cum inside you, n’ you can’t do anything but perk your hips up from the seat and take it. Take it.
He has tears in his eyes by now. The rockstar pulls back his hand from your clit after you start wriggling with overstimulation.
And then makes sure you watch - make sure you can see his looooong, pink tongue slither out to suck up every sullied dewdrop of slick and cum from his digits. From his rings. Lastly, he slaps his cleaned, moisturized fingers against your ass. Groping.
“I could write albums about that, gorgeous.” You still haven’t gained the ability to speak since being completely dumbified.
And Geto sets you free from that headlock, finally. You’re dropping to the plushness of his car seat like you’re boneless, barely even able to look up as he seethes. Through labored pants, he smiles, “So…still wanna go back to my house so we can meddle about?”
Not even pulling out of you yet.
He throbs from the inside. Plump n’ probing. Awaiting your answer- you start to wonder whether he’ll be able to write out the entirety of his name on your cervix.
“Fuck yeah.”
.
.
.
It was no surprise that Meddle About topped the charts. All of them.
Someone had recorded it back at its debut concert, to which it had gone viral overnight. Then came the record deals, the studio sessions, and the official album launch (of which Geto claimed that all those love songs were about you.)
And it was also no surprise that that was what launched the Sorcerers from being a regionally famous band, frequenting the local bars and gigs, to being internationally-known. To touring all ‘round the world.
But what did come as a slight surprise - a pleasant one - was when he’d asked you to join him.
Somehow, some part of you had imagined that once Geto got a taste of the high life, the fame, the music, the travel; that meant he’d simply indulge in it. Without you. Without even a thought of you - little did you know that you were all Geto Suguru could think about.
Seriously. It did endearingly irritate his bandmates.
So when Geto asked you to join him, after some arrangements with your life back at home, you’d said yes. Of course.
And then there was another surprise. At the very first concert that you’d attended with him- and then for each one thereafter (it grew to be a little tradition, you see) there was this…
“And tonight- I have someone very special in the crowd for me- yes, Satoru, she’s here for me, not for you.” The crowd buzzes, peering over each other’s heads for a glimpse of another collaboration act, perhaps. Some even waited for one of the band members to stage dive.
But what happens is that Geto Suguru - rockstar, worldwide heartthrob, lead guitarist of the Sorcerers - smiles. A slow, soft smile that they don’t think they’ve ever seen on him before, not this sort.
And he’s pointing somewhere to the VIP seats, the closest ones at the very front row. Where there was you; you could feel the stares now. The whispers. The phones recording. Surely, this was about to end up on just about ten different social medias- just when you had gotten used to the campus teasing. This was about tens of thousands of more eyes. Honestly, having a rockstar boyfriend was not for the weak.
But he did make it so easy. So, so easy.
Geto continues on, a gentle chuckle leaving his mouth at the way you squirm under the spotlight. He says your name, “My muse, my lover. I love you. This one’s for you, just as they all are.”
There’s a tumultuous wave of ‘aww’s’ that ring out, and screams, perhaps a few faints.
18+ | tw - somno (implied consent)
━ Men who love indulging in their sleeping girlfriend. ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
He slips into the bedroom late at night, eyes immediately drawn to you lying on your stomach, fast asleep in nothing but his oversized t-shirt. The hem has ridden up, exposing your bare ass and the soft, glistening lips of your pussy. Just the sight of you like this — warm, relaxed, and completely vulnerable — makes him throb.
He quietly undresses and climbs onto the bed. He spreads your legs gently and leans down, dragging his tongue slowly through your folds. You’re already wet. He groans quietly against your pussy, licking deeper, tasting you while you stay lost in sleep.
When he’s nice and hard, he kneels behind you, lines himself up, and slowly pushes inside. Your pussy stretches around him beautifully, hot and silky even while you’re sleeping. You let out a soft, unconscious moan as he bottoms out, clenching around him.
“Fuck, baby… so greedy even when you’re sleeping,” he whispers filthily, starting to thrust slowly. He fucks you with long, lazy strokes, savoring how wet and warm you feel wrapped around him.
Your body reacts on instinct — pussy fluttering and dripping around him with every thrust. He leans over you, pressing his chest to your back as he starts fucking you a little harder, the wet sounds of his entire ltngth sliding in and out of your soaked pussy filling the quiet room.
He reaches around to rub your clit in slow circles while he pounds into you. You whimper and push back against him in your sleep, making him groan. “That’s my good girl,” he rasps, hips snapping faster. “Taking me so well even when you’re out cold.”
When he finally gets close, he buries himself deep and cums hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot ropes of cum. He stays inside you for a while, gently grinding through the aftershocks, pushing his load deeper.
Only then does he carefully pull out, clean you up, and cuddle up behind you, kissing your shoulder softly. You always sleep better after he fills you up.
you're heartbroken when your crush, yuji itadori starts dating ozawa. luckily for you, megumi steps up to be there for you.
an: no ozawa slander here she was just a good place holder, possible mischaracterization of megumi (idk i've written for him like once sowwy), AGED UP AU where they are adults in their final year, this was meant to be super short but i feel like megumi is the type of guy who requires a lot of build up so sorry this is rushed and awkward and perverted and frankly insane but it's on brand for me. also if you hate how weird i made the reader then my apologies just bare with me i like a good giggle while writing.
warnings: light angst, male receiving oral, false rumors, reader is inexperienced, fingering, p in v sex, jealous megumi
wc: 6.6k
It started the night Yuji texted the groupchat that him and Ozawa had finally made it official. You barely managed to hold it together, tears spilling from your eyes as you saw everyone congratulate Yuji on finally getting a girlfriend. He followed it up with pictures from their most recent date: A big bouquet of flowers, a pile of assorted chocolates, and a big sign that spelled 'Will you be my girlfriend?' flooded your phone all at once. Maki pops into the chat, immediately roasting his handwriting while Todo reacts with a thumbs up emoji followed by "Congrats my brother". While your friends blow up the chat you can't help yourself from staring at the photo Ozawa took of him holding up the sign, his fluffy pink hair just above his eyes, the biggest smile you think you've ever seen plastered across his face as he posed for the picture. After a couple of shaky breaths, you fight between mustering up your own congratulations or muting the group chat all together when a notification from Megumi pops up.
"Are you ok?"
Your eyebrows knit together, thumbs frozen as you tried to figure out what he meant. You hadn't told anyone (not even Nobara) about your crush. But another notification came up regardless,
"I know about your crush on Yuji."
This makes you sit up in bed. Your shaky hands type out a quick response.
"How?"
You held your breath as you wait for his response, watching his text bubbles like your life depended on it.
"I figured it out the day they met"
You remember that day like it was yesterday. Nobara had run into Ozawa and reintroduced them to each other. You went completely still in the booth beside Megumi, frozen in shock at the obvious attraction Yuji held for his middle school classmate. Since that day, Nobara took on the mission of wing woman, doing any and everything to get them together and at that point you didn't have it in you to tell her about your crush. Knowing that if you did, she would choose loyalty to you over Yuji's potential happiness with Ozawa — and you couldn't let that happen. Your love for Yuji trumped your own feelings, and you swallowed it down and let fate decide.
Unfortunately for you, it had decided against you.
"Was I that obvious?"
You remember being upset that day — and that was definitely downplaying it. You were absolutely devastated. You hid in your hoodie as Yuji and Ozawa caught up, choosing to stare out the window and disassociate for a while to keep yourself from crying.
"To me." he responds. You're not sure what to say to that, and maybe it should surprise you, but honestly it didn't. Megumi was the silent type. Always observing and only occasionally interacting. Not that he was aloof or awkward in any sense. He was just calculated, and chose his words very carefully. It came as no surprise that he picked up on things that others wouldn't notice. "Are you ok?" He asks again and you swallow roughly.
"I will be." Is the best answer you can think of. After pressing send, you turn your phone off for the rest of the night and cry yourself to sleep.
-
Surprisingly, Megumi's support didn't end there. The next day your favorite boba order was on your desk in Gojo's class. There was no note along with it, but you didn't need one. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Megumi studying your reaction. You punch the straw through the top and take a sip before turning to him. Mouthing a silent 'thank you' as you fiddled with the straw wrapper. Megumi barely even twitched, just turned his attention back to Gojo teaching at the front of the class.
Later that day he also conveniently had your favorite snack waiting for you in his pocket, handing it to you after you had finished sparing with him. "Is this a sorry for kicking my ass?" you joke with him, slightly out of breathe and dewy with sweat.
"If that makes you happy, then sure," he shrugs, eyes watching as you unwrap the treat and take a bite. "S'good?"
"Delicious," you nod, taking another quick bite. You cover your mouth, acutely aware of him watching you scarf it down. While you had a crush on Yuji from the moment you met him, there was still no denying that Megumi was attractive. Almost intimidatingly so, and watching you eat with such intensity was more than a little nerve-wrecking. Your face felt hot, and not just from the workout you got. "Thanks," you say simply after you swallow your last bite and he nods, holding out his hand. You stare at it questioningly and he flicks his fingers while looking at the wrapper. You hesitantly place it in his palm and his fists close around it, pocketing it before walking away.
His treatment of you stayed the same for weeks to come. He'd always have exactly what you were craving on hand, stealing glances at you in class to make sure you were alright. You were incredibly appreciative, albeit a little confused but perhaps you two were a closer than you originally thought. Which you didn't mind at all, in fact it felt like quite the honor to have Megumi care about you.
You thought his newly found attention, if that was even the right word, reached its absolute max one night when Yuji and Todo began bickering in the group chat, arguing about who knew what girls liked best after Todo's most recent failed date. Turns out, girls aren't really impressed with a guy who brags about his immense knowledge on the Japanese idol Nobuko Takada… who would've thought.
Yuji of course had to rub his own successful relationship in Todo's face, telling him the obvious "don't talk to girls about other girls. i would know, i have one." You didn't even realize you were biting the inside of your cheek until your mouth started to taste like pennies. You scrunch your nose up, about to throw your phone out your dorm window when a new message popped up.
"You both are useless idiots. Stop blowing up the group chat with this stupid shit."
You couldn't fight the laugh that left you as a series of text messages appeared.
"You go a whole month without texting in here and this is what you say when you come back??" You could practically hear Yuji whining as you read his message.
"What do you even know about women? Can't tell me his type but can tell me I'm an idiot"
The messages devolve into empty insults and inside jokes, completely moving on from the original topic and you know Megumi had done that on purpose. Yuji was right, he almost never texted. Let alone two full sentences. You quickly slid over to his chat, sending him a "thank you" which he thumbs up almost immediately.
-
Ok, so you were wrong. His attention for you climaxed when he asked if you wanted to see the new Human Earthworm movie with him. His hand scratched the back of his head waiting for your response while you just about spit up your soda.
"I thought you hated those movies," you choke out, barely recovering.
"Yeah well, I know Yuji and you were planning on seeing it together…" he says like the obvious conclusion would be that he would now take you.
"T-thank you," you swallow harshly, all too aware of his dark eyes watching your every movement. "You don't have to do that though," you start.
"Well I want to," he says and his eyes go wide, like he said something he shouldn't have and he clears his throat. "We don't have to."
"I mean.. if you're offering," your eyes are glued to the speck of dirt on your shoe as he nods. He confirms a time that works for you and then walks away, black hair disappearing back to where Yuji and Panda were chatting. You felt frozen in time, listening to the hum of the vending machine beside you as you watch him join them, confused yet excited nonetheless.
-
Unfortunately, the time you both agreed on no longer worked as Megumi was sent on a solo mission the next day. Before he left he stopped by your dorm room, uniform neat and hair messy in its usual contained way. He towered above you without even trying, swallowing thickly as he promised that he'd watch the movie with you when he came back. You promised you'd wait for him in return. He let out a shaky sigh before saying goodbye, turning to leave for an undetermined amount of time. The days that passed were slow and uneventful without Megumi. You hadn't realized just how vital he was in preventing a total breakdown. But, being stuck with no one but Yuji and Nobara to entertain you left you stuck in your old ways; yearning for Yuji while knowing he liked someone else. Only now they were together and you had to sit and listen to Yuji sharing every detail of his relationship — even some of the more intimate ones.
"I can't believe I went this long without knowing what head feels like," Yuji shared while the three of you were on a snack run. Your eyes just about popped out of their sockets and Nobara howled with laughter.
"Good for you," she said, patting his shoulder, "but never say that shit around me again." You nodded in agreeance, trying to fight the urge to rip your skin off while Yuji looked into the distance, clearly reminiscing. Nobara grimaced, flicking his forehead to bring him back to earth.
Thankfully that was as bad as it got, but you still had to quite the time fighting off that image in your head later that night. It started off with you picturing yourself between his thighs, Yuji looking down at you with his big brown eyes, anxiously awaiting your mouth on his package. You could practically feel your mouth watering at the thought of him heavy on your tongue, your hand instinctively traveling beneath your pajamas as you continued to picture it. He'd be so gentle, helping you slide down his pants, and then his boxers, his long length springing out and dangling dangerously in front of you. You'd follow the thick vein you imagined he had on the underside of him, trailing your tongue up his shaft to his tip. He'd grab your hair, but not roughly. Never roughly. "Keep going," he'd sigh, eyes droopy now as you begun to swallow his tip. He'd tighten his grip just slightly, pleading with you. Letting you know just how good of a job you were doing. In your bed, your fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles while you imagine taking all of him in your mouth. He'd probably groan, rough and deep like he does when he gets injured and your entrance clenches around nothing. Your mouth feels dry as you drag your fingers in between your folds, losing yourself to your imagination. Wetness trickles out of you, coating your digits as you get more into it. Would he eventually fuck your throat if you teased him enough? Imaging Yuji taking you fast and rough always did it for you. Your fingers sped up, panting as the Yuji in your head told you that you take his cock beautifully. You're close. Ridiculously close as his dick twitches in your throat. "Fuck, I'm cumming, Ozawa," he says and you freeze. Realization hits you like a truck and you rip your hand from your pants. You run your other hand through your hair, cursing yourself. Even in your fantasies Yuji wants Ozawa.
You're so fucked.
-
When Megumi finally comes back you can't help but run to catch up to him, pulling him into a tight hug. He stumbles back at first, arms down at his side as he processes what is happening. He slowly embraces you back, awkwardly patting your back. The courtyard feels hotter than usual, muggy and eerily quiet while the two of you stand there. It doesn't take long for you to realize your mistake, pulling back awkwardly. "It's good to see you Megumi," you awkwardly choke out. You turn around to head back inside, only to see Yuji and Nobara looking at you like you just grew three heads. You clear your throat, clenching your fists and keeping your head down as you walk past them — unsure how you're going to explain your reaction to Nobara.
After you all share an awkward dinner together, you head back to your room with Nobara hot on your heels. You try and fail to close the door on her — both of her hands coming up to brace against it.
"What the hell was that?" she asks, not bothering to keep her voice down.
"What was what?" you decide to play dumb.
"You and Megumi," she crosses her arms, eyes squinting at you accusingly.
"I don't know… I just… missed him," you say, your inflection going up at the end so it sounds more like a question than an answer.
"Right…." she responds accusingly. "You… missed him." You nod, burying yourself deeper into the hole you dug yourself. "Is there something you're not telling me?" she accuses.
You cock your head, waiting for her to finish her thought.
"Do you like Megumi?" Your mouth gapes open and you pause for a moment, unsure what to say.
"Of course. He's a good friend," you try bullshitting but Nobara is too quick.
"You know that's not what I meant, dumbass." She frowns at you, clearly annoyed with your lame responses. You shrug, sitting down on your bed to play with one of the loose strings on your blankets.
She stares down at you, clearly unimpressed. "You've been acting so weird. You and Megumi." You don't bother to respond because you both know she's right. Instead you sink back further into your bed, hoping to melt through it. "Whatever," she huffs out, turning to leave and slamming your door. You pull your pillow from behind your head and bury your face in it. You feel terrible for keeping things from her but if you told her what was really going on, you knew she'd feel bad about the whole Yuji situation. Megumi pitying you was embarrassing enough. You didn't need Nobara in the mix. Knowing her, she'd probably break them up herself. You groan, throwing your pillow across the room. Slipping your tennis shoes on, you grab your headphones and decide to go for a much needed walk.
-
You both had kept your promise about the movie. Unfortunately, Human Earthworm was no longer in theaters by the time Megumi came back. Instead, you settled on watching a random movie in his dorm. When you first stepped inside it, you were taken aback at how clean everything was. Aside from a jacket on his desk chair and a few notes you presumed he took in Gojo's class the place was spotless. It also smelled immaculate — crisp sea breeze and sandalwood — did Megumi have a candle hiding in one of his drawers?
You took a seat on his bed as he typed away on his laptop, searching for a movie you'd both enjoy. He somehow managed to make gray sweatpants and a black t shirt look put together and you couldn't help but pick at your pajama pants you've had for years, silently cursing yourself for choosing to wear that pair in front of him. Wait, why did you even care?
"I'm assuming you want to watch a horror movie?" You nodded, sliding closer to him to see what movies he was looking at. Megumi stiffens briefly, hand freezing over the track pad before snapping out of it. He scrolled down Netflix until you saw a movie that looked interesting.
"That one," you pointed and he clicked on it without a second thought. You both tried your best to get comfortable on his twin size bed, but it was quite the effort to avoid touching each other. Eventually you settled in, shoulders just grazing the other's as the movie played. It was a pretty awkward hour and a half between the two of you. Every time you would shift Megumi would tense up, before releasing a shaky breath. He didn't even flinch at jump scares and from his face alone you couldn't tell if he was enjoying it.
"We don't have to watch this…" you started and he shook his head, looking over at you. The only light in his room came from the laptop, the movie creating shadows that danced across his face.
"This is fine." Choosing to drop it, you turn back to the movie, chewing on your lip absentmindedly. As the movie neared its end, Megumi recieved a text. The ding goes off, causing you to jump. He doesn't so much as move, choosing to ignore it until two more dings come through. He opens his phone and you scooch ever so slightly closer to read what's on his screen.
"What's up with you two?"
"Since when did you get so close?"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Three messages from Yuji light up the room and Megumi fumbles to turn his phone off, clearly embarrassed Yuji is asking about you. You let out a chuckle, remembering how Nobara has been absolutely grilling you. Megumi turns to you. It's hard to see in the dark but you can tell he's flustered.
"I'm glad to see you've been dealing with that too," you tell him.
"What do you mean?" He looks down at you, his long lashes fluttering.
"Nobara is a menace," you tell him and when he doesn't respond you elaborate further. "She's been asking about that…" you pause, suddenly feeling hot.
"About?" his deep voice makes you shiver. By this point, the movie has been completely forgotten.
"The hug," you say, swallowing thickly. "Sorry," you shake your head, looking away. Surprisingly, his hand comes up to cup your chin, turning your face to look at him.
"Why do you always look away from me?" he asks, eyes dropping down to look at your mouth before meeting your eyes again.
You're absolutely stun locked, your brain short circuiting at the proximity. You don't think you've ever been this close to Megumi before. His eyes were mesmerizing, dark blue like the ocean at night and you almost hiccuped at the thought. This is the type of school girl shit you usually reserved for Yuji. You lick your lips at the realization, desperate to wet your dry mouth. Megumi follows the movement with his eyes and swallows roughly, like he's having the same problem as you. Before either of you can do anything further a thunderous knock shakes his door.
"Megs!" Yuji shouts and you jump. You both separate quickly when the door knob turns. "You gotta see this video dude," he says, opening the door to see you both looking guilty on his bed. The credits of the movie plays quietly as Yuji stares at you two in silent shock. "Oh sorry…" he starts, beginning to turn back around.
"I was just l-leaving," you tell him, slipping past Yuji and nearly tripping over your own feet to get back to your room.
-
Getting over Yuji felt like a piece of cake compared to what you were dealing with now. Yuji of course told Nobara about the situation he caught you and Megumi in and both of their imaginations had run wild. First it was he caught you two kissing. Then it escalated to getting caught with his hands in your pants. You always had a feeling Yuji was a pervert, and that was something you secretly enjoyed about him. But now, it was too much. Nobara had clung onto the piece of gossip like it was gospel. Jumping at the opportunity to tell the girl's only group chat that Yuji caught Megumi and you — of all people — going to second base. You could only imagine what Yuji was saying in the guy's group chat. You wanted to cry. No, you wanted to throw up. But most of all you wished it was at least true. You were an adult and the sexiest thing you'd done was have intense eye contact with a guy who didn't like you. Life surely had its way of humbling you.
Megumi started to treat you like you were the plague, which landed you in Gojo's office. Begging — no pleading to get sent on a mission. "Out of the country would be preferred," you beg him, about to get on your hands and knees to do it properly.
"Well I can't promise out of the country," he starts.
"Anything will do. Anything," you heave. He fights the smirk creeping on his face as he taps on his desk.
"I was just about to send Megumi to Okinawa…" he muses and you sigh in relief.
"That would be perfect," you tell him and he shoots you a grin.
"Perfect. I'll update the hotel reservation to include two beds." You pause for a second, confused as to what he meant.
"Two beds?" you ask, dumbfounded as your teacher stands up. You crane your neck to look up at him, following him out of the classroom now.
"Well for you and Megumi of course," he says like it was obvious. You stumble as you try to keep up with him, putting in all your effort to get ahead of him.
"No no no… I meant alone," you emphasize the alone part, your throat restricting at the fact you just included yourself in Megumi's mission when that's the last thing he'd want.
"No offense, I can't send you alone," he says simply. Offense was taken, but you continue following him regardless. "Plus, this will be a great learning experience for you. I think this is just what you need," he tells you, fluffing up your hair before disappearing down the hall.
-
"I thought I was going alone," Megumi choked out, standing beside you in Gojo's office.
"Change of plans, 'Gumi," Gojo put simply, chewing on the end of his pen. You squirmed beside him, wishing the ground would swallow you whole as Megumi went through the 5 stages of grief. Gojo watched the two of you in pure amusement, clearly privy to at least some of the rumors. If it wasn't for his infinity you swore you would reach across his desk and choke him out.
Megumi refused to look at you, finally coming to terms with the new mission update. "Ok," he finally accepted. "When are we leaving?"
"Same time. Tomorrow morning. Any other questions?"
Megumi shook his head and Gojo turned to you, awaiting your response.
"No sir," you barely got out.
"Perfect! Safe travels," he sing-songs, dismissing you with a simple wave of his hand.
You both quickly move to leave, bumping into one another in the process.
"You go first," Megumi says gruffly. You nod, opening the door to his office and turning right. You hear Megumi leave shortly after, choosing to turn left down the hallway instead.
-
The mission was turning out to be miserable. Not because the curses were particularly difficult or the weather was bad. Quite the opposite, in fact. The sun was shining and the ocean breeze did its job at keeping you cool. It was also obvious that Megumi would have had no problem doing this mission alone, and the guilt ate you up inside. Not only were you basically dead weight, the nights you spent sleeping on the hotel room floor definitely begun to take its toll halfway through.
Of course the hotel had never gotten the updated room request, and the two of you had walked right into a one bedroom suite. Megumi wasted no time arguing with the front desk on the hotel phone and you sat awkwardly on the desk chair waiting for an update. After a couple of minutes Megumi ended the call by slamming the phone down. His hand shot up to run through his hair, clearly stressed. You did your best to ignore how his shirt lifted up in the process, exposing the defined abs he usually hid and instead started to set up a place for yourself on the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?" He asked, watching you drag the comforter off the bed.
"Making my bed," you put simply.
He said your name like it vexxed him, "Don't be stupid, you're taking the bed."
"No I'm not," you put simply, walking up to where he sat on the bed to grab a pillow. He grabbed your wrist, forcing you to stop. "Megumi, I wasn't even supposed to be here. I'm taking the fucking floor," you said like it was final. He sighed, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath and leaning his head back. Clearly not in the mood to argue with you.
"Ok. Fine."
"Thank you," you grunted, finishing your makeshift bed.
-
It was three nights in and a near death experience from your lack of sleep that had Megumi damn near wrestling you into bed. You were no match for his strength especially due to your recent injuries from a curse that almost blew you up if not for Megumi saving you at the very last minute, but you fought him off regardless.
"Megumi get off," you hissed, trying to peel his arms off of your middle as he bear hugged you from behind.
"Lay down then," he grunted, fighting against your wriggling body. You put up quite the fight. Kicking and punching at him, trying anything to get out of his grasp and back to your shitty bed on the floor. If you weren't running on 4 collective hours of sleep you would have died from the close contact between the two of you. He pressed you against his hard abdomen, snaking his long legs around yours to keep you from kicking back at him. "Why are you acting like this?" He asked, his breath hot on your ear. Really, you could ask him the same question. Why the hell was he wasting his time wrestling you to bed?
"Cause this is all my fault," you whined, still trying to free yourself even though you knew it was futile. You could feel him trying to catch his breath now that he finally locked down all your limbs. His chest rising and falling steadily against your back. While he seemed weak you tried to free an arm from his grasp again, awkwardly trying to move it up and around. His own hand slipped, and he desperately reached out to grab it, trying to get you back under control. What neither of you expected was for him to grab your boob in the process. You both stilled, realizing what he did. He didn't waste another second though, reaching for your wrist and locking you back down. You let out a pathetic whine. "Megumi, get off!"
"Go to sleep," he huffed out, tightening his legs around you.
"Why do you even care?" You finally went limp in his arms, deciding to give up.
"Because you almost died, dumbass. You need sleep." He put it so simply you had to laugh, your sleep deprived brain still having difficulties processing just how serious the situation could have been if not for Megumi. It was infuriating, honestly. He was a natural born sorcerer. Skilled and steady and most importantly always expecting the unexpected. It was so frustrating. So so so frustrating. Your chest begins to heave and Megumi tightens around you again, as if he's expecting you to put up another fight. "What do you need to hear?" Megumi begins to plead.
"What the hell does that mean?" you rear up to start another argument.
"Do you need to hear that you scared the shit out of me today? That I could have swore I didn't save you in time. Is that it?" your brain was putty at this point and you blink once. Twice. Three times. You wriggle and Megumi graciously gives you room, allowing you to face him. You try to focus your eyes on his face, the plush feeling of the bed distracting you as your lids kept closing against your will. "Go to sleep," he all but whispered, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.
-
You woke up to something tickling the back of your head and you instinctively reach around to smack it.
"Ow!" You heard, your eyes struggling to adjust to the dark as you grew more and more coherent. A warm hand on your stomach was the second thing you processed, before everything came crashing down to you.
"Megumi?" you ask and he pulls his arm back, as if he too just realized it was snaked around your waist.
You both sat up, staring at each other. The two of you still in your jujutsu uniforms. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness you could make out his face better, and you almost let out a whimper. His hair was down in his eyes, his cheeks rosy and skin coated in a light sheen of sweat. He looked like sex incarnate and you hated yourself. What happened before you fell asleep hits you like a bus and you realized you two were all but frolicking in bed together. Fully clothed but your mind didn't care. You were totally inexperienced with the opposite sex. Breathing in the same room with them felt like an intimate act at this point. What you and Megumi did was like your version of third base. He was breathing heavily too, staring at you with the same intensity you aimed at him but neither of you made a move. The room felt humid, your clothes felt restricting, and the pooling slick between your legs only heightened how sticky everything felt.
"Oh my god you touched my boob," you spill, unable to keep the memory to yourself as it came hurdling through your mind. Megumi turns white as a ghost at your words.
"I didn't mean to," he groans, dragging his hands through his hair.
"But you did!" you insist and he collapses against the pillow behind him. You sit up further, keeping your attention on him, secretly hoping that if you piss him off enough he'll kick you out of bed. Praying that it would finally relieve you of all the dirty thoughts running through your mind.
"I'm sorry," it comes out quick and it's probably your imagination but he doesn't look apologetic.
"You are?" you ask, a little too quickly.
"What are you getting at?"
"Would you do it again?" That's it. You've officially short circuited Megumi. His mouth drops open, tired eyes now wide open. His eyebrows damn near touching his hairline. You boldly grab his hand and to your surprise he doesn't fight you. Instead he lets you slowly guide it to your chest, eyelashes fluttering as soon as his palm touches your plush breast. You swallow, watching his face intently as you guide his fingers into squeezing it. He lets out a soft groan, taking over and massaging your chest at his own pace. Your nipples harden almost immediately and he doesn't think twice before giving it a little pinch. You moan lightly and he does it again, desperate to hear you make that sound again. Megumi plays with your chest for a while, like he's just happy you allowed him to touch you there. Both hands encapsulating your breast over your shirt. "Take if off," you tell him and he nods, eagerly unbuttoning it. Once it's off he stares at your bra, like he's too scared to ask but you reach around and unclasp it before he even has to. Your breasts hit the cool air and Megumi's tongue immediately reaches out. Licking and suckling on your chest as your head falls back. You're properly wet with his spit and you'd think any other guy would get bored of playing with your tits by now but Megumi is enjoying finding new ways to tease you. Licking and nipping all over as his fingers twiddle with your nipples. "Megumi," you begin, "I need more."
"Anything," he pulls back, like he's ready to give you whatever you ask for.
"I-I don't know what I want," you swallow and Megumi could have died right there. You were perfect for him. Untouched and yet so needy. He pauses for a moment before cupping your cheek and kissing you softly, just like he wanted to do in his bedroom all those nights ago. He leaves soft little pecks, buttering you up as his thumb trails down your throat. You hiccup and he kisses you deeper, his warm lips encompassing yours. He claims you with his mouth, growing desperate as you begin to grind against nothing. He continues to kiss you, his hands working to shimmy your skirt and underwear down your legs. You're left bare in front of him, while he's still fully clothed. You move to pull his shirt off and he helps you, peeling it off of him and throwing it somewhere off the bed. He sits up, guiding you to lay back as he leans over you. He goes back to kissing you, slow and torturous and you're about to say something but then his fingers find your folds and you moan into his mouth. He's meticulous, rubbing slow, sensual circles on your clit. Your hips lift off the bed, unable to hide how needy you were for him. His fingers begin to pick up speed as you whine into his mouth and the room echoes with the sound of his fingers on your wet pussy. You want to hide from embarrassment, appalled at how wet you are but Megumi groans like it's the hottest thing he's heard in his life. You feel the string in your stomach tensing and tightening and you know you're getting close to coming undone. "Meg, Meg," you whine, letting him know that you were close. He slows down, determined to make this last as his fingers find your entrance. He watches you intensely, one finger slowly plunging into you. You think this is the best thing you've ever felt, eyes rolling blissfully back, in awe at how far his finger can go compared to yours. He slowly pulls it out, sitting back to watch the slick that now coats his knuckle.
"Fuck," he breathes out. "You're so wet," he observes, sliding his finger back in just to slowly puuuuuulll it back out. "How far do you want to go?" he asks you, breathing heavily, like he's scared of scaring you.
"All the way," you tell him, savoring the finger that keeps dragging against your walls.
"What about Yuji," he says, watching you intensely.
"What about him? Megumi, you're knuckle deep in my pussy right now," you huff and his shoulders relax, like a heavy weight was just lifted off them. He buries his finger even deeper in you, knocking at your g-spot and you think you see stars. "R-Right there," you plead, toes curling as his other hand comes up to rub your clit. "I won't last like this," you warn him, unable to fight a heady moan from leaving your lips. After a few more torturous seconds he pulls his finger out, plopping it into his mouth and sucking on it before undoing his pants.
You did not expect the monster he pulls out. Impossibly long length slapping against his toned stomach and your mouth dries. As if he senses your hesitancy, he offers to go back to what he was doing. You shake your head, begging him to keep going.
He settles between your thighs, stroking his dick slowly, gathering some of your juices to slather on his length. "Tell me if it's too much, okay?" he whispers and you nod, bracing for his cock. He lines it up against your entrance, tip pushing past the initial ring of resistance. You feel full just from this, sucking in a deep breath as he slowly inches his way further and further into you. It's not until he's nestled deep inside of you that you let out the breath you've been holding. Megumi squeezes your hips, like the process was difficult for him too. "Am I good to move?" he asks and you shake your head, needing to adjust to him inside of you. He obeys, staying perfectly still despite everything inside of him screaming to feel the drag of your walls. You clench around him and he bows forward, collecting himself as you keep squeezing and releasing him. "Stop doing that," he begs, trying his best to behave.
"I can't help it," you whimper, your walls twitching every so often, adjusting to the feeling of being so full. "You can move now," you tell him and he lets out a shaky breath. He moves slowly, pulling all the way out before sliding back in. He does this for a while, teasing the both of you with a painfully slow pace until you get impatient. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him back into you roughly, causing you both to moan at the roughness. Megumi learns quickly, picking up speed until he's pounding into you, causing your chest to jiggle with each snap of his hips.
He grabs your legs, pulling them up and together, slipping in and out of you with fervor. The room is heavy with your breaths and you didn't think it could get any hotter until Megumi starts dirty talking. Your eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets from his rough voice.
"Thank fuck Yuji fumbled you," he says, not breaking his rhythm. "He'd have no idea what to do with this pussy anyways." He watches as his dick goes in and out of you, collecting more juices with each heady drag. "D'you wish he was fucking you right now?" he asks, snapping into you meanly at the mere thought.
"N-No," you shake your head. Honestly, Yuji was the last thing on your mind but if that meant you got to have hot, jealous sex with Megumi you'd gladly do or say whatever it took to see this side of him.
"Promise?"
"I promise," you cry as his fingers come down to reach your clit, rubbing mean circles to bring you closer to your finish.
"Say this pussy s'mine" he spit, dick twitching as he grew dangerously close to finishing himself.
"It's yours, Megumi," you moan, the string inside you seconds away from snapping.
"Fuck!" he cursed out, the both of you coming undone at the same time. He pulled out, finishing on your stomach as writhed and squirmed, riding out your high.
pt. 2 where Yuji proves to Megumi just how he wouldn't fumble your pussy? heheheh. i'm too lazy to finish this properly but just know there's aftercare ok bye.
sunlight peaked through the curtains of your shared apartment. it was early morning, but the exact time was unclear. you had woken up a few minutes ago and suguru was stirring beside you. you felt him first: his big arms wrapping around you, soft lips leaving wet kisses down your neck, and the hard tent in his pants pressing against your ass.
wasting no time, you slowly grinded against him, earning a low grown from the raven haired man. his soft lips ghosted over your skin while his hands gripped your hips. you instinctively opened your legs as he inched closer to you. the only thing you had on were your flimsy sleep shorts and matching tank top. suguru snaked his hand in between your thighs and tugged off your shorts. arching into him, you spread even wider so he could reach where you ached the most.
“already so soaked for me,” he murmured. using his fingers, he spread your slick across your folds a low hum. all you could manage was a small nod. he pressed a kiss to your shoulder before slipping two fingers inside of you. you moaned into your pillow and shuddered. his long fingers reached where your own couldn’t. he curled them and you bit the pillow to muffle your embarrassingly loud moans.
he cupped your face and stroked your cheek with his thumb. “don’t hide from me. i wanna hear you.” your cunt fluttered at his words and you whimpered his name.
“you’re taking my fingers so well my love,” he cooed, picking up the pace a little. broken moans left your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. you didn’t hold back this time, letting him hear just how good he made you feel.
“my baby is so needy in the morning, isn’t she?” suguru pressed his lips to your neck. a soft cry escaped your lips, your thighs shaking as he curled his fingers again.
you shattered, the pleasure taking over you. you whispered his name quietly as you came down from your high. suguru pulled out his fingers with a wet squelch before bringing them to his lips.
“mmm,” he moaned shamelessly. you glanced over your shoulder and watched as he swirled his tongue to taste you. he smirked when he realized you were watching him, then pulled down his boxers.
precum was already oozing from his mushroom tip. you reached behind you and pumped the base of his cock, earning a low groan from him. as you glided your thumb across the head, he twitched in your palm and bucked his hips into your hand slightly.
after you teased him a bit, he did the same suguru teased your entrance, smearing your wetness with his length before pushing inside. you gasped at the stretch. he split you open as he slowly buried himself deeper and deeper inside of you. once he fully bottomed out, he began to move his hips slightly.
the angle was more agonizing than his pace. his thrusts were shallow, he barely pulled out before slipping back inside of you, but the way his tip nudged that spot deep inside made you shiver. your velvet walls clenched around him with each stroke, taking every inch.
“my pretty girl,” he whispered. you whined softly, too tired and too fucked out to think properly. "perfect, just perfect."
he rolled his hips slowly. you arched your back and grasped the pillow under your head. his dick bullied your cunt, making your brain go all fuzzy. the way he whispered sweet, yet filthy things to you wasn’t helping either.
“you take me so well, my love. the way you melt like putty in my hands drives me crazy.” he smiled into your skin. “milking the shit out of me as a ruin you. so tight, you’d think i never take care of you.”
but that wasn’t true. mornings like this with suguru were a reoccurring thing. he always found himself slipping inside of you, reaching where you needed him most.
tags *ೃ༄ heavy tamsy spoilers, fluff, angst, emotional manipulation (tamsy), slow burn (i mean, slowww), eventual soft smut (read smut warnings), reader is an ex-sex worker (implied, not explicitly stated besides a graphic flashback), reader has past sexual trauma, canon typical violence, self sabotage (reader), reader is socially withdrawn at first, reader is implied to be alternative, irl metal bands exist in this fic 'cuz i said so, functional toxic relationships (tamsy & reader), nonsexual nudity & choking at one point (tamsy), sadism (tamsy), drinking at the beginning, let me know if i missed anything !
smut warnings *ೃ༄ soft smut, biting, fingering, lots of making out, finger sucking (? is that even a thing.. question mark...), orgasm denial, squirting, breastplay, missionary, unprotected sex (don't do this at home y'all, please protect yourselves), it's pretty vanilla so there's not too many warnings but please let me know if i forgot anything !
summary *ೃ༄ It's a known fact that Tamsy rather enjoys being around passionate people, so it was pretty disappointing to work with someone who was pretty bland. But when his teammate proves to be more than just a recluse.. well, you can't blame him for what happens next, can you?
note *ೃ༄ AAAAA it's finally done!!! i literally went through so much fucking planning for this but i'm pretty satisfied with how it came out. it's my first time writing smut but it was necessary for the plot </33 please let me know y'all's thoughts on this !!
masterlist *ೃ༄
Bass-boosted music, blaring lights and the voices of people layered over one another.
It wasn't your usual scene.
Usually, you preferred either quiet spaces with nothing else except your own self to keep you company or concerts where you never really had to talk with anyone; Those spaces offered stability because they were familiar. There was no need for frivolous small-talk and smiles that you never really meant.
This nightclub, however, was the opposite. There was not much you could do about it though, you had promised Semiu and Enjin that you would tag along with them to celebrate a mission gone well. The influx of attacks at the Cleaners Headquarters was tiring all of you out, but mainly Semiu since she was always there — So what better way to wind down than to drink the tiredness away and forget it for the night?
It sounded like a splendid idea at first, but that may have been due to the adrenaline that had been coursing through your veins that afternoon after a mission gone well that caused you to agree with Enjin when he asked if anyone else was down to go for a 'lil celebration' (his words, not yours), because you were beginning to regret it the more time you spent here. You were about three hours into the improptu night out and Enjin was somewhere out on the dance floor, Semiu was chatting it up with a woman who seemed to capture her attention and you?
You were sat on a stool at the bar wallowing in your solitude in a room full of people that couldn't seem to keep their hands off of each other. I should've gone to that concert instead.. you thought to yourself as you watched the bitter alcohol sway to and fro in your cup. There was nothing more exhausting than being in a place you'd rather not be in.. but at least the music wasn't too bad. I can handle this for a bit longer.
Out of your peripheral vision, you managed to see someone sit beside you but you paid no mind to them with the way you were all too engaged in watching the brown shimmering liquid run in circles inside the glass in front of you.
"..Bored?"
You blink back to reality and look to your side at the voice that was clearly speaking to you. "Huh?" Upon turning to your side, you found your .. coworker? or was Teammate a better word for that?
"Are you bored?" Tamsy asked.
His voice sounded as animated as usual. Truthfully, you were not too well acquainted with him despite being on the same team as him, so you didn't know much about him or his personality aside from what you saw during jobs or at HQ, but you figured that speaking to him wouldn't hurt — especially not after the way this night was going. You needed a distraction.
You nod, "Yeah. Are you?"
He smiles placidly, golden eyes warm and somewhat inviting. Again, you didn't know much about Tamsy's personality, but his looks certainly were not scaring you off. In fact, when you really thought about it, he had an almost warm and heavenly aura about him. It was strange to see beauty like his on the Ground where people were constantly suffering from sickness or hunger but it wasn't like you were going to complain.
He seemed nice to talk to.
"I don't usually come to these things, but Delmon insisted, so here I am." He sighs as if the mere thought of his teammate stressed him out. From the amount of times Tamsy has yelled at him to keep quiet though, you suppose it's warranted.
"You came because of Delmon?" A genuine laugh escapes you and you down the rest of your liquor afterwards.
"He wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed." He frowned wistfully. "Why did you come? You're not exactly the most sociable person."
"I'm going to ignore that last comment," you said with a slight snicker. You swiveled around on your stool so that you were facing the dance floor rather than the bar. Your elbows were propped up on the counter behind you as you leaned back. "I came because Enjin asked and I wasn't tryna see him beg me to come. He's annoying when he gets like that."
Tamsy's eyes are still on you; watching your relaxed demeanor. Probably a result of the alcohol you've been consuming.
"Is he now?"
"Uh-huh; He has a way of making me feel guilty when he gives me those damned puppy-dog eyes. Plus, I felt bad giving excuses as to why I couldn't go all the time." You looked on at the people dancing to electronic music in front of you. Everyone seemed to be in their little worlds, focused on the music or the people they were dancing with. You hated to admit it but places like these made you feel out of place — that was the real reason you didn't come to these things.
"Hm.." Tamsy sips on his drink. "You really should try to socialize more; Perhaps it could help you feel less.. gloomy."
You turn lazily and give him a confused expression, "Who said I was gloomy at all?"
"The look on your face before I came was pretty telling," He laughs softly, his eyes closing as he did so.
"I wasn't gloomy," you roll your eyes, "I was simply bored. It's not like I know anyone here anyway."
"That's.. kind of the entire purpose of socializing don't you think?"
"What is?"
"To get to know people." He says it like it was obvious.
"Yeah…. no." you deadpan as you swivel back to face the bar counter and prop your chin up on the palm of your hand. "I'm not good at carrying conversations with people I don't know — especially if we have nothing in common."
"And how exactly are we speaking right now?"
"We're on the same team, which makes us co-workers — ergo, we have something in common. If I started talking to some random-ass guy here, he'd probably think I was flirting and it'd get really awkward, really fast." You gesture to the barkeeper to get her attention and she nods in acknowledgement, heading towards you once she's done serving another patron. You ask for a refill and sip on your drink once the barkeeper fulfills your request. The alcohol does well in making you more sociable, so you have no problem going a little over your limit.
"I suppose you do have a point," Tamsy shrugs. "It seems lonely though."
You sigh, "Being alone and loneliness as a state of being are two different things — that's what I like to think." The liquid burns your throat and it's not as sweet as you'd like it to taste, but you drink it anyway.
"So you mean to tell me you don't get lonely?"
"I do," you look at him through dazed eyes, your head resting on your forearm. "But it's manageable so it doesn't really bother me. Arkha tells me I should try 'making more friends' but-" you shrug, "-it's a work in progress." He looks out of place if you're being honest, but you're tipsy enough to ignore the thought in favor of speaking with him.
"Hm." He drinks from his cup and finishes the liquor inside. You weren't aiming to get drunk, but your previous four cups of liquor were beginning to get you there. I'll just finish this one, you thought to yourself. Gris agreed to drive all of you back to headquarters so you didn't mind being a little less sober. It'd be easier to sleep if you were drowsy anyway.
"That seems like a sad thing to me." He looks down at you through golden eyes that seem less welcoming and more like they're pitying you. You feel a twinge of annoyance but don't think much of it, the alcohol was distorting your vision so you're probably just seeing things. Tamsy, from what you've seen around HQ, is kind and while he does tease, he never really says any of it with ill intent.
"Yeah, to you." You smile lazily, "It's actually pretty fulfilling in my case. I don't have to go around worrying about how I come off to other people."
"Seems a little to me like you're avoiding it," he points out, much to your dismay.
You scoff, "I'm talking to you right now, aren't I? That counts."
"Does it?" He tilts his head and rests his chin on the palm of his hand that's propped up on the bar counter, mirroring you.
"You know, I think this is the most we've ever talked. Like. . at all."
"Remind me who's fault that is?" He smiles once he hears your laugh.
"What, it's mine?" You didn't think he'd notice your avoidance of him in specific.
See, despite not interacting much with Tamsy aside from work and occasionally greeting him at HQ, you'd be blind to not notice his blatant kindness. He takes the time to help others and while he may get annoyed at times, he never gets angry. What stood out the most to you though, was how observant he was of everything around him. That, and his odd way of speaking; but that was besides the point. The point was — it was because of his unfiltered gentility that you made sure to keep a tight distance away from him.
"Your words, not mine."
"I didn't think it was that noticeable — but it's not intentional. Sorry if that offends you. . . somehow."
"Oh, I'm not offended at all," he says passively, "I was simply curious as to why you always stayed to yourself, away from everyone else. . though, I see now that it's simply your nature."
Your eyes narrowed at him slightly, like you were trying to solve a puzzle. He was quick to decipher your tells and you weren't sure how you felt about that, but you were too buzzed to actually be freaked out about it. It's not like he could do much with the information that you were an introvert — even if it wasn't the full truth of your carefully maintained isolation.
"You were curious?"
"If my own teammate avoids me like a sickness, it's pretty normal to be curious, no?"
He's right, but you hate that he noticed it at all. "You keep answering my questions with your own."
He laughs softly, "Sorry. Force of habit."
"You know, . . .you've got a funny way of speaking; Has anyone ever told you that?" Your brain is telling you to shut up because you're talking entirely too much than you normally would, but your body wasn't listening at all. You were usually on your guard when it came to anyone that wasn't Arkha. It was clear that the alcohol was to blame for your newfound confidence in maintaining conversation with someone who was essentially a stranger.
"Funny how?" He quirks up an eyebrow in confusion.
"Like.." you narrow your eyes as if you're trying to visualize it, ". .Fancy? You sound like a princess if I'm entirely honest."
He seems to be amused by your tipsy behavior by the way that he's just gazing at you with a lazy smile, as if you're some sort of entertainment. It hides the flicker of annoyance behind his kind eyes. "A princess. ." He muses, "I suppose it is a little strange, . .people down here aren't exactly used to it." he murmurs the last part, so you didn't catch it.
"Why do you talk like that?" your words pour out of your lips a little slower because of the fact that your body felt so relaxed. It was welcomed because you rarely ever get to let loose — or rather, you seldom allow yourself to do so. In addition to that, Tamsy's friendliness made you feel oddly safe around him so it was no surprise you weren't quite acting like your usual self. It wasn't like you were shattering that careful persona you've built up by being a little more talkative.
There weren't any consequences to just speaking with him since he'd probably forget about the entire interaction by tomorrow.
"Do you really want to know why?" he asks, his voice soft and as sweet as honey.
"_________!"
You heard Gris call your name, but as soon as you turned your head to look at the tall man walking in your direction, Tamsy leaned in close besides your ear enough that you could feel his soft breaths and whispered, "It's because I'm not from down here."
"Huh.. ?" You confusedly look back at Tamsy but the sly expression only lasts for a moment before morphing into something that mimics sincerity. "Down here..? What do you-"
"________. " Gris is at your side now, prompting you to look up at the blond man that towers over you.
In an instant, Tamsy's words are pushed to the subconsciousness of your mind. "Oh hey Gris. .! We're leaving already?" You smiled up at the man who nodded to you in response. Noticing that you were buzzed, Gris offered a hand to help you up, which you gladly took.
"Thanks," you told him as you lifted yourself off of your seat and looked back towards Tamsy. "You're coming right?" Tamsy follows at your side and nods in response to your question, that usual lazy smile splayed across his lips.
The two of you follow Gris to the jeep parked outside which ends up with the two of you all the way in the back — not squished against each other since there was enough space, but it was still closer than the two of you had ever been. Enjin was behind Gris' seat, talking his ear off about how his driving sucked because it put everyone to sleep and you didn't really remember what Delmon and Semiu were talking about in the seats in front of you because all you could think about was how warm Tamsy's knee felt against your thigh. The alcohol coursing through your system already made it difficult to understand what exactly it was that you were feeling. So when your eyes traveled up until you were gazing at his face, the feeling of alien warmth perplexed you even more.
When Tamsy's eyes found your own, you instantly looked away, opting to gaze at the scenery outside the tinted window. The mere act of his clothed knee knocking against your thigh meant nothing. It had been a normal human action, completely devoid of intention.
You shouldn't be reading into small things like this when you barely even knew the guy like that.
When the next morning rolled on by, your limbs felt as heavy as rubble from a rundown building. You were in your room with barely any recollection of how it was that you ended up there. Your memories were a blur and the more you tried to think about it the more your head began to ache. Maybe going out to drink after a difficult mission hadn't exactly been the best idea.
You should have stayed home yesterday.
"Oh well. . ." you groan tiredly as you slowly swung your feet off the edge of your mattress. The headache was only getting worse the more you moved around but you were desperate to get some water into your system. You halfheartedly greeted some of your fellow cleaners that walked down the hall as you made your way to the dining hall in search for water. As you approached the gallon of water that sat on the counter, you noticed that Tamsy was inside the kitchen as well. Your memory of yesterday was hazy but you were pretty sure you talked to him a bit. . hopefully you didn't say anything embarrassing.
"Morning," you murmured as you poured yourself a cup of water.
"Good Morning, ________." Tamsy greets calmly as he always does. He's in casual, yet still somehow formal-seeming clothing and the blue sections of his hair are out of their usual wraps; the strands cascade softly over his chest as they usually do when he's dressed to go to the city. You might not talk to him much, but you're observant enough to know these things; Especially when it involves one of your teammates.
You give him a subtle once-over as you drink from your glass of water. "You goin' out?"
The man nods as he fixes his sleeves. "Yes, I was looking for you actually."
You lift a brow in his direction. His gaze seems calculated. "..What, did you need something?"
"..I was simply wondering if there was something you'd like for me to bring back from the city; It's my day off."
A look of surprise flickered over your features for a split second, "Oh. Um.." You knew Tamsy was of the generous kind, which was something rare to find on The Ground, but your eyes instinctively shimmered with something akin to gratitude when you registered his question. "I uh.. I was needing some pen ink, if that's not too much to ask..?"
"Is that all?"
"Yeah, that's it. I don't really need anything else." Even if you were used to the urge of wanting to ask for more when someone offered you anything at all, you were never one to actually give into those urges and take advantage of generous offers. From your birth to now, you've seen people take advantage of opportunities out of necessity — but that wasn't you anymore.
You were in a safe haven now — you didn't have to hold onto people's kindness with the desperation and fear that you'd never be offered it again.
Even if it would take a while for it to actually sink in.
After Tamsy bid you farewell and went on his way to the city, you retreated to your room to get ready for the day. It was bad enough you felt like a dead person walking on most days but the effects from the alcohol from last night only made you feel more so. A tired huff left your lips as you sat at the edge of your bed. "Hm.." You pull your second drawer of your bedside table open. Your gentle hands pick up the well-worn journal inside of it, smiling as it transforms in your hands, seeming as if it were brand-new once that warm golden glow of anima washed over it.
Your very first jinki, 'Effigia' you named it, was a worn out journal you held near and dear to your heart for as long as you could remember. When you were a child, the journal served as your way of escaping from the world — you could spend hours writing about the things you saw, the people you interacted with; anything that helped you empty your busy mind. When the journal was touched by anyone other than yourself while activated, the pages would drench themselves in ink that could rearrange to form animations; They told stories of the person who touched it as long as they had contact with it while activated. These drawings, however, could only ever be seen through the eyes of its owner — you.
It's why you didn't really flaunt it in battle, or anywhere that wasn't your room.
When you were a child, Effigia served as your only form of connection with others. You enjoyed seeing the pictures the ink would create when others touched it, it brought you happiness in your moments of isolation. Others would think you to be strange, looking at your blacked-out pages like it was interesting simply because they couldn't see the ink reshaping before your eyes and telling you animated stories about their lives.
It was childish, invasive and didn't help out much in battle, which was why you kept it in your drawer, only bringing it out when you were feeling nostalgic and alone. Every time you touched it, the ink would reshape old animated pictures of the people who touched it in the past. It was your comfort as an abandoned kid on The Ground. To go from living purely for survival, to having time to go out with people who considered you a friend — the difference was night and day.
A soft knock at your door pulls you from your reminiscent thoughts, causing you to scramble to hide your journal within the drawer and only sighing with relief when you hear the words, "It's me, _______." You walk up to your door after tucking the journal back into your drawer to let Semiu inside. She usually never parts from her beloved lobby desk but you assume it must be pretty important if she's at your door.
"Hey Semiu, what's up?"
"The boss is back," She smiles calmly and leans against the doorframe with her arms crossed, "He's askin' for you."
"He's back already? I thought he was gonna be out for longer?"
"Dunno. He said he had'ta talk to you 'bout somethin' important so.." Semiu shrugs and closes the door behind her once you nod in agreement, leaving you alone with your own thoughts.
You aren't alone with them for long though since you decided to heed Semiu's words and head to the boss' office once you made yourself look more presentable and less like a dead person walking. A slight smile finds its way onto your features as you make your way down the hall with your boots quietly tapping the tile surface. All the other cleaners must be out doing jobs, it's probably why it's so empty at headquarters. It's strange to be here when everyone else is scarce; nonetheless, your hand doesn't hesitate when its met with the cold metal of the boss' door.
Three soft knocks is all it takes for the boss to welcome you into his office. "Semiu says you asked for me," you say as you walk into the familiar office after closing the door behind you.
"I did," Arkha turns around to look at you; his eyes are as soft as they always are when they land on you. "Did you have fun yesterday?"
If there's one thing you're not good at, its faking your nonchalance around Arkha Corvus. He was your boss, yes, but he had been your closest friend first. A smile breaks through as you uncross your arms and instead opt to rest your hand on your hip, "Well, It wasn't bad if that's what you're asking; I had fun watching Enjin and Semiu get drunk off cheap alcohol."
He chuckles, "Sounds eventful."
You shrug, "Tamsy and Delmon were there too."
"Seems like you're finally comin' outta that shell of yours, huh?" He asks, all too aware of how standoffish you could get when it came to groups. It had been around two years since you joined team Eager and five since you officially became a Cleaner, it was only natural that you'd finally start socializing with people the more you were around them. In fact, Arkha had begun to worry if putting you in a team at all would help you make good connections. If it wasn't for the fact that he was your closest friend, you wouldn't have given in to his ruthless attempts to convince you to join a team at all.
"Seems like it.." You sigh, "It's still weird though; It's like everyone's just been tolerant of me while I just.. stay behind. I dunno." The words Tamsy said last night must've hit hard if the impact of them lingered long enough to make you question your self-estrangement from others.
Arkha rounds his desk, "You're not fallin' behind on anything, Alright? It's just takin' you a while to get used to everyone n' that's okay. Everybody's different."
"Yeah I guess so," You say as you meet him halfway and let him engulf you in a firm hug. As Arkha's the only person who has ever seen you at both your best and your worst, it's as if your body knows to let your guard down around him. To you, he's always been a safe person in this world full of uncertainty. It's a little strange sometimes to feel that way about a friend — but knowing that he returns your same feelings of fondness makes you question it less.
Arkha wasn't like the men you were involved with prior to becoming a cleaner, after all.
He was a true friend — your only friend.
"How have you been? Did your trip go well?" You part from him and sit atop his desk. "You're back earlier than I thought you'd be."
At your words, Arkha lets a sigh escape his lips as he crosses his arms, "Well, somethin' came up with Enjin."
"Somethin' as in 'normal Enjin stuff' or like, 'he fucked up' type shit?" Confusion is present in the way your brows knit together. How was it that you had just been with him and he's already gotten himself into trouble? Actually, scratch that — how is he not hungover??
Arkha laughs, "Well, normal Enjin stuff I'd say. He says he found a Sphereite — Alive."
You blink, "A live Sphereite?" Now that was interesting.
"I've got to take care of some things before Enjin gets back which is why I was wonderin' if you could use Effegia to get some intel on the kid when he gets here." Arkha is the only other person who knows about Effegia; He's also the only one who knows how to put it to work. When he had first recruited you, you were unsure how a set of broken handcuffs and a journal would help him in his cause. However, he proved to you very quickly that he wasn't the Cleaners' boss for nothing.
You used Effegia much like Semiu used Eyes. Whilst Semiu was more apt at seeing both the physical and metaphysical characteristics of a person, you were more well-versed in getting the overall story of a person's life. From their past to their present, the ink within Effegia would perform animated stories to you across its pages, stories that would only make sense to you. What he was asking was logical given how unusual the situation was, but you could tell he still hesitated to ask.
You nodded after contemplating it for a while, "It isn't exactly respectful to use it on people without their knowledge.. but it's a rare occasion. I'll take care of it, Arkha."
"Thank you," He says with a warm smile. "I have to head out again but I'll make it up to you when I get back."
You smile as he turns to leave, "I'll hold you to it."
"I know," He chuckles as the door closes behind him.
And just like that, you're left alone again. You look up at the ceiling and sigh. Arkha's always been so understanding of you, it kind of makes you feel bad for being so difficult about socializing sometimes. He tells you not to because he knows why you are the way you are, but it doesn't stop the guilt from creeping in unexpectedly.
You think that maybe. . . it's time to step out of your comfort zone.
A few hours later, when you're in your room fixing up some of your clothes, three soft knocks make their way onto your door. You don't notice it because you have the loud sound of heavy metal playing on the radio, so when you hear your name spoken from right behind you, your mind goes blank as you drop your clothes and turn to throw a punch instinctively.
It's only then that your eyes go wide once you realize it was just Tamsy trying to get your attention. "Tamsy!? You almost gave me a damn heart attack!" You're still startled from him scaring you but also very suddenly grateful that the punch didn't connect. That'd be a bad way to greet a teammate, you think.
He blinks in surprise, feeling oddly lucky to have been fast enough to dodge it. "Did I? My apologies, your door was just unlocked so.."
You sigh in relief and go over to turn the radio down, "What um.. what happened? Do you need something?"
He shook his head softly, "No. Actually, I've got the ink you asked me for. Is this alright?" It's then that you notice that he's got a paper bag with him. It's probably packed with the stuff he brought back. Out of it, he takes a glass container of ink; it looks new, you almost feel bad that you'll be using it.
"Uh.. yeah that should be it. It looks more expensive than the one I usually get though.. are you sure it's fine for me to have this?" You hold it in your hands as you inspect the label on it. It's a plain black ink bottle but it feels way too fine of an ink to be in your hands at all.
"I wouldn't make good use of it, I fear." Tamsy smiles, "I got it for you so it'd make more sense for you to use it, wouldn't it?"
You return his smile softly, "I guess so, yeah. Thanks again." After the moment passes, you're reminded of the mess of clothes you've got on your desk; it looks a lot like August's work-room now that you're looking at it. "Oh-! Sorry for the mess, I didn't think anyone was coming by." You suddenly feel way too exposed now that it sinks in that he's in your room.
"You need not apologize," He says softly, "May I ask what you're doing?"
You close the door to keep anyone else from peeking inside and seeing the absolute mess before moving to your desk. "I'm just fixing up some of my clothes. Some of the shirts Enjin got for me on Akuta's last run were a bit too big so I'm modifying them."
"Ah, I see." His eyes linger near your bed. "..Can I sit?"
"Uh. . Yeah. . ?"
It's awkward having him in your room, especially given that you two have never really interacted outside of work. Still.. it might not be so bad to listen to Arkha for once and start making friends. ". .Just let me move some of my clothes off so you can actually sit." He laughs softly and looks around your room. You've got sick, intricately decorated posters and tags up on your walls. The aesthetics of your room are darker than he thought they'd be. Even the cracked walls seemed to fit great with the painted skulls and sigils around them.
Then again, he's never really had the chance to ask you about your interests, so he can't really say he expected something different either. 'Progress,' he thinks, as he sits on the soft covers of your bed.
"Do you mind if I turn the music back on? It kinda helps me focus so.."
"Of course not, I quite enjoy it so it doesn't bother me at all."
You turn the audio up enough to where you can still hear him; it's serves as more of background music than a tool of focus now that he's here with you though. "Really? I didn't think you'd be into this kind of music."
He smiles warmly, "And why would that be?"
You shrug and take a seat at your desk, "Dunno.. You kinda seemed too.. proper? for this kind of music."
He hums in amusement, "It's never nice to judge a book by its cover, ________."
"I wasn't trying to . . ." Blood rushes up to your face, embarrassed at your previous remark once you realized how judgemental it sounded. You should be the last person making judgy remarks. "It's just, well- you never dropped any hints that you were into it, so. . it's surprising to me. ."
"Are you always so frantic? I don't recall you being so anxious when we're on the job." He's now comfortably sat on your bed with his legs crossed and his hands supporting his weight behind him. It's unnatural to see him so .. comfortable even if this is his first time being this close to you. Did you make a mistake in dismissing your team members' previous attempts at getting to know you? Would Delmon also be this different if you got to know him?
You try to maintain your calm, less-anxious composure by busying yourself with the cloth in your hands, cutting alongside the hem of one of your shirts to alter it. "I'm not always jumpy, it's just 'cause you're here." You don't realize how differently your words could be taken.
"Oh?"
"Not that it's a bad thing that you're here- It's just-" You sigh defeatedly, "I don't do well with talking to people. I suck at it." Suddenly, you get the flash of a memory to the forefront of your mind, reminding you of the conversation at the bar you two had yesterday. "Wait- haven't we already had this conversation?" You turn around on your chair to look at him confusedly.
"Hm.. no. Last time was about you being gloomy, this time is about you sucking at the very simple art of conversation." He smiles like he didn't just insult you two different times within a single sentence.
You deadpan, "And now I'm realizing why it's so easy to talk to you." You swivel around on your chair to continue working on the shirt.
"Really? I'm honored."
You can almost hear his sarcasm. "Yeah, It's 'cause I don't have to pretend to be nice to you," You joke half-heartedly.
He gasps dramatically, "Words hurt, ________."
You softly scoff at his theatrics, taking some measurements and marking down where you were going to cut next. There's an honest smile on your features now though. "You're more different than I expected you to be, to be honest."
"For the record, you are too." He says. "I thought you were quite the serious person.. turns out you're just an introvert."
You roll your eyes, "To be fair, I have my reasons to be. ..It's not like its easy to trust people so easily."
Inflections in your tone give away the emotional weight behind your words, causing Tamsy to straighten up. It was rare that he saw you be anything other than witty and closed off. You remind him of his favorite kinds of sweets — the ones with hard shells and a sweet, gooey goodness within its interior.
"You've been let down before." He says, dropping the joking tone yet still sounding soft enough. "I get that."
Your hands slowly stop their work and you turn to look at him, accidentally giving away the fact that his words managed to strike a chord with you. To your luck though, he's not looking at you; He's more immersed with the pattern he's drawing on your sheets with his fingers.
"It's only natural for you to be cautious of others, if that's the case."
. . Just what was his deal?
He spoke like someone who knew you on a deeper level than you were aware of — like someone who knew your inner workings and had you figured out to a T. If you were being honest, it scared you because this had never happened before. No one usually cared enough to get to know you — not even the endless amounts of men you used to fool around with.
"How is it that you know that..?" Shit. Did you say that out loud? "I mean- It's.. I don't really expect others to know these things like that. About me."
"Well it's not something you hide well, if I'm being totally honest." He speaks with a nonchalant cadence in his tone that makes you feel queasy; You're unsure if its his tone or the words he's saying that make you feel so uneasy. "If you leave people alone with their thoughts long enough, they'll come up with their own theories."
Your brows knit together, "..What are you talking about?" Did he have theories about you? Just how much did he know?
"It's nothing, I'm simply rambling." He smiles placidly as he moves to stand, "I do have to go though; We've got work tomorrow and I don't want to keep distracting you."
You're still struggling to process his past words as he picks up his bag of goods from your dresser and bids you farewell for the night. "I'll see you tomorrow, _________."
You nod hesitantly as you follow him to the door, "Ye..Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."
Once you close the door, your lay your forehead upon the metal and allow yourself to fall to the floor. Just what exactly did he mean by that? Was he trying to imply that you he knew more about you than you let on?? That.. It just wasn't possible. It couldn't be. You had been careful hadn't you? Maintaining all your relationships as distant as possible and only allowing others to see the parts you wanted them to see — even getting Arkha to withhold any and all information about your past — you'd been careful. So why.. Why did it seem like Tamsy knew more than you wanted him to just from a pair of words you uttered without thinking?
Had you accidentally told on yourself without knowing it?
Absentmindedly, you stand to shut off the lights in your room and leave your desk as it is, no longer feeling motivated to modify the shirt. Your hand goes to the communication choker around your neck and wait for a few minutes.
"_________?"
"Arkha? Can we talk?" Your voice shakes as you try to bury yourself underneath your blankets; trying to feel safe under the panicked alarm bells going off in your head.
"Yeah, what's wrong? You sound off."
"I.." You try to get your breathing under control so you can speak, but nothing comes out. The anxiety chokes you up, damn near paralyzing you. "I'm.."
"Take your time, I'm here."
You feel that familiar warmth from his words alone and it loosens the grip your anxiousness has on you. You were okay. You were safe. "I think Tamsy knows I've been avoiding everyone at HQ. . I don't really. . .know how to feel about it. . ."
"Well. . You don't exactly hide your intentions very well."
You frown, "Tamsy said the same thing. ."
"To be fair, ________, It's not like they're not going to notice — especially when they're your own team members. Though, mentioning that straight to your face is pretty. . bold."
Your lips curl into a small smile, laying your head against your pillow, "He didn't — at least I don't think that was his intention, but I guess you're both right.. it's just strange to think that other people actually think of me."
"I think of you."
You chuckle, "Yeah but you're my friend. Having strangers think about me and come up with their own reasons about why I'm so distant.. it makes me feel strange."
"You're scared."
"I am," you admit. "I don't know anyone and . .getting to know them means allowing them to hurt me."
"Not everyone is like that," Arkha reminds you, "Things are different now, remember?"
You huff, "It's a more pleasant thought in theory than it is in practice."
"Then start small. You don't have to be friends with everyone, but gettin' along with your teammates would be enough baby steps, wouldn't it?"
You mull it over in your hand and sigh. "It's.. not a bad start."
He laughs quietly, "Don't overthink it too much, okay? Go get some sleep."
"Okay," You say warmly, "Thanks for listening to me ramble. . . Don't stay up too late."
"I'll keep that in mind," Arkha says with a lighthearted tone.
You know he isn't going to listen, but it's always worth a shot.
After he disconnects, you screw off the choker and lay it at your bedside desk. Now that you've spoken to him, you feel calmer about everything. You suppose that it isn't that surprising to know that Tamsy thinks he knows you — maybe he's just observant. Even so, your mind runs rampant with possible conversation starters and ways to approach him in the future. You're definitely overthinking it, but a little planning never hurt anyone, right?
"Agh! Fuck..!"
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, just a scratch — Watch out!" You wrap your hands around the chains that connect to the cuffs at each of your wrists, whipping them around to strike the trash beast currently wreaking havoc. Tamsy gets out of the way just in time and activates Tokushin to trap the beast completely.
"Delmon, now!" You command as you distract the beast long enough with your twin whips for Tokushin to wrap a net around it so that Delmon can deal the final blow.
The tall and surly man activates his instrument as he charges towards the beast, "On it, _______!" He stops just short of the beast and turns up Thirst Quencher to the highest degree, aiming at the trash beast before blasting it to weaken it. You reel your whip back towards yourself before Tamsy completely crushes the beast in Tokushin's threads, destroying its core.
A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you deactivate your vital instrument; the one you use for work — the pair of broken handcuffs on your wrists.
"This one wasn't too bad," Tamsy speaks as he walks to stand by your side.
You try to catch your breath, your hand clutching your side as you wait for Delmon to regroup with the two of you. "This one was the last one of the day, right?"
"Yes," Tamsy leans against Tokushin like he's more bored than tired. It brings a smirk to your features despite the stabbing pain you feel in your upper abdomen. "The townspeople will live to see another day, it seems."
"Thankfully we got here just in the nick of time," You say as you try to straighten up once the car pulls up. "You're driving this time."
"Me?" Tamsy frowns, "Why me?"
You roll your eyes and try not to let your forming headache get the best of your mood, "'Cause Delmon drives like a maniac."
He pokes a finger into your shoulder, "What, you can't drive?"
"Nope."
"And why's that?"
You lean against the car door to face him, revealing the gash at your side. "'Cause I'm pretty sure. . I'm bleeding out."
For a fraction of a second something wild flashes in Tamsy's golden eyes, you might have mistaken it for concern if you weren't concentrated on staying conscious. "You. . !" He stammers before helping you walk to the passenger side. "This is way more than a scratch, you idiot !"
"I'll be fine once I see Eishia," You hiss as you clutch your side, putting pressure on the wound.
"What happened!?" Delmon asks frantically as he sees your state.
Tamsy quickly sits beside you, his hand over your own in an attempt to stop the bleeding before demanding that Delmon drive, "_________ got themselves hurt, that's what."
"I'm fine, Delmon. I'll be fine. Tamsy's just-" You hiss at the pressure and look down at your wound, your hand and Tamsy's own hand covered in your blood. "-being dramatic. ."
"Hardly." His brows are furrowed as he watched the blood seep out of you. He was probably worried about you, so you feel kind of bad that you're more focused on his warm hands that cover yours and how excited it makes you feel. It's completely uncalled for, but you let yourself sink into that makeshift warmth like it means something other than friendly concern.
It's been a while since I last got hurt like this, you think to yourself,
A long while.
.
.
.
[ FIVE YEARS AGO. ]
"Ngh.. Y'feel so good," He thrusts, grunting as he nears his climax.
You stay silent, save for the occasional moan you let out. Your thoughts are flying to distant places as you try to fake your enjoyment. "You're s-so big, mnh..!" you let out a forced moan to sell it. Men don't usually care about your pleasure when you sleep with them anyway so there wasn't a point in trying to lie to yourself about it.
In any case, you were only in it for the money.
"Tell me who you belong to," The older man demands, his hand tightening around your throat.
You hated when they spoke like this. As if you were something to be owned. "Y-you..! Ah- only you.." Upon hearing your words, the man speeds up his pace, the skin of his hips slapping against the back of your thighs. You know he's close when his hips stutter, so you bring your hands up to bring his lips down to yours. He tastes like lies and regret but you swallow the sounds he makes all the same.
In a place like the Ground, selling your body for money wasn't uncommon. You found out pretty quickly that to survive, you'd have to do things that were unfavorable to normal people. And so, you learned to view the act of sex as nothing more than a transaction. You didn't care what you had to do, as long as you got to see tomorrow.
"That's right," the man says before crashing his lips down onto your own, kissing them fervently like the starved man he is. "You belong to me." He affirms, "My obedient girl."
"Just yours, Sir."
And that was all it took for him to cum.
Men were easy to please — at least the older ones were.
You were only glad that what they lacked in intelligence, they made up for in money. To them, you felt like easy prey and despite your profession, you played the innocent young girl well enough to make those sick bastards think it was real. Sometimes you enjoyed it, but most times — like now — you just didn't have the motivation to even psych yourself into liking it. All you were thinking about was where you'd sleep tonight and whether you'd have enough for your next meal.
The man pulls out, letting you get up to go use the restroom. At least the hard part was over, now all you had to do was pretend to be grateful so you could leave without any bruises. You learned the hard way that men liked to be babied and if you made the small mistake of making them feel used, they'd retaliate as if it was justified. The irony of that was almost too much for you to keep a straight face at times.
You emerged from the bathroom a few minutes after feeling partially clean after a shower, and began slipping your clothes back on. Once you were dressed, you headed over to the tall man, Synder. He was one of your regulars so you were kinder with him than the other men who partook in your services. "Thank you, Syn." You place a kiss on his cheek from behind, "Was I okay?"
He smiles and turns so he can place you on his lap. He's surly for a man his age, though, you guess he's not even that old — he's only two decades or so older than you — so it makes sense for him to still be able to do things like this. After planting a kiss on your forehead, his calloused hands fix your hair so its out of your face. "You were great, as always."
You preen at his comment. Maybe it was sick, maybe there was something wrong with you, but his praise always made you feel warm. "Unfortunately though.. I don't think we can keep seeing each other like this."
"Huh? Why?" You frown, straightening up in his lap.
"My girl's having my kid," He explains with a wistful smile, "And I need to be there for her. So for now, I can't see you."
"But.. I mean, you like me, don't you?" Your heartbeat speeds up and you don't notice your hands clutching his shirt.
He caresses your cheek, "I do, but my life is with her. You understand, don't you? Be a big girl for me, yeah? We can see each other in a few months, just not now." Your brows furrow for a moment but you're quick to accept it. It wasn't as if what you had with him was anything more than transactional either way. This was just a service, and you had no right to feel angry.
"Okay," You say as you get off of him. "Okay. Yeah." You're unsure if those words are for him or for yourself. With a sigh, you pick up your bag and plant a kiss on his cheek, "Just don't miss me too much, m'kay?"
He leans back on the bed and smiles, "I'll try not to."
With that, you close the door to the hotel room he had purchased for the both of you.
From what you knew, he was a pretty loaded businessman and a ruthless one at that; So it was no surprise that he had enough money to even pay for a place to see you instead of a bathroom or a random room with barely any privacy like you were used to with other men. He had more than most when it came to what Groundlings consider wealth; enough that he even warranted the attention of the Raiders a few times. When you really thought about it, yeah he wasn't exactly the best guy.. but he wasn't all bad either.
You stepped hurriedly down the stairs at the side of the hotel building and make your way to the alleyways, deciding to take a shortcut to your favorite burger joint. Maybe you'd get an idea on how to continue that poem you were writing in your journal last night; food was always the best at helping you come up with ideas after all. It was one of the only times that you wouldn't be in survival mode.
"I think a cheeseburger is in order," you think aloud to yourself with a smile as you near the end of the alleyway.
It was then that you heard a pair of very loud foot steps rushing up towards you and as you turn around, you're met with a masked face and a sharp pain near your upper abdomen. Your hands wrap around the arm thats plunging the sharp object into your body but the assailant simply brings you in closer with a hand around your waist and plunges it deeper.
"Who-!" you hiss, "Who are-"
"I'm sorry, hon." A familiar face makes it into your blurry field of vision behind the person currently stabbing you. "I can't have any lose ends.. and that unfortunately includes you."
The voice was familiar.
It was Synder.
.
.
.
".. Synder.." your lips murmur as you begin to wake up.
When you come back to reality, your eyes shoot open and you try to sit up, completely confused as to where you are and what happened. Unfortunately, you're held down by a firm hand and you waste no time in grasping the persons wrist until you notice that its Tamsy who's holding you down.
"You'll hurt yourself if you get up now." He says. It's then that you realize that you're in the medical wing at headquarters. Eishia must have healed you. "You've been out for a few hours so it may take you a while to get used to your surroundings. Eishia said it would be best if you rested for the remainder of the week."
You study his features for a while before ultimately sinking back into the mattress. You grip loosens around his wrist but you don't let go. "How. . . What happened?"
He hesitates for a beat. "You passed out in the car."
"Oh."
"As it turns out, it was way more than a simple scratch."
". . .My bad."
He scoffs, "Indeed, it is. Did you think you would just make it back here in time to deal with on your own? I mean, honestly."
"I didn't think it was that serious,"
He sighs but he doesn't fight you on your response. He seems rather concerned, but you guess you could have died in his arms. . so his concern was warranted. It was strange to have someone other than Arkha worry about you though.
". . .Are you planning on letting go?"
"What?" You turn to look at him and notice that you're still holding onto his wrist. "Oh- Sorry. . I didn't. ." You let go of him, the warmth that radiated from his skin lingering on your hand.
"Seriously," Tamsy sighs as he takes a seat beside you and crosses his arms. "One would think that an injured person would rely on their teammates if they were hurt. Are you stupid or just that air-headed?"
You laugh, no longer feeling that dull pain in your abdomen. "C'mon, it wasn't that bad."
"No," He admits, "But you could've given me a heads up instead of bleeding all over the car like a dunce."
"You seem oddly concerned."
He tuts and hands you a glass of water as he watches you slowly sit up, "It'd be a shame if the most convenient member of Team Eager died to a mere trash beast."
"That's high praise coming from you." You sip on your glass of water, choosing to look out of the window to distract yourself. Your memory was still fresh on your mind; you guessed it had been triggered by the fact that you were injured in the same spot. It was a little funny now that you thought of it. Your mind could forget what you had lived through, but your body couldn't — how inconvenient was that?
"..May I ask who Synder is?"
You sigh and watch as the water in the cup swirls around. "No one important. I don't want to talk about it."
Tamsy thinks for a second about questioning you, but ultimately lets it go. "That's fair." With nothing else to do, he decides to get up to leave you to your own devices.
"Where are you going?" You ask him as if it isn't obvious.
"You'll heal better without me bothering you."
Your brows furrow for a second, "Oh." You bite the inside of your cheek. If you're being honest, you don't really want him to go.
"Did you not want me to leave?" There's that placid smile on his face again. It's almost as if he's teasing you.
"No, it's okay. You don't have to stay."
He smiles, "Alright." Tamsy turns to leave and your eyes linger on the back of his jacket, darting somewhere else when he comes to a stop. "Oh, also, it seems that Enjin's back. He's brought a Sphereite with him."
"That's.. unusual." You're pretty sure your tone gives you away, but you're trying to let him think you're clueless about it despite Arkha filling you in on it two days ago.
"Indeed." Tamsy made his way out of the room shortly after, leaving you on your own. A tired sigh leaves your lips as you sink back into the mattress. Your hand clutches your side again as you reminisce on the event that changed your life five years ago.
The day you met Arkha Corvus.
.
.
.
"Who-!" you hissed as the sharp object continued to dig into your skin, "Who are-"
"I'm sorry, hon." A familiar face makes it into your blurry field of vision behind the person currently stabbing you. "I can't have any lose ends.. and that unfortunately includes you." The assailant parts from you, leaving you on the dirt injured and clutching your side.
"I wasn't..! You knew I'd never tell, Synder.. So why-!" A harsh kick to your stomach cuts you off and you find it hard to believe that this was the same man who made you feel warm and loved just a few seconds ago. He grabs you by the torn up collar of your shirt.
"I didn't mean it to end this way, I just.." He sighs and brings you into a hug, "I just can't have you running lose after what we've been doing."
"What..?" Your voice shakes, "I'm not a threat to you.. I thought- you knew that.."
He chuckles and buries his face into your neck, "I know you aren't. You're too stupid for that, but I don't need anyone using you against me. It's simply business — you get that right?"
You let out a pathetic whimper and tears begin to cloud your vision. "I'm sorry," you say softly as your vital instrument activates, the broken chains on each of the cuffs around your wrists merging together to form a single pair of handcuffs instead of the broken pair they usually were.
"Sorry for what? You've nothing to apologize for-" You cut him off by headbutting him and getting him away from you. "You bitch!" He yells at you from the place on the ground. Wasting no time in making your move, you raise your cuffed hands to choke him with the chain without mercy. In the heat of the moment, you beak his neck and allow your jinki to go back to their broken state and transform into twin whips instead.
You go to face your assailant only to realize that they're gone. A scoff leaves your mouth; They probably left as soon as they saw you gain the upper hand in the fight. Despite the fact that they'd probably been paid, they were still a petty mercenary.
Even if you were wealthy and had more than the average Groundling, it meant nothing.
You'd still end up a pile of dust on the ground.
Forgotten.
The sound of careful footsteps meets your eardrum, causing you to immediately fling your whip towards the sound as you turned. Your eyes widen when you see a tall man catch your whip without any trouble. You fling the second one but it's to no avail; he catches that one as well.
You retract one of them to hold your side, realizing that you're still bleeding pretty badly, even after all the adrenaline that surged within you after being stabbed.
"What do you want?" You call out to the stranger.
He looks clean and he's got a jacket much like the ones that the Cleaners wear. You notice his lack of hostility towards you the most, though.
"I want to help, that's all." He says as he walks closer to you.
You back away with each step that he takes. "Stay away from me. D-Don't come any closer..!" You shout, whipping the chained whip around to scare him away from you, like a cat hissing to cause fear in unwanted company. Unfortunately, none of that worked and you tripped on a stray rock lying in the alleyway. You gasp when you realize you're about to fall but you're luckily caught by the stranger.
His arms are strong when they hold you and rays of light almost seem to appear behind his silhouette as if he's something more than human. As if he's a savior of sorts. "Who.. Who are you?" You manage to ask as dark spots litter your vision.
"Arkha." He says, "You can call me Arkha."
You passed out from your wounds not too long after.
"How the hell did I manage to get stabbed in the same spot twice?" You ask yourself with a hint of disbelief in your tone. You had to be really unlucky to land that outcome twice. When you look outside, you notice that it's dark outside now. You must've been out for a long while after Tamsy brought you back. The thought alone makes you shiver; you were never really okay with anyone other than Arkha seeing you so vulnerable — Still, . . you admit that the closeness that you remembered at the car felt somewhat. . welcomed.
At least Tamsy didn't make a big deal out of it, you think contently while getting comfortable underneath the sheets.
By the next night, you had been allowed to sleep in your own bed underneath your own very comfortable covers enjoying a good night's sleep. The kid Enjin brought back, Rudo you learned his name was, had gone with some of the members of team Akuta for most of the day, so you weren't able to meet him formally, but it wasn't like you were on a time crunch for that background info Arkha entrusted you to get. You wondered what Effegia would should you once the kid touched it.
There were still a lot of things that the Cleaners still didn't know about the Sphere, so you hoped that his story would be interesting to say the least.
During the next few days, you opted to allow Rudo to get more situated with his team and the Ground alike. He had just dropped in out of nowhere, so intruding on the boy's past felt a little .. abrupt? Especially since the boy was still getting used to his life here.
Looking into the pasts of others and the stories they held within themselves was never an issue of morality for you because none of it was ever shared with anyone — their stories only served as a substitute for real human connection for you, who learned to be detached from others, as well as yourself, as a survival tactic. So when Arkha asked you to collect information in this way back when you first became a cleaner, it was a little hard for you to agree.
People's stories were sacred to not only you, but to them, as well.
However, you also understood that as the leader of the organization, it was only logical that Arkha would utilize your gifts to the benefit of the Cleaners; It was his job to collect knowledge and pass it on to those closest to him. That was the only reason you were comfortable doing it for him, because even if the stories you'd collected with Effegia over the years was something that helped you feel something similar to human connection, it was also an incredible tool that could help others.
Yes, it was an invasion of privacy — but it was necessary, so in your mind it wasn't all that bad.
Either way, in those two weeks that you let Rudo get used to everything, you used the time you had free to try and socialize more with your team. And by team, you mean Tamsy specifically. Despite the fact that you got along well with Delmon, he was always way too enthusiastic and loud for your liking, so it was only a matter of time before you drifted towards the calmer teammate you were more acquainted with.
It surprised you, actually, how quick you were to seek the blond out without even noticing that you were doing it.
Whenever you were in the cafeteria, your eyes always landed on Tamsy; your mind already coming up with possible conversation starters just for him to come up to you instead after you chickened out. It happened more than you liked to admit and most of the time it felt like a damn humiliation ritual. Still though, you were getting more comfortable with him and were starting to consider him a friend, so you guessed that maybe that was progress?
A sigh leaves your lips as you think out loud, "I wish there was a manual for this shit."
"A manual for what? Talking to people?"
You nod, wiping off the excess of nail polish from your nail, "Didn't I tell you to quit appearing out of nowhere like that?"
Tamsy lets out a laugh, "I didn't 'appear out of nowhere', this is my room after all. I should be asking you why it is that you're in here anyway." He closes the door behind him, locking it and taking off his jacket after a long day of work.
You raise the bottle of nail polish as if the action alone would tell him why you were here, "My nail polish was in here, s'your fault for not locking your room."
"..I must have forgotten." He sighs and lies down on his bed, his legs bent at the knee, feet loosely planted on the floor beneath them. His shirt rises a little and you accidentally catch a glimpse of his scarred midsection. You rip your eyes away from the sight before he notices your silence, mentally scolding yourself for looking. "But it still doesn't explain what you're doing in here." He turns to look at you, the lose strands of his hair framing his face beautifully. He looks almost angelic, it's criminal.
"I was just looking for it and got carried away. . ." You say, feeling a little warmer than you did two seconds ago. "A-Anyway, I found what I needed so-"
He hums, "You're leaving already?"
You nod as you get up off of his floor, "Yeah, my nails are pretty much dry so there's no reason for me to.. stay.."
"Hm.." He hums, leaning back to look up at the ceiling, "How about you paint my nails for me?" It's an impulsive request, but you don't seem to catch that it's out of the ordinary for a guy like him.
Your mind goes blank. "Are. .Are you sure?"
"You don't think it'll look good?" The sound of his dejected question makes your stomach do flips — Why in the hell is he making you feel like this?
"No..! No, that's not what I mean, It's just, I've never seen you with your nails painted, so I didn't think you'd like it," You stammer as you sit on his bed after he's sat up and ready for you to paint his nails. "If you regret it, I'm not helping you take it off." you joke half-heartedly to make yourself feel less tense. He smiles and offers you a hand which you take with a gentle hold. "Try not to move, kay?"
"Alright," He replies softly.
You hate that you notice now more than before how gentle he is.
His fingers are warm and softer than what you expected. You don't comment on the missing part of his pinky finger but instead admire his scarred hand all the same. To you, who's never been close enough to people like this — in an innocent, friendly type of way — it puts you on edge because its something you're not used to. You were comfortable with hugging Arkha and being friendly with him, but sitting here in front of Tamsy felt different.
It felt intimate.
Even though you failed to perceive it, Tamsy sure took note of the way you admired the scars on his hands. Despite your greatest efforts to remain calm about his skin touching yours — it was clear that it was somewhat of a deeply personal, foreign experience to you. It's almost a little sad that for someone who seems to be so dear to Corvus, his intuitiveness hasn't rubbed off on you one bit. It's entertaining — watching you teeter between the longing for connection and the caution that so clearly causes you to flee from that connection — so he doesn't mind toying with you like this.
Aside from the joy he gets seeing Rudo wander about without the knowledge that his father's killer lurks in the same building he sleeps in, he can admit that you're quite the intriguing person, even if you were clueless about it. The way you crave closeness so terribly and yet haven't the slightest idea on how to achieve it; the way you deny yourself fellowship with others when it's offered. He's observed those self-destructive habits of yours quite well, to say the least. It's the reason you stay away from most people at headquarters. It's the reason you used to stay away from your own teammates — at least emotionally.
Seriously, Tamsy thinks, I'll have to thank Corvus for helping you out of your stubborn shell.
"What's so funny?" You ask him with a quirk in your brow, adorably unaware of the callous thoughts floating in the head of the man sitting cross-legged in front of you. Had the thought of you been so entertaining that he was laughing aloud? God, you make it so hard to act as normally as he knows he should when you demonstrate your obliviousness like this.
You're exciting because he knows that your naivety isn't the end all be all of your being.
His lips stretch into a faux smile, "Nothing, nothing at all."
He wonders for a moment, how you would react if he told you more than the off-handed comment he whispered that day at the bar. Maybe soon, he'll let you panic about it. For now though, he will let you continue believing that it is an innocent friendship that exists between the two of you and not the mind game of entertainment that it actually is for Tamsy.
After all, it was nice seeing you so focused on him after three years of nothing but distant glances and one-word replies from you.
Truthfully, he was more enticed by you than he'd like to admit.
It's why he took the liberty of learning your schedule. Learning what made you ache when you thought no one was around to see it. Learning who you were close to and why… Maybe he was a little obsessed with your perfectly imperfect mind, but you didn't have to know that yet.
Tamsy was the type of person who enjoyed the hunt.
Of course, the end results were satisfying as well, but it was the process of tearing down your walls — the process of subtly getting you to betray your common sense for him and making you think it was you who wanted it — that was what he enjoyed the most. It was convenient that your walls already had cracks in them by the time you came to HQ.
You didn't react to August's loudness, didn't pay much mind to Team Child's shenanigans, didn't lounge around whenever the other cleaners were present; you were absolutely isolated — and willingly, too. Those aspects of you had already triggered Tamsy's curiosity, but your attachment to the leader of the Cleaners was also something to note — it made his pursuit of you all the more exciting.
It had been a long three-year wait, he must admit, but the hunger for connection that spilled from you was so worth it. Tamsy wanted to see all of you, not just the performative, silent side of you that you demonstrated to everyone else. He wanted to see what you looked like underneath the hard shell you've encased yourself in.
"..'re not even listening are you?" You deadpan, watching him blink as you witness the man in front of you returning back to reality after being lost in his thoughts in real time.
He covers his mouth with his hand nervously, "My apologies, I was lost in thought.. What were you saying?" He didn't much care for whatever topic you were rambling on about, but he thinks he should entertain you if he wants you to yearn for him.
"Don't do that, you'll ruin them..!" You frantically move to grab his hand and spread out his fingers across your own, "Anyway, I was just talking about random music stuff, so it's not too important. It's not really that interesting-" Tamsy notes your words as a method retreat and for moment he feels guilty, but by the next second the feeling is shoved away and out of his mind.
"No, no, please. What were you talking about?" He speaks softly like he always does when the two of you are alone — it's intentional. He's found that it makes others lower their guard around him when he speaks like that. Would it work on you?
He sees something akin to that of a flustered look wash over your features for just a split second before you show a small smile and continue speaking. It's quite adorable how much you enjoy things as basic as someone listening to your ramble — it also says a lot about the past you have yet to tell him. Despite knowing more about you than the average Cleaner from your file alone, like how your vital instrument worked or your daily work schedule, nothing about your past was known to him since it wasn't on there. Perhaps it was possible that you had asked Corvus to obscure such information.
Nonetheless, it just made him more curious about you.
"A concert I was thinking of going to," You say as you coat the nails on his left hand in another layer of nail polish. "I've been a fan of their music since forever and I have their CDs so I was thinking I might attend."
"What band?"
"Theatre of Tragedy."
"I don't think I've heard of them before."
You bite the inside of your cheek as you focus on the last nail on his left hand, a sign of your focus. "..I can lend you one of their CDs if you'd like?"
You don't see the smirk that stretches across his lips, "Why don't we listen to it together while you finish?"
"Are you sure? It's kinda.. loud."
"I can handle it," He rests his chin on the palm of his hand, careful not to ruin his freshly painted nails.
That subtle flustered look flashes across your face for the third time tonight as you get up from his bed to go get the CD, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Truthfully, he would have thought that getting this close to you would have been a challenge given that you were usually so guarded. Fortunately for him though, your desperation for human connection was steadily winning you over and working in his favor to get you attached to him. The fact that the two of you were on the same team only allowed for more familiarity to exist between the pair of you.
It had only been around a month since you began getting comfortable with him and Delmon, but with the way things were going now, in about two or three more months he'd have you completely wrapped around his finger without you even realizing it. Tamsy liked breaking things and building them up again to fit his vision but with you.. he's not sure what exactly there is to break besides your protective walls. You were the prime example of the vulnerable prey he sought, but what lured him into you wasn't the fact that you were emotionally defective — it was that you were a walking contradiction.
It was clear that something had happened to make you so closed off, but usually people sought comfort from those closest to them. The participated in the most minute interactions and gave into their desperation for love and attention in an attempt to fill whatever emptiness existed inside them.
You, however, . . You maintained everyone at a distance.
You were desperate for love and attention, yet you denied yourself the luxury of it every time.
"I'm back," you said happily, the CD in your hand as you walked over to his CD player and popped it in.
He notices your careful hands as you take the the CD out of its casing, your fingers holding it by the edges of your five fingers so your fingerprints don't touch the underside of the CD which could cause it to skip. You held it as if it was something dear to you. How peculiar.
"There." you press play and take your seat back in front of the man to continue painting his nails. "The first song starts off a bit slow, but it gets heavier as you go through it, I think you'll end up liking it if you're into heavy music already."
"I hope so." He smirks, watching as you resume your focus on his hands again.
For a while, there's a comfortable silence between the two of you — save for the high pitched vocals and contrasting metal screams that are present in the music. It's when the sixth song of the album comes on, after you've finished painting his nails in the same black color that you've got on your own fingernails, that Tamsy begins to blur that line in between the friendship that exists between the two of you and something entirely different.
"Do you listen to this type of music often?" He's glancing down at you as you draw shapes on his sheets; your legs are crossed and you rest your chin on the palm of your hand much like he was doing beside you. Cute, you were mirroring him.
"Mm.. I enjoy it but I listen to a lot of other music depending on my mood so it's not the only thing I listen to; if that makes any sense." He observes you as if you're a foreign creature unknown to him. Prior to these past few weeks, he thought you to be a shy, frightful thing — he sees now that he mistook your reticence for timidness. "Do you?" You peer up at him, gazing at how unusually gentle he seems right now, completely unaware of the schemes that flash across his mind at the mere sight of you.
He could kill you and dispose of the childish feelings you evoke within him.
It'd be easy.
But he doesn't. And he can't pretend to know why he doesn't.
"Most mornings, I do." He leans his weight back on the palms of his hands behind him, "It's either that or the weather report — and I don't much like hearing that in the morning."
A laugh emits from your pretty lips. He hates that it pleases him to hear such sounds from you.
"Y'know, you're right about that; The reporter can be a bit annoying."
"Mhm."
"What do you think about the album so far?" He can almost feel the heat emitting off of your skin.
"I like it. The vocals seem to be the main focus of it, though. It's different than what I usually listen to."
You nod enthusiastically, "A lot of the lyrics are from an ancient language, that's what Arkha told me. He translated some of it for me but there's isn't a dictionary for it so I still don't know what some of the words say."
That's right. Corvus. He still hasn't figured out why you're so close to him.
It's only been a month that he's invested in getting you closer to him. . . but perhaps he can push his luck just a bit? You seemed frazzled the last time he hinted at your troubled past. He was teasing you back then, but it gave away stray details about your person that he couldn't exactly piece together just yet. There was a missing piece of the puzzle that you were.
"You seem quite close to the boss." It's a statement, but he's vying for information about your relationship to him. After all, if the two of you are as close as he thinks you might be, it'd be an issue if he slips up even the slightest bit since you could turn around and snitch. He wants to know how cautious he should be around you.
You slowly bring your knees to your chest and look towards the CD player.
You're hesitating.
He tries not to let his enthusiasm show. It must be pretty sensitive information if you're closing up like this.
"..He saved me."
They're three simple words, but they carry immense weight when they roll of off your tongue. Unfortunately for Tamsy, your answer was less of an actual answer and more of an invitation to more questions. So he lets you continue.
. . except you don't.
You want him to work for it, huh?
"Saved you?"
"Mhm." A shaky sigh leaves your lips; you're quick to attempt at hiding it by smiling a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. It's fake and you both know it, but he doesn't point it out. "I was in a pretty shitty state when he found me and brought me here. ..Despite how much he's away, he's actually my closest friend."
Tamsy tries not to gag at how kindly you speak of the boss. He had expected that you would, but he didn't think you'd get all sappy on him so quickly. Is this was isolation has turned you into? Pathetically giving yourself away to anyone who so much as glances at you warmly?
He reserves his judgment because he knows there's more to you than a love-starved shell of a human being.
There has to be more.
"It's a little crazy thinking back on how we became friends," You smile fondly at the memory of it, "I used to hate him, y'know?"
Now that was interesting.
"Really?" He prods.
A nod, and then a warm smile. "He was unbearable. His kindness was dangerous and something I thought I couldn't trust. This place breaks people. . and there he was, telling me that life could be 'different'."
The permeating feeling of warmth finds its way into the fabric of Tamsy's being. "..Is it?" It almost makes him gag, how tender you make him want to be with you.
"Very." You answer simply. He takes note of the gratitude present in your tone, "If he hadn't taken the time to get to help me — to get to know me. . . I don't think I'd be here right now."
You finally meet Tamsy's eyes. His own were already set on you; they don't look away when you hold his gaze. You think his eyes look like gold; something precious. The way you look at him has changed, and you know that well.
You know it well enough.. to know that you should also cut it out because you were falling for him at an embarrassingly quick pace. You knew that it was because of the lack of healthy interaction with men in your life, that you were quick to get close to someone as gentle and kind as Tamsy — and you didn't need him to get the wrong idea either. You didn't want to get invested and lead him on just to run away at the last second because you couldn't deal with good things happening to you.
So you stood up.
With a pep in your step and a dull ache in your heart, you moved to get off of his bed. "A-Anyway, I'll head back to my room n' stop bugging you with my sappy stories; I'm glad you liked the album." You try to ignore how awkwardly you were going about this by turning your back to him and instead putting your CD back in its case, actively putting space between you two and ruining the build up of tension you both had created unintentionally.
The abruptness of your leave gave Tamsy whiplash.
When he decided to pursue you, he accounted for the fact that you would be on guard. He accounted for the fragility within you that you clearly fought to protect. He accounted for the possible risks of playing around with you and still, it seemed that it hadn't crossed his mind that you yourself would be self aware of your own brokenness. It seemed like every layer of you that he uncovered, there was another laying in wait to surprise him.
Truly . . you were fascinating.
"We should do this more often."
You really shouldn't.
Your hand hesitates for a second, "Yeah, we should.. maybe next time we can listen to one of yours."
"That'd be fun," he stands and unlocks the door to his bedroom.
You linger for a moment when you're at the door, "Sorry again for coming in unannounced-"
"You don't have to apologize." His tone drips with honey and he pushes his luck with you for the last time tonight, "Feel free to come by again. I enjoy our conversations." He hands you the black nail polish he swiped the moment you left his bed so he'd have an excuse to talk to you before you left.
You give him an owlish glance as you reach out to take it. Your fingers linger on his skin longer than they should and somehow, the tension that you assumed had dissipated the moment you awkwardly got up to leave has made itself known again.
You only give him an understanding nod in response before disappearing into the hall.
The bottle of nail polish felt warm in your hand, as if Tamsy's lingering touch seared your skin.
Seriously, how did you end up this deeply invested in him?
Effegia feels heavy in your hand when you walk down the hall.
It's a cold afternoon and everyone's settling down in the cafeteria for tonight; It must've been quite a successful mission if the celebratory music and the enticing scent of fresh food was anything to go by. A warm smile found its way onto your lips as you approached the lively room. The past week, you wondered whether to be secretive about it and get Rudo to touch Effegia in an 'accidental' manner, but if Enjin's description of the boy was right, you figured you could be straightforward about it.
Either way, you weren't exactly the best liar out there so it'd be a way to earn the boy's trust, you suppose.
"______! Hey girl!" Riyo calls out to you enthusiastically with a plate in hand. You notice Zanka beside her looking quite done with the entire celebration.
"Hey..!" you offered an awkward smile and wave as you walked up to her.
"You finally joining us or are you just here for the food?" It seemed that Riyo had also been well aware of your asocial behavior.. how embarrassing.
"If you're here for the food, get yourself a plate before she inhales all of it," Zanka warns, his arms crossed as he ignores Riyo sticking her tongue out at him.
You laugh and shake your head, "Food would sound good but I ate earlier, I'm actually here for Rudo — have you guys seen him?"
"Rudo?"
"Yeah, I need him for something; Boss' orders." You tried to keep it vague and hoped that with the notion that the boss himself asked you, they wouldn't ask too many questions. After all, no one besides Arkha knew of your vital instrument and you'd rather keep it a secret as much as you could.
Zanka shrugs and looks back at a fairly empty table, "New Guy's over there sulking."
"Sulking?"
Riyo nods, "Yeahhh…. Seems like his instrument crapped out on him in the middle of a job so he's kinda bummed about it."
"Wait, so what's the party for?"
"It's a 'Welcome to the Ground' party for Rudo!" Riyo's lips curl into a smile.
Zanka rolls his eyes, "It's an excuse for everyone to get wasted and you know it."
A small chuckle escapes you. Who knew Enjin's kids could be so lively? You really should start spending more time with other people. Preferably someone who's not as alluring as Tamsy.
"Thanks for the clarification," You joke before dismissing yourself from the conversation.
As you make your way around the crowd to head over to the table, you notice that Enjin and Gris are already with the boy. They're probably giving him a whole pep talk about what happened with his instrument, knowing them. Despite not knowing too much about the kid besides what Enjin's told you, seeing Rudo's bummed out expression tugs at your heart strings all the same.
You tuck Effegia in between your thighs as you take a seat besides Gris. You couldn't exactly just walk up and take Rudo away from his own party since it'd be a little questionable, so you opted to get to know him a little by talking to him casually like this instead; First impressions were important anyway.
"________, you're finally joinin' us?" Enjin asks as he ruffles Rudo's hair, leaving the teenager to glare up at the blond man behind him.
You roll your eyes, "Y'know Riyo said the same thing. Are you guys telepathically connected?"
Gris lets out a warm laugh, "Can you blame them? You're hardly ever here with us."
"Well, I wasn't able to say 'hi' to the new kid when he first got here so.." You extend your hand out to the sulking boy in front of you. He breaks his focus on Enjin and takes your hand hesitantly; His gloves are pretty big on his hands, but they suit him nonetheless.
"I'm _______. S'nice to meet you, Rudo." He nods after you offer him a welcoming smile. "I've heard a lot about you from Enjin n' Team Akuta; Seems like you're adjusting well down here."
He shrugs, "I guess so. I just wish I wasn't so useless down here though."
"It takes time alright? Don't be so hard on yourself." He nods but doesn't seem to believe your words all that much. "I'm serious. It takes some time to get adjusted with your instrument — and given that you just got here, I can only imagine how new this all is to you."
"Yeah, but-"
Enjin cuts him off, "She's right, kid. You're way too busy beating yourself up about the bad things that you can't appreciate the stuff you've done right."
"It's all about balance," you chime in, a smile finding its way onto your lips. "It's okay to feel beat when things don't go the way you want them to, but its better to learn from it and improve."
He lets the thought marinate in his brain for a while before eventually clenching his fists and nodding, "Yeah. You guys are right. I just have to keep trying."
It's strange, the way he seemed so torn about his inability to control his instrument well. It was all so foreign to him and he had been clearly impacted by the events that led him down to the Ground. You don't blame him though, you were almost as defeated as he was when you first got here.
"With that being said," You tuck Effegia under your arm and stand, "I'll have to kidnap him for a bit; Boss asked me for somethin' concerning him."
Enjin ruffles the kids hair one last time as he got up, "Alright, just don't take too long or he'll miss out on Job's dope artwork. And the food. Especially the food." You chuckle at Enjin's comment and excuse yourself from the gathering with the kid in tow. You figured that Arkha's room would work best since no one usually lingers around there and it'd save the two of you from any prying eyes and ears.
"How are you liking it so far at HQ?"
"Everyone's been pretty welcoming so far," Rudo shrugs. "But I don't really know how to feel about it. There's a lot I need'a learn before I can do what I wanna do, but it's like every time I think I've got the hang of something — it all just . . crumbles."
"I feel that," You tell him, your tone sincere and heartfelt. You'd been in his place, hell, you still would consider yourself to be in that place.
"How come you needed me though? Is it something to do with the boss?"
You nod, "Kinda. I'll tell you once we're there, okay?"
While the two of you made your way to the office, you couldn't help but feel as if you were being watched. You chalked it up to your own paranoia but it was a feeling you couldn't shake until Rudo and yourself were behind the closed doors of Arkha's office.
You pulled out a chair to sit beside Rudo at Arkha's desk; he wouldn't mind the two of you being here, you think.
You held Effegia in your hands as you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you opened the journal and activated it in front of him. "Arkha Corvus, well — The boss — asked me to get intel on you." Rudo listened intently, watching your journal transform from the worn out leather journal it seemed like into a brand new one. The pages were black with ink when it transformed, none of what you had written in your regular journal would show when it was activated; Instead, the ink would emerge from the pages to form animated pictures to you and only you.
"He wanted me to find out more about you, but.. I didn't exactly wanna be an asshole and do it without your permission since . . . it has to do with your past."
"My past?"
You nod, "My instrument, when its activated, shows me things when it comes into contact with other people. It can show past events of the person, secrets — just everything about the person's life."
"So, it'll show you what happened before I got thrown down here?"
"More or less."
"I mean.. if the boss asked, I'll do it." He reached his hand out to touch the journal, causing your anima to come into contact with his own. Since he needed the boss' approval to be recognized as one of the Cleaners, he'd do what it took to get a step closer to his goal of returning to the Sphere.
In an instant, the ink lifted off the pages. It flowed like water, forming intricate scenes of the boy's past lived experiences; from the incessant ridicule he endured from the kids in his neighborhood, to the raids he himself went on at the dead of night and finally, to the murder of his father figure. Rudo stayed silent through it, unable to see the scenes that were being revealed to you and still keeping his hand firmly on the book. You were shown the masked face of the one who murdered Rudo's father as well as the disparity that existed on the place known as the Sphere.
As the ink began replaying the scenes, you blinked back into reality. "You can take your hand off now, Rudo. Thank you."
"What for? I didn't really do anything.." He said as he stood up.
You followed suit, "People's life stories are sacred, they're pieces of yourself you don't show to just anyone." Your lips curled into a warm smile, "So thank you for trusting Corvus and I with it. He'll tell you more about the Cleaners once you're officially with us, but I'll make sure to put in a good word for you."
"Are you like his assistant?" The boy asks curiously as you hold the door open for him.
You shake your head and laugh awkwardly, "Nah, he's just . . He's my best friend if that makes sense."
Rudo's eyes widen, "His best friend?? The Boss??"
"He probably seems like an intimidating figure to you, depending on what Enjin's told you — but he's a softie at heart. He'll like you, so don't worry too much about it."
"Hm . . "
You close the door behind you, "You should probably go back to the celebration though."
"That was it?"
"Yeah, that's it." You smile.
"Okay then," He continues walking without you, "See you around..!"
You wave at him until he's out of your line of sight. A sigh escapes your lips; using Effegia didn't cause you to feel this tired when you were a kid but it seemed as if the time and care you'd put into the journal had made it all the more powerful. You began walking off in the direction of your room, only to bump into the person you'd been avoiding — or trying to avoid — for the past week.
Tamsy.
You must've been walking too fast because the moment you crashed into him, your journal slipped out from your hold and fell open to the floor. It was still activated so thankfully, the only thing he'd see were blank black pages instead of all the things you'd written in them. However, before you could move to retrieve it from the cold tile floor, his hand touches it and suddenly, the ink begins to lift off of the pages. Your heart began to race because the last thing you would want to do is violate his privacy —
— oh, who are you kidding?
The last thing you want to do is see something that makes you feel something other than platonic warmth for him.
You were already attracted to him and if his past was revealed to you, your helpless, lovesick brain would find something to romanticize — and that was not what you needed after trying to keep him at arms length.
Except, what you see isn't romantic at all.
It's Rudo's memory . . . from Tamsy's perspective.
You see the mask that the murderer wore. You see flashes of gold, of silk — of royalty. You see cleanliness; streets so devoid of clutter they almost gleamed when light reflected upon them. It was so . . . foreign. You see an ostentatious building dripping in riches — it's a palace, you recall. Finally, you see Tamsy, but he doesn't look like himself or rather — he doesn't look like the self you know.
These aren't the memories of someone born and raised on the Ground, you realize.
"..ight? ________?"
You blink in shock at what you've seen, you're blood turning to ice as your eyes slowly tear away from the ink dancing in front of you to look at the pair of dusty, golden eyes that peer down at you with concern — and for the first time since meeting him, you can't tell if it's genuine or not.
"I.. Sorry, what.." You take your journal back but it feels heavy in your hands again. As if the weight of what you had just seen was too much to carry. "What were you saying?"
"Are you alright?" Tamsy asks, his voice as smooth as silk and as calm as ever.
The contrast is uncanny.
That couldn't possibly have been him. He wouldn't. . . would he?
"I'm.." You struggle to find the words, "I'm okay, I was just in a hurry, sorry about that." You turn to leave, the leather from the journal in your hand probably had dents from your harsh grip. It felt as if the scenes you just saw would turn to mist if you didn't hold onto it despite knowing that it wasn't possible.
The stories of the people that touched it remained there long after they were gone.
"Hold on," He says, his fingers slithering around your wrist. Desperate. "You've been avoiding me. Why?" He gives you a pointed look that instantly blindsides you.
"I haven't-" Your mind is muddled with the thoughts currently running rampant in your mind. Thoughts of how he possibly could be the murderer Rudo was looking for . . Thoughts of how his fingers leave goosebumps on your skin in their wake. "I've just been really busy with work — It doesn't have anything to do with you."
"Really?"
"Yes, really." You stand your ground despite the fact that the man in front of you has you up against the wall. You knew Tamsy to be kind and gentle, but the man you were looking up at seemed as if he had his sights set on something you couldn't quite identify. He wasn't frantic and that was the scariest part because — he was eerily calm for someone who was possibly living a double life.
"So, leaving rooms when I happen to enter them and curt greetings in the hall have nothing to do with me? Do you really expect me to believe that?" What he really means is: Do you think I'm stupid? but he doesn't voice it. Instead, he towers over you, awfully close enough that you're sure he can feel the warmth radiating from your skin.
He sounds like someone who cares and it would have been sweet if you knew for certain whether or not he was telling the truth.
"You're overthinking it." you affirm.
"And you're lying."
"I'm really not." You maintain eye contact with him so steadily that it feels like a tug of war between his will and your own. This isn't the first time you've been cornered like this and it also isn't the first time you enjoyed the danger in playing with a man you didn't know well enough; The glint of violence in his eyes doesn't match his tender words but that familiar warmth slithers and coils in your stomach all the same.You thought that you had escaped that cycle of self-sabotage, but running away from the cycle doesn't exactly equate to breaking free of said cycle, now does it?
At the end of the day, you were the same fucked-up woman you were five years ago; Ready to dive in head-first into a situation you knew would leave you more torn and desperate for love than you had been before.
What would Arkha say about these treacherous feelings of yours?
"Tamsy . ."
You feel his hand come up to hold your chin gently, but firmly at the same time. His touch feels like fire on your skin — the type of fire that feels cold when it's hot enough.
"Did I do something?" His voice is low; just above a whisper. You hate that it makes your heart skip a beat.
"No," You lightly slap his hand away from your jaw and cross your arms, creating an unspoken barrier between his body and your own. "Like I said, It isn't about you at all."
"Then what is it?"
". . .I like you." A shrug, "That's all."
That's all??
Tamsy's mind goes blank.
He knows you aren't shy, knows you aren't a pushover.. but the woman standing in front of him is different than the one he's used to seeing. You're not afraid of him, you're not jumpy — You're looking straight at him as if you're daring him to step out of line; to let the mask slip just a little. He can tell you've seen something because let's face it, you were never that good of a liar — but you're not calling him out on it even if he knows that you know that you should.
You're confessing to him — but it's devoid of the romantic nervousness he expected from you.
"You.." His eyes narrow, unable to tell if you're telling the truth or lying to him in order to get out of the situation. To be fair, he had been egging you on in order to force an answer out of you and slither his way into your very clearly empty love life for reasons he didn't even know anymore, but you were giving him whiplash with your short and brutally honest quips. You kiss your teeth as if the conversation's boring you and you lean onto the wall behind you with a newfound air of annoyance he hadn't accounted for.
He hated that you made him feel like prey when he was the one with the upper hand — It was like you were mind-fucking him and telling him to take it — he abhorred it.
"You like me?"
"Look, it's not that big of a deal, alright?"
"If it wasn't, you wouldn't be avoiding me so much."
"I was 'avoiding' you because I didn't wanna hurt you, okay? I get silly crushes all the time and every time, they fade away." You talk about this as if its normal. For him, it's anything but. "Long-term relationships aren't really my thing and I don't really feel like stringing you along for a one time thing, especially not when you seem like such a nice guy."
He's found the part of you that he felt was missing when you hung out with him in his room, but it only left him with more questions. He allows one of your hands to snake up and lay flat on his chest. He's warm, you notice. It's a shame that you have a tendency to like guys that weren't any good for you.
"That's awfully kind of you.. But you can't simply drop that on me without hearing me out as well."
"If you're going to tell me that you like me too, you can save it."
What kind of a woman doesn't want to hear that the object of their affection reciprocates it as well??
He knew you were broken, but in his experience, broken people usually liked someone filling in their cracks. He was torn between his admiration of your damaged state of being and his vitriol towards the way you stubbornly held onto your own will that didn't allow for Tamsy's manipulation to succeed entirely.
After three years of waiting for you to open up, he was quickly beginning to realize that he severely underestimated how destroyed you really were on the inside.
An oversight, sure.
But he could work with this.
He leans closer to whisper his next words. "You could at least let me say it."
His breath on your ear makes you shudder and you fight the smile that threatens to appear on your lips. You feel drunk on his words for a moment, it's ruined when you realized just how easy it is for you to slip back into old patterns. He was a murderer and a liar. A normal, well adjusted person couldn't possibly be into him even after knowing this —
yet here you were, leaning into him once more and breathing him in like a flower soaks up sunlight.
"I don't need to hear you lie again." You whisper back, your fingers toying with his tie. The thrill of messing with someone who could probably kill you ignited that fire within you that you hadn't felt in so long.. you had almost forgotten how addictive that feeling was.
You lightly pushed him away from you and walked away from him. To his utter disappointment, he allowed it. Your journal was warm in your hands but it lacked that weight you felt prior. You could feel yourself slipping back into the person you were before you joined the cleaners and as much as you tried to bury that identity deep within you and become someone else — it was becoming painfully clear that you were doing nothing but lying to yourself if you thought you could escape your past self.
You trudged back to your room after what felt like a long walk, making sure to lock the door behind you before kicking your boots off and plopping down on your bed. You stared at the ceiling for a moment, processing what the hell had just gone down between Tamsy and yourself.
It was irreversible.
You couldn't take back your confession, nor that display of unfiltered honesty. The transition between the self you curated for others and the person you actually were on the inside had happened so seamlessly that you wouldn't have been able to stop it even if you had noticed it. You felt as if something dark — something unforgivable and disgusting — was emerging from within your walls of flesh, as if the inner you was clawing its way out of the grave that was your fake persona. . .It only took a few moments of realization for your eyes to begin pouring tears onto your sheets.
You were broken and you'd known it for a long time . . but tonight was the first time you had witnessed just how hypocritical your own behavior could be if presented with the opportunity. You were damaged and confused; Y had been pretending to be someone who knew their brokenness and owned it.
You hoped you'd begin to believe that lie the more you kept at it.
But you were never good at telling lies.
Not even to yourself.
That night, you curled into yourself, your pillow riddled with snot and tears of frustration. You wanted to break everything, make it all as damaged as you were — but all you could do was lay pathetically in your bed as you sobbed like a child over a broken toy. Except the toy that lay broken before you was the version of yourself that you could have been, and you were sat on the floor trying to piece it back together in futility.
You'd never be whole again.
You should talk to Arkha.
The next week, you busied yourself with compiling all of the information that concerned the Sphere and Rudo into a file for Arkha to see when he returned back to headquarters. To tell the truth, you had been avoiding Tamsy for most of it — but it wasn't due to the revelation of his past that you did it — in fact, it was because the notion of harboring feelings for a man who wasn't as gentle and sweet as you initially thought him to be frankly scared you.
There was a part of you that wanted to give into what you knew would end up badly for you, but there was also a part of you that wondered if doing so would be betraying the progress you've made and the kind people you've met since the day Arkha saved you. Holding onto your feelings for Tamsy meant betraying Arkha, Semiu, Enjin, Rudo and most of all — yourself.
The fact that you were even debating it should have already told you what you needed to know about yourself.
You poured hot water into your mug, hissing when you accidentally spilled some on your hand. What a great start to the day. You mixed in the sugar and coffee grains with a calculated ease, adding milk to do away with the bitter taste of it. Arkha usually took his coffee the same way because of his sweet tooth. You smile at the memory and wonder when he'll be back, only to frown when you feel the presence of a certain someone enter the kitchen.
His hair is in that familiar updo, but his blue strands lack the tube that they usually ran through. You wonder what he'd look like with his hair down now that you've seen that other version of him — The Sphereite version of him.
"Up so early?" His tone is as gentle and collected as ever.
"Yeah."
"How come?"
"Work."
"Mission?"
"Different kind of work."
"Ah."
"Yep."
"Mm."
After a beat, you stretch your lips into an unsatisfied line and gesture towards the doors of the kitchen, "..I'll see myself out."
But before you can exit the kitchen, his fingers find your wrist. "Hold on, I wanted to . . ask you something."
You mentally groan at yourself when you turn and allow him to continue speaking. What you actually should've done was leave the kitchen and do what you were supposed to do, but unfortunately for you, Tamsy had a way of making you do the opposite of what your mind intended, which you found incredibly annoying.
"What is it?"
"Go on a date with me." The words feel like acid on his tongue. They sound like out-of-tune guitars to you.
"You said what?"
"A date." He repeats, smiling placidly like he always does, "There's a noodle restaurant that opened up in the city and I was thinking . . . perhaps we might go together. . ?"
You think about it for a moment despite your brain telling you that you were an idiot for even considering it.
If what you saw a week ago was correct, he was a murderer and a smart one at that. He could kill you, could dispose of you, make it look like an accident and walk away without any consequences. There were hundreds of possibilities that ended with your death and his triumph.
However, you weren't so weak that you could be killed that easily, so..
". . . What time?"
"How does later in the afternoon sound?"
". . . Alright."
"It's a date then?" Tamsy reluctantly lets you go, watching you disappear into the hallway shortly after affirming his question.
Truth be told, he thought to ask you on a 'date' as a last-ditch effort to get you alone after what had happened a week ago since you had been avoiding him everywhere all over again. He knew of your second vital instrument because he had snooped around in the boss' office a few months ago in an attempt to find out more about you, but the mechanics of your second instrument weren't on file, much to his dismay.
He felt a little on edge because it had been clear to him that the journal in your hand that day definitely revealed something about him, but if you haven't told anyone — not even Corvus — and you agreed to be alone with him on top of that. . . he should be safe for the most part. Even if you had revealed an intriguing side of yourself the last time the two of you spoke, your naive heart seemed to be a constant trait of yours and for that, he thanked you.
Depending on how tonight went, he'd either have to kidnap you, kill you or.. he could also erase your memories of what you'd found out if he wanted.
Either way, involving himself with you was beginning to cause more of a headache than he intended and on top of all of this, the thing that annoyed him most was that his heart felt a tad bit joyous at the notion that he was going on a date with you.
You had him feeling like a lovesick teenager, so much so that he debated hurting you for it.
"Damn you.." He sighed to himself, his hands steadily gripping the kitchen counter.
"What's up with you?" Enjin asks, yawning shortly after and heading towards the refrigerator.
"Nothing."
Another yawn, "You look emotionally constipated."
Crude as always, Tamsy deadpans. "I'm fine."
"Uh-huh, well, whatever the case might be — just show her a good time n' you'll be golden."
Okay, what is he talking about? "Pardon?"
Enjin smirks like he knows something Tamsy doesn't. It only serves to annoy him more than he already is. "You asked her out didn't you? Being nervous is natural!" He moves over to hang an arm around Tamsy. "Just pay for everything n' be try to not be such a square; it works like a charm."
He narrows his eyes at Enjin and considers wringing his neck with Tokushin's threads. "I am not a square."
"Yeah, you're a pentagon." He snickers.
"Lay off," Tamsy scoffs and breaks away from Enjin's hold, opting to make his way out of the cafeteria instead. Enjin could really be a pain in the ass when he wanted to be.. But a bigger question loomed: Had you told Enjin where you were going as a safety precaution?
Tamsy smirks at the thought of it.
Perhaps you weren't so naive after all.
.
.
.
As you were sat at the center of your bed, you had a notebook at your side and Effegia opened up in front of you, replaying Rudo's past to finish up a few details on the file you were to turn in to the boss. Even if it had only been a task asked of you by Arkha, you'd be lying if you said you weren't invested in the kid's story and felt empathy for him because of the things he had gone through. Despite his status as a Sphereite, his life wasn't all that different from the people on the Ground — save for the trash beasts, trash storms and life-threatening pollution of course.
He had his own hell, it would seem. Your eyes narrowed at specific points of the scenes, watching them over and over, writing down specific details you deemed necessary for Arkha to know. From what you'd seen so far, it seemed that there was a misconception about the way people on the Ground saw the Sphere and the people on it. It wasn't just a world full of money, glory and peace — It was divided and filth still existed on it, just not as severely as it did down here.
"That's interesting.." you spoke aloud, writing it down in your notebook. After a few more minutes of re-watching his memories and noting everything you could about them, you closed your notebook and took another drink from your cup of coffee. Almost empty . . .
When you checked the time, you realized that about an hour or so had gone by. You still had a few hours before the date, so . . .
You flipped a page and the ink began to emerge once more; This time, Tamsy's memories were on display. It had only been for moment that he touched it so you had only seen flashes of the most important events of his life, but it was riveting nonetheless.
You looked upon the images of Tamsy's memories with an awe-stricken gaze. That minuscule peak into Tamsy's life was fascinating and only left you with more questions. Just who exactly was he? That same scene of Tamsy draped in that fancy clothing adorned and accented in gold, his hair down and flowing in the wind instead of his usual updo . . . He was the embodiment of ethereal beauty — it almost felt like a crime to see that version of him.
He shone as brightly as a fire, and could burn you just the same — You wonder if you'd let him.
You think maybe, you would.
Maybe you'd let him burn you enough to consume you whole . . .
It was already a hard task to admit that you fell for him, it was even harder to accept that the man you fell for was the same one who framed Rudo for the murder of his own father. There had to be something deeply twisted within you to even consider the possibility of being anything more than 'friends' with a murderer as cynical as him. Then again, your taste in partners was never the best so you suppose its on brand for someone as fucked up as yourself, because as much as you hated to admit it, you found comfort in violence even when better things — like a healthy social life at headquarters — were offered.
The warmth of HQ, the welcoming feeling of being a part of something bigger — it should have been enough to heal the cracks within you and fill you with something new. Something heartfelt.
Instead, you felt like an imposter for lying to everyone — to Arkha — about how you actually felt about your situation. But. . . was it really even lying? You were simply saving everyone else from dealing with your damaged, true self. You were broken, and keeping everyone else at a safe distance so they wouldn't cut themselves on your edges — it couldn't exactly be considered lying, could it?
Perhaps that was the reason for which you accepted Tamsy's lies and accepted his offer.
He couldn't fix you, you weren't stupid enough to think so; but you could be yourself — your true, unfiltered and raw self — with him. As cynical as he seemed to be, he had to be pursuing you for a specific reason.
One you intended to find out tonight.
.
.
.
"So you realized that you liked him and he asked you out.. and now you're going on a date with Tamsy?"
"Yes, keep up." You look at yourself in the mirror, painfully aware of every flaw on your body now that it's getting closer to the afternoon. "So, should I dress casually? I have some stuff August made for me but I don't want to go all out and be overdressed for something that isn't that serious.."
Arkha laughs over the choker comm, "It's a first date, isn't that pretty serious?"
"I guess.." You couldn't tell him this was anything but a real date.
You hear some unintelligible sounds from the choker comm,"Sorry _____, I have to go, tell me how it goes, yeah?"
"Will do." You say, "Stay safe."
He hums in acknowledgement before disconnecting, leaving you in your room with your head blank and starved for ideas on an outfit. You groan, "This is why I hate going out-"
"I certainly hope that isn't in reference to me." That tone . . .
Shit! He's here already??
"I'm not ready yet!" You tell him, feeling the room suddenly get hotter.
"Relax," You can almost hear his smirk. "..I could lend you a hand if you'd like."
"How bold." You burn holes into the door while you consider letting him in just to see if he was serious. Being naked in front of men had never really fazed you — especially not with your past occupation. A part of you contemplated for a moment what expression he'd make if he were to see you bare. The other, more reasonable side of you, scolded your mind for even thinking of that.
"Is that a no?"
"No," You walk to the door, walking away from the last semblance of faux dignity you thought yourself to have. "I'd like your opinion actually."
When you open the door, your eyes trail over his outfit. He seems to be in formal attire; it's still loose clothing — still so painfully him — but it compliments him well. His hair isn't in its usual updo he wears for work, and his blue strands cascade gracefully over his chest. He looks handsome and you hate to admit that he does.
"How bold." He returns your words to you before entering your room and choosing to sit at the edge of your bed where your heap of clothes lay. "What is it that you need help with, hm?"
"Just.." You close the door behind him and make your way beside him to sort through some clothing. You're in a robe and in a far more vulnerable position but if your unflinching gaze is anything to go by, he doesn't think you care.
You're challenging him. Again.
His fingers grip the sheets a little tighter than he should. The tension between the two of you is thick enough he's sure he could cut it with a knife. There's many things you haven't told him, details he certainly hasn't disclosed to you, questions that have yet to be answered.. yet he feels strangely at ease.
His heart races at the foreign, yet pleasing sight of you in a black silk robe. He's fascinated at how brazen your presenting yourself at the moment.
It's almost like you don't even . . . Oh.
Oh, That's interesting.
His hands loosen around your sheets.
"I didn't want to overdress so I was torn between formal and casual," Your eyes rake over his form and he begins to feel strangely hot when he notices you doing it so unabashedly. "-But seeing you now, maybe a mix of both would be good . . Maybe this."
You held up a black dress; the design was simple and reached your knees, but the v-neck was notable and would compliment you well. He watched as you laid the dress flat on the bed, entranced by how delicately you handled the fabric and how your fingers raked over the satin that kept your body hidden from him.
Your fingers worked at unraveling the tied knot at your center with ease, but just before you revealed yourself to him, he laid a hand over your own, towering over you once more. "What are you doing?"
It sounded more like an accusation than a question.
"I could ask you the same thing."
There was that dull, uninterested look in your eyes again. He recognized it because you had been the target of that same look in his eyes for longer than he'd like to admit.
You were toying with him.
"What is that supposed to mean?" His hold on your hands grows firm but you notice that it's as if he's trying to restrain his own self rather than you.
You knew poking the bear was a bad idea, but you lived for the thrill of it.
You look him dead in the eye when you carelessly bite, "You can figure that out."
And in the blink of an eye, you find yourself pinned to your own bed with his hand at your neck and his frame hovering over you. Your back is laid flat against your covers as his knee nudges in between yours that are bent against the mattress. You should have been scared, any woman in your place would have been, but you simply smiled as you looked up at him — like you were enjoying yourself. His eerily calm expression made your heart almost beat out of your ribcage and it was then that he realized two things.
One: He had accidentally revealed part of the self he kept hidden from you with this impulsive action of his.
And, two . . .
"Oh." His eyes widen as his grip on your throat softens. "Oh, You like this."
Your smile falls at the statement, he sighs in satisfaction.
"God.." He smiles and leans close to whisper into your ear, "Someone really messed you up, huh?"
You scoff, "Like you're any better." Your fingers creep up his nape and into his beautiful navy blue strands. Your fingers are gentle, but your words are anything but. "Who in their right mind kills a little boy's father and frames him for it? I mean, really, that makes you more fucked up than I am." It was a frail attempt to hurt his ego and erase the fact that he uncovered your shameful desires so quickly, and of course, it didn't work.
He was amused.
He pulls away with a soft smile on his lips but his hand remains on the column of your throat, his thumb softly pressing against your vein. "You're the one in love with a murderer — I think that makes you an accomplice, angel."
You bite the inside of your cheek and narrow your eyes at him. He'd be right on a technicality, but you refuse to believe his statement when it comes from his mouth. "Hardly." You try to get up so you can get dressed, your playful mood now slowly dissipating, but Tamsy doesn't allow it, instead forcing you to stay on your back and staring down at you with a deep disdain.
"Now, tell me. What exactly did you see, hm?"
"What are you talking about?" Did he know about Effegia?
"Your second instrument — The book you carry. How does it work and what did you see?"
"How do you know about that?"
Your eyes don't tear away from his own. "Answer my questions and I'll answer yours."
You mull it over for a few seconds and ultimately decide that the deal only benefits himself more than it benefits you. "I don't really have an obligation to answer you."
"No?" His smile fades, "Last time I checked, I'm the one with the hand around your-"
"You can save your threats," You interrupt, growing tired of his pointless hostility — Even then, you can't find it within you to hate him. Your hand easily rips his own off of your neck. "I won't tell you how it works, but you don't need to worry about your secrets getting out. I'm not telling anyone."
Secrets? Plural?
It takes him a moment to respond after the realization that that journal of yours, did in fact, show you something about him settles in.
"And why should I believe you?" His arms are crossed as he watches you rise from the bed, your hand undoing the knot fully and allowing the silk to pool at your ankles. His eyes trail over your naked form for a second longer than they should have before turning to look at the wall, a slight reddish tint on his ears. Yes, he was sadistic and conniving to inhuman degrees — but none of that seemed to matter when you unknowingly woke the dormant human feelings of bashfulness in him.
"You don't have to believe me, but if I was interested in ruining your . . .plans, I would've told Arkha the moment I found out."
He tries not to listen to the rustling of clothes behind him.
"Why didn't you?"
A beat.
".. I'm selfish."
The implications of your admission bring him a newfound appreciation for your puzzled and deeply disturbed mind, but he doesn't laugh at it. Somehow, you've wormed your way into his treacherous heart and he can't help but look over his shoulder and gaze at you with deep-seated anger-laced admiration.
Is it possible to love someone so much you wish to harm them? He thinks it might be.
"Can you help me with this?"
He turns fully and walks up to you with a relaxed expression, the zipper feels cold in his warm fingers. He could help, or let you squirm and figure it out yourself while he watches . . but he decides against it; Simply sliding the zipper upwards instead. The black fabric sparkles in the light of your lamp and the skirt of your dress flows freely. It's not too tight on your body but it compliments you well nonetheless. His fingers linger on your back for a moment, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress and thinking about how you'd look in a dress that's truly worthy of you — or how you'd look with Tokushin's threads wrapped around your plush skin — he snaps out of it when you glance back at him with an annoying smirk.
"Like what you see?"
How is it that you manage to ruin the intimacy of moments like these every time?
He doesn't answer and instead steps away, his hands leaving your waist.
"Just finish up, would you? It's getting late."
You laugh at his excuse, but move quickly nonetheless, willing your mind to momentarily focus on something other than him.
The savory aroma of fresh noodles and broth filled the noodle restaurant.
Unlike the cold breeze outside the establishment, the environment inside was much more comforting. A twinge of disappointment tugged at you when the two of you sat at a booth within the quaint restaurant because the words that would be said tonight were anything but romantic — This wasn't a real date, you had to keep reminding yourself of that . . .
Yet, even if false pretenses had led the both of you here, it still made you feel fuzzy inside.
The worn leather of the booth cushioned you as you sat across from Tamsy. There weren't that many people inside, so the two of you were able to get your menus rather quickly and order what you thought sounded the most delicious.
"Have you been here before?"
"I haven't. Why do you ask?"
A beat passes. "Have you forgotten you're an expert in the art of lying?"
You certainly didn't hesitate.
Reluctantly, he sighs and leans backward as he lifts his gaze from the menu momentarily, the look within his eyes appearing more calculated by the second. "I see you have no intention of pretending this is anything else."
"I don't like to beat around the bush. But if we're laying our cards out on the table, we're doing it my way."
"Oh?" It seemed that you had already planned for this. Once more, your forethought demands his appreciation. "What did you have in mind?"
"I ask, you answer."
"That hardly seems fair."
"You don't get to choose after lying to me."
He sighs. "I had my reasons for doing so."
"I'm sure you did." You stare blankly at the people sitting around the restaurant enjoying their meals, having warm, probably more positive, conversations amongst each other.
He smiles, dusty golden eyes meeting your own. "So, what would you like to know? It sounds like I don't have much of a choice here."
"Well, first of all-"
"Here are your drinks!" A waitress interrupts, "Your food will be here shortly."
The both of you thank her and you wait until she's out of earshot to finish your question. "Are you really from up there?" You keep your voice down so you don't garner the attention of the people in the restaurant yet even then, the words feel so foreign on your tongue. By being here with him, purposefully omitting what you learned about Tamsy from Arkha despite being aware of its importance, you were betraying everything you tried to build for the past five years.
You were betraying Arkha's kindness.
Your selfish heart sought the unattainable; it sought a person more twisted than yourself and you were at a loss when it came to analyzing what that said about you. Were you really willing to shield a potential threat for the sake of your starved heart? The question sat at the back of your mind as you toyed with the cuffs you wore as bracelets — your instrument, your safeguard.
"I am."
"So.. Why are you down here, then? I don't really see a reason for you to be down here when life up there seems so much more fulfilling." You take your straw in between your index and thumb and sip on the water you ordered to keep your hands busy.
You weren't angry at the fact that a Sphereite was essentially pretending to be one of you because you had never been interested in the Sphere enough to care about the implications — your entire life, you'd only been surviving and the Cleaners gave you a place to finally live, so wasting your energy on despising those on the Sphere was a luxury you simply wouldn't purchase for the sake of your mental health.
Though, looking back now, you probably would have been better off hating Sphereites.
Maybe then it would've been harder for your feelings for Tamsy to persist.
"The Sphere is the primary reason for the suffering you, and other groundlings, experience on the Ground," His gaze is now downcast. A sign of vulnerability? You hesitate to mark it as one. He meets your eyes once more, "I seek to end the rule of an oppressive force, that's all."
"So then what was your reason for murdering Rudo's father?"
Blankly, he states: "It was an act of love." His voice is devoid of hesitation; He fully believes what he's saying.
"An.. An act of love. You did that for . . love?"
"Without his father's death poor Rudo's anger would not have culminated into what it has. I only want to elevate his already powerful abilities."
"You're using him."
"I am."
"You understand that you hurt him, right?"
"The hurt is necessary. He's a pawn in a game much bigger than you and I."
You blink slow enough that you feel time has stopped for a second.
". .Is that. . Is that what this is?" You ask him pointedly, a dull pang of disappointment reverberating in your chest.
It was your own fault for falling for a murderer — a deranged one, too. However, that didn't make the terrible ache within your heart any less real. Feeling anything at all for a man like him was proving to be a continuous form of self-harm you couldn't seem to quit.
"That's what I am to you? A pawn?"
As your eyes look into his own, you slowly begin to realize that the Tamsy you once knew — the gentle and kind man who went out of his way to give gifts to his friends, the man who saved you on countless jobs when you had been too reckless, the man who didn't distance himself no matter how distant you had been despite being on his team — was truly gone.
No, you corrected, he had never existed.
The callous man in front of you, speaking of people as if their lives held no greater value than a game piece, that was the real Tamsy.
And the real Tamsy offered you neither warm gentility nor unrelenting kindness, no, he offered you nothing short of brutal honesty.
"Did you think yourself to be anything more?"
His words cut deeply, even if they are the words of a lying murderer.
You swallow the bitter lump in your throat, "I would have thought that I had at least been a friend to you."
He smiles upon seeing the way your eyes don't meet his own anymore, but the smile hides the tug of guilt he strangely begins to feel. Your fingers are fidgeting with the cuffs at your wrist again; tugging and pulling as if to keep yourself grounded. Your brows are pulled tight and he can tell you're trying not to show any of your true emotions, but he doesn't comment on it.
In that moment of awkward silence your food arrives, but you find that your appetite no where to be found. You swallow thickly, taking your chopsticks, meticulously breaking them to dip them into the broth. The meal would've been nice on any other occasion.
". . If none of it was real, what was the point in making me think otherwise? What did you gain by making a fool out of me?"
Your tone has changed to something much more raw — it lacks your usual bite and he notices it instantly. He's unsure whether the unfamiliar dull pain in his chest means something.
"You're in Corvus' good graces, being close to you is an advantage."
You swear you could break the chopsticks in your hand.
He hums as he bites into the noodles. The broth is savory and the noodles aren't too bad. They certainly don't compare to the cuisine on the Sphere but he can admit that it's better than most of the food he's had down here.
"How are you liking it?"
"It's fine."
He frowns, "Just 'fine'?"
"You kind of killed my appetite."
"Oh, don't be so sour." He says, reaching out towards your lips to wipe a droplet of broth off of your face. Why did he do that? "We can still enjoy our time here, can't we?"
"I suppose so."
You answer curtly; A conversation with him would only lead you towards more unwanted heartbreak. After all, this was the very reason for which you never approached any of your crushes before: Letting someone into your heart meant giving them the ability to break it from within. Feeding delusions of a romance by agreeing to this date had been a mistake and as much as your actions loved to defy your mind's logic, emotional hurt was never something you enjoyed.
You would take physical pain over internal pain any day.
Given that you were preoccupied with the multitude of thoughts running rampant in your mind, you failed to notice just how pathetic your expression was.
Tamsy for the most part, had tried to ignore the unfamiliar ache in his chest — he tried pushing down the guilt he was feeling because it was unreasonable — he shouldn't feel this way for you; It'd be a distraction, more than you already were. Inner Tamsy was having a field day, finding a sick gratification in having that much of an effect on you, so much so that it left him with a warm tingling feeling all throughout his body.
And yet, the stubborn organ within his chest in the confines of his ribcage clenched with the notion that he had done something wrong.
He had never once regretted any of his actions.
All of them had been necessary and each one had a reason behind it. The act of pursuing you, however, lacked a coherent one. There had been many reasons for which he chose to go after you and cultivate romantic feelings within you but none of them were because he considered you a pawn. Somewhere along the way, his unsuspecting mind had begun to view you as less than an interesting experiment and seeing you on the brink of tears — because of him specifically — well, it felt a lot worse than he thought possible.
Just as his lips began to part to say something, you placed your chopsticks on the table beside your very full bowl. The broth still emitting steam that warmed your skin. It was a shame it could not warm you heart as well.
The rest of the dinner was silent and the walk back to headquarters was uneventful to say the least.
You were torn in between feeling unfettered rage towards the man who toyed with your already fragile heart, and sadness that he clearly had viewed every moment between the two of you as nothing more than a strategic advantage.
Amidst those emotions, however, it dawned on you that. . . you had been here once before.
You had been with many a man who disappointed you, used you and threw you out like you were nothing but a warm body.
Tamsy was the same.
He was no different.
Yes, he didn't use your body like those other men had — but he used your heart.
You would argue that that was worse.
"__? _________, are you listening?"
You blink back into reality, "Sorry, I wasn't— What were you saying?"
He smiles. You remind yourself it isn't real.
"I was asking if you'd like to pass by the bakery before heading home."
"Oh." You nod hesitantly, "Yeah, that. . I'd like that."
He notices your mental absence and for a moment, he stays silent. You don't note his silence but you're quick to perceive the way his hand finds yours.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking you to the bakery, Angel."
His fingers lace around your own and despite being caught off guard for a moment, your stupid heart allows his touch to turn your brain into mush. Your fingers close around his own tenderly, as if his hand was fragile glass, and they remain that way when the two of you enter the bakery, even as he opens the door for you; Ever the gentleman.
Your mind struggles to find the answers as to why he's being so cordial — borderline romantic — when he quite literally admitted that you were nothing to him just an hour ago, but after minutes of trying to fill in the gaps, you sigh and accept that he's just doing this for whatever sick pleasures he harbors inside that twisted mind of his.
His affections do not feel as if they're for you, but you enjoy his touch nonetheless; A starving person wouldn't be picky about the little food they're given, so why should you?
Your fingers twitch at the feeling of warmth that mixes into the sadness you felt moments prior back at the restaurant into a soup of intense emotions that boil within you unforgivingly.
"Have you been here before?", he asks while gazing into the cakes behind the glass casing. There are many decorative pastries; Cakes, cupcakes, buttery breads and fluffy sweets, the bakery smelled wonderful and welcoming.
You nod in response, "Yeah. . I like their cheesecake."
"What a coincidence," His lips curl into a smile that you want to believe is genuine. "I also happen to enjoy their cheesecake."
". . . Do you want to get a slice?" you ask him earnestly. "My treat. Since you paid for dinner n' all that."
"A slice?" He brings a finger to his chin, "Why don't we simply get the entire cake?"
". .Okay, That sounds good too."
He hums happily and tightens his hold on your hand when you make an effort to order the cake. You look back at him with a confused expression, but he pays you no mind as he walks up to the counter to do it himself. You chalk it up to just Tamsy being Tamsy, but when you pull out the cash needed to pay for the cake, he hands in his own money which only serves to puzzle you even more.
By the time the cake is boxed up and ready to go, you offer to hold it on the way home but he refuses politely; Something about not minding it. The entire walk home is spent in a silence with a twinge of tension and confusion embedded within it. Everything about this feels so horribly . . . out of place? You're sure that's the right way to describe it.
If there's one thing you know about Tamsy, it's that he never does anything without a motive. To him, there has to be purpose in every action he does. You used to think it was thoughtfulness — you know now that it's more of a subtly calculative behavior than pure-hearted kindness. So, knowing this, why in the hell was he holding your hand? Why did he pay for dinner, for the cheesecake- why did he call you 'angel'? What was there to gain from exploiting your heart and stretching your patience thin?
You're so consumed by your thoughts that you register the fact that the two of you are on your way to your room all too late. When you arrive at your door, you take out your keys to unlock it but they feel heavy in your hands. Initially, you thought to discover why he was pursuing you tonight — and you did. 'An advantage' was the reason why he had been fighting to claim the space of your heart behind those walls of yours and he left no room for misinterpretation.
Yet still, you wanted to believe there was something more to it. That for once, you were wanted. But nothing about what he had said tonight even hinted at his interest in you. His actions on the other hand. . .
"Is something the matter?"
You shake your head no, not trusting your lips to say the right thing. You insert the key into the lock and twist the knob, your hand — the one that Tamsy still holds — growing warmer by the second. He follows after you without question and lets go of your hand to place the bag holding the boxed up cake on your desk. His warmth lingers on your palm. When he turns to leave, your breath hitches and you reach out to tug at his sleeve without a single thought of the implications of your small action.
"Where are you going?" You hate that your tone gives your meek desperation away.
He all but smiles, "You don't intend to eat the cake all by your lonesome, do you? I'm going to get plates and utensils for us."
"Oh."
The moment passes and when he's gone, you internally yell at yourself for succumbing to the feeling that you didn't want to let him go, for letting it show. It was stupid, but it ate away at you. As much as you viewed yourself as an astute, observant person, the girl from the underworld of the Ground, the girl that slept with men to feel some semblance of warmth and lied to herself by telling herself it was only about the money, the girl that craved true closeness and passion . . . she still resided within you.
Morals be damned, you were selfish.
When he returns with two plates from the kitchen, silver forks and a knife, your intense feelings don't subside — they're magnified.
You truly had the worst taste in men.
"I'm back," he announces, the plates clinging as he lays them both on your desk.
He hands you the knife and you make quick work of the cake, cutting a slice for him and one for yourself. You sat yourself at the edge of your bed, beside your desk so you could lend Tamsy the space at your desk and still remain close to him. The sight of someone like him doing something so domestic after the shitshow of a 'date' the two of you had embarked on just an hour ago was oddly comforting. Your heart warms upon feeling the cake almost melt in your mouth when you take a bite of it, a small smile appearing on your lips.
He watches you eat the cake, taking in your presence as if its something sacred and of course, you notice.
". . .Why are you looking at me?" you ask him mid-chew, trying not to squirm under his careful gaze.
He smirks, "I'll tell you, if you tell me what your journal does."
You frown, and look back down at your cake while picking at it. "You're still on about that? Haven't I already proven my fealty to keeping your secrets?"
"It's not about that, I'm simply curious."
"Are you, now?"
"Extremely." He says it with a warm curl of his lips that makes you ignore your common sense for the nth time today.
"It just shows me things, it's not that special." You try to be vague, but it doesn't get him off of the topic.
"How insightful."
You narrow your eyes at him, "You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"
"Noooo, what could possibly make you think that hm?"
"Okay, fine." You deadpan and reach towards the last drawer of your desk, open it and take the journal with worn leather out of its place. You allow your anima to seep into the journal and look at his curious eyes as he watches it change from the worn book to the new version of it he's seen before. "It shows me scenes of a persons life. It only works when people touch it while it's activated."
"That's . . .useful."
"I guess," you say half-heartedly, "Though, if I hadn't had it activated when you touched it that day, we wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place, so. . . It has its downsides too. Knowing too much can also be a bad thing." You lay your journal beside you when you deactivate it and continue eating at your slice of cake.
"Are those sights only visible to you?" He places his empty plate on the desk, "Or could I see them too?"
"Unfortunately for you, only I'm able to see them."
"How convinient." He drawls.
"Very." You run your fork through the last piece of cheesecake on your plate, "Y'know, if you hadn't grabbed my journal that day, your façade wouldn't have been ruined."
"Is that so?" He rests his cheek on his palm as his elbow is propped up on the desk in a leisurely manner.
"It's why I tried to get it before you did. I didn't wanna pry into your past or anything, but of course, fate had something different. . ."
"Fate. . ." he scoffs, "I grabbed it intentionally."
Your brows furrow as you stack your empty plate above his own. "Why would you do that? I. . We could have kept on being friends if you hadn't done what you did."
"Friends?" He questions, "Is that what we were?"
"It's what I thought we were. . " You look away from him and towards the cake.
Something about your words seem to tick him off, though you're unsure what exactly did it. "Are you being dense on purpose? I never pegged you as the oblivious type."
Your eyes trail back to him, who's looking at you with a rather calm expression. "What are you talking about?"
"I would have thought you would have caught on by now, but I suppose I might have overestimated your capabilities." He sighs, as if you're too stupid to catch his drift.
The fabric of your sheets bunches up in your hands. "Are you trying to call me a dumbass for thinking that we were friends?"
"Is that truly what you thought?" He gazes at you, pretty lashes fluttering as he does so.
"Uh, Yeah? Up until a week ago, we were good friends — great even! Are you telling me that you didn't feel that way either?" You don't think you would be able to keep yourself contained if he told you that he truly never saw you as a friend either. It was already disheartening to find out that what you thought were romantic advances were nothing but strategic movements in his game, but your friendship with him? Was that nothing too? "Did it mean nothing to you, too? Was it all one-sided. . .?"
You look up at him and maybe it's the night that makes you feel so vulnerable, maybe it's him — but you can feel your eyes watering despite how much you tried not to cry in his presence the entire night. You were strong, but you have your limits too.
He seemed to be an expert at pushing yours.
Tamsy stands over you now and you hate how composed he is. Doesn't he know he's crushing your fragile heart?
"Do you get enjoyment out of this? Out of watching me act a fool because of you?"
"I used to," he admits, "Now, it's just . . .annoying."
You wipe your eyes on your sleeve as you let his words sink in and for a moment, you find your resolve. "Take the cake n' get out." Your words are shaky and filled with hurt, but you mean them. "I don't want-"
"It's annoying because now I'm starting to care."
"You. . . What?"
His index finger slithers underneath your chin to bring your focus back to him. You flinch but don't make any effort to stop him when he leans in, his lips finding your own. Against your better judgment, you return his kiss and move tenderly against his lips, as if your scared he'll disappear if you deepen it.
And then you snap back to reality.
You lightly press on his chest to stop him and create distance between the two of you before it goes any further. Your heart pounds within you so quickly that you're sure he could hear it if he tried. You stare at him for a moment, and he doesn't say anything — doesn't question why you stopped him.
He also doesn't question when you pull him back in and slot your lips against his own. Your teeth tug on his lower lip lightly, carefully avoiding his piercing, while your shaky fingers rest against the sides of his neck; you cradle his face as if he'll break if you press too hard and the scarred skin on the right side of his neck feels smoother than the rest of him.
While you kissed him, you adamantly ignored the alarm bells going off in your head enough that they simply became background noise that blended in with the CD player on your dresser. The two of you had been eating cake and listening to music but by now, both of those things had been left forgotten in exchange for the warmth the two of you found within each other.
Tamsy knows your confused. He can feel it in the way your hands tremble, in the way your lips hesitate sometimes, as if you're still trying to figure him out. He doesn't blame you, he himself can't exactly explain why he did all of this except for the obvious reason that he harbored some type of feeling for you; the type of feeling that made him want to cut you open and nestle himself in the wound.
For the first time. . . it was he who was betraying his sense of self in favor of feeling your touch.
You tasted like cheesecake, sweet and creamy. Softly, he helps you onto your bed until he hovers over you. His knee is in between your thighs as he continues kissing you softly, swallowing each whimper and sigh that leaves your kiss-bitten lips. No words are spoken between the two of you but the way his fingers hold your waist, the way you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. . . it feels like conversation enough.
When his knee accidentally rubs against you, your pull away from his lips and sigh softly. "W-Wait. ."
"Did I hurt you?" He asks, sounding strangely genuine.
You shake your head, "No, but. . I don't want to ruin your clothes. Or my dress."
You're stalling because you can't exactly believe that this happening, with him of all people. You can't say you haven't imagined this before, but. . was this real?
"Ah. That's right. ." He wastes no time in helping you unzip your dress, discarding his jacket while you throw your dress in a random corner of your room, leaving you in your underwear and him half naked from the waist up. He doesn't seem to hesitate to place gentle kisses on your skin despite your own reluctance to touch him, and even if he seems confident in his actions, they're gentle.
You're not new to this, but he's new to you.
You're not used to feeling so conflicted and yet so sure about someone while kissing them, not used to the way you think about how his hands that leave goosebumps in their wake have had blood on them, not used to the way his lying lips feel so good on your warm skin, how those pretty lashes that tickle your jaw belong to a man willing to ditch the safety of the Sphere for dark reasons you had yet to find out — you're not used to any of it, but none of the things that confuse you about his person, about his past, actually stop you from reaching out and letting him explore the expanse of your body in whichever way he pleases.
You whimper when his teeth latch onto the skin of your neck, sighing when he smooths it over with his tongue as if to apologize and lightly tugging on the blue strands of hair on the base of his scalp. He smelled sweet, like honey and something woody. For a moment, the two of you gaze at each other, and you can feel your features softening when you take a good look at him in the dim light that your lamp offers.
The sensation of his hand caressing your cheek feels foreign but not unwelcome and slowly, your hand travels up to the hair tie that holds his hair up and tugs on it, releasing his long blonde hair from its restraint. He leans in and places a chaste kiss on your forehead, enjoying the sight of you completely lost in him and his touch even though he's done nothing but kiss you. You look drunk, satisfied with having him hover over your warm body.
He wonders if you'd look as satisfied if that was all he did.
"You're infuriating. ." you whisper.
"Am I?" his thumb softly moves back and forth over the skin of your jaw.
"You are," Your breath hitches when his knee rubs against your clothed cunt and you shoot him a glare because you know it was anything but accidental that time.
"Your body doesn't seem to think so, Angel."
His lips curl into a smirk as he dips to place butterfly kisses in between the valley of your breasts, his nails dragging softly down your sides as he keeps descending until eventually he's standing over your body with his hands on your bent knees as he takes a moment to appreciate how ethereal your plush body looks.
You feel a bit embarrassed, given that it's been a while since you last slept with a man, but the way his hands slide your underwear off of your legs has you forgetting that bashfulness.
"My body's stupid." you say half-jokingly.
He chuckles at your statement, relishing in your confused expression when he crawls over to you and places his fingers on your bottom lip. You open them without a lick of reluctance and let his middle and ring finger settle on your wet tongue. You watch his eyes narrow when you suck on his fingers, coating them in the slick of your saliva — you swear you could get off on just the sight of him.
You have, actually.
You'd ever tell him that though.
When his fingers withdraw from your lips, he dives in to catch your lips in another mind-numbing kiss. It's not as slow as the previous ones, it's passionate and a little hungry in contrast to his previous kiss, it's as if he can't get enough of you.
The thought of being wanted by him is enough to spread a tingling warmth across your entire body. Your arms come up to wrap themselves around his neck loosely, tightening when you feel a cold, wet finger slide into your folds with another one of his fingers following shortly after.
Your breath hitches and as much as you enjoy the slow circles he draws meticulously around your sensitive clit and the fervent kiss the two of you share, the thing that truly makes that warmth settle in your stomach the most, is the fact that he's here with you. He was confusing in the worst of ways and sadistic in a manner that you'd never accept from anyone else, but here and now — he was gentle.
For the first time, sex was not something that was being done to you — it was something you were sharing with someone else.
With Tamsy, sex wasn't transactional — it was a conversation.
You break the kiss with a soft sigh, and find yourself burying your face into the crook of his neck, all of a sudden feeling a familiar warmth begin to pool in your stomach as his fingers slide up and down languidly in between your sticky folds. Your hips buck in time with his hands, desperate to feel the friction he's so generously giving you.
He slips in one of his fingers with ease due to your arousal and the second one follows soon after. Your teeth sink lightly into the scarred flesh of the space where his neck and shoulder as you feel your orgasm nearing. Your breath becomes short and your moans louder as his fingers gradually hasten their pace, pumping in and out of you whilst his thumb rubs your clit side-to-side with a pressure that has you on the edge of climax sooner than you'd like to admit.
Your teeth bit down harder on his skin and perhaps if you weren't so lost in your own pleasure, you would've cared about how your teeth could draw blood if you bit any harder. You hear him grunt but he doesn't stop his merciless ministrations against your wet folds.
One of your arms tightens around his neck, bringing him closer to you as your free hand holds onto his forearm in between your legs, keeping his hand there as you feel that pressure in stomach build up to where you can tell you're seconds away from cumming on his fingers.
Much to your dismay, however, he brings his fingers to an abrupt halt, causing you to whine in frustration and grind your hips against the heel of his palm to keep the friction going. Your weak movements are in vain though, because his fingers withdraw from your opening completely and leave you feeling empty and wanting.
Your teeth unlatch from his skin slowly, "Why'd you do that. .?" You're still panting heavily, coming down from the high he started while he simply placed a kiss on your cheek like he didn't just do what he did.
"Punishment." He drawls.
Your brows furrow in frustration, "Punishment for what?"
"For doubting my love for you."
You suppose it shouldn't surprise you, given his fucked up definition of what love is, but it does nonetheless — which he notices.
"It's not that surprising, is it? I mean, given our current situation, it's quite obvious is it not?"
Your hand comes to rest on his hand that's cupping your jaw. "I've slept with men that I had no feelings for. I didn't really have a reason to think that this had strings attached, since. ." You avoid his golden eyes, ". . You used me, toyed with me and made me believe you were into me for your own pleasure. . I was your pawn. . and you want me to believe you're doing this. . because you love me?" Your disbelief is present in your tone but he's not offended by your words.
His expression softens and he tenderly brings your focus back to him, "I'll admit that it was harsh to say such a thing, . . .I forget how fragile you are." He brings his forehead to yours and that action alone has your heart skipping in your chest. It was such a small thing and yet, it moved you so intensely that it brought back all the feelings you wanted to bury.
"I'm sorry Angel," he whispers, "You've never been a pawn to me." Tears begin to fall from the corners of your eyes as your hands come up to the sides of his neck again. "Can you forgive me, dearest?" He kisses the corners of your eyes, wiping your tears away with his delicate kiss.
You nod, not able to find your words since you're trying not to full-on sob underneath him. "I need to hear it from you," he murmurs as he kisses your jaw again. You tilt your head to the side to give him more access to your skin but say nothing in response as you allow your arms hang around his neck once more.
"I suppose that'll suffice," he says as he grabs a pillow and slides it underneath your lower back so you're more comfortable in this position. He props him self up with his arm as his other unfastens his belt.
"M'sorry," you tell him as you gaze upon the fresh bite mark you left earlier. "I didn't mean to bite so hard. . I usually don't."
Your admission seems to amuse Tamsy. "Perhaps you just haven't been taken care of enough to do so," he suggests. "You need not apologize, you can bite as much as you'd like."
You bring your lips up to his own, choosing to not dwell on the newfound embarrassment you feel at his gentle words. You barely notice the fact that he's freed his dick from his pants and boxers when you're kissing him that you let out a soft sigh when you feel him rub himself against your slick folds.
For a while, he makes out with you while grinding slowly against your soaked cunt; his tongue piercing feeling warm against yours while you kiss him passionately. The sensation of both his kiss and him grinding against you could have made you cum if that had been the goal, but it wasn't — at least not yet. His slow movements and your tender touch were more about enjoying the effect the both of you had on one another rather than the orgasm you'd both be chasing later.
It made you happy, just kissing him endlessly. So much so, that when his dick eventually pushed into your opening, you asked him to remain that way for a moment. "Jus' wanna feel you," you'd told him in between breaths.
To have him inside you filled you with such a warmth that only amplified the love you already held for him. That voice that scolded you at the beginning of all of this was nowhere to be heard, allowing you to take pleasure in the simple act of existing near him, with him.
You felt him start to move out of you slowly while you kissed the scar on his neck, your breath hitching when he thrust back into you at that same languid pace. You moved your hips in tandem with his movements, meeting him halfway and finding satisfaction in how he filled you up, his length stretching your walls around him so deliciously it had you moaning quietly against his ear.
"T-Tamsy," you pant as your arms leave his neck in favor of one of them curling under his bicep and the other grasping the sheets underneath you.
He groans when you hook your legs around his hips, allowing him to fit deeper into you with his tip kissing your cervix with each of his thrusts. "You drive me crazy," he gasps, "You- mh, know that, right?"
"Uh-huh," you respond absentmindedly, almost completely lost in him to think about what you're saying. "To be fair, you started thi- Ah!" A moan escapes you when he drags his dick out slowly just to thrust back up into you sharply. Your nails dig into skin as you feel the warmth settle in your lower stomach once again.
You murmur his name with a whine as your hips buck erratically, chasing your orgasm in fear that he'll stop again, "Don't stop," you sigh, "Please.."
He laughs softly as his pace hastens, giving you exactly what you want for once instead of denying you your release. You can feel yourself grow impossibly wetter as he keeps his fast pace, your eyes rolling back and closing as you feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm. Tamsy stifles a moan that threatens to spill from his lips when he feels your walls clench around his sensitive dick.
He's imagined you this way before, shamelessly watching the way your breasts bounce within the confines of your black lacy bra that's still somehow on. His hand snakes around your back to unhook the last piece of clothing still on you with an quickness that you don't appreciate as much as you normally would, since you're too lost in the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you.
"Arms up," he directs, his hips slowing momentarily to help you take your bra off. You comply without a word, feeling your nipples stiffen when they're exposed to the cold air of your room. His hips rut into you deeply, reaching places you never could with your fingers, and you find yourself gasping at the sensation of his tongue on one of your nipples while one of his hands rolls the other in between his index and thumb.
Your back arches in response to his tongue piercing nudging your sensitive nipple and a loud whine is ripped from you when his teeth lightly bite it, his other hand flicking and rolling the other without a care for how close you are to cumming. Your hips begin to stutter as they buck chaotically, "Tamsy-! Wait ah-" A strange feeling begins to build in your lower abdomen but it's not something you're used to feeling, "Mgh- Wait-! I'm gonna-"
"Go ahead," he cuts you off, increasing his speed to get you there.
"No w-wait, it's-!" A guttural moan escapes your throat as you feel yourself gush around him, making a wet mess on your sheets and his pants. He has half a mind to look down at how you've squirted around him to enjoy the sight but with the way your walls clench around him mercilessly, he decides against it and simply dips into your neck to suck on your skin.
Your eyes water as he begins to thrust deeper and faster into you, feeling so incredibly full and yet still wanting more of him. You're on the edge of your orgasm when your legs lock around his hips and your teeth his shoulder again to stifle the scream your sure you'll let out if he keeps this up. Regardless of the pain he feels when you bite him, he keeps thrusting at his pace and chasing his own orgasm with an embarrassing whimper of your name falling from his lips.
"Tell me you love me," you whisper as your hands cup his cheeks, his hair falling around you like a curtain, "Please.. Even if its a lie- ngh! pleasepleaseplease..!"
His hips falter as he gazes into your teary eyes and he dips down to capture your lips in a bruisingly passionate kiss. "I Love you," he murmurs against your lips, "Love you so much, you don't even- mh," A deep groan comes from him as he feels your walls spasm around his dick which brings him to the edge of his own orgasm. His pace becomes chaotic and downright primal as he chases his orgasm, reaching his climax when you pull him down to suck on the sensitive scar at the side of his neck.
His hands grip the sheets as he fucks you through both your orgasm and his own, his hips gradually slowing down as the two of you come down from the height of pleasure. Your teeth unlatch from the skin of his shoulder and you lick over the bite mark as if to apologize. You're breathless when he comes down to kiss you again; It's slow and the two of you pant in between breaths but you kiss him back nonetheless.
"I meant it," he says as he slowly pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty.
Your mind is hazy from the impact of your orgasm but you understand what he means. Right now though, you don't really want to dwell on the truth of his words.
"Come on," he says from the adjacent bathroom in your room, "We can't go to bed like this."
You follow soon after him, joining him in the shower once the water gets hot enough. Your heartbeat slows into a mellow rhythm when you stand underneath the water with him, watching as his hair grows wet with each passing moment. He looks different with his hair down, but it's a good different. He keeps it that way when the two of you step out of the shower and lay in bed with the fresh new sheets he helped you change.
Your head rests on his chest when you ask, "Do you wear it like this when you're up on the Sphere?" You twirl a stray blue strand of his hair around your finger, enjoying the closeness of his warm body against yours.
"I do, yes." he muses, "Though I prefer to wear it up when I'm here. Feels more like me, if that makes any sense."
You chuckle and a sleepy smile finds its way onto your lips, "I get what you mean, sort of; I changed a lot over the years that I've been a Cleaner."
"You mean to tell me you weren't always so sappy?" he half-jokes, which earns him a light slap on the pec.
"For your information, I've always been pretty sappy." You trace the scars on his skin, "But I've only recently started to express myself more recently. I used to be really closed off."
"I know," he says, his thumb drawing circles on the curve of your waist.
"You do?"
"Of course. For three years, I watched you grow into who you are now."
"Creepy." You fake-shudder and he pinches your skin.
"Oh please, You were curious about me as well."
"Only a tiny bit." You admit.
His lips curl into a smile, "I'm sure."
"Y'know. . This is wrong."
"How so?" He gazes down at you, who dons a forlorn expression.
"I. . You're a Sphereite and you hid that from everyone — from Arkha. If anyone finds out about that, or about what you did to Rudo's father. . We'll both be found liable."
Of course, he's known this since the beginning of his mission to wrap you around his finger — he's not stupid. If he was found out, you could either play dumb or admit guilt, but even then, he had known that dragging you into his world meant that you would also have to keep his secrets.
"I've been able to remain under their radar for long enough, Angel. You don't have to worry about any of that tonight."
"I just don't want to see you get hurt," you admit. It's mushy and very unlike you, but it's true.
"I can take care of myself," he affirms, "You don't have to worry about me."
". . Okay." You accept his words and nuzzle into his skin as you close your eyes.
In your life, you've met many men.
Men that take, men that harm, men that violate; Every man you'd met before joining the Cleaners had been a lesson, and Arkha had been the first to do you the honor of becoming your first friend and showing you what honest human connection could be. So while you knew little to nothing about real love. . you're sure that what you have here with Tamsy is pretty close to it.
And even if it wasn't, you weren't picky.
You'd take this twisted and perverted form of love and sell it to yourself a million times over if it meant you could stay by Tamsy's side.
You fell asleep in each other's arms shortly after.
The next morning, you awoke to the feeling of being tickled by. . long blonde and navy strands of hair . .? You blinked a couple of times and rubbed your eyes only to realize that what had happened last night hadn't been a dream. It was real.
Your sit there with a puzzled expression, feeling strangely calm as you sit up and watch Tamsy sleep beside you while the memories of last night come flooding back into your brain. The blanket drifts off of your form, exposing your naked upper half to the cold air as you tentatively reach out to comb his hair back lightly so you can see his sleeping expression clearly. You had only ever seen his calm expression or a troubled one from time to time, so this was a new side of him you were witnessing.
His breathing was shallow and you felt almost as if you were seeing something you shouldn't. It was criminal for him to look so ethereal in his sleep.
A soft, quiet laugh escapes you, and before you can withdraw your hand, his own comes up to hold it. "Tamsy."
His eyes flutter open and he gazes up at you for a moment through sleep-riddled eyes, "It's early. . ."
"I know."
"So why are you up?" He says as he pulls you towards him, your back to his chest as he spoons you from behind.
You yelp and try to pry his hands off of your waist with a laugh, "Tamsy! we have work-"
"Liar. It's the weekend."
"Worth a shot," you shrug as you opt to just lay there. "We have to get up though, preferable before anyone sees you come out of my room."
"You're not embarrassed of me, are you?" He teases.
You roll your eyes, "It's better for you. I couldn't care less what anyone else thinks of me."
"My, how brash. . ." He murmurs, planting a kiss on the space where your shoulder and neck meet before letting you go and rolling over onto his back. "But you're right."
Moments pass and after Tamsy leaves your room after giving you a final slow kiss, you're left alone with your thoughts in your bedroom. After leaving the restaurant, you thought that you would have cried yourself to sleep that night, but as luck would have it, the night turned out much different than you initially thought it would.
You glance at the manila file on your desk, a reminder of your duties as a Cleaner. The cake from last night was long gone since it was now in your mini-fridge so that Rudo couldn't get his hands on it, at Tamsy's request. With a sigh, you grab the folder and head towards the lobby to ask Semiu if Arkha was in, and to your surprise, he was.
You headed towards his office with the folder containing info on what Effegia had shown you about Rudo, trying not to think about how you intentionally protected Tamsy for an entire week by omitting the details of who Tamsy really was. And despite all the questions you still had about his intentions, the only one that really glared at you was: if every Cleaner was analyzed by Semiu's Eyes upon arrival — how was it that Tamsy was let in?
Was it possible that Arkha already knew about this?
You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts before landing three careful knocks on his door. There's no way he'd keep that from you if it was true. He tells you to enter once you state your business, closing the door behind you.
"Rudo seems to trust you a lot," you say with a small smile as you hand him the folder, "He was eager to let me use Effegia on him once he heard that it was you who requested it."
"Really?" He smiles as he looks through your notes about what you saw, the descriptions of the scenes.
"Yeah, I told him I'd put in a good word about him so, just keep that in mind."
He chuckles at your words and reaches for his cup full of too-sweet coffee. "I will. He seems like a good kid n' he's already proven himself with Team Akuta, so it's only logical that he join us. On another note. ."
You lift a brow at him quizzically.
"How was your date?"
Your face grows hotter at the mention of it, "Oh. It went. . . well."
"Just 'well'?" He questions.
"Well, okay. More than well." You allow a genuine smile to shine through as you gush about your date — without telling him the important details of course. "We got along pretty well and he was kind of romantic near the end of it. . . We spent the night eating cake n' talking about music. It went better than I thought it would."
He smiles and closes the folder, his cup clinking against the table. "That's good to hear; I just hope he doesn't affect your performance at work, seeing that you two work together."
Your roll your eyes and cross your arms, "What am I, twelve? Of course not. You know I take my job seriously." Well. Not seriously enough to tell him he's harboring a Sphereite within his faction.
"Just teasin'," he laughs softly before a knock on his door interrupts the two of you. Semiu walks in with a couple of papers in her hand, probably something about upcoming missions.
"What are those?"
Semiu sighs lethargically, "Just some missions that need to be approved before we can send anyone out."
Arkha leans back in his chair, "Speaking of that.. _______, you should probably enjoy the free time you've got; Team Eager's joining with Akuta for a trip to the No Man's Land: Penta."
"All the way out there??"
"There've been rumors of a woman who's seen people travel from the Ground to the Sphere and Rudo expressed an interest in going, but because it's a No Man's Land, I've decided that it's best to make it a joint operation."
"Oh. . yeah that makes sense," You sigh, thinking about all the work you'll probably be required to do once the mission rolls around. "Alright then, I'll let you get back to work. I'ma go get myself a much needed cup of coffee."
"Alright," He says as you make your way out of his office, leaving him with Semiu.
When you step out, Tamsy's standing outside the door, surprising you unexpectedly. "Tamsy..! What are you doing here?"
"I was simply waiting for you," He smiles, "I thought we might get breakfast together."
"Oh.." As he continues his conversation with you, you don't notice how he shares a glance with the boss just before the door fully closes.
The fact that his annoyingly human heart seems to cherish you to the point where he betrays his own sadistic nature to a certain degree may be undeniable, but his goal remains the same. It doesn't seem as if you plan to stop him or out him to any of the other Cleaners so, being by your side makes him close to untouchable.
He's sure you'd forgive any of his misgivings, and even if it was true that Arkha saved you on that day five years ago — he couldn't save you from your own decisions..
The weather is too hot these days… At hindi nakakatulong na hot din ang boyfriend mong si Rafayel.
LANGUAGE: Taglish
WARNINGS: explicit content, bad words, mention of body parts IN FILIPINO (filipino dirty talk haters dni), dry humping, fingering, pussy eating, p in v, protected sex, bastusan na may konting fluff. MINORS ALIS
WC: 3.3k
NOTE: inspired by this art. read also in ao3. first time writing smut ><
Fuck, ang init sa Pinas.
You thought as you tirelessly fan yourself gamit ang abaniko mong pamaypay habang nakatutok pa sa electric fan. It’s not enough. The heat feels like it’s biting your skin, resulting in beads of sweat falling from your forehead. Kulang na lang talaga bumili ka ng aircon, pero wala ka non. You’re too broke for that. Napupunta lang naman ang sweldo mo sa renta sa apartment, daily necessities, and other shits na kailangan mo talaga. But thankfully, wala ka mang maituturing na yamang materyal, meron ka namang espesyal na tao sa buhay mo…
“Knock, knock. Andyan ba si miss ganda ko?”
Your face—na kanina lang ay nakabusangot dahil sa init—suddenly lit up as you heard the knock. You immediately ran to the door to get it. Binuksan mo na ang pinto, at bumungad sa’yo ang taong pinaka-excited kang makita. A six-foot man wearing a pink cardigan with a black shirt, paired with black pants, appeared in front of your door. It’s him! Your special person, Rafayel.
He looked at you from head to toe.
“Baby, you look so good right now. But I can’t help noticing the sweat on your shirt. Masyado bang mainit?”
He noticed. Bigla mong tiningnan ang suot mo ngayon. You’re wearing a light gray tank top and black dolphin shorts—didn't even bother wearing a bra because of how hot it is. God forbid a woman just wanna feel comfortable in her own home. But your shirt indeed has spots of sweat. You suddenly had a mischievous idea.
You sneaked closer to your boyfriend and hugged his torso. Your clothed breast brushed his body. A tinge of red ran up to Rafayel’s cheeks as he felt it. You looked at him with puppy eyes.
“What about you? Wearing two shirts at once… Hindi ka rin ba naiinitan baby?”
Rafayel chuckled at how cute you are.
“Nope. I was just in my car, the aircon was at full blast. Not hot at all. Instead, it’s you who’s smoking hot right now, cutie.” He said as he cupped your cheeks and kissed your lips. You giggled against his soft kiss before letting go.
Pumasok na kayo sa apartment mo. Rafayel bowed a little to get through your door.
Your place is small, but it’s spacious enough to fit two people. A living room that can also serve as a dining room, a mini kitchen, a bathroom with a shower head, and a bedroom. At first, you were embarrassed to even let your boyfriend here. Pero kahit na mayaman si Rafayel, hindi siya matapobre. He said that he only cares about the love you both share, not the superficial things. He only cared about you and nothing else.
“Sabi mo sa text kanina miss mo na ko, but I didn't expect you to literally come here agad. Akala ko busy ka pa sa commissions. Anyway, I…” You spoke while tidying up the messy pillows on your sofa, then you sat on the wide floor mat in your living room and turned around…
Nakita mo si Rafayel na hinuhubad ang balot niyang pantaas na damit. You gulped at the sight of his back muscles, as if you were seeing them again for the first time. He lied. He was sweaty as fuck. Natuyo na ang pawis sa kanyang damit na hinubad, but a new batch of sweat is trickling down his lower back.
Noticing that you suddenly got quiet, Rafayel looked at you from his side, his back still facing you. He smirked nang makita ka niyang nakatitig ka sa likod niya.
“Take a picture, cutie, it will last longer.” He teasingly said.
“C-can I?” Parang nanliwanag pa ang mukha mo sa suggestion ni Rafayel. That made him laugh. He didn't expect you to really want a picture of his back.
He let go of the shirt he removed and placed it on your sofa. He faced you and crouched down to your level. You’re looking at his every move, even noticing his toned abs folding habang nayuko siya. Nilapit niya ang mukha niya sa’yo. Then, Rafayel touched the side of your mouth with his thumb.
“You’re drooling.”
“Huh?!” Nilihis mo bigla ang kamay niya sa mukha mo and brushed your nonexistent drool. Niloloko ka lang niya. Tumawa naman si Rafayel nang malakas, yung tipong marinig na sa kabilang apartment. This made you super annoyed.
You tugged his pants, attempting to pull them down. “Kung maghuhubad ka na nga naman sa harap ko, lahatin mo na.” You said with a 'threatening’ tone as you glared at him.
What you did made Rafayel’s dick twitch, his pants suddenly tightening.
“Do it then, it’s hot after all. Hubaran mo na ako. Pero tandaan mo, hindi lang ako ang mag-isang nakahubad sa huli, cutie.” Rafayel whispered the last sentence in your ear. You suddenly felt a tingling sensation rising from your lower back.
Tangina.
With a swift move, you grabbed Rafayel’s nape and crashed your lips on his. He kisses you back messily. Sticky sounds can be heard as his tongue brushes against your lips. Pinaparating niya na gusto ka niyang matikman. You complied, dumila ka nang kaunti at hinayaan ang dila mong sayawin ng mga labi ni Rafayel. Bigla niya namang sinipsip ito. You moaned. His kiss feels like he’s sucking you dry, na parang ikaw lang ang mag-iibsan ng pagkauhaw niya.
“Raf…”
His hands found your clothed breast. He squeezed them and pinched your perking nipples. Mas lalong lumakas ang ungol mo. Hinimas pa niya ito habang binababa ni Rafayel halik niya sa leeg mo. As he kissed and sucked your neck, your hands traveled his chest down to his bulge. You teasingly glide your hand on his clothed dick. Narinig mo ang daing ni Rafayel mula sa leeg mo.
“Fuck… Cutie… please… don’t tease me like that…”
Parang wala kang narinig. Hindi mo pa rin siya tinigilan. Binuksan mo ang butones at zipper ng pantalon niya at binaba ito. It revealed his gray boxer—the only layer left from his throbbing cock. You slowly traced his length with your fingers, rising to his tip. Rafayel’s groan became louder. This made you eager to caress his tip against the cloth. Naramdaman mo namang basa ang parteng ito. He stopped kissing your neck for a second and leaned closer to you.
“M-madaya ka cutie… I should be the one pleasuring you more.” He weakly said.
You then whispered to his ear, “Then pleasure me.”
Naintindihan agad ni Rafayel ang gusto mong iparating. He removed his long pants and tossed them aside. Rafayel sat down on the floor mat and helped you remove your shorts, leaving your panties on. Kinandong ka niya sa kanyang hita na kayo’y magkakaharap.
He guided your hips closer to him, intentionally brushing his clothed dick on your clothed pussy. The contact made you squirm. Nilagay ni Rafayel ang pareho mong kamay sa likod ng kanyang leeg, tsaka naman binalik ang kanyang hawak sa’yong balakang. He continued guiding your hips on grinding his cock. Mas lalo mo namang diniin at giniling ang balakang mo sa ibabaw niya. Napamura si Rafayel sa sarap at hindi mapigilang purihin ka.
“Puta… Ang galing mo baby…”
Sa bawat pagkiskis ng inyong ari sa isa’t isa ay mas lalo kayong nasasabik. Your thighs trembled as he squeezed your butt on each grind. Moans erupted in chorus when your clit brushes his tip. Your pussy is now soaking wet in your panties, while Rafayel’s cock is leaking with pre-cum in his boxers.
“Tangina, kantutin mo na ‘ko Rafayel please… G-gusto ko.. sa loob…” You said between heavy breaths with begging eyes, locking your gaze on Rafayel while still grinding on him.
Rafayel chuckled at your plea. “Greedy as always, cutie... Ah.. fuck…” At dahil inuna pa niya ang pang-aasar sayo, you rubbed the opening of your vagina closer to his tip, mimicking his dick going in your entrance.
Mas lalong nabaliw si Rafayel. He can’t take your intense bullying (teasing).
“Oo na… oo na… shit. Kakantutin kita hanggang sa labasan ka.” He said.
He’s such a good boyfriend that he immediately grants your wishes. He attempted to remove your thin shirt by tugging its hem, but struggled a bit as his sensitive dick was still being grinded on by you. Rafayel’s brows furrowed slightly, halata na naiinis siya pero nalalasing pa rin sa sarap.
You chuckled at how cute he was. Hindi mo siya natiis; ikaw na mismo ang nagtanggal ng sarili mong saplot. He watched you intently as your shirt retracted from your body and revealed your breasts. To him, it’s like watching the curtains reveal a majestic painting to the masses. Fuck. Buti na lang talaga siya lang ang nakakakita nito, at siya lang ang may karapatan na makita kang ganito.
“Napakaganda mo talaga cutie… Tangina.”
He can’t help but touch the beautiful art piece in front of him. His rough, calloused hands caressed your body, worshiping your every part. He slowly traced your collarbones, down to your waist, like he’s memorizing your curves in his mind.
He then focused on your breasts—cupping their shape with his big hands. Rafayel directed your breast to his mouth. You felt his wet tongue gliding in circular motion and sucking your nipple hard. Sinisipsip niya ang dede mo na parang may lumalabas mula dito. Napapapikit ka sa sarap. Pagkatapos niyang lasapin ang isa mong dede, sisipsipin niya naman ang kabila. HIndi mo mapigilan na umungol dahil gustong-gusto mo ang ginagawa niya sayo.
Habang busy si Rafayel sa pagsipsip ng sensitibo mong dede, hindi mo namalayan na kinakapa na niya ang nasa loob ng ‘yong panty. Pinasok ni Rafayel ang kamay niya sa iyong panty at hinimas-himas ang namamasa mong hiyas.
“Mm… Rafayel…” You cooed.
He rubbed your clit in circles before sliding one finger into your hole. You felt a sharp pain at first. Ngunit nang tumagal siyang nakapasok, unti-unti na ring nasanay ang loob mo sa mahaba niyang daliri. Nilabas-pasok na ni Rafayel daliri niya. Napapakagat ka sa labi sa sabay na pagsipsip ni Rafayel ng dede mo at sa pagkalikot niya ng butas mo. Nang maramdaman ni Rafayel na mas lalo ka nang namasa, he inserted two fingers inside your vagina. It slid in easily because of your dripping wetness. He slightly bent his fingers and rubbed your walls inside. Pagkatapos ay sinagad niya pa lalo ang mga daliri niya. The sensation made your back arch. Rafayel supported your back.
As Rafayel continued fingering you, he grinned in satisfaction to himself. Namamasa ka dahil sa kanya. He’s glad to know that you keep on wanting him, desiring him even more. Gusto ka niyang hawakan sa paraang pinayagan mo. Gusto niyang masabik ka sa kanya, tulad ng pagkasabik niya rin sayo. Gusto ni Rafayel na angkinin ka sa paraang nais mo, kasi tangina, sa'yo lang umiikot ang mundo niya at ayaw niyang magbago 'yon…
Nilabas na ni Rafayel mula sa kanyang boxer ang nanlalaki niyang ari. You can see his dick twitching painfully, like it’s begging you to penetrate it already. He reached for his pants that were lying on the floor, at kinuha ang condom mula sa bulsa nito. He slid the condom swiftly, then brought his attention back to your leaking pussy.
“Put it in…” You said. Ikaw na rin mismo ang nagtabi ng tela ng panty mo sa gilid ng ‘yong puday. You stroked his dick and tried directing his tip to your entrance.
“Shit…” Rafayel cursed at the sight of your bare pussy near his dick. He grabbed his length and rubbed his tip teasingly on your entrance for a few moments. This resulted in an erotic squelching sound caused by your wetness. He then carefully puts his tip on your entrance, grabbing your waist, and slowly bringing you down to take his throbbing cock. Little by little, your empty walls are being filled with his thick cock. Your hole stretches at his length, clasping its shape until he hits your spot. You felt full.
“Ah!...” Umungol kayong pareho dahil sa sarap.
Rafayel started to move. Hinagod niya ang kanyang tite sa loob ng namamasa mong butas. Sa bawat pagsagad niya, nakakarinig ka ng basang tunog mula sa pagtampal ng inyong mga balat sa hita. Mabilis ang pagpasok niya… minsan nabagal. Hindi mo malaman kung anong ritmo ang inyong sinusundan. Nararamdaman mo na lang na sa bawat bayo niya ay nalaki pa tite niya sa loob mo, lalo na pag ikaw na ang gumagalaw nang pabilog sa ibabaw niya pag nagpahinga siya ng panandalian sa pagbayo.
“Hm… Tangina cutie, ang sarap.” Sa sinabi ni Rafayel ay mas lalo mo pang ginalingan gumalaw. You moved with your hips up and down, habang tinataas rin ni Rafayel ari niya, meeting each of your thrusts. Your eyes rolled back, and you moaned loudly with intense pleasure. He’s hitting the right spots.
“Yan… Rafayel… There… Ah…”
You moaning his name is music to Rafayel’s ears. He’s so passionate about pleasing you that he wants to hear you say his name in pleasure again.
“Tuwad.” Utos sa’yo ni Rafayel.
You didn't complain; instead, ginawa mo ang sinabi niya. Bago ka lumuhod sa sahig, Rafayel placed a pillow from your sofa on your knees and palms for support. He made sure you were comfortable. And shit, that made you even more turned on.
Tinanggal mo na nang husto ang panty mo. You positioned yourself on all fours. Your ass and cunt are now facing Rafayel. Hindi mo siya nakikita, kaya hindi alam ang gagawin niya. But you admit that it is thrilling, not knowing what will come for you.
Behind you, Rafayel licked his lips. You suddenly felt him grabbing your thighs. Something cold and wet touched your pussy, then a slurping sound followed. Fuck, you’re certain in what he's doing. Nakadapa si Rafayel ngayon sa likod mo at tinitikman niya ang pepe mo.
Pinalibot ni Rafayel dila niya sa butas mo. He sucked your clit, and licked it with the tip of his tongue. Your pussy trembled. Nilasap pa niya nang matagal ito. He’s taking his sweet damn time tasting your pussy like it’s his favorite flavour. Sinubukan naman ni Rafayel na ipasok ang dila niya sa butas mo… At tama nga siya, mas lalo pang lumakas ang ungol mo, kaya naman inulit pa niya ito.
“Rafayel! Ugh…” Napahigpit ka ng hawak sa unan. You felt frustrated… or super horny. Fuck, hindi mo alam kung alin talaga sa dalawa. Sa pagpapatuloy ni Rafayel sa pagdila sa puke mo, nababaliw ka na lalo. It’s a sensation you don’t want to forget, you want to do it again and again with Rafayel. But you need more. You want more. Habang sinisipsip at dinidilaan ni Rafayel clit mo, you can’t help but slide in your fingers inside your hole.
Napansin ‘to ni Rafayel, and he smirked.
“Miss mo na tite ko cutie? Kanina lang pinapasok kita, gusto mo na uli, hm? Gustong-gusto mo na kinakantot kita eh ‘no?” Tangina, lalabasan ka ata sa dirty talks ni Rafayel na nang-aasar pa.
“Ugh. Kung alam mo naman pala na gusto ko tite mo, ipasok mo na!” Ngayon, sigurado ka na sa nararamdaman mo. You’re both super frustrated and super horny. Kasi naman! Hindi mo maintindihan bakit ayaw pa niyang ipasok tite niya sa butas mo.
Umalis nang sandali si Rafayel sa posisyon niya. Hindi mo na tuloy alam kung saan siya nagpunta. The absence of his touch made you overthink kung iniwan ka na lang niyang nakatuwad.
“Rafayel, nasan k—” Naputol ang salita mo nang naramdaman mong pumasok bigla ang tite niya sa butas mo. He entered at full length, hitting your most pleasurable spot. Napasigaw ka sa sarap.
Hinawakan ni Rafayel baywang mo. Sa bawat bayo ay hinihigit ka niya papalapit sa kanyang tite. Marahan niyang nilabas-pasok ang ari niya sa hiyas mo na mas lalong namamasa sa bawat pagtama niya sayong g-spot. Binibilisan pa niya lalo kapag tinatawag mo pangalan niya. Inuungol naman ni Rafayel pangalan mo pag sumisikip ka. Hindi mapigilan himasin ni Rafayel ang pwet mo sa sarap. Tinatampal pa niya ito pag sinisikipan mo puke mo para sa tite niya.
Nang nakaramdam ka na ng ngalay, yumuko ka bigla. When Rafayel noticed it, he pulled you and flipped your position. Nakahiga ka na ngayon. Nilipat ni Rafayel unan sa ulo mo, at yung isa sa baba ng likod mo.
“Tangina… how many more positions are we going to do Rafayel… hindi ka pa rin nilalabasan…” It sounded like you’re complaining, but truthfully, you’re just teasing. You know that he’s only holding back because you haven't cum yet.
“Cutie… Kahit ilang posisyon pa gawin natin, hindi ko titigilan kantutin ’tong butas mo hanggang sa labasan ka sa walang sawang pagbayo ko sa’yo.” He said, like he’s warning you.
Rafayel spread your legs wider and slid his dick harder. Parang hindi pa niya full energy yung kanina. Mas nilakasan niya ang bawat bayo sa’yong butas. Your breasts bounced because of his heavy thrust. You moan excessively when he squeezes your breast at the same time he is hitting your spot. Tumungo siya at hinalikan ka. He hungrily explored your mouth while you penetrated his dick. Parang inaakyat ka na niya sa langit.
“Ah.. Ah!” You moaned between kisses.
Rafayel then grabbed your legs at pinatong ito sa balikat niya, angling his dick higher. You felt your body moving upward with every thrust. Messy moans escaped your lips, and it got louder when he rubbed your sensitive clit with his thumb. Hindi ka niya tinitigilan, hindi ka niya pinapakawalan, hanggang sa tumagal, may naramdaman ka nang gustong lumabas…
“Rafayel… Shit… Lalabasan na ata ‘ko…. Fuck, slow the fuck down!”
Ngunit mas binilisan pa lalo ni Rafayel pagbayo niya sa’yo.
“I’m. Gonna… F-fucking….Cum. Too…” He let out those words after every thrust.
Nababaliw ka na, hindi mo na kayang pigilin. Your cunt squirted while Rafayel’s dick is still inside you. Your pussy tightened as you orgasmed, leading Rafayel’s dick to release his cum at the same time. You tainted Rafayel’s thighs with your fluids as he continued releasing his cum. Rafayel stayed deep inside you, then stroked his dick into your still gushing pussy until you both finished.
Your body relaxed after you came. Rafayel slowly removed his dick from your pussy at tinanggal na yung condom na suot niya. He disposed of it properly before lying beside you on the floor mat.
Pareho lang kayong nakatingin sa kisame habang hinahabol ang hininga. You looked at Rafayel first, then he followed, looking at your face. Both of you laughed heartily and cuddled. Rafayel asked you questions if it hurt or if it was good. You said the latter, which made Rafayel glad. He kissed your forehead and stroked your hair in a comforting manner, lulling you to sleep. Pero hindi ka makatulog dahil sa init pa rin ng panahon.
“Ano ba yan… Nararamdaman ko na naman ang init.” You said even though you are already lying on the floor, fully naked.
Biglang tumahimik, to the point na ang ikot ng electric fan na lang ang naririnig… And suddenly, tumayo si Rafayel at binuhat ka mula sa’yong pagkahiga. Nagulat ka naman sa ginawa niya.
“Rafayel! Ibaba mo ako!” Tinampal mo nang mahina at paulit-ulit ang dibdib niya. Rafayel just looked at you mischievously, as if he thought of an evil plan.
“Kaya mainit kasi kulang lang tayo sa ligo. So… tara na, miss ganda ko. To the shower!” Rafayel said as he playfully pointed at your bathroom, at nag-martsa na papunta don. You laughed at your boyfriend's silliness.
Let’s be real here, hindi lang naman pagligo ang magaganap sa loob ng bathroom mo mamaya… A cramped place like your bathroom won’t stop him from trapping you in his arms. You should prepare yourself for the future hot shower sex you’re about to have with your boyfriend later.
Bigla kang natakot, at the same time na-excite? Oh well… In the end, at least you are beating the heat with your Rafayel.
