cw ⌇ ex boyfriend sae ◞ bathroom sex
The last person you wanted to see when you slipped into that half-lit bar was him. Sae Itoshi, leaning back against the counter like he owned the whole place, hair shorter than you remembered, eyes still carrying that bored, cutthroat gleam. The years hadn’t softened him at all. Not his arrogance, not that sharp tongue.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.
His gaze flicked up and a smirk curved his lips. “Well. If it isn’t my favorite headache.”
You rolled your eyes, already heading toward the door, but his voice followed you. “Still running away when you can’t handle me?”
You stopped. Turned. “Handle you?” you scoffed, fists clenched at your sides. “You’re an arrogant, insufferable bastard.”
“And yet,” he murmured, pushing off the counter, closing the distance between you in measured steps, “You keep coming back.”
You should’ve left. Should’ve brushed past him and let him drown in his own ego. But something in the way his eyes pinned you in place held you still, like he knew every little nerve to set on fire. And maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you’d hated him for so long it twisted into something else entirely, but one second you were glaring and the next your back hit the bathroom door with his mouth crushing against yours. It was a war disguised as a kiss, teeth clashing, lips bruising, his hand already dragging your thigh up against his hip.
“Fucking knew it,” he growled against your mouth, pulling it open with his tongue, tasting every inch. “Always so loud, so self-righteous. But look at you now.”
“Shut up,” you snapped, but your voice broke into a gasp when his hand slipped under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, pressing you harder into the door.
The words came with a thrust of his hips, already hard against you and you hated the way your body betrayed you. How you arched your back, how you let out that needy little sound in your throat.
He smirked, catching it, exploiting it. “That’s what I thought.”
The bathroom was locked a second later, and he had you bent over the sink, the mirror reflecting your flushed, furious face as he yanked your jeans down.
“You don’t deserve—” you tried, but your voice faltered as his fingers slid through your wet pussy.
“Don’t deserve this?” he interrupted with venom, pushing two fingers inside without warning. “Tell me to stop, then. Tell me you don’t want me.”
The worst part was you couldn’t. Your body clenched around his fingers, thighs shaking, the heat in your stomach boiling over until words died on your tongue. He leaned down, mouth by your ear, thrusting his fingers harder, deeper. “Exactly. You hate me, but you’d let me ruin you any night I want.”
The sound you made only proved him right. By the time he slid into you, rough and unyielding, you were already trembling, nails digging into the porcelain. He didn’t give you time to adjust as he set a sharp, brutal rhythm that had your breath shattering into ragged moans.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, head dropping against your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. “Been waiting for this, haven’t you? All those years and you’re still mine the second I touch you.”
“I’m not—” the denial cracked into a cry when he drove in harder, hips slamming into yours.
He laughed, almost cruel, one hand tangling in your hair, yanking your head back so you had no choice but to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look. Even you can’t lie to yourself right now.”
Your reflection showed everything: the tears gathering in your eyes, the flush across your cheeks, the way your lips parted around every choked sound.
“Pathetic,” he whispered, biting the curve of your jaw. “And perfect.”
Every thrust was sharper, angrier, fueled by years of tension you both pretended was hate. The bathroom filled with the wet slap of skin, the sharp edge of your cries, his ragged groans muffled against your neck. One more thrust and your body convulsed, your legs nearly gave out as his name spilled from your lips like a curse. You hated how good it felt, how much of a traitor your body and little cunt was.
He followed seconds later, grinding deep, spilling into you with a guttural sound that made your stomach flip.
For a moment, the only sound was your shared breathing, uneven and heavy. Then he straightened, tugging your hair just enough to make you meet his eyes in the mirror again. “Say it,” he murmured, still buried inside you. “Say you hate me.” your lips trembled, no words coming and his smirk widened. “That’s what I thought.”
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