high and needy reader x Shoko 18+ mdni
nightmares should’ve stopped surprising you by now, but every time you close your eyes it feels like the world tightens around your throat, and the bed, instead of catching you, shrinks under your weight, pushing you toward the abyss. you haven’t slept well in days. you have a weird relationship with insomnia, you find it useful. it lets you work twice as much, be more efficient, respond faster. but your body is starting to cash it in, and the dreams slip in even while you’re awake, ruining any attempt at mental stability.
your last resort is joints. weed slows your thoughts, your hands, your tongue, but it doesn’t erase the images waiting on the other side. sometimes you manage to sleep if the high is long enough. but the side effects are shit, your throat burns, your brain feels hollow, and the room reeks of stale weed for days. tonight is a typical night: tv on mute, lights low, the ashtray overflowing with crooked butts, and a sticky heat that forces you to stay in your underwear. it’s the third time this week you’re watching the same show, even though you couldn’t remember the plot if someone tortured you.
the joint between your fingers trembles. you bring it to your mouth and the tip lights up the room with an orange glow. you exhale. the bluish haze floats for a second, then dissolves into the saturated air. nothing changes, except the exhaustion gets heavier. the pack of thc gummies sits on your nightstand. you take one and chew it without enthusiasm.
your phone blinks. you check your chat with Shoko, or as you saved her, “Doc McStuffins.” no new messages, just the missed call from two hours ago. you picture her at work, wrinkled coat, cigarette butt hanging from her lips, knuckles stained with dried blood. it’s so easy for her to live in that space between life and death, and so hard to understand why you can’t just close your eyes and sleep like a normal person. you don’t want to bother her, but you need her. you want her voice, even if it’s just to complain.
you lie on your side, phone in hand, hitting “call” before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea.
“what’s wrong, sweetheart?” Shoko answers, her voice rough. in the background, you hear voices and the steady beep of a heart monitor.
you bite your lip. you don’t have anything important to say, but you say it anyway. “i can’t sleep.”
you hear the sigh, long and resigned. you can almost see her rolling her eyes. “how many?” she asks.
“just two joints. and a gummy.” you laugh, half joking, half embarrassed. “it’s useless.”
silence. you almost think she hung up, but then you hear her click her tongue. “i told you to relax. if you listened to me…”
“it’s not the same,” you cut in, unable to stop the spoiled tone creeping in. “i’m scared to fall asleep. are you coming?”
the question hangs there. your pulse stutters just thinking she might say no.
“i’ve got an hour left on my shift. you gonna survive?”
“i don’t know.” you almost whine. you hate it, but it’s true. you pull the blanket tighter, like the heat could protect you from the memories. “can you bring a sleeping pill? a good one.”
Shoko lets out a short, sardonic laugh. “you’re not my patient, sweetheart.” but the softness slips into the last word. “if you’re not asleep when i get there, i’m going to make you. got it?”
you stay quiet for a few seconds, playing with the edge of the sheet, clumsy fingers. “Shoko…”
“what?” she answers instantly, softer.
“stay on the line for a bit.”
there’s a pause. “i can’t,” she says finally, but she doesn’t hang up.
“just a little,” you insist, dragging the words. “i like hearing you there. it calms me.”
another sigh. this one isn’t as heavy. “you’re impossible when you’re high.”
“and you still pick up,” you murmur, with a dumb smile she can’t see. “that makes you worse.”
Shoko lets out a small huff of laughter. “close your eyes.”
you obey, even frowning like she could see it. the world slows a little with your eyes shut. “talk to me,” you ask quietly.
“anything. what you’re looking at.”
Shoko takes a second. “i’m looking at a patient who clearly hasn’t healed and still insists on arguing with me.”
“tell them to sleep,” you murmur.
that pulls a weak laugh out of you, half muffled into the pillow. “unfair.”
“very,” she answers, almost automatically.
the silence comes back, but it doesn’t weigh as much this time. your breathing slows, deepens.
another pause, shorter. “sleep.”
“it’s the closest you’re getting.”
you press the phone to your cheek, like you could pull her closer. “you’re mean to me.”
you stay there, breathing slow, about to say something else, anything to keep her from leaving.
“i have to hang up,” Shoko says suddenly, back to her usual tone.
you open your eyes immediately. “no—wait—”
the call cuts. she hangs up without saying goodbye, and the emptiness rushes back in. it’s the last night of the month and your apartment feels as foreign as a cheap motel. the tv is still on. you can’t help touching your neck, your shoulders, like you’re trying to tie together the scattered pieces of yourself.
you try another joint, but you can barely finish it. your stomach turns. your skin feels electric, your pulse pounding in your temples, insomnia sharp as a needle. you watch a whole episode without hearing a word, just watching mouths move, empty gestures, and you wonder how many times you can die in one day without anyone noticing.
an hour later, the door handle turns. the clock reads exactly two in the morning. you sit up in bed and wrap yourself in the blanket like a cold larva. Shoko walks in without rushing, closes the door, hangs her coat, kicks off her shoes without looking up. only when she reaches the hallway does she stop, glance into the room, and smirk.
“haven’t showered since yesterday?” she jokes, sniffing the thick weed smell.
“i missed you.” your voice comes out rough, but it’s true.
Shoko walks to the edge of the bed and drops down beside you, the mattress dipping under her weight. she opens her arms and you throw yourself at her immediately, letting her wrap around you like a warm restraint. her hair smells like nicotine and her usual perfume, but it’s the best thing you’ve smelled in days.
“you’re freezing.” she rubs your back, up and down, with a deliberate awkwardness. you know tenderness doesn’t come naturally to her, but she makes up for it with persistence. “i can’t believe you’re scared of sleeping.”
“i don’t want to dream.” you bite her shirt, chasing the warmth under the fabric.
she lets out another dry laugh, nudges your head with her chin, kisses your hair. “you’re so dramatic, fuck.”
“i swear.” now you actually want to cry, but you won’t give her that. you just hug her tighter. “i want to sleep. will you give me a pill?”
Shoko pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. “no. you’ll get addicted and then you’ll hate me. i’d rather tire you out in other ways.”
your heart stutters stupidly. you know what she means, but you need to hear it. “oh yeah?”
Shoko nods, serious, like she’s passing a sentence. “i’m going to leave you so tired you won’t even have time to dream.”
she nods as she pushes you back, settles your head on her thigh, and runs her fingers along your jaw, your neck, your earlobe. it’s insane how she can go from absolute coldness to something warm and consuming in a second. she cups your face, kisses your forehead, your nose, the corner of your mouth. her kisses are light, unhurried, like she’s rationing them over time.
“look at me,” she murmurs.
you do, but it’s hard to hold her gaze. Shoko holds your face, slow, like you’re something fragile. there’s no rush in anything she does, and that makes you more desperate than anything else.
“you’re shaking,” she says, almost amused.
“it’s because…” you don’t even know what you were going to say. you laugh, clumsy. “i don’t know.”
she doesn’t answer. she just kisses you again, closer to your mouth this time, but not quite. leaves you hanging.
too tired, you let her do whatever she wants. you feel your pulse in your throat, your breathing heavy from the smoke and the need for this to never end. Shoko lays you back on the pillow, covers you with her body, but without weight, without pressure, more like an electric blanket warming your bones. she kisses your neck, moves down to your shoulders, your collarbone. her right hand finds your chest under your shirt and caresses it slowly, open palm, drawing small circles around your nipple.
you can’t stop the moan, sharp and short. she notices and smiles against your skin.
“you like this?” she whispers.
“yes,” you answer, trembling.
she pulls your shirt off in one motion, tosses it to the floor, and looks at your body like she’s studying a rare anatomy. there’s no judgment in her gaze, just hunger and a hint of curiosity. she bites your shoulder, soft, then licks the edge of your nipple, and the contrast between cold and heat sends a shiver down your spine. Shoko keeps going, takes your nipple between her teeth, presses just enough to burn but not hurt. lets it go with a wet pop, kisses it, repeats on the other side, alternating, like she’s testing a new toy.
her other hand drifts over your stomach, down slow, barely touching. you know she’s dragging it out just to tease you, and you hate how much you love it. you try to rush her, arching your hips, searching for friction, but she doesn’t give it to you. she looks you in the eyes, holds it, brushes your cheek.
you obey, even though you don’t know how. the air moves in and out, but it catches when you feel her fingers hook into your underwear, sliding it down slowly, with a slowness that borders on cruel. cold air hits between your legs and you flush, even if you know Shoko doesn’t care. she spreads your legs with her knee, exposes you, looks at you with clinical delight.
“you’re soaked,” she says, neutral but satisfied. “were you really scared to fall asleep?”
shame prickles your face, but it turns you on too. Shoko doesn’t wait for an answer. she dips her head between your thighs, licks you without ceremony, dragging her tongue from bottom to top, slow and heavy.
“Shoko…” your voice breaks.
she doesn’t answer, she doesn’t need to. she just keeps going. changes rhythm without warning. sometimes slower, almost numbing. sometimes more insistent, just enough to pull another sound out of you.
your hands end up in her hair without thinking. you don’t push, don’t guide. you just hold on.
“like that…” you murmur, not even sure what you’re asking for.
“i know,” she says against your skin, and you feel her mouth again.
her saliva mixes with your own slick and the sound is filthy, too real. Shoko isn’t delicate, she pushes her tongue as deep as she can, explores, sucks your clit, circles it, shifts pace perfectly, knowing exactly when to speed up and when to slow down to stretch the pleasure out forever. her hands grip your hips, hold you in place.
you can’t stop moving, moaning, begging for more even as your brain slips under the wave of sensation. Shoko lifts her head just to look at you, hair stuck to her forehead, mouth glossy with spit and your juices. she smirks, gives you a mocking look, and goes back down, now sucking your clit hard enough to curl your toes.
“like that?” she asks, without stopping.
“more.” it’s all you can manage.
with the soft drag of her tongue, with her slowness, with the little sounds she lets out enjoying your taste, everything starts to blur. you don’t notice how much time passes, just that it gets harder and harder to keep your eyes open.
“don’t fall asleep yet,” she says at some point, almost joking.
“can’t help it…” you mumble.
but it doesn’t sound like an order anymore. she keeps licking, slower still. almost absentminded. like she’s doing it just to keep you there, not to take you anywhere.
your body stops tensing so much. your legs feel heavy and your breathing stretches out.
“Shoko…” you call again, already halfway gone.
“i’m not going anywhere.”
you feel her hand move up, over your stomach, your chest, your cheek. her mouth doesn’t leave completely, just softens, becomes intermittent, like she’s lulling you.
“sleep,” she says close to you. “it’s okay now.”
“no…” you protest weakly.
her voice drops, steady, repeating like a thread you hold onto. “i’m here, sleep. nothing’s wrong.”
you don’t notice the exact moment you stop responding. everything just gets heavier, warmer, farther away.
the last thing you feel is Shoko cleaning your thighs with a wipe from the nightstand, then covering you with the blanket and pulling you close from behind, skin to skin, breathing in sync.
“good night, my love.” it’s the last thing you hear.
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