summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.
wc : 12k
tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, oral sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk, dom/sub stuff, bondage, roleplay(ish), big dick spencer things
authors note : things heat up!! im a hardcore switch!spencer truther but for the sake of this fic he's domming it up rn
★
You wake first, still nestled against him, his breathing slow and even as you take stock of your situation.
Spencer made some choices yesterday.
Choices that make you want to throttle him.
Calling you sweetheart.
Kissing you.
Whispering so sweetly to you.
Using his stupid tongue on you and ruining cunilingus from anyone else for you forever.
The list goes on, how are you supposed to go back to work like this? Although, that’s only a problem if you’re found.
The whole team is going to see the video. That’s going to be a problem either way.
You can already imagine them huddled around the conference room table with Hotch’s laptop between them.
You know what, you can worry about that later, that’s only a problem if they find you.
Of course they’ll find you.
Hopefully.
When Spencer wakes it’s with a groan as he cradles the back of his head, still sore from the wound. Rather than cower in shame you decide to just break the silence and speak to him. He’s still your friend, even after yesterday.
“You didn’t tell me what happened when you were taken, just that you were knocked out.” You recall the unsub being so certain he would be able to get Spencer in the same day as you, it makes no sense when you ponder it. After having an agent taken captive you would assume they would be taking extra measures to ensure no one else was taken.
When he doesn’t respond you tilt your head to look up at him, only to be met by a sheepish smile.
“I was… a little careless.” He mumbles, his voice is scratchy and heavy with sleep.
“When I was alone with him the unsub said I wouldn’t have to wait long for you.” You cock an eyebrow at him.
“We were given multiple tips on the call line JJ setup, there were too many, we all agreed to go down the list until we found a lead. It’s possible that I got a little bit ahead of myself and split off from the group. Before I knew it I was knocked to the ground, and then I was here.”
“Sounds like something I would do.” You grin at him as you sit up, urging him to roll onto his side so you can take another look. It looks better than yesterday, he likely just needs to rinse the dried blood out. “It looks okay, Do you think you have a concussion?” The thought makes your stomach churn.
”Definietly not, I’m exhibiting no symptoms.” He seems so sure, you can’t help but wonder if that’s just something someone with a concussion would say.
“I’m just worried you may not be making decisions you would normally make.” Jesus Christ, did you take advantage of him? Is he even in the right state of mind?
Kissing you, calling you sweetheart, tongue fucking you.
He immediately knows where your train of thought’s headed.
“I’m fine.”
”Are you absolutely sure?”
”I have no headache or ringing in my ears, I haven’t vomited. I’m not nauseous, no confusion, no memory loss. I’m not sure if you’re aware but I am a doctor, I would know if I had a concussion.” As he rambles on you lean closer, examining his pupils closely. They appear normal, his greenish brownish eyes study you as you study them.
“Promise you feel fine?”
”If you’re worried about consent there’s nothing to worry about.” He looks at you incredulously, as if this isn’t a very serious matter.
“Promise?” You tilt your head to the side.
“I promise I am of sound body and mind.” He holds his hand up like he’s taking an oath.
After another look at his pupils you believe him, even if he isn’t technically a medical doctor you trust his judgement.
“How much progress do you think the teams made on the case?” You can’t help but change the subject as your thoughts drift back to your current predicament.
”I’m sure they’re doing their best but we barely had a profile together by the time you were taken. And with him no longer taking new victims…” You know exactly what he’s implying.
Typically if you’re on a job and the unsub suddenly stops killing victims you’re taken off the case. Without any evidence you can’t make a functional profile.
“Not to mention they’re down two profilers.” He mumbles.
“We can expect escalation in his behavior as well.” Even if your compliance keeps him from completely losing it, the behavior will continue to escalate regardless.
“How are you feeling?” He turns to stare at you, clearly gauging your reaction.
”About this situation? Not great.” No reason to lie, he knows neither one of you is really okay right now.
”I mean physically.”
”Sore.” Just a little.
”I’m sorry.”
He shouldn’t be, he didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have let him do in any other scenario.
”It’s not your fault, I could say the same thing to you.”
”You really don’t need to.” He shrugs, his concern is still apparent.
“Spencer.” When you say his name in as firm of a tone as you can muster his face softens a bit. The creases between his eyebrows melt away when he stares at you, you swear the corners of his mouth twitch up. “I’m serious.” You manage to whisper, even though the look in his eyes is knocking the wind out of you.
“After what I did to you? You really want to know if I’m okay?” He leans in, resting his head on his palm.
When did he get so close to you?
“What you had to do.” You correct him.
He opens his mouth, a look of confliction flashes across his face. You have no time to further question him because the crackling intercom has you both sitting up straight.
“Good morning my stars. You would not believe the response to your debut film.”
Gross.
“I simply cannot stop thinking about your performance yesterday, even yours Dr. Reid. What a hidden talent.”
Neither one of you speaks now, what would you even say? After seeing that video the team will assume you’ve been released, just like every other set of victims, how long before they realize what’s going on?
“I have a surprise for the two of you for such a dazzling performance, I am not a total monster. I want to show you that good behavior is rewarded.” You both flinch when the red door clicks, swinging open. You aren’t sure what you expect but it definitely isn’t what you find.
There’s nothing.
No one comes barging in so you both approach cautiously, pulling the door open fully you find not an exit, but a hallway. There is a door at the end of the hallway that you assume is the exit and an open room without a door halfway down the corridor.
“Since the two of you will be my guests for an extended period of time I thought I might provide some amenities. Although I will expect continued compliance if you wish to have access to the facilities.”
You continue to move with your defenses up but when you lean into the doorway you find a sterile looking well lit bathroom. There’s a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, and a small standing shower. When you step back out into the hall Spencer is pushing on the other door, you know it’s locked but it doesn’t hurt to check.
“I have big plans for the day, I would like you both to make yourselves presentable, under the sink you will find a box with water and prepackaged unopened food, for your peace of mind.” You make your way to the sink, crouching down, opening the box you find exactly what he said, along with a stack of folded black fabric. “I have also provided you with fresh clothes. I expect no objections, you wear them or there will be consequences. You are to leave your dirty clothes in the box, except for your tie Dr. Reid, you may keep that in your room.”
You ignore the clothes, not wanting to see what’s in store for you just yet, instead you take a sandwich and a water, passing them to Spencer.
“I can see that you are not in a talking mood today, that is okay, I will be back in an hour to start filming our next project, play nice until then.” The click of the intercom makes you relax as you open one of the water bottles, tilting your head back and taking a long swig.
You’re both on edge knowing what’s coming, the inevitable. Any snippet of a playful rapport you had going this morning has fizzled into nothing.
“You shower first, I’m gonna go sit for a few minutes.” Spencer breaks the silence before leaving the room without another word. You don’t object, you just turn on the water. Tossing your clothes across the room, trying not to think about the cameras that are likely in this room as well.
You clear your mind as the hot water rushes over you. Your instinct is to worry, to come up with a plan but the logical part of you knows you should just enjoy this moment of respite as best you can. There is no escape, at least not until your team figures something out.
You try not to take too long, knowing that Spencer needs a shower too. You turn the water off, reaching for one of the hanging towels before patting yourself dry.
Time to dare a look at the outfit you’ll be wearing.
The first thing you pull out is a simple black cotton shirt, followed by dark grey boxers. Likely not yours.
Below them is a surprisingly tame black camisole. When you pull it over your head it’s skin tight but it definitely could be worse. You aren’t granted as much coverage as boxers but the little black panties aren’t the end of the world, you were expecting hardcore lingerie, leather and spandex, but they’re simple cotton panties.
When you step out of the bathroom you yelp as you almost trip over Spencer, sitting criss cross on the ground.
“Sorry!” He stands, holding his hands up.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry, I went back to the other room initially but then I was thinking that this might be a set up and if I went in there he could lock and close the door and separate us. And then you’d be alone with him, so I figured it was best to stay here, I was going to tell you but it seemed inappropriate to go in there while you were showering.” He rambles as you nod along, he’s noticeably staring at the ceiling, occasionally his eyes dart down to you before flying back upwards.
“That’s… actually really sweet. Thanks.” You give him a soft smile as he steps around you into the bathroom, you hear the water running after just a moment so you take a seat right where he was, listening to water hitting the tile as you take another sip from your water bottle.
You aren’t left alone for long, only a few minutes have passed before the water turns back off as you listen to the sounds of him shuffling around. You stand, not wanting to trip him as well.
When he steps out you find yourself in the same position as him, staring at the ceiling to avoid gawking. Just like you his top is tight. This is not the time or place to be drooling over the way the fabric stretches across his chest, or accentuates his slender waist. Without a word you both shuffle back into the other room, watching curiously as the red door clicks back into place with a loud thunk.
“I hope the two of you are ready to get over your sudden silent treatment. I am quite fond of the way you speak to one another.”
“What do you want?” Spencer pulls it together a lot better than you do, his voice comes out steady and controlled, even if his fingernails dig into his palm when he speaks.
“There is that voice, what a wonderful question Dr. Reid, I have such an eventful scene planned.” You can’t help it as your hand drifts to his, intertwining your fingers with his as you try to appear calm. “I would love to give you both a detailed script but after yesterday I have to resist, you do such marvelous improv. I have a few things I would like to see, I do not care how you do them as long as they are done.”
You swallow loudly, you know it’s audible because he gives your hand a squeeze right after.
“My angel, you did some impressive work yesterday but today I would like to reward Dr. Reid for his valiant efforts in making you shine. I will not ask for something as cruel as five orgasms of him, but I would like to see at least two. Because he did such a good job taking control of the situation yesterday I want to see more of that. I want her hands restrained, use your tie, I want you to do whatever you would like with her. I expect to see you in her mouth and in her pretty pussy.” You cringe, the way he talks about you makes you want to retch. “I found myself quite taken with the way you express yourself, Doctor. I would like more of that, I want to see what else your mouth is capable of. I want to hear dirty, nasty things, all for her. Take complete control Dr. Reid, take what you want from here, show me, show everyone, just how much you care about your dear friend and fellow agent. I expect all of my demands to be met, or you will be redoing the scene until you get it right. And I will not be so kind as to reward you with water and a bathroom if your performance is not up to my standards.” With a click he’s gone and you’re left with the aftermath of his demand.
“Hey, are you okay?” You find yourself seeking to comfort him now that it’s his turn in the hot seat. Untangling your fingers from his.
“I’m fine.” He sure doesn’t sound fine. His posture has gone completely taut.
“If you don’t want to do this we’ll figure something out.” You lower your voice to a whisper, you know it likely isn’t making much of a difference but you can’t help but try and have an ounce of privacy.
“There’s nothing to figure out, I spent half the night running through scenarios in my mind, there’s nothing. There’s no way out of this that doesn’t risk leaving you alone with him. And we’re absolutely not doing that.” He clears his throat. “I can do this.” He turns, his hair is damp, tucked neatly behind his ears. “I’m gonna have to… you know, do what he asked, will you be okay?”
He’s going to fuck your mouth and your ‘pretty pussy.’ Are you okay with that? Is your heart pounding at the thought?
“I’m good, I promise, we’ve got this, this could be like, way worse. We could be getting tortured, instead we’re just doing… this.” You babble nervously. You know members of your team who have survived far worse at the hands of an unsub than this, you can do this. “We’re seeing some minor escalation but thankfully nothing too crazy, right? You made the right call yesterday, if we hadn’t done a good job we would have seen a much more aggressive escalation.”
“Yeah, the right call.” He’s mumbling, clearly lost in thought.
“Hey.” You do your best to sound serious as he stares at you. You raise your hand like you’re taking an oath. “I promise that I’m okay with everything that is about to happen.” You smile like this is all just a funny inside joke, trying to ease whatever is gnawing at him. “I think I can handle a little dirty talk.”
“I just wish…” He starts a train of thought as he stares down at you, trying to muster a smile in return but he stops himself.
“You wish?”
“I wish we weren’t being put in this situation.” His shoulders remain tense, there’s no release of the pressure he’s holding in.
That’s not what he wants to say.
”Me too.” You put a hand on his arm, there’s no reason to push him right now, not with what’s about to happen. “Why don’t we go lay down?” You drag your hand down his arm to his hand, pulling him towards the makeshift bed. “I have an idea. Why don’t we agree to keep everything that happens during these ‘movies’ in a bubble, a bubble that we don’t touch when we’re outside of it.”
“What you’re describing doesn’t sound healthy.”
”When we get out of here we can pop that bubble and deal with all of this then, but if we’re going to get through this now, we need to be a team. When we’re filming, we step into the bubble, and inside the bubble we do whatever it takes to survive. And when we’re done filming we don’t have to feel bad about it because we’re outside of the bubble and we can just be two agents working on the case.”
”Definietly not healthy.”
”Do you have a better idea?”
”No, but if you want to talk about what happens in the… bubble, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t just because we agreed to bottle it up.” He makes it sound a lot worse than it did in your head.
“Okay, okay, it’s like diplomatic immunity, we don’t hold things that happen in the bubble against each other outside of the bubble.” You sit on the blanket, he mirrors you so you’re sitting face to face.
”That’s an even worse idea, what if I hurt you?”
You laugh, maybe for the first time since you were put in this little concrete box, a real honest laugh.
”You aren’t going to hurt me, Reid. You’re like fifty pounds soaking wet.” Sure he’s tall but he’s still Dr. Reid, you’ve never seen him hurt a fly, actually he very specifically catches bugs and releases them outside when he comes across them. And he looks like a strong wind could blow him over. You’ve heard multiple people call him a pipe cleaner with eyes.
“It’s not funny.”
“Obviously, none of this is funny.” You gesture around the room when you speak. “But it’s happening, so if you don’t like my bubble idea then let's just scrap it and do this thing.”
He’s nodding to himself, you can see him playing with his tie, picking at the fabric.
”If you say stop I’ll stop.” He mumbles, you watch as he ties a knot, his fingers moving with practiced agility, as they untie it in the same motion.
”I know Reid.”
”Spencer.”
”What?”
”I don’t like when you call me Reid, it feels… impersonal.” The knot he’s working on tightens. “We’ve been through enough together at this point, you can use my first name.”
“Okay, Spencer, let’s stop stalling before one of us ends up with a bullet in our head. We put on another good show, he has limited escalation, so let’s do this.” You hold your wrists out like you would if you were about to be handcuffed. He’s just glaring at you expectantly. “Jesus, you’re so particular, and if I say stop you’ll stop.” You mimic his strict tone. It does seem to placate him as he takes your wrist in his hand. You watch with morbid fascination as his fingers trace the veins under your skin.
“I absolutely could hurt you if I wanted to.” He grumbles under his breath as you give him a harsh look.
”Enough joking around.” You scoff and his hand wraps around your wrist, his slender, long fingers easily encircling them as he twists your arm. His free hand darts to your shoulder and with a force you’ve never seen him use before he flips you over onto your stomach, catching your other wrist and pinning both behind your back.
“I know you think you know everything, but I’d like to remind you that I have several years of experience in the field, as well as extensive training in how to use what strength I do have to the fullest extent.” As he speaks you squirm under him, uselessly, as he wraps the length of his tie around your wrist, one hand holding it in place as the other finds the nape of your neck, firmly holding you down.
“Not funny, Reid.” You groan as he pushes you down until your face is buried in the pillow.
“I agree, there is nothing funny about a little girl like you thinking that you can talk to me like that. You might have the knowledge and skillset to back up your arrogance but you don’t have the experience. In or out of the field.” You can’t see what he’s doing but you can feel the fabric tightening as his fingers wrap around them and pull, he’s somehow managed to restrain you with just the one hand. ”This is the first time you’ve ever had to be in a situation where an unsub has control over you and you’re not even acting like a federal agent, you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”
His words are clearly having an effect on you as you bite your lip to stifle a moan.
God you’re sick.
“Can’t even hold your own against someone who’s ‘fifty pounds soaking wet’.” Pulling on your wrists he yanks you up so you’re kneeling, you pull on the bindings, testing them. No matter how you twist they hold tight.
“You know you can be a real ass sometimes.” You groan, rolling your eyes as you turn your head back to shoot him a glare.
“You know you drive me fucking crazy.” He leans against you, his breath is hot on your neck as he hisses, you can’t help but sit in stunned silence for a moment, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before. “Do you know how exhausting this last year has been for me? Seeing how you handle yourself on every case? Watching you throw yourself into danger over and over again?”
”Well that’s not fair-”
”Since the day you started, they brought you in and told everyone you were a prodigy in your department, that you were going to be an invaluable asset to the team. And sure, you were, until we put you in the field and you rushed into every situation. It didn’t matter if your life was at risk, you always had to be a hero. Do you know how hard it is for me to get any work done when I’m constantly worried about you throwing yourself into the line of fire to save someone else?”
“You can’t seriously be using this as an opportunity to bring up work grievances with me.” You hiss back at him. “What is your problem, Reid?” His hand moves to the front of you, wrapping around your throat, he doesn’t squeeze but he holds it there, a silent reminder of the position you’re in.
”If you call me Reid one more time I’m going to fuck that stubborn little mouth of yours until you get it right. Until the only thing you can say is ‘Spencer.’ Until the only thing you can think about is my name.” He breathes the words out, so soft that for the first time you doubt the cameras even pick it up. If he’s playing it up for the unsub he’s doing an incredible job.
And all you want to do right now is call him Reid.
Both of his arms are wrapped around you now, his chest is flush with your back, one hand around your neck, the other drawing mindless shapes across your stomach, up and down towards your chest.
At this point you don’t even care if he’s just putting on a show for the unsub, you stop yourself from whimpering, clenching your thighs together. You whine as he leans forward. With your hands locked behind your back you can feel him pressing against you, the crotch of his boxers up against your palms. Without thinking you lean back, cupping him, earning yourself a low groan.
”Jesus-“ He gasps out as you start to stroke him through his boxers. The hand around your throat tightens, just enough to remind you of its presence, his other hand floats downward, forcing your thighs apart, he doesn’t dip into your panties yet, instead he simply grazes his fingers across the length of your clothed cunt, when you whine he scoffs. Pulling his fingers back and holding them in front of your face. “Would you look at that?” You can practically hear the smug smirk on his face as you stare at the glistening tips of his fingers. “I have a theory.”
”Oh great.” You let your head fall back against his shoulder so you can see him, sure enough he’s got a shit eating grin plastered on his face.
“I think that you want to be taught a lesson, I think that you’re acting like this because you want to be reprimanded.”
God, yes.
“No.”
“Maybe that’s what you’ve wanted all along, is that why you go against protocol all the time, barging into buildings before we have proper backup? Why you’re constantly disobeying direct orders? You want someone to put you in your place. It’s why you’re in this mess in the first place isn’t it? You were told to go with Emily but you insisted you would get more work done if you split up.”
He’s like, too good at this, the words flow off of his tongue just like a practiced actor reciting a script.
“You’re being a dick.” You snap your head back, trying to properly scowl at him but his hand grips your jaw, holding you firmly in place.
”See, even now, look at the situation you’re in. There is no reason for you to be mouthing off right now. We have a consensual agreement to fulfil the unsubs demands and an understanding that I’m going to be rough and talk to you like this. You’re restrained, and in a much worse position than I am, yet you still can’t help yourself.”
He doesn’t raise his voice at all as he goes on and on, his tone and volume stay almost frighteningly even. As if to prove his point he lightly pushes you forward, without your hands to catch yourself you fall face first into a pillow with a soft thud and a groan. He flips you before you can pull yourself up, staring down at you with a mix of quiet simmering annoyance and something else.
“The only time I’ve ever seen you not acting like this was when I had my fingers in you and my mouth on you, which confirms my theory.” You want to slap the tight lipped smirk off of his pretty face. You’ve always had such a friendly relationship with him, hearing him talk to you like this sends jolts of electricity through you.
At this point you’re so caught off guard by his vulgar ranting you just stare at him dumbly, watching as his expression becomes more and more smug.
Suddenly, you don’t care if this is all some twisted wish fulfillment for a bunch of perverts online from the mind of some sick voyeur.
You are not going to let him have all the fun, you can play this game too.
You twist your wrists behind your back, letting your chest arch up, your breasts straining against the fabric of the camisole.
“Spence…” You let out a breathy moan and watch as he immediately loses his resolve, eyes wide, eyebrows arched, just for a moment before his stern expression returns.
”I would be very careful with whatever you decide to say next, sweetheart.” His hands settle on your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You feel like you’re playing chess with him, and you hate chess with Spencer. He always tells you how he’s going to win two minutes into every game.
You’ve never beat him.
But this isn’t chess, and you can play dirty.
You chew on your lip, frowning in the process.
“Is that really how you feel?” You whisper, your voice cracking and you can tell by the way his face drops that you’ve got him right where you want him. “I thought we were friends, I- I didn’t know I was making your job harder. Does the whole team feel that way? I’m so sorry.” You manage a convincing lip tremble as you stutter your way through your apology, he doesn’t stop you as you pull yourself up and into a sitting position, facing him.
“I-“ He starts, conflicting emotions crossing his face as you lean forward, batting your eyelashes at him.
“I wouldn’t be so bad if someone held a tighter leash.” You pull on your binds with an overemphasized whiney edge to your voice. “Please don’t be mad at me, you’re right, I need to be reprimanded.” The second he realizes you’re teasing him his brows furrow. “Will you help me, Reid?”
The anger that flashes across his face almost makes you regret saying it.
Almost.
“You just can’t help yourself.” He clicks his tongue, and the look he gives you is one of fury but he couldn’t sound more pleased. He stands up, you don’t bother trying to as well, without your hands you know it would be useless. “Just remember that you asked for this.” His hands tangle in your hair as he gives you a warning tug, pulling you up from sitting to your knees.
Asked for it, wanted it, needed it.
He keeps one hand firmly in your hair, the other grabs your jaw, rougher than he’s been so far. The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.
“Open.” Your initial instinct is to snark back at him but his tone is so deathly calm a part of you automatically responds to the authority. You dart your tongue out, wetting your lips before you open your mouth. The corners of his own lips twitch.
He slides his thumb past your teeth, resting on your tongue, he doesn’t push deep enough to gag you but it certainly isn’t comfortable.
And then you wait.
His eyes never leave yours and he doesn’t move, he just stares at you, expectantly.
Son of a bitch.
He’s not gonna do anything until you give him what he wants so with a roll of your eyes you close your lips around the digit. Gingerly, you run your tongue along the length, you dare a glance up at him and he gives you a nod, grinning like a cat that finally caught the mouse.
“Isn’t it so much easier to just follow directions?”
Oh, you could kill him.
Or fuck him, you’d take either option gladly.
You open your mouth, ready to spit an obscenity at him but his thumb presses down on your tongue and all you can do is groan.
“Still not enough to keep you quiet?” He raises an eyebrow and removes his thumb, his hand moves to the front of his boxers and you watch with bated breath as those long, delicate fingers trace the outline of the sizeable bulge that you’re now hyper aware of. “Is this what you need? Is this what it’ll take to make you behave?”
Before you can think of a snarky response, before you can headbutt him in the crotch, and before you can give him the meanest glare you can muster, you lose control of yourself and your stupid body reacts faster than your brain, and you nod.
And his eyes just light up.
You’re never gonna live this down.
With your hands bound the way there are there’s no way for you to touch him, or even steady yourself. Your only anchor is his hand in your hair. It crosses your mind that he really could hurt you right now, there’s nothing you could do to stop it and you doubt the unsub would even want him to stop. He can do whatever he wants to you.
Why does that make this even hotter? What is wrong with you?
He never takes his eyes off of you, you can’t remember the last time he looked away, it’s an almost frightening look of concentration on his face as he tilts his head, examining you. You should be afraid. But you aren’t, because even now, in this situation, you know he wouldn’t ever really hurt you.
And when he’s done with your mouth he’s going to take one look at your cunt and see just how much you love this.
Behind the bravado, dominance, and faux anger in his expression, behind the show you’re putting on, you can still see that a tiny part of him is searching your face for a sign that you’re really okay with this.
So you give him one.
Leaning forward, you press your mouth against the outline of his cock. Peppering a trail of kisses along his length, trying to ignore the fact that the more you feel out this size of him, the less confident you are in your ability to fit him in your mouth.
His eyes are definitely still on you when you look up at him through your eyelashes, except now you’re rewarded with the dumb look on his face as his mouth falls open.
You’re caught off guard when he suddenly pulls you away, crouching down, you squeak as he pulls you into a kiss, nipping at you from your mouth to your chin, to your cheek, until you feel a light bite at your earlobe. He nuzzles his face into your hair and you swear you can hear him inhaling sharply through his nose but your focus shifts when his lips return to your ear.
“I don’t care what the reason is, if you want me to stop at any point you shake your head no and we will deal with the consequences. Nod if you understand.” He returns to standing leaving you breathless as you nod, probably a little too eagerly.
And without missing a beat he hooks a finger into the waist line of his boxers, tugging them down, effectively freeing himself.
Oh he’s got a perfect dick.
You’re gonna need so much therapy after this.
You feel like the last half an hour has just been you and Spencer gawking slackjawed at each other and it’s once again your turn.
He’s got the kind of dick you see in a porn and think, ‘only pornstars have dicks like that, not regular guys.’
Although, Spencer Reid is the furthest thing from a regular guy but that’s besides the point. You’re face to face with the biggest dick you’ve ever seen in person. Pretty and pale with a prominent vein on the underside, you’re shamelessly ogling him at this point, staring at the pink tip as he takes himself in his hand. His free hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushes against your lips once more and this time you don’t need to be told what to do.
You open your mouth and eagerly lean forward as he slides into your mouth.
You do your best to accommodate his size, flattening your tongue as you watch his head fall back with an obscene groan.
All you want to hear is make him make that sound.
You try to move your head forward but it’s awkward without being able to use your hands to balance yourself. You end up taking too much of him at once and you gag, his moan is pornagraphic but he’s quick to pull away as you cough.
“Are you okay?” He whispers, you know he’s trying to speak softly enough to not be heard but you doubt it works. You nod, catching your breath for a moment.
”I think I’m gonna need a little help.” You accentuate your point by pulling on the tie, wiggling your arms. There’s a moment of silence before he nods, once again he takes his cock in his hand, but this time once he’s past your lips you feel both of his hands tangle into your hair. He guides you slowly down his length and you take the opportunity to run your tongue across the vein you’d been eying. With a hiss he pulls you back, until all you’ve got is his tip.
He’s overly cautious, and surprisingly gently as he pushes your head further down, he makes sure to never push you more than halfway down his length, never gagging you. It’s almost a little boring as he moves your head up and down. He lets out a few small sounds as he gingerly moves your head. You both freeze in place when you hear a click and a crackle from above.
”I thought I made myself clear, you perform or there are dire consequences. Neither one of you looks like you are enjoying yourselves. I told you to take control, I told you to take what you want. Not what makes her comfortable. It is obvious to me that you are exercising a severe amount of restraint Dr. Reid and we both know that is not what I want to see. Now do it right, show me you can make her shine, or I will find someone else who will.” He’s practically snarling into the microphone by the end of his rant, you both cringe in unison at the sound of the click followed by silence.
When you turn to look at him his eyebrows are practically squeezed together he looks so concerned.
“Look, Spencer, I’m fine with you doing whatever you have to do. If survival is our goal here-“ As you speak he shoves two fingers into your mouth, effectively silencing you.
”You’re done talking. The next time you speak it’ll be because I asked you to.” You hardly have a second to process what’s happening before he’s squeezing your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he slides his cock back in. His hands find your hair again but instead of moving your head he thrusts himself forward. Your throat tightens, and you gag immediately but this time he pulls back only to rock himself forward again. You let out a garbled whine as he finds a steady pace, he thankfully doesn’t gag you again, careful to go as deep as he can without choking you.
You can do nothing but watch him as he fucks your mouth, his grip in your hair tightening as he holds you in place. His own hair falling in messy tangles across his face.
“Look at you, finally quiet.” He groans, snapping his neck back to throw some of his hair out of his eyes as he grins down at you, groaning.
The effect he has on you is just embarrassing at this point. You’re so turned on you’re about to straddle his foot and grind down against his socks. As you’re considering it he pulls himself out completely, a line of spit hangs from your lips to his cock. He wipes it off your lip with his thumb and taps against your cheek with his tip.
“I bet you’ll look even better taking the whole thing.” When he pushes himself back against your lips you try to pull back, opening your mouth to protest but he just takes it as an opportunity to shove himself into your mouth as you gasp. “I didn’t give you permission to talk yet sweetheart.” You whine around him as he slides his hips forward another inch. “I know you can do it, just breathe.” He lowers his voice as he pulls your hair, hard. You let out a whimper, and he uses his free hand to brush any hair in your face behind your ears.
You do your best to relax your throat as you feel him pushing further, you gag when he hits your throat but he doesn’t give so much as an inch of relief as he shushes you in between his groans.
“Almost, just a little bit more, you need to relax.”
Easy for him to say he doesn’t have a fucking baseball bat in his throat.
One hand grips your hair so tightly you feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes while the other cradles your face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. You swallow around him, taking shallow breaths in through your nose as he eases himself in the last inch and your nose hits that little patch of curls at the base of his cock. You gag around him but you’re expecting it so you manage to breathe through it enough that you don’t puke.
The look on his face makes it worth it.
Intoxicated.
Sharp little breathes as he fights back a moan, eyes dark and watching with so much intensity you feel like you’re under a microscope. His hair is in disarray and he doesn’t bother fixing it this time.
“So good, s-such a good job.” He mumbles as his hips twitch involuntarily forward before pulling back a tiny bit. His thrusts are shallow but he stays in your throat. The tears that were forming flow freely now, he wipes a few of them away but they just keep coming. You take a shuddering breath in through your nose, drool dribbling down your chin as you squeeze your eyes shut.
As much as you want to watch his reactions it takes all of your focus to not retch as he fucks your throat. You know you won’t have to last too long because his thrusts become erratic after just a few more seconds and his soft moans turn to out of breath whines. You nose hits his pelvis once more and with a twitch of his hips you feel his cum hit the back of your throat.
You can’t help but steal a few glances, opening your eyes just in time to watch his head fall back, his face and neck flush red. With his cock still stuffed in your mouth you have no choice but to swallow as he comes down from his orgasm.
Not that you mind all that much.
When your throat constricts around him he seems to snap back to reality as he quickly withdraws. In one smooth motion he sinks to his knees to come face to face with you. Both hands cup your face and you know you must be a sight. Tears and drool slick on your face, the look of admiration on his face tells you he must not mind that much though.
“Let me see.” He murmurs, tapping your chin with two fingers. You’re still catching your breath but you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the wet mess of semen and spit. “Such a good job, look how well you’re behaving now.” You’re caught off guard when he leans forward, his tongue sliding across yours, tasting the mix of the two of you. His hands find your shoulders and he lays you back against a few pillows. “You looked so pretty choking on my cock.”
Even after everything you’re still surprised to hear him talk like that, it makes your head spin. When you don’t respond he slides his hands down your body until he reaches your panties, he wastes no time pulling them down your legs and tossing them behind him. You start to squeeze your thighs together but you aren’t fast enough, or quick enough to stop him from spreading your legs.
His eyes practically sparkle.
Ravaging you with just his stare, eyes consuming, memorizing, every detail between your legs.
“Look at that.” God, he sounds so pleased with himself.
He should be, you’re dripping and he hasn’t even touched you there.
”Isn’t that answer enough?” You sneer at him, bucking your hips. The smile he gives you is so genuine you can’t stand it.
“There you go with that mouth again, can you only behave when you’re stuffed with cock? Do I need to keep you like that permanently? Want me to leave you like that until we’re found? Do you want the rest of the team to barge in here on a rescue mission only to find you drooling on my cock?” His fingers swipe through the wetness between your legs, the squelching sound makes your cheeks burn more than they already are. Your back arches as he sinks two into you, your cunt pulses around him immediately as you start to let out a pornagraphic groan.
”Shut up.” You try to sit up but a small push from him sends you back into the pillows. He gives you a disapproving shake of his head.
“I really thought we were making some progress, I guess you still haven’t learned your lesson.” He removes his fingers, rather abruptly, leaving you to whine at the absence. “I was going to be so nice to you too,” You’re getting used to being manhandled at this point, although this time you find yourself in a state of confusion as he sits beside you, lifting you by your hips and placing you in his lap. “I was going to work you open with my fingers to make this easier for you but I guess you don’t want that.” While he speaks you can feel him already hardening again against the swell of your ass.
“Spencer…” Your tone is that of warning, like you might scold him.
“Maybe you need another reminder of who’s in charge.” He bucks his hips, forcing you up and onto your knees as you straddle him, he’s quick and precise as he lines himself up at your entrance. Your eyes go wide as you realize what’s about to happen. The tip of his cock slides through your slick, when he bumps against your clit you nearly fall over. With a smirk he lines himself up with your hole, staring at you expectantly. When he tilts his hips and pushes himself into you, you both melt into a chorus of moans. The stretch burns so sweetly, your brain can’t seem to figure out if you want more or less.
“Spencer, wait- please.” You start to object but he’s already shaking his head.
“No, sweetheart. I think this is a lesson you need to learn the hard way.” He says it so gently but the glint in his eye tells you he likes this a little too much.
Almost as much as you do.
”You’ve done so good so far, I know you can do this.” He coos, his hands wander up and down your body from your thighs to just below your chest, you sit up on your knees, impaled on his cock with your thighs already trembling. “I want you to show me how good you can be.” His voice turns to a murmur as he slides a hand under your top. You’re too focused on his monster cock trying to squeeze its way into you to pay attention to the way his hand starts exploring your chest. Slender fingers, cupping your breasts and drawing gentle circles around your nipples. You shift your body down, your thighs tense as you try to slowly lower yourself but you only make it about halfway down his shaft before you can’t take anymore, when you start to lift yourself off of him in an attempt to relieve the stretching feeling he catches your hips, locking you in place.
“Please-” You start to whine as he holds steady, you squirm to no avail as he shakes his head.
“You’re not getting up until you show me you can take the whole thing.” You know he means it, there’s no persuading him when you’ve come this far. And he must know a part of you enjoys this, if you didn’t you would outright tell him to stop, you’d shake your head no and he would stop.
Probably.
”Spencer…” You whisper his name like you’re begging but you don’t even know what you want, it’s too hard to focus on anything when the burn between your legs fizzles into a warm pleasure with every passing second.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” His hair sticks to his forehead, a sheen of sweat coating his body, you likely match. His fingers alternate from tapping your waist frantically and squeezing the flesh of your hips.
What do you want?
What you want is to be at home in your own bed, in the exact same situation, with no cameras and no nightmare director watching your every move, and making demands. You want this to be real.
You want him to buck his hips up and make you take it.
You want to know what he thinks about all of this.
You want him to force you down to the hilt, to make you take all of him.
You want to know if he feels the same guilt that you do for wanting more, and more, and more of this.
You want a copy of this recording before Garcia scrubs it from the internet so you can relive it if Spencer refuses to even look at you after this.
”I want you.” That’s all you’ve wanted, for so long.
There’s too much sensation. Everything hurts and feels so fucking good and staring down at him doesn’t help. You’re a profiler, and a goddamn good one at that, but staring at his face you don’t get anything. You can’t decipher his body language in any meaningful way, not when your focus is all over the place.
“Show me.” He sounds as fucked as you feel. “Show me how badly you want this.” He pulls his hands back so he isn’t touching you at all, holding them up almost as if he were showing you he isn’t a threat. You could easily sit up and pull yourself off of him but you’re too engrossed with the way his eyelashes flutter as he stares down to the point where the two of you meet.
You start slow, inching yourself further down him but it hurts too much and you worry you’ll lose your resolve. Instead you look him in the eyes. Watching his tongue poke out of his mouth before he chews his bottom lip. An action you’ve seen hundreds of times at the office, now everytime you see it you’ll think of this.
“Can you help me stay upright?” You whisper, his hands are hesitant and practically trembling when he returns to your hips. Not the same confidant movements he was displaying before. Once you’re sure he’s got you, you take a deep breath and let your knees give out. Slamming yourself down fully onto his cock.
You’re pretty sure you scream, it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure against your cervix. When you manage to open your eyes you’re rewarded with such a treat. He’s as gone as you are, his hands flexing, digging into your skin as he bites his own lip so hard you’re worried he’ll bleed. His moans are muffled as he tries desperately to keep his mouth shut but what does slip through is delicious.
You feel a sense of pride.
You’re still catching your breath when he shifts himself up and on to his elbows.
“You want me?” He sounds as needy as you feel right now.
And all you can do is nod.
When he lifts your hips and pulls out you whimper, the sensation of relief doesn’t make up for the lack of him.
He’s gentle as he guides you rather than forces you this time down into a pillow. You’ve got your ass in the air and your face turned to the side so you can still see him in your peripheral vision.
You’re expecting him to slam into you, to immediately find a punishing pace. You’re surprised when his body wraps around yours and he kisses the back of your neck, moving down your spine until he hits your lower back and sits up.
He wordlessly lines himself back up at your entrance, and you keen when he pushes himself in, inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed within you once more. Your groan is long and drawn out as you readjust to his size. In this position he somehow feels even bigger, like he’s in your fucking stomach.
“Jesus-” Your breath catches in your throat when he grabs you by your shoulders, pulling you back against him, somehow managing to push himself deeper. Making you feel every single inch.
“That’s not the name I want to hear.” With a snap of his hips he pulls out about halfway before thrusting fully back into you.
“Spencer!” You’re so full, too full.
“There it is.” He mumbles under his breath before he starts rocking his hips back and forth, experimentally shifting from quick shallow thrusts to slow long ones. Both make you bury your head in the pillow to stifle your moans. His hands stay locked on your shoulders, yanking you back against him with each thrust, pulling you closer to him. He eventually settles himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out halfway before snapping forwards, grinding himself against you, making you feel every inch.
Slow and steady, he folds himself over you. Resting his forehead on your back as you lay there and take everything he gives you. With every thrust he brushes along that sweet spot that makes you see stars before slamming against your cervix.
And then he fucking whimpers your name.
Out of breath and desperate.
“Say it again, say my name.” He kisses you between your shoulder blades before latching onto your pulled back shoulder, sucking and nipping at the skin. “Please.”
And who are you to deny him when he’s asking so nicely?
With every snap of his hips you groan out the only thing you can think, over and over and over again.
“Spencer, Spence- Spencer, please.” You’re not sure when it started but you’re suddenly extremely aware of the knot forming in your core as your thighs tremble. With each jolt of his hips you’re pushed closer and closer to that edge, until all you can think about is him. His hands on your shoulders, on your hips, wrapping around you to paw at your chest, like he can’t decide on one so he has to alternate through them. His breath, hot on your back where he leaves kisses in between his moans. His cock, pulling out just enough to push your buttons so perfectly he must be doing it on purpose.
Closer, and closer, and closer.
Until you feel yourself nearing the point of no return, and in an instant all the sensation is gone. You don’t bother with your dignity because at this point it’s nonexistent, instead you whine and push your hips back.
His hands are back on you, forcing you onto your back, your hands trapped under you as he flips you. His forehead is slick with sweat and you can see the sweet shade of pink flushing his neck and face, devastatingly pretty.
“Spen-” You start to plead with him but he’s already on it, cock in hand as he eases himself back into the wet mess between your legs, in this position you can see the slick coating your thighs, you don’t get much time to watch his cock disappear into you because he’s on you like a predator on prey. His lips are all consuming on yours. He’s absolutely devouring you, biting at your bottom lip, darting his tongue into your mouth, you can’t resist the opportunity to suck his tongue.
God, you’re a goner.
He finds the same pace, shallow thrusts, your body jerking with each one. Fucking into you with a brutal consistency, every thrust leaves you wanting more. It almost feels like he can read your mind when one of his hands drifts between your legs, his pointer and middle finger find your clit so fast you’d think he had a map to get there, rubbing circles in time with each snap of his hips.
“Spencer…” At this point you’re running out of other words to say, he clearly meant it when he said all you’d be able to think about was his name, that’s certainly the case now as he coaxes your body towards an orgasm with surgical precision.
“Do you understand why I have to do this, sweetheart?” He separates his lips from yours, nose to nose as he mumbles, when you get a good look at his face you know he’s just as fucked as you are. But his fingers have stopped their movements and all you can concentrate on is how badly you need them to start again.
You nod furiously, you’d say anything if it would make him start touching you again.
“T-to teach me a lesson, to make me behave.” It takes you a second but you manage to get through your sentence before he laughs, burying his face in your neck
“You’re a profiler, you can do better than that.”
Does he want you to state the obvious?
“Because you don’t want him to be mad?” You know you sound unsure but you don’t care, all you can think about is his fingers dipping back between your legs. You try to rock yourself against him for any stimulation at all but his fingers squeeze your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises there.
“You’re so sweet.” His teeth graze your jaw, dragging down the side of your neck before he bites down, pulling a whine out of you. “So, so, so sweet. You think I care what he thinks?” He kisses the spot before he sits up, one hand on your hip and the other rubbing the mark he left. “Yours is the only opinion that matters to me.”
He grinds himself against you, as if you’re not already full of him.
“He said he’ll find someone else.” He’s all mumbles now. “But there’s no one else, just me, right sweetheart?” Sweet, breathy mumbles.
“You’re not- oh my god, making any sense.” Nothing makes sense right now, not when he’s starting to thrust into you again, thrusts so shallow he’s practically just grinding his hips against yours. Like he’s trying to force himself as deep as he can, bruising you even where no one can see.
”I hate that he’s right about you.” He catches your lips in his as you start to open your mouth again, his fingers brush up against your thigh as you groan into him. He pulls away just long enough to mumble, like he’s overflowing with the words and has to get them out. “I’ve seen everything he describes, I thought it all before he ever put it into words.” His nose bumps against yours as he rambles, thrusts becoming erratic as he finally puts his focus back on your clit. “The way you shine, and sparkle, and light up a room.”
“Spencer, I don’t-” You don’t know when you started crying again but you sure are now. Overstimulation, confusion, pleasure, you aren’t sure what brought it on.
“I’m gonna make you light up, you- you don’t need anyone else.” His eyes are shut tight, his eyebrow twitching as he focuses. His ramblings don’t make any sense as he babbles on and on, lost in his concentration.
“Spencer…” You softly hiss out his name as your stomach twists, he pushes hard on your clit as he continues his merciless patterns.
It feels like you’re being electrocuted in the most addicting way possible, you twitch around him, you push your head back into the pillow supporting you as your back arches off the ground. The wave finally crashes over you as you come, hard. You clamp around him like a vice and he’s quick to follow. You aren’t fully aware of the immediate aftermath but you know he’s groaning something akin to your name as he collapses on top of you.
You lay in a sweaty, panting heap for what feels like hours before he sits up. Both of you groan softly when he slips out of you. His touch on you is so light and cautious you’d think you were made of glass. His nimble fingers easily release the tie from around your wrists, you wince in pain as the blood rushes back to your hands. When you bring them in front of you, rubbing them gingerly you can see the raw red marks as well as the dark purple splotches starting to bloom around your wrists like sadistic bracelets.
“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, taking your wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the mark. “I got carried away, I- I shouldn’t have.” You put your fingers over his mouth.
“No apologies.” You lower your hand. “Neither one of us should be apologizing for anything that happens here, we’re alive and together because of you.” You’re about to continue but the buzz of the intercom snaps you both to attention.
There’s only a moment of static before you hear a sniffling sound, it makes you stare at Spencer, both of you with eyebrows cocked in confusion.
“Are you crying?” You can’t help yourself as you blurt it out, the absurdity of the situation still finds ways to shock you.
“It was just such a beautiful performance.” He coughs, clearing his throat. “Thank you Dr. Reid, that was just what I was looking for.” You’re both surprised when the speaker clicks again and you’re left alone. The room dims back down to a single bulb, plunging you both into darkness. When the lock on the red door clicks again he stands, you avert your eyes as he straightens his boxers out to cover himself back up. You only look up when he tosses your panties to you. Neither one of you seems inclined to speak but he does help you to your feet, supporting you as you limp to the bathroom. Once he props you up in the shower he steps out, you know he’s right outside, waiting.
You run the water, taking your second shower of the day. You rinse the sweat from your skin, carefully running your hand between your legs, hissing when you touch yourself there.
You’re definitely going to be sore for a while.
You finish up, toweling off and putting your top and panties back on but not before stealing a glance at yourself in the mirror.
Yikes.
No wonder Spencer’s so quiet. Your wrists are a sight but that’s nothing compared to the rest of you. When your cami hikes up you can see a myriad of bruises, up and down your waist and hips. Purple blooming all over your form, further down your thighs are a similar sight. He really did a number on you. You do your best to adjust your top so they cover everything on your torso as well as some of your upper thighs. He’s standing right beside the doorway when you step out.
“Your turn.” You give him the best smile you can muster as he slips past you but you know it doesn’t convince him you’re okay.
Are you okay?
Sort of.
You’re sore, a little bruised, and tender between your legs, sure. You’re confused, by everything Spencer says to you, in and out of the scenes you’re performing. But overall, surprisingly fine. And you can thank Spencer for that.
If you’d been stuck here with Hotch, or Morgan, or heaven forbid a stranger, you’d likely find yourself in much worse condition. Hotch and his overly seriousness. Everything is so serious and life or death with him, and then of course there’s the guilt he would feel, never ending guilt. And Morgan’s been like a big brother to you since the day you met him, even imagining intimacy with him makes your skin crawl. A part of you can’t help but be glad it’s Spencer, even if this has complicated your already complex relationship.
You’re okay, mostly.
You’ll be better when you aren’t being forced to follow the whims of some obsessed sexual psychopath, but you’re okay.
You just have to hope he’s okay too.
When he finally steps out of the bathroom he’s mopey.
That’s the only word you can think of to describe him.
He isn’t exhibiting signs of anger, or depression. He isn’t twitching like he does when he’s anxious, he doesn’t even seem to be guilt ridden, he just seems… bothered. You give him space, after what the two of you just did it’s entirely justifiable, natural even, to need space. You bury yourself in the blankets, staring at the ceiling for forever.
Until he joins you, bringing you a water bottle that you happily accept.
It’s hard to remember you’re thirsty when you’re dealing with a million other far more pressing matters. He lays down beside you, rolling over to stare at you, eventually you mirror him. So you’re both on your sides, face to face.
You don’t need to be a profiler to know something is eating him up inside. You’re about to ask, you’ll force it out of him if you have to. He beats you to it. Wetting his lips with his tongue and chewing the inside of his cheek before he speaks.
“You’re… a really great actress.” He whispers into the darkness. You can see the crest fallen look on his face the second the words leave his mouth.
That’s it?
That’s what he took away from all of this? That’s why he’s sulking? That’s why he got all quiet and sullen and pouty before you had sex? Your eye twitches, you should just roll over and go to sleep instead your mouth opens before you can stop it.
“You’re so stupid.” You can’t help yourself as you roll your eyes.
“Excuse me?” He sounds genuinely offended but you just scoff.
“You heard me. For someone who’s so smart you really are an idiot.” You scowl at him. Is that the best he can do? Some self loathing about how you might have been acting? You’ve been carrying the guilt of having feelings for him, and enjoying parts of this and that’s the best he can do? “Genius Doctor Reid, you’re supposed to be the brightest mind in the whole bureau and you can’t even figure this out.” Staring at the dumbfounded look on his face all you can think about is how despite this all he’s still your Spencer, no matter how much he’s put through.
He is still the guy who makes you coffee for every plane ride, the guy who has an extra shirt if you forgot to put your pajamas in your go bag, the guy who looks confused and asks Morgan what’s so funny when they tease you about your crush.
Tell him.
Who cares, after everything you’ve been through in the last forty eight hours? The damage to your relationship is done, you lose nothing if this goes wrong.
“You’re being unnecessarily cruel.” He looks so genuinely upset. You inch yourself closer to him. Until your noses are almost touching, your hand wanders across his face, tucking a stray curl behind his ear.
“Everything that’s happened to us is unnecessarily cruel.” You mumble before closing the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips into his.
a/n : probs one more chapter after this, maybe a short epilouge after that
summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.
wc : 12k
tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, fingering, oral sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms
authors note : lowkey locked in and started writing again after like two years and made a new account because im into a completely different fandom now lol
★
“Do you think it’s the serial killer in Seattle?” You whispered to Emily, she had rolled her chair over to your desk when Hotch announced an emergency meeting in five.
”I don’t know what else it could be, it’s all the news is talking about. I’m just surprised we weren’t called in sooner, the escalation from this guy is practically unheard of.” She whispered back.
”I heard he’s up to four victims a day, I don’t know when this guy even sleeps.” You clicked through the files on your computer, trying to tie up any loose ends in your paperwork before the meeting. Anytime an emergency meeting was called it was almost always accompanied by a “Wheels up in ten.”
“They’re up to five,” Spencer leaned towards the partition between your desks, he didn't look up, his eyes still focused on the book in his hands. “We don’t know that the unsub is male, the victims are male and female.”
“It was originally just women, I’m like ninety percent sure it’s a man.” You cocked an eyebrow at Emily as you logged out of your computer, standing up and leaning over the partition to see what he’s reading.
The Divine Comedy
“Again?” You scrunch up your nose, you don’t know how he reads the same books over and over again.
“Yes, again.” He flips the page, his finger arched as it slides down the page, his eyes following the trail. When you first started you hadn’t believed them when they said no one reads as fast as Reid, you brought in book after book, trying to catch him in a lie until you couldn’t deny it anymore. “There’s actually a really interesting ongoing case in Toronto, a killer leaving pages with lines from Dante’s Infernos that seem to hint towards his next victim. I was hoping we might be called in to give some insight on the situation but it seems extremely likely that we’ll be on a plane to Seattle soon.” He closed the book, giving you that devastating little side smile of his.
Not his usual overworked, tight lipped smile he used most of the time at work. His genuine little smirk that he only used when he really meant it.
Don’t profile him.
It’s common courtesy. Don’t profile your fellow profiler.
“What do you think about this guy in Seattle?” You say as you watch him put the book into his go bag, he’ll finish it in the first five minutes on the plane.
”I think…” His voice trails off, running his fingers through his mess of hair. “Something about everything they’re releasing seems off, we’re missing a big chunk of information, that might be deliberate from the news stations or it might be a choice from the unsub. Either way I’m curious to see what the files say if this is in fact our case.” When he stood and started heading towards the conference room you followed, whispering to Emily about how you’d never been to Seattle.
Hotch was on the phone so you did your best to enter the room as quietly as possible, joining the group. You sit next to Spencer, watching as he rhythmically taps each of his fingers to his thumb, sorting out some kind of pattern you don’t understand. When he stops you realize he’s watching you stare, quickly, you turn away, cheeks burning hot.
Your relationship with Spencer was complicated.
Well, your lack of relationship with Spencer was complicated.
You joined the BAU a little under a year ago, taking the desk next to his. You’d heard all about him, the youngest member of the BAU, (until you arrived.) with an eidetic memory and an IQ to rival the brightest minds of the FBI. Meeting him made you realize he was the brightest mind of the FBI.
The boy genius.
Unfortunately for you, boy genius was also known by another nickname.
Pretty boy.
Something so stupid, that should have been inconsequential, opened your eyes to something you’d give anything to unsee.
The second the name left Morgan's mouth you had giggled into your hand, laughing at the idea of anyone thinking your dorky, walking encyclopedia of a desk mate was pretty. Instead you smiled at him, planning to give him a playful punch to the shoulder or a wink, instead you were staring into those ever changing hazel eyes. Wide eyed like a deer he watched as you had giggled, his gaze hit you like a punch to the stomach as you considered for the first time since you met him that Spencer Reid might be pretty.
Then you couldn’t stop considering it.
The way his hair curls around the ends. The way his eyes change colors in certain lighting. The way his slender, precise, fingers are constantly in motion, fighting to keep up with the speed his brain is working at. His pretty chin, his pretty lashes, his pretty brows, his pretty arms, his pretty hips, his pretty jaw. God that fucking jaw. Somedays you would just stare at his jaw, leering at him from your side of the desk as he works, all while you fight the urge to reach out and grab him by his pretty chin and kiss all along the edge of that pretty jaw.
You wanted to kill Morgan.
How were you supposed to get anything done once he opened your eyes to this? He had opened a door you couldn’t seem to close, no matter how hard you tried. And god did you try, but no matter what you did, he always did something in a certain way that drew you right back in.
The way he scrunched his eyebrows and got real quiet when he was focusing.
The way he always perked up when someone mentioned a book they were reading, no matter what it was.
The way he second guessed himself, even though no one else was doubting his knowledge.
The way he would decline a handshake. Claiming that it was more hygienic to kiss.
He had shaken your hand on your first day.
A fact that now haunted you, keeping you up at night as you tossed and turned and asked yourself, why?
It was easier not to think about it. It was the one case you just couldn’t seem to crack, and with real killers out there you had to focus on the cases that you could solve.
You resigned yourself to being his friend, and pushing down any unprofessional thoughts that lurked in the back of your mind.
“Let’s get started, we’ve got about twenty minutes before I want us on the jet.” Hotch passed out rather sizable files. You immediately opened yours, not at all surprised to see that you’re heading for Seattle. “I’m sure everyone here has heard plenty about the case but the public has not been made aware of the sheer extent of what’s happening.” He turned towards the screen, clicking the remote until it settled on a list of website links.
As you flip through the file your stomach churns, you can feel the tension in the rooms as everyone sees the same things you’re seeing.
The first body was found two years ago.
Four months after that a surviving victim came forward.
More bodies were found but none of them were connected to the crime until recently. They’d been so spread out in time and location no one had put the pieces together until now. They’re taking up to five people a day, with an expectation of continued escalation. It wasn’t just that they were killing people that made everyone in the room uneasy, it was what happened prior to the killings.
Local news broadcasts implied that the killer was taking victims captive, holding them for twenty four hours, and choosing at random afterwards to either kill them afterwards or release them. Like a Russian roulette of release or slaughter.
It’s clear that that’s not at all what’s happening.
Victims seem random, some are taken alone, some are taken in groups of two or three. Surviving victims report finding themselves in an empty room, with concrete floors, bare walls, a red door without a handle, and bright lights. The only thing in the room with them is miscellaneous bedding and anyone who might be with them. They don’t remember how they got there, or how they left.
Once they wake they are always stripped down to their underwear, the unsub speaks to them remotely, explaining to them a set or rules. From there they either play along or their body is found a few days later, always in dumpsters around the city. You can’t help but wonder how many bodies weren’t found.
“We can’t confirm every victim was related but we have good reason to believe there were dozens happening outside of Seattle.”
”I don’t understand, what exactly is he doing with them once he has them?”
”He’s making videos, and uploading them online.” Hotch motions towards the website list. “These are just the sites that have had the videos taken down, more pop up every hour.”
There’s so many.
“How the hell is that legal?” Morgan closes his case file, you watch as his fist clenches and unclenches.
“It’s not.” Spencer speaks without looking up from the file, you’re sure he’s read it over twice by now. “We’re dealing with a voyeur, he never makes appearances in the videos he’s making, but he micromanages every action taken by the victims.”
”Why isn’t it public knowledge that his motives are sexual?” Emily speaks up now, glaring at Hotch with a look that you know holds the rage that’s meant for the unsub.
“Many of the surviving victims didn’t initially reveal what was really going on, due to either shame or fear of not being believed. Stories didn’t match, people weren’t making the connection between cases.” He sounds tired, then again Hotch always sounds tired.
”Shame. This bastard’s likely preying on their humiliation, it’s how he gets off.” Morgan stands as he speaks, dialing his phone as he heads towards the door. “I’m gonna see if Garcia can link any solved missing persons cases to people in the videos, maybe see if we can identify victims who might’ve stayed quiet.” When he’s gone you turn back to Hotch.
“So he’s impotent?” You speak softer than the rest of the group, cringing as you flip to a page in the file that lists every video he’s made, the titles and victims listed beside each one. “He can’t perform so he lives out his fantasies vicariously through his victims, when they won’t play nice it reminds him of his own inabilities and he lashes out.”
“Not necessarily,” You can feel the heat off of Spencer's body as he speaks, putting his arm around your chair and leaning in close while his other hand points through the list you’re eying. “The titles of his videos are positive and speak almost highly of his victims, if he were impotent he would most likely resent his victims for being able to perform when he can’t. His videos would use much more degrading language.” His finger follows specific examples for you.
Beautiful girl gets a special treat from handsome stranger
Good girl solo session
Two men sharing a pretty lady
Gorgeous angel plays with herself
You try to ignore just how close he is to you as you read through the list.
“Then what’s his motive?” Your attention turns back to Hotch as he speaks, Spencer pulls himself back from you in one swift motion.
”If he’s not impotent then he’s a sexual psychopath.” This time when you speak you can see Spencer nodding in your peripheral vision. “He won’t stop until he’s caught, he feels no remorse for what he’s done and we can expect continuous escalation from here. He’ll go bigger and bolder until he gets sloppy and we catch him.”
“So we need to catch him fast.” You could see Emily thinking as she spoke. “The victimology is odd.”
“I noticed the same thing. It was all women and one at a time up until about nine and a half months ago. His solo victims are still exclusively women but now he often brings in men with them.”
“We need to find out what happened that made him switch.” Hotch turns the screen off, giving you all a curt nod. “Wheels up in ten.”
The team around you disperses, hushed whispers filling the space until they dissipate and it’s just you and Spencer, staring down into the case files.
“There’s something else in the victimology, why didn’t anyone point this out?” You hold the file out towards him. “All the female victims look the same.” You can tell by how he grimaces that he already realized that.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Then why didn’t anyone say anything! Clearly these women are a surrogate for someone else so…” Your voice trails off when you see the look on his face.
Oh.
The hair color, eye color, and body type.
They’re all the same as yours.
“I’m gonna grab a coffee before we board, do you want one?” He speaks softly as he stands, you nod, collecting yourself before following after him. Heading towards your desk to grab your go-bag.
★
“I know this isn’t pleasant for anyone but I need you all to understand exactly what we’re dealing with.” Hotch had his laptop set up where everyone could see it. The thumbnail of the video already made you feel sick.
A woman in her underwear, curled up in the corner of the room. A wiry young man in a shirt and his boxers sits in the middle of the room, hugging his knees to his chest.
“This kind of thing is my least favorite part of the job.” Emily grumbled beside you and you couldn’t help but nod in agreement. You have to remind yourself that you can handle this. You were selected to be a part of this team, you have to handle it.
You were the youngest on the team, like Spencer you were brought on in your early twenties, shockingly young for the BAU. You didn’t have the field experience most agents have before joining, just a specific set of skills that made you invaluable. Advanced pattern recognition skills, an encyclopedic knowledge of forensics, and of course the fact that you pieced together a dozen cold cases in college. You could catch a killer in your sleep.
Sex crimes were different, you didn’t have the experience in them and they made you a bit emotional. You knew it was something you’d eventually get used to, but that thought made you sad most days. You can’t imagine ever being desensitized to any of this.
“We’re just going to watch the first few minutes, I want to give everyone a chance to hear how our unsub speaks and how he reacts to things. I believe it will give us a much clearer understanding of what we’re walking into.” The entire plane was silent as he pressed play, standing silently like a statue, turned away from the screen. He had clearly already seen it and has no interest in watching it again.
It’s as bad as you expected, probably worse.
Hotch only made you all watch about five minutes, unfortunately that was too much for you. But he was right, it did give you plenty of insight into your unsub. They communicated with their victims through an intercom system, a disembodied voice that can be heard making demands. The thing that stands out to you most is the formality. He gives them detailed and clinical instructions, how to act, when to moan, what position to be in, all the way down to how fast he wants them to go. He signals them to begin with one clear command.
“Action!”
The two terrified victims moved shakily, the woman looking like she was on the verge of a breakdown, and the man had tears spilling down his cheeks. You could see the silver of his wedding band glimmering on the screen.
You knew from the file that the victims were almost always strangers, despite the fact that the female victims had visual similarities; they were still seemingly selected at random. Unlucky women who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, trapped because they looked a certain way. They looked like you.
It made you want to cry. Watching the way they trembled as they hesitantly touched each other, you could hear the man in the video repeating himself softly.
“Is- is this okay? Are you okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
If you cried right now no one would think less of you, you almost let yourself. The woman is despondent, her eyes squeezed shut, when she starts to cry you have to look away. You can feel your companions glance in your direction and you know that they’re all thinking because it’s what you’re thinking.
She looks too much like you.
If you squint she’s your spitting image.
“Excuse me.” You mumble as you push past Hotch towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.
You are good at your job, great at your job, you’ve never let a case get to you before but this? It’s too much, you’ve never been asked to watch a video of two people being raped. It’s too much.
You run the water, letting the sound drown out the crying you can still hear out in the cabin.
“God damn it! At least pretend like you like it you stupid fucking slut!” So much for Spencer's theory that he thought highly of his victims. When you finally hear the laptop close and the audio turn off you step out of the bathroom, but not before looking yourself over in the mirror.
All you see is the girl from the video.
You stumble back out into the cabin, Derek has taken your seat next to Emily, they speak in hushed whispers as they work through her notes. When you step out she gives you a reassuring smile.
You take Derek's seat on the bench next to Spencer, he gives you a tight lipped sympathetic look. The last thing you want is for him to pity you.
“From the sounds of it he doesn’t hold much respect for his victims, the derogatory language would imply that he does resent them but the video titles say differently. I can’t wrap my head around it.” You speak in a hushed voice so only he can hear you as you open one of the files, flipping back to the page of titles. Not once does he use degrading language toward the women, he regrets them as beautiful, gentle, angels.
“Something seems to be happening between the videos being made and the upload time that makes him feel…” He chews on his lip, his brows furrowing as he searches for the solution.
“Regret?”
“No, regret would imply that he feels badly about this, as a sexual psychopath he feels no remorse for what he’s done. It’s almost like he’s lying to himself with the titles, like that’s what he wants them to be. They can’t live up to whoever he wants them to be.” He sounds unsure but it makes sense. Whoever he’s using these women as a surrogate for is who he actually wants, these women can’t live up to her no matter how hard they try. But when he titles and uploads the videos he’s thinking of her, so the language switches back to favorable. He turns to look at you, both of you eye to eye, a strangely serious moment as he runs his fingers along the spine of the file. “Are you okay?”
It’s so earnest it nearly knocks the wind out of you, his big hazel eyes searching for an answer.
“I’m… fine. It’s just hard sometimes, but I think I’m alright, I’ll feel even better when we catch this guy.” You give him an encouraging smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. “But I appreciate you checking in.” The look of relief he gives you nearly melts your heart.
“Then let’s catch this guy.” His smile falters a bit as he thinks. “Something just isn’t clicking for me, it’s incredibly frustrating.”
“We’re missing something.” You mumble as he nods.
“Something vital. It’s like we’re missing one big puzzle piece right in the middle of a nearly finished picture.”
“Exactly. I understand that there must be a woman out there that he’s focused on but I just feel like there are too many possible alternative motives.” You flip through the victims photographs, living and deceased. “Is he a porn addict? Maybe the stuff online just wasn’t doing it for him anymore so he resorts to making his own?”
“I was thinking the same thing but from what I can tell the videos he’s making are relatively tame. I had Garcia send me a list of all the general themes in the videos and it’s all pretty standard vanilla intercourse, he isn’t having them engage in anything objectively taboo.” He holds the sheet out to you, you take it from him, immediately searching the page for answers.
Missionary
Missionary
Missionary
Missionary with handcuffs
Missionary
Medical Play
Missionary
Doggy Style
Missionary
Gun Play
Missionary
”Medical play?” You scrunch up your face as you try to imagine that, all you can think about is needles.
“Not at all uncommon, typically a doctor patient roleplay involving very impersonal, and detached intercourse.” You want to poke at him for knowing that off the cuff but you’re too distracted by his choice of words.
“I hate that you call it intercourse.” You feign a grimace at him.
”That’s the professional terminology.” He grins back at you, a real bonafide Spencer Reid smile.
“I know, you just make it sound so… clinical.”
”In this setting it should be clinical!” His voice hitches up, his smile never faltering.
“I’m sure it is, Dr. Reid.” You tease as you bump your shoulder against his. Laughing as his ears burn red, he clears his throat loudly.
“I would assume he’s trying to fulfil some specific fantasy but nothing he’s doing seems to have any correlation.” His tone stays light but you can tell this case is bugging him, he doesn’t like being confused, no one does but especially him.
“So is he a sexual psychopath or a sadist?” You throw him a bone, a question he can make sense of that you want an answer to.
“He doesn’t seem like a sadist, a sadist enjoys the cruelty of the act, although I wouldn’t fully rule out sadism. It’s actually rather fascinating reading the transcripts of our unsubs videos. He doesn’t seem to enjoy what he’s doing but he has to for some reason, it’s like it’s a chore. Not necessarily that it’s a compulsion that he can’t help but like it’s a job he’s clocking in for. I’m hoping when we speak to some of the victims we’ll get a clearer picture of what happened.” He speaks vividly with his hands, as he gets caught up in his ramblings a chime signals that you’re soon to land.
You felt yourself leaning into him as the plane began its descent.
You hope to get this entire case sorted and taken care of quickly. Everything about it made you queasy, the faster you got out of Seattle the better.
When you land you all end up in separate cabs heading in different directions. With too many victims and too many bodies it only makes sense to split up.
★
Your head hurts like hell.
Jesus, what the fuck happened last night? You definitely didn’t go out drinking, you didn’t catch the guy. Yet you feel like you have an absolutely wicked hangover. You can hardly open your eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights burning your retinas as you try to orient yourself.
Definitely not a hotel room.
You have no idea where you are.
Okay, that’s fine, just stay calm, it’s imperative in situations like these to remain calm.
“Find a focus point. The last thing that happened to you before you lost consciousness. Where were you? What were you wearing? Who was with you? What time was it?”
Hotch’s emergency hostage training rings around in the dizzy mess that is your train of thought.
You would have landed in Seattle around 8:00 P.M.
You were in a cab heading to the most recent surviving victims home.
You were wearing black trousers, and an olive green short sleeved turtle neck, you had tucked your blazer into your bag.
You were in the cab, there had been an unfamiliar sound, like air being let out of a balloon.
Or gas being released into a car.
Deep breaths.
In,
and out.
You force your eyes open, locking eyes on the first thing you can focus on.
Directly in front of you is a large red metal door, with no handle.
Fuck.
Turning quickly, your eyes find a folded pile of blankets, pillows strewn about, and a small room with four walls and no windows.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“Don’t freak out, at least not physically. The moment you break down you’re giving your captor power over you.”
You chewed the inside of your cheek, digging your nails into your palms as you steady your breathing.
In,
and out.
In,
and out.
In,
and out.
“Hello, Agent. You cannot fathom how delightful it is to finally meet you.” You immediately recognize the voice that crackles over the unseen intercom.
This can’t be happening.
You swallow, fighting the urge to scream.
”I would like to make a movie with you.” It’s like he’s in the room with you, you can practically hear the smile on his face. You cringe when you hear the wet sound of him licking his lips.
”I bet you would.” You fight the urge to mumble, speaking clearly as Hotch would instruct you to do. ”Is this the part where I choose between being murdered or being raped?” You turn your head, trying to find where the camera you know is watching you might be.
“Oh, no, you sweet thing, you wound me.” His voice is a sickening coo, as if he’s soothing a frightened animal. “You, and your whole team, you misunderstand me.”
”Our entire job is to understand you.” You scoff, desperate to appear nonchalant while your head spins and your heart races.
”And you are doing a terrible job.”
”Then why don’t you help me, fill in the gaps, let’s start with a name.” You try to act as confident as you’ve seen the rest of the team be when faced with an unsub.
”I think you know I cannot answer that, it would ruin the fun before we have even started. I simply cannot have you screaming out clues during my movie.”
”Your movies? Is that what you call the snuff you’ve been peddling?”
“Oh come now, you think of me as some demented, perverse deviant. That is how I know your profile is all wrong.” By the time they find you you’ll be another girl on one of those websites. ”I am an artist.”
“I wouldn’t call anything you do art.”
”Art is subjective, perhaps you are not my intended audience.” He sounds so smug, you know he’s pleased with himself.
”And who is?”
”Hmm… What a question.” You know by the way his tongue clicks that whatever he says next will be a lie. ”People who want to feel something. Everyone likes sex, some people are just willing to admit it.”
”Bullshit. You’re making them for someone specific, a specific group of people just as sick as you are.”
“I suppose you are right, in a way. Some of my recent work has been… self indulgent.”
“So who’s the woman?” There’s only silence in response when you ask the question that's been on your mind since you read the file. “Who’s the unlucky lady that we all look like?”
The silence is deafening until you finally hear that crackling voice again.
“I cannot wait to start, angel.”
”Then why haven’t we started? You’ve got me here, I’ve seen your videos, I know how this goes.” You’ve seen Hotch push and push an unsub until they crack but you don’t have the experience he does and your voice shakes.
”Clearly you do not, or you would not have so many questions.” There’s a pause again, as he thinks something over before you hear him again, for the first time he sounds almost unsure. ”We simply cannot start without your co-star.”
Your entire body froze, your breath catching in your throat.
In all of his videos with multiple people they all wake up together, why would he stray from his usual routine just for you? You have no idea and you aren’t excited to find out.
“Until then I suggest you get comfortable, I am not sure how long it will take before he makes an appearance but I have a sneaking suspicion you will not be in suspense for very long.”
”What do you mean?”
The laugh that flows from the intercom settles in your stomach, heavy and vile.
“I know he will not keep you waiting, I am certain it will only be a few hours before we are ready.”
You open your mouth to question further but the speaker clicks and you know the conversation is over. Looking around the room you know there’s nothing you can do but wait. Clawing at the door will get you nowhere. Screaming will get you nowhere. And crying will get you nowhere.
Pacing the room tells you next to nothing, the walls are concrete, as well as the floor, there’s no windows.
Likely underground.
You trace your fingers along the edge of the red door, there’s no gaps, when you push yourself up against it there’s no give. The ceiling is a mess of pipes and wires, you know somewhere up there are cameras, capturing your every move.
Not the best situation to find yourself in.
“It will only be a few hours before we are ready.”
You feel like an inmate on death row. You know without a shadow of a doubt that the team doesn’t have a sufficient profile to find you in the next few hours, unless they pull off some kind of miracle.
What twisted fate does he have in store for you. The possibilities for your ‘co-star’ are endless. You’re almost thankful for the hiss of gas as you feel your vision get blurry, at least he isn’t going to make you sit here and stew.
★
This time when you wake you’re being shaken by someone, your immediate instinct is to fight, if this is your captor this will likely be your only chance to escape. You grab at the hands on your shoulders, forcing them away from you as you kick wildly, throwing yourself at him and pinning him down, until you’re straddling him under your hips. You’re about to start punching, as hard as you can so you take a moment to force your eyes open once again. It will do you no good to slam your fist into concrete.
When you open your eyes you aren’t met with a stranger though, instead you’re staring at familiar wide hazel eyes.
“Hey, you’re all good, it’s just me.” His voice is so soft, like he’s not about to take a beating, hands up defensively and all. “Just me.”
“Oh my god.” Too many thoughts are firing through your brain, instead of focusing on the horrifying implications of his arrival you fold over against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you embrace him.
Hesitantly, his arms wrap around you as well, anchoring you in this sea of madness.
“I’m gonna guess based on your reaction that you know exactly where we are.” His words are still gentle as he holds you tight, releasing you when you finally pull back, crawling off of him. You both orient yourselves, standing and doing a turn about the room.
“I woke up alone, he changed his MO.” You listen, waiting for your captor to finally make himself known. You know he’s there, he wouldn’t miss this. Watching with bated breath for both of your reactions.
He winces as he reaches for the back of his head.
“I wasn’t gassed or slipped something like his usual victims either,” He turns to you, concern becoming more and more apparent on his face. “did he talk to you?”
“Briefly, he definitely fits the sexual psychopath profile, he doesn’t think anything he’s doing is wrong. What do you remember? How did he get you here? I was knocked out in the cab, then I woke up here…” You trail off as you motion for him to turn so you can look at the back of his head. You tentatively run your fingers through his hair, you find a bit of blood drying, it looks like he’s been bludgeoned with something. “He’s never physically hurt a victim like this, he doesn’t get hands on unless they don’t cooperate and even then it’s almost always done with a gun. All the victims were shot to death, not beaten.”
“We‘re still dressed.” Spencer motions to himself, he’s still in his button up, cardigan, and dress pants and you’re still in the same clothes as well.
“Just another thing we can add to the list of things that make no sense.” You’re so close, you can taste it. “Maybe because we’re federal agents? He isn’t sure what the best course of action is because he’s never dealt with something on this scale.”
“I just don’t get it.” He’s still hung up on the clothes, you can tell as he pulls on his tie, straightening it. You both know from the tapes and files that the first thing he does is undress his victims, leaving them in their undershirts, bras, and underwear. “It’s a part of the ritual, he shows them how much control he has over them by stripping them of basic comforts.”
“We’re different.” Your voice falls to a whisper. Everything is different for you two, like you’re his guests of honor.
“All the other victims recall being taken together, from the same location, we weren’t selected at random like them. We hadn’t even spoken to the local police department when you were taken, did he anticipate our arrival? Is he concerned about the FBI getting involved?” The gears in your head twist and turn as he rambles on. Painting a horrifying picture as you realize the only possible explanation. “And then he took me, which makes no sense. He already has you, if he plans to ransom us back then he doesn't need two of us.”
He isn’t going to ransom you.
“If his goal was just to make another video he would have done it with just you.”
That wasn’t his goal.
“Reid.” Your voice cracks but he’s hyper focused now on his own mental processings, his hands waving around as he paces back and forth.
“Is it respect? Because of our positions in the bureau? It would make sense why we’re still dressed, but he’s previously taken doctors, lawyers, plenty of people in positions of authority. It makes no sense for him to stray just for us.”
We’re different. Different from every single person he’s taken previously.
“Reid.” Your voice is so quiet now you can’t blame him for not hearing you.
“No- no, that makes no sense, he shouldn’t have taken you at all, he’s been so cautious up until now. He moves with the intention of never getting caught, our unsub isn’t stupid enough to choose federal agents as his targets. Is it possible we’re dealing with-”
You step in front of him, effectively silencing him and stopping him in his tracks.
“He’s been after us all along.” For a moment his expression is blank, you watch as his eyes get wider, and wider. And just like it did for you, everything clicks into place, he’s given no time to react as the crackle of the intercom makes both of you look up.
“I have been after you all along.” That polite voice rings out once more.
Your entire body tenses up.
Shoulders and jaw locking into place as your feet step into a defensive stance.
You know he isn’t talking to Spencer.
“My girl.” He speaks in a gooey, loving tone that makes you want to crawl out of your skin. “I have been after you since you first graced my screen all those years ago. How lucky I was to stumble upon you as I wasted away, searching for my muse. And finally, completely by accident, there you were. An FBI training video, used to educate the public on a few basic things, you smiled and talked about your program. I must have watched that video a thousand times. You had but a few moments on screen but god were they glorious.”
You can feel Spencer's presence change, he was on edge before but now his body language shifts from nervous to something else. His mouth is settled into a deep frown as he steps between you and the door, like he can protect you from this nightmare.
Oh my god.
Spencer.
You’d been so relieved to have someone here with you that you hadn’t even begun to process the implications of his presence. And now he’s here, standing between you and a man obsessed with you.
You need to get him out of here immediately.
”You were glowing, the camera loved you.” He speaks about you like you’re a past lover, someone he once knew dearly and is now reminiscing about. “I could not get you out of my head after that. In everything I watched, I compared every actress to you. I looked online, desperately trying to find someone, anyone, who could hold a candle to you. Every woman I brought here, every cheap trinket, was a pale comparison to your light.”
“Then why bring Reid into this at all? I’d think you’d want me all to yourself?” You manage to keep your tone even despite the fact that you feel deep in your bones like he’s already violated you. “Maybe our profile was right, you’re impotent, so you had to bring someone in to do the job you know you can’t.”
In a way he has already violated you, through every woman he brought here as a surrogate for you.
All of these people suffered because of you.
“Don’t taunt him.” Spencer whispers, soft enough that your captor likely can’t hear him. “It will only result in a negative reaction. I’m starting to think he really is a sadist.”
“Maybe I am.” For the first time you hear his prim and proper tone drop to something darker, more authentic. ”A sadist, that is, as far as the impotence goes, I do not think that is a theory you want to test.” Spencer's reaction is more severe than your own as he practically growls. The subtle changes that you’ve been trained to notice, the clicking of his jaw, the clenching and unclenching of his fist, the tilt of his gaze as his stare turns to a glare. “I felt more like a masochist than a sadist when I was finally able to see you again on my screen, after searching for so long for a morsel of information on you. You were not an easy girl to find. I remember my joy, my pure bliss, when I saw you again. A euphoria that was immediately destroyed by the presence of Dr. Reid.” You’re pretty sure you know what he’s talking about, when you joined the BAU you were sent out with Spencer to a few schools around Virginia to talk to the students about becoming a profiler. They did a news segment on it, Penelope, Morgan, and Emily teased you about it for weeks because you were staring at Spencer like a schoolgirl in love the whole time. “My heart was broken into a thousand tiny pieces. My shining star, ogling some man in a constant state of disarray. Mismatched socks, tangled hair, wrinkled pants, it was nearly enough to drive me mad. How could my angel settle for such a mess?”
”Reid and I aren’t together.”
”We aren’t together.”
The two of you respond in unison, the room fills with crackling laughter.
”I told myself that… that it did not matter, that I could just have you and be happy. And for a while that was the plan. Until I went to Quantico to see you.”
You want to vomit.
You’ve probably seen him before, he was there, watching, and you missed it.
”You and your precious team, out at some dive bar, it took all my strength to not take you then and there. But I told myself to wait. I told myself everything had to be perfect. I told myself that your colleagues would spoil everything if I tried to take you then. I told myself it would not hurt to buy you a drink, to say hello, but as I made my way over to you, you were intercepted by Dr. Reid.” It doesn’t take a background in profiling to tell that he isn’t as fond of Spencer as he is you. ”And you just lit up.”
Even in this moment, in this situation, you find yourself burning red with embarrassment. Your little crush on Spencer was coming back to bite you in the ass in full force.
“Like he was the sun, and not just some insignificant dying star in your orbit.”
In the most twisted way humanely possible.
”I knew then and there that I could never make you shine like that. I want your films to be perfect. You would not be perfect all alone, you would be dull, but with Dr. Reid you will sparkle like a diamond.”
“I‘ll do whatever you want, please, just let him go.” You hope your voice doesn’t shake too bad as you call out to the faceless man. You can’t help but ask for his safety now that you know it’s too late.
”You will do whatever I want regardless, even if it pains me, he is an integral part of this production.”
You turn, walking to the nearest wall and slumping down against it, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from screaming. All you’ve wanted to do since you woke up here is scream.
“I have seen the way he looks at you too. From an objective and artistic standpoint he is the perfect scene partner, looks of yearning that I could not beat out of an actor.”
Spencer is silent as you look up at him, a few tears finally slip past your steely resolve and down your cheeks, blurring your vision so you don’t see his reaction as he turns away from you.
“Make yourself comfortable, agents. We start shooting tomorrow.” You’re left with the click of the intercom and your own uneven breathing.
The energy in the room has shifted from awful to downright unbearable.
Spencer eventually sits against the wall opposite to you, you watch him through your hair as he twitches, fingers tapping against each other until they grow restless and sift through his hair instead.
“I suppose the first conclusion we should have come to is that we’re set to meet the same fate as the previous victims” He breaks the silence first, sounding haggard.
The same fate.
The man behind the voice is going to make demands of you very soon and if you don’t meet them he’s going to be sending you back to Quantico in bodybags.
“His speech is overly formal, no contractions, he’s a control freak. Likely in a position of power with a career that lets him afford a set up like this and lets him take time off to spend with his victims.” Your tone is monotonous as you continue to stare at your shoes rather than him.
“We don’t need to profile him right now.” God does he sound sincere when he says it. He’s typically all work and no play but now, here, even he can’t keep that up.
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
“Evaluate our options.” He stands, cautiously walking to your side of the room and sitting down beside you, giving you a wide berth of space. “We have a general idea of what to expect tomorrow, we should… make decisions.”
“On if we’re gonna rape each other?” You don’t mean to sound so harsh but you can’t help it, you immediately regret it when he flinches like he’s been slapped.
“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, I swear.” He scootches a little further away as if to prove his point and you hide your face in your hands, stifling another scream that eventually escapes as a groan.
How many times have you imagined being with him? How often do you spend your lonely nights after closing a case lying in bed, wide awake, imagining what it would be like if he were beside you? And here he is, practically being served to you on a silver platter.
“Reid…”
“I mean it. I don’t care about the alternative, you’re in charge here, whatever you say goes.”
“You get a say in this too you know.”
“It’s different.” He sounds so sure.
“It’s not.” You’re offended on his behalf that he would assume he doesn’t have a choice here. “You have as much of a choice as I do.”
“I need you to trust me, it’s different.” It clearly pains him to say it, it makes you want to reach out to comfort him but you can’t move. Your body is still locked up defensively.
“Explain.”
“This situation is bad enough as is, I’m begging you not to make me do this.” He sounds so beaten down you know it would be cruel to push.
“Fine.”
“Thank you.”
“I think we should do it. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the only way we make it out of here alive.” You say it like you’re making a decision on something as mundane as what to have for lunch.
“I agree.”
“We won’t be like the others, it won’t just be one time. He’s been saying films, plural.” He’s been waiting for you, he isn’t going to make one little movie, he’s going to make a whole franchise with the two of you.
“He plans on keeping us.”
“Until the team finds us.”
After they watch every movie you make.
“Are you up for that?”
Up for sex with the coworker you’ve spent the last year fantasizing about?
“I don’t know.”
This is punishment for every sick, perverted thought you’ve ever had about him.
“You don’t have to decide now, you can change your mind whenever you want.” He says it as if changing your mind wouldn’t result in fatal consequences.
“No amount of talking it over first is going to make this okay, you know that, right Reid?” You snap, tired of the voice in your head demanding your attention.
What if you like it?
“Hey, we’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna go step by step, and I don’t care what the consequences are, if you want to stop we’ll stop. And we can take breaks, and we can be professional about it, I can make it very detached-”
What if he realizes you like it?
“Can we lay down?” Your voice is small, and tired. You really are tired, even if you’re mostly just desperate for him to stop talking.
“I’ll set up the blankets.” He gives you the closest thing to a smile that he can as he lays out a few of the blankets on the cold concrete, making something akin to a bed as you lay down beside him. As if on cue the fluorescent lights above you flicker out until only a small red bulb is left, bathing you in the dim light.
“He’s probably still watching us.” You whisper as you roll over, the two of you face to face, even in the dark you can make out his concerned features.
“I’m sure he is. There’s no privacy here, even in our whispers.” He speaks softly too, and you know he’s right.
You’ll be under nonstop observation in this little room.
“Goodnight, Reid.” You whisper as you roll away from him, facing the wall in the darkness.
He doesn’t respond, all you hear is fingers tapping on the cement beside you.
★
You know the man on the intercom is speaking to you but all you can hear is the ear splitting ringing in your ears.
“Five times?” You squeak out as Reid takes your hand in his, giving you a reassuring squeeze.
“I would like to see what my new toys can do. So yes, I want to see five orgasms from my shining star, I do not care how you do it, I just want it to happen. As a bonus, I will not even micromanage you, I will let you work through it together, I want the scene to feel organic and natural. ”
You couldn’t bring yourself to talk to Spencer when the two of you woke up and now you’re regretting it, you should have come up with a game plan.
But you didn’t, and now you’re being given instructions that you don’t know if you can follow.
Five? With the pressure you’re under right now? Not to mention that the most you’ve ever done in a row is two and you did it yourself. None of your previous partners had ever given you more than two orgasms, most of them struggled to give you one.
“I can’t do this.” You can feel your heart starting to race once, your breath shaky and quick. If you don’t pull it together you’re gonna start hyperventilating.
“Why should we listen to you at all? Clearly you adore her, you wouldn’t hurt her like your other victims, what would stop us from sitting here and waiting for the rest of our team to finally arrest you.” You want to tell him to stop, you know it won’t make a difference.
“Dr. Reid, you are not in a position to be arguing with me. She may not be expendable but you certainly are.”
There is a moment of quiet between the two of them, you watch as Spencer goads him, cocking an eyebrow as he looks up towards the ceiling.
“If you refuse to cooperate I suppose she and I will have to sort out the next course of action. Let us play a round of Would you Rather, my angel.” Everytime he calls you by a pet name you want to claw your own ears off. “Would you rather, I come into that cell of yours and shoot your companion dead and have you all to myself? I do not know if I can promise to keep my hands to myself while in such close proximity to you all alone, I might just have to indulge in a taste. Or would you rather I keep him alive, chain him to the wall in your room, draw out his life for god knows how long as I make you watch him decay? Of course I’ll still want to make my movies so you will have to touch yourself as you watch me stick a funnel down his throat. I wonder how much gasoline he will have to drink before he loses the attitude? Which of those options is preferable to you, my love?”
You just burst into tears.
Your entire body trembles as you do your best to remain standing. He catches you, pulling you into a hug as you let out a sob, praying you might wake up and realize this was all just a terrible dream. You can feel him rubbing circles into your back for a few quiet moments, you know that the absence of commentary from the unsub is his way of letting you know he’s waiting for your decision.
“I can’t- you can’t. I can’t be alone with him, please Reid- don’t leave me alone with him.” You mumble into his shirt as his hands go to your shoulders, he pulls you back and bends down to be eye level with you. Your noses just a few inches apart, he’s shockingly calm as he nods.
“Hey, it’s okay, we’re gonna be okay.” He says it so confidently you almost believe him.
Almost.
”I won’t leave you alone with him, I promise.” His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away stray tears. “We can do this, you can do this.” You try to nod but his hands hold your head in place, his eyes are dark as he stares at you with an intensity that makes you want to avoid his gaze.
“Spence-” You don’t know what you’re going to say, but whatever it was is cut off when he leans forward and crashes his lips into yours.
Your brain has no time to process what’s happening as you relinquish any resistance and let him.
He kisses you like he’s hungry. Like he’s starving for it. Not like he has to do it because some pervert is watching from behind a screen and expects it of him. Your mouth matches his movements as best it can, trying to keep up with the sheer ferocity. His mouth opens, demanding more and more as you feel his teeth graze your bottom lip you gasp and he pulls back.
“I won't leave you alone.” He sounds so sure of himself all you can do is nod. “Just pretend he’s not here, it’s just you and me.” He pulls you close again, fingers tapping against the back of your neck as he presses his forehead to yours. “Just you and me, can you do that?”
“Y-yeah, I can do that.” Your heart is racing so loudly he can definitely hear it.
It’s just the two of you.
“We can do five, all you have to do is lay here, okay? I’m gonna take care of it. I’m gonna take care of you.” You don’t understand how he can be so collected right now but you’re glad he is because you’re struggling to put together sentences. “I know it’s a lot, you’ll be okay, I’m gonna handle it. We’re gonna get through to the end. If we can do that we’ll be all done for a little while.”
“But that’s just one day done, we don’t know how long-” You’re starting to spiral as he gently places his hand over his mouth, quietly shushing you.
“One day at a time. We’re gonna take this one day at a time.” He slowly lowers his hand, nodding at you as he does. “I want to hear you say it’s okay.”
“It’s okay.” You don’t sound at all sure of yourself as he guides you to the blankets and eases you down so that you’re laying down propped up on a pillow.
“I want to hear you say what we’re gonna do so that I know you understand. I’m not going to stop until you’ve come five times.” His fingers hover above the button of your pants. Those fingers that you’ve stared at from your own desk. Fingers that you constantly find yourself fixated on. Long, defined, adept. You’ve seen him solve rubix cubes, spin pens, and flip through books. You’ve dreamed about those fingers and now they’re here, taunting you.
“You’re going to take care of it.” You stare at him, his pupils are so blown his eyes look almost black, his hair is a mess, it always is. He’s waiting, he wants a proper response. “I want you to take care of it.”
That’s clearly what he wanted to hear.
With expert dexterity his fingers loop around the button of your slacks and pull it up and open while his other hand slides your zipper down.
“I’m going to partially undress before I touch you, to make you feel more comfortable and less exposed in comparison.” He’s already tugging his black cardigan off, tossing it aside as yanks his tie loose, throwing it in the same direction. Without missing a beat he unbuttons his shirt, leaving it on but fully unbuttoned as you stare at the skin there. Even now you can’t help but gawk at the pale skin. He isn’t muscular by any means, but you can see that he’s surprisingly toned. You do your best not to stare wide eyed, everything about this situation is awful, you don’t need to make it worse by getting caught staring.
Although it probably doesn’t matter considering what he’s about to do.
He’s so gentle with you. One hand sliding under you to lift you a tiny bit as he pulls your slacks down until they’re completely off, folding them in half before he sets them aside. Only Spencer fucking Reid would nicely fold your pants before fingering you.
Jesus Christ, this is happening.
You lay back, unable to look at him as you arch your hips to help him as he slides a finger under both sides of your panties. You take a deep breath as he removes them as effortlessly as your pants, setting them aside as well.
You squeeze your legs together, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. You can feel his hands on your hips, grounding you for a moment as you try and slow your breathing.
One of his hands moves from your side to the center, you burn hot, covering your face with your hands as he tenderly spreads your legs and there’s no going back as you find yourself completely exposed to him. He’s silent, you can feel him still holding your thighs apart now as you sit up, daring a look at him. He lays in front of you on his stomach, staring at your core with an intensity you’ve seen him use when he can’t solve a case and he’s spent an hour just staring at the white board.
“Jesus, Reid, you do know what you’re doing, right?” You can’t help it as you grumble, exasperated.
“I know what I’m doing, I’m just trying to decide the best course of action to do this as efficiently as possible.” His tongue pokes out of his mouth, wetting his lips as you lean back again, groaning this time.
He’s torturing you.
“Please- please just do it.” You try not to sound like you’re whining but at this point why bother holding on to any dignity you have left? All of your self respect went out the window the second he pulled your panties down. If he keeps laying there just staring at it you’re going to take matters into your own hands.
Thankfully, that seems to be all he needed to hear, you feel his fingers brush up against you as you suck in a sharp inhale. One hand resting on your hips, holding you in place as the other finally brushes up against you. You can feel him moving tentatively as he parts your folds, swiping a digit through the wetness there.
He knows exactly how much you like this you sick fuck, look at you, dripping.
When the pad of his thumb swipes over your clit you squeak, arching your back until he gently pushes you back down, he moves in slow, precise, circles that make your head spin. A finger prods at your entrance for only a moment before he pushes it fully in.
Your curiosity gets the better of you and you prop yourself up on your elbows, a whimper slipping past your lips as he curls his finger, pressing into that sensitive spot that almost makes you fall back over.
His pretty brown locks are tucked neatly behind his ears now. His eyes, still dark and wide, his brow furrowed. You watch him lick his lips for a moment before he curls his finger again, simultaneously pressing down hard on your clit. Testing, seeing what makes you tick. You can’t suppress the moan that bubbles out of you. He’s so meticulous, timing the pumping of his finger with the slow circles of his thumb, he finally looks away from your cunt to stare at your face, watching your reaction as he abruptly adds another finger without warning. Your eyes squeeze shut as you gasp. They feel better than you ever could have imagined, long and nimble, he works you like he’s an expert after just a few minutes of experimenting with pace and patterns. Curving them at the perfect time, in sync with the increasing pace of his thumb.
“Reid-” You start to groan his name as you can feel the knot forming in your stomach.
You’re going to come immediately and he’s going to know just how much of a slut you are. Writhing for him on the cold hard floor.
“Shh… I’ve got you.” He plays you like he knows your body better than you do, and at this point, he might. Before you can react he’s pistoning his fingers in and out of you as you let out an obscene sound. The hand that held your hips down is spreading your legs apart now, he watches, enraptured as you clamp down on his fingers, your legs trembling as he practically rips your first orgasm out of you. Your fingers claw at the pillows behind you as you arch your back up, pushing yourself against his fingers as you ride it out.
“Fucking- oh my god, Reid, Fuck-” You start to sit up but he coaxes you back down, sushing you softly, his fingers still slick as he slides them up and down your folds. You squirm under him, your sensitive bundle of nerves screaming for a moment's respite as he brushes up against them. “I need a second Reid.” You grumble but he doesn’t let up, deliberate little bumps against you as you whimper.
His pointer and middle finger find your clit now, applying just the right amount of pressure as you fight the urge to push him off of you.
“There was an interesting study done where a researcher suggested that the woman he was studying had a hundred and thirty four orgasms over the course of a single hour. Of course it’s difficult to track that sort of thing, they went based on her heart rate to get the number as close to exact as possible.” He’s unrelenting against you, his left hand grips your thigh, pushing your legs further apart as he continues.
“Reid, please.” you can’t handle his ramblings right now.
“Obviously what she was experiencing wouldn’t technically be classified as multiple orgasms, it would be considered stacked orgasms because she wasn’t given time to come down from her initial orgasm.” The knot in your stomach is already forming again, he picks up the pace, scooping up the wetness from your initial orgasm and using it as a lubricant for his brutal little movements, increasing the pressure until you’re a whimpering mess. “Typically with stacked orgasms the goal is to prevent a person from fully climaxing, and to keep them in an orgasmic state. I think that’s our best course of action if we want to get this done as quickly as possible.”
“I can’t- I- It’s already too much, Spence- Reid, I can’t do five like this.” Why is it so fucking hot when he does that? You hadn’t realized until just now how much you love the sound of his voice, even if you want to shove him off of you before he can force another orgasm out of you before you’re ready.
“If you’d like me to give you a break that’s completely fine but I think you’ll be better in the long run if we stack them. Not only will we be done sooner but if we take breaks our unsub will likely get bored and resort to more extreme forms of entertainment quicker. If we keep him entertained then he’s more likely to give us space to put on a show for him.”
“Put on a show for him? Is it a good idea to encourage him?” Your voice pitches up an octave as he lightly pinches your clit, his brow furrowing as he studies your reaction.
“He’s encouraged either way but if we play nice he’s far less likely to lash out or escalate.” You can feel your second orgasm approaching rapidly and you know he wants you to make a choice. He rubs your clit between his finger and his thumb and you just melt.
“Fuck, Reid.” You cover your face with your hands, letting loose a string of expletives.
“Don’t call me Reid, I think we’re beyond that.” He sounds so stern, a desperate edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Please.” He sits up as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, you can see the focus on his face, and when you look down you can see the reaction in his pants.
Completely normal, he’s a straight guy, you’re like a personal pornstar in front of him right now, try not to be too flattered.
“Spence- Spencer, fuck.” You can hardly think straight with all of this, all you know is that you trust him. “Fine, you’re right, do it. Whatever you need to do to do the stacked thing.” Your words fade into groans as your second orgasm hits you, another wave cresting over you. You hardly get a moment to breathe before you can feel him shifting positions, you shoot up when you feel the wet, hot heat of his mouth clamp on to you. “Spencer!” His name is punched out of you as his tongue encircles your engorged clit. He runs his tongue up and down your dripping seam before he pulls away, lips wet and pink as he stares up at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes. “What the fuck!”
“We agreed he needed a show to be kept happy.” He sounds confused as to why you’re stopping him, the look on his face is so close to disappointment that you just lay back.
“Then put on a show.” You mumble as he returns to his work, you bury your face in your hands, trying to swallow the moans fighting their way out of you as he wraps his lips around your clit. His tongue moves in rapid patterns, alternating between sucking and licking at you, eating you just like he kissed you, like he’s starving. Your fingers eventually find themselves tangled in his hair, tugging at him gently as he devours you.
You lose it when he moans against you.
A low whine as he rocks against a pillow he placed under his hips when you weren’t looking.
You’re so fucked.
The sight of him sends you over the edge that you’re becoming all too familiar with.
Already? Jesus, he definitely knows that you like this.
A painful overstimulation, coupled with the force of your third shaking orgasm. Your thighs squeeze his head and, god, he doesn’t let up even for a second. Your entire body feels hot, tears prickling at your eyes. It’s too much, you’re glad you told him not to stop because honestly you don’t know how you’d start again. Your thighs shake, and you’re fighting the urge to kick him away as he tilts his head down the tiniest bit, his tongue lapping at your weeping hole as his nose bumps your clit.
“Reid- Spencer, Spence.” You’re limited to a stuttering of his name as his arms loop under your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulders, effectively locking you in place as he pulls you closer. His tongue delves into you as he buries his face between your legs, pushing himself deeper and deeper until your back is arching up and off the ground.
You’re trapped between two urges. The need to kick him off of you to ease the pain, to stop the delicious burning being delivered to your overworked clit with every focused lap of his tongue. After three orgasms every touch is like a flaming hot poker that you just can’t get enough of. The other urge is to grab him by the back of his head and hold him there forever.
That urge is the one that won out in the end. Your hands tangling themselves into his curls, tugging shamelessly at him, needing more and more of the delicious pain he’s drilling into you. Your body is spent, writhing as he tries his damndest to pull another orgasm from you.
”I don’t think I can-“ You mumble out through breathy moans, pulling admittedly a little too hard on his hair, but all that earned you was a lengthy groan, the vibrations rocking through your center.
“You can.” He’s muffled, you can hardly hear him as he stays buried in your cunt, refusing to pull back for even a moment.
You’re glad he seems so sure because you certainly aren’t. He pulls one of his arms back, slotting his fingers between your folds once more. Easily sliding two fingers back into you as let out a pitiful squeak.
Yeah, you can.
You definitely can, he presses his fingers deep, focusing on that sweet spot nestled away inside of you.
When they say Spencer Reid knows everything they really mean it, he knows how to twist his tongue against you in a way that makes you scream like a fucking pornstar. He knows how to work his fingers into you and find every single nerve that lights you up. He knows how to work you better than you work yourself. When he adds a third finger you feel yourself tensing again. He works tirelessly, never faltering. Tears are flowing freely now from your eyes, you’re so fucking tired, everything hurts, everything feels so good. When he flattens his tongue against your clit you gush around his finger, soaking the bottom half of his face.
You can’t remember ever coming so hard, let alone squirting like this. It’s enough to snap him out of his animalistic state, when he looks up at you try not to look too shocked.
You’re probably just as much of a sight at this point.
His lips are wet and swollen, he wipes the bottom half of his face on his shirt and you recall every time he’s made a big deal of germs around the office. Clearly that’s all been abandoned. You’ve put his hair in a state of disarray. When you finally look him in the eyes you can’t look anywhere else.
Dark and desperate.
“Was that five?” Your voice is raw and quiet, when you break the silence he shakes his head, crawling up your body until he’s on all fours above you. His knee locked firmly between your thighs, likely soaking his pants with your juices.
“Almost.” He whispers back, his tongue poking out before he chews his lip. You shake your head in return, your entire body trembles as a fresh flood or tears rushing out of you.
“No, no I can’t do another one, I’m all done.” You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, begging him as if this is his choice and not some cruel gods, still watching you somewhere on a little screen as if this is all just a silly little movie and not your sadistic reality.
“You can, I know you can, you’re so strong. You’re so good.” He whispers so sweetly, it almost makes you forget the circumstances of all of this. “Just one more, I know you can last just a little longer.”
“Spencer, please, it hurts too much.” You cry unabashedly. Moving your hands down his neck to his chest, clinging to his shirt collar. His touch is light as he brushes your hair back and out of your face.
“Deep breath, stay with me sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead and it really does make a difference in grounding you. It’s so strangely personal and intimate, even knowing that he’s gonna have to put you through another crushing orgasm he treats you with such tenderness.
“Please.” Your voice sounds so small, and you’re thankful for the recognition in his eyes when he nods. He knows you aren’t asking him to stop, you’re asking him to finish this.
When he kisses you this time he isn’t as forceful as he was the first time. There’s a gentleness, it crosses your mind that he isn’t putting on a show for the camera with this kiss, this kiss is just for you. For just the two of you.
You whimper when his hand wanders down your body and between your legs for what you hope is the final time today. You feel raw down there, you know he can feel it too because his hand flies back up to his mouth, you watch with morbid fascination as his lips part and he sucks his fingers, wetting them and returning them to your cunt.
“You’re doing so good, so good, so good for me, all for me.” He’s moving in focused, deadly accurate circles. Kissing you between his praises, his free hand continues to sweep your hair away from your face. He’s hovering over you in an awkward position as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth while you whine. The muscles in your stomach ache and scream as you feel the burning knot forming once more.
You groan, the buzz of pleasure is almost entirely gone, replaced solely by the dull, blunt pain of overstimulation.
“Just me, just for me now, okay? This one isn’t for him, or anyone else, just me.” He’s rambling, picking up the pace, the strokes becoming more chaotic as he mumbles, seemingly to himself more than you. The shocks to your clit are erratic and relentless, as you feel yourself approaching a release you know is inevitable. His knee shifts, when his body presses down against you you can feel the outline of his cock against your hip, he positions himself in a way that can’t be comfortable, it makes it hard to focus on achieving any kind of release until you realize what he’s doing.
Just for him.
He’s covering you up, since you can’t see the cameras you have to assume they’re on the ceiling, tucked away near the fluorescents where you can’t find them. Regardless of where they are, if they’re from an elevated angle they won’t see your face, or most of your body as far as you're concerned.
Just. For. Him.
You cry out his name when you come, repeating it like a prayer as you sob against him, he kisses your face. Your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids, your chin, and your lips as he murmurs against your skin.
“I knew you could do it, look at you. So good, so pretty.” Whispers branded onto your skin with his lips.
He wipes between your legs with the blanket, making you whine.
“You did so good.”
You’ve never felt so spent in your entire life. There’s no energy left in your body so you just let him work, he pulls your panties back up your legs. He tries to get your pants back on but the tight fabric makes you cringe so he doesn’t bother. Instead he wraps his cardigan around your shoulders before laying back, pulling you against his still bare chest with a sigh.
You sit in silence for what feels like hours, catching your breath and fighting sleep, your eyelids heavy.
The crackling of the speaker startles you, you’d been so focused on Spencer you’d almost forgotten the dark reality of your situation. For a moment your captor doesn’t speak, he just claps, loud, cruel, beats.
“I have no notes. I knew you would be incredible, I just- I did not realize how good it would be.” He sounds so worked up you swear he’s crying. “You really are my muse, you have inspired me, I have to go, I need to put together tomorrow's script, rest well my shining star.”
In a swift motion as if a switch has been flipped the lights go dark, and you’re left alone in the void with only Spencer to cling to. For a moment, you aren’t sure what to say. What do you talk about after what just happened? Eventually you figure it out, right as you’re about to pass out from exhaustion.
“You called me sweetheart.” You practically sigh the words out, your fingers find a button on his shirt, twisting it between your thumb and forefinger.
“I did, should I not have? I wasn’t sure if I could pull that off, I don’t think I’ve ever used a pet name on anyone, maybe ever. It’s kind of Morgan's thing.” He sounds apologetic as he combs his fingers through your hair before sliding them down your back.
“No, I liked it. Sweetheart works, it’s… timeless, and simple.” He rubs your back as you shut your eyes, mumbling against his chest as you trace a line up and down his sternum.
“Get some sleep.” You don’t bother resisting, you feel like you’re already halfway there.
“Goodnight, Spencer.”
“Goodnight, Sweetheart.”
a/n : hope yall enjoy, you can find me on ao3 under the same username, all updates go on there a few days earlier than they will on here
summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.
wc : 12k
tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, oral sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk, dom/sub stuff, bondage, roleplay(ish), big dick spencer things
authors note : things heat up!! im a hardcore switch!spencer truther but for the sake of this fic he's domming it up rn
★
You wake first, still nestled against him, his breathing slow and even as you take stock of your situation.
Spencer made some choices yesterday.
Choices that make you want to throttle him.
Calling you sweetheart.
Kissing you.
Whispering so sweetly to you.
Using his stupid tongue on you and ruining cunilingus from anyone else for you forever.
The list goes on, how are you supposed to go back to work like this? Although, that’s only a problem if you’re found.
The whole team is going to see the video. That’s going to be a problem either way.
You can already imagine them huddled around the conference room table with Hotch’s laptop between them.
You know what, you can worry about that later, that’s only a problem if they find you.
Of course they’ll find you.
Hopefully.
When Spencer wakes it’s with a groan as he cradles the back of his head, still sore from the wound. Rather than cower in shame you decide to just break the silence and speak to him. He’s still your friend, even after yesterday.
“You didn’t tell me what happened when you were taken, just that you were knocked out.” You recall the unsub being so certain he would be able to get Spencer in the same day as you, it makes no sense when you ponder it. After having an agent taken captive you would assume they would be taking extra measures to ensure no one else was taken.
When he doesn’t respond you tilt your head to look up at him, only to be met by a sheepish smile.
“I was… a little careless.” He mumbles, his voice is scratchy and heavy with sleep.
“When I was alone with him the unsub said I wouldn’t have to wait long for you.” You cock an eyebrow at him.
“We were given multiple tips on the call line JJ setup, there were too many, we all agreed to go down the list until we found a lead. It’s possible that I got a little bit ahead of myself and split off from the group. Before I knew it I was knocked to the ground, and then I was here.”
“Sounds like something I would do.” You grin at him as you sit up, urging him to roll onto his side so you can take another look. It looks better than yesterday, he likely just needs to rinse the dried blood out. “It looks okay, Do you think you have a concussion?” The thought makes your stomach churn.
”Definietly not, I’m exhibiting no symptoms.” He seems so sure, you can’t help but wonder if that’s just something someone with a concussion would say.
“I’m just worried you may not be making decisions you would normally make.” Jesus Christ, did you take advantage of him? Is he even in the right state of mind?
Kissing you, calling you sweetheart, tongue fucking you.
He immediately knows where your train of thought’s headed.
“I’m fine.”
”Are you absolutely sure?”
”I have no headache or ringing in my ears, I haven’t vomited. I’m not nauseous, no confusion, no memory loss. I’m not sure if you’re aware but I am a doctor, I would know if I had a concussion.” As he rambles on you lean closer, examining his pupils closely. They appear normal, his greenish brownish eyes study you as you study them.
“Promise you feel fine?”
”If you’re worried about consent there’s nothing to worry about.” He looks at you incredulously, as if this isn’t a very serious matter.
“Promise?” You tilt your head to the side.
“I promise I am of sound body and mind.” He holds his hand up like he’s taking an oath.
After another look at his pupils you believe him, even if he isn’t technically a medical doctor you trust his judgement.
“How much progress do you think the teams made on the case?” You can’t help but change the subject as your thoughts drift back to your current predicament.
”I’m sure they’re doing their best but we barely had a profile together by the time you were taken. And with him no longer taking new victims…” You know exactly what he’s implying.
Typically if you’re on a job and the unsub suddenly stops killing victims you’re taken off the case. Without any evidence you can’t make a functional profile.
“Not to mention they’re down two profilers.” He mumbles.
“We can expect escalation in his behavior as well.” Even if your compliance keeps him from completely losing it, the behavior will continue to escalate regardless.
“How are you feeling?” He turns to stare at you, clearly gauging your reaction.
”About this situation? Not great.” No reason to lie, he knows neither one of you is really okay right now.
”I mean physically.”
”Sore.” Just a little.
”I’m sorry.”
He shouldn’t be, he didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have let him do in any other scenario.
”It’s not your fault, I could say the same thing to you.”
”You really don’t need to.” He shrugs, his concern is still apparent.
“Spencer.” When you say his name in as firm of a tone as you can muster his face softens a bit. The creases between his eyebrows melt away when he stares at you, you swear the corners of his mouth twitch up. “I’m serious.” You manage to whisper, even though the look in his eyes is knocking the wind out of you.
“After what I did to you? You really want to know if I’m okay?” He leans in, resting his head on his palm.
When did he get so close to you?
“What you had to do.” You correct him.
He opens his mouth, a look of confliction flashes across his face. You have no time to further question him because the crackling intercom has you both sitting up straight.
“Good morning my stars. You would not believe the response to your debut film.”
Gross.
“I simply cannot stop thinking about your performance yesterday, even yours Dr. Reid. What a hidden talent.”
Neither one of you speaks now, what would you even say? After seeing that video the team will assume you’ve been released, just like every other set of victims, how long before they realize what’s going on?
“I have a surprise for the two of you for such a dazzling performance, I am not a total monster. I want to show you that good behavior is rewarded.” You both flinch when the red door clicks, swinging open. You aren’t sure what you expect but it definitely isn’t what you find.
There’s nothing.
No one comes barging in so you both approach cautiously, pulling the door open fully you find not an exit, but a hallway. There is a door at the end of the hallway that you assume is the exit and an open room without a door halfway down the corridor.
“Since the two of you will be my guests for an extended period of time I thought I might provide some amenities. Although I will expect continued compliance if you wish to have access to the facilities.”
You continue to move with your defenses up but when you lean into the doorway you find a sterile looking well lit bathroom. There’s a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, and a small standing shower. When you step back out into the hall Spencer is pushing on the other door, you know it’s locked but it doesn’t hurt to check.
“I have big plans for the day, I would like you both to make yourselves presentable, under the sink you will find a box with water and prepackaged unopened food, for your peace of mind.” You make your way to the sink, crouching down, opening the box you find exactly what he said, along with a stack of folded black fabric. “I have also provided you with fresh clothes. I expect no objections, you wear them or there will be consequences. You are to leave your dirty clothes in the box, except for your tie Dr. Reid, you may keep that in your room.”
You ignore the clothes, not wanting to see what’s in store for you just yet, instead you take a sandwich and a water, passing them to Spencer.
“I can see that you are not in a talking mood today, that is okay, I will be back in an hour to start filming our next project, play nice until then.” The click of the intercom makes you relax as you open one of the water bottles, tilting your head back and taking a long swig.
You’re both on edge knowing what’s coming, the inevitable. Any snippet of a playful rapport you had going this morning has fizzled into nothing.
“You shower first, I’m gonna go sit for a few minutes.” Spencer breaks the silence before leaving the room without another word. You don’t object, you just turn on the water. Tossing your clothes across the room, trying not to think about the cameras that are likely in this room as well.
You clear your mind as the hot water rushes over you. Your instinct is to worry, to come up with a plan but the logical part of you knows you should just enjoy this moment of respite as best you can. There is no escape, at least not until your team figures something out.
You try not to take too long, knowing that Spencer needs a shower too. You turn the water off, reaching for one of the hanging towels before patting yourself dry.
Time to dare a look at the outfit you’ll be wearing.
The first thing you pull out is a simple black cotton shirt, followed by dark grey boxers. Likely not yours.
Below them is a surprisingly tame black camisole. When you pull it over your head it’s skin tight but it definitely could be worse. You aren’t granted as much coverage as boxers but the little black panties aren’t the end of the world, you were expecting hardcore lingerie, leather and spandex, but they’re simple cotton panties.
When you step out of the bathroom you yelp as you almost trip over Spencer, sitting criss cross on the ground.
“Sorry!” He stands, holding his hands up.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry, I went back to the other room initially but then I was thinking that this might be a set up and if I went in there he could lock and close the door and separate us. And then you’d be alone with him, so I figured it was best to stay here, I was going to tell you but it seemed inappropriate to go in there while you were showering.” He rambles as you nod along, he’s noticeably staring at the ceiling, occasionally his eyes dart down to you before flying back upwards.
“That’s… actually really sweet. Thanks.” You give him a soft smile as he steps around you into the bathroom, you hear the water running after just a moment so you take a seat right where he was, listening to water hitting the tile as you take another sip from your water bottle.
You aren’t left alone for long, only a few minutes have passed before the water turns back off as you listen to the sounds of him shuffling around. You stand, not wanting to trip him as well.
When he steps out you find yourself in the same position as him, staring at the ceiling to avoid gawking. Just like you his top is tight. This is not the time or place to be drooling over the way the fabric stretches across his chest, or accentuates his slender waist. Without a word you both shuffle back into the other room, watching curiously as the red door clicks back into place with a loud thunk.
“I hope the two of you are ready to get over your sudden silent treatment. I am quite fond of the way you speak to one another.”
“What do you want?” Spencer pulls it together a lot better than you do, his voice comes out steady and controlled, even if his fingernails dig into his palm when he speaks.
“There is that voice, what a wonderful question Dr. Reid, I have such an eventful scene planned.” You can’t help it as your hand drifts to his, intertwining your fingers with his as you try to appear calm. “I would love to give you both a detailed script but after yesterday I have to resist, you do such marvelous improv. I have a few things I would like to see, I do not care how you do them as long as they are done.”
You swallow loudly, you know it’s audible because he gives your hand a squeeze right after.
“My angel, you did some impressive work yesterday but today I would like to reward Dr. Reid for his valiant efforts in making you shine. I will not ask for something as cruel as five orgasms of him, but I would like to see at least two. Because he did such a good job taking control of the situation yesterday I want to see more of that. I want her hands restrained, use your tie, I want you to do whatever you would like with her. I expect to see you in her mouth and in her pretty pussy.” You cringe, the way he talks about you makes you want to retch. “I found myself quite taken with the way you express yourself, Doctor. I would like more of that, I want to see what else your mouth is capable of. I want to hear dirty, nasty things, all for her. Take complete control Dr. Reid, take what you want from here, show me, show everyone, just how much you care about your dear friend and fellow agent. I expect all of my demands to be met, or you will be redoing the scene until you get it right. And I will not be so kind as to reward you with water and a bathroom if your performance is not up to my standards.” With a click he’s gone and you’re left with the aftermath of his demand.
“Hey, are you okay?” You find yourself seeking to comfort him now that it’s his turn in the hot seat. Untangling your fingers from his.
“I’m fine.” He sure doesn’t sound fine. His posture has gone completely taut.
“If you don’t want to do this we’ll figure something out.” You lower your voice to a whisper, you know it likely isn’t making much of a difference but you can’t help but try and have an ounce of privacy.
“There’s nothing to figure out, I spent half the night running through scenarios in my mind, there’s nothing. There’s no way out of this that doesn’t risk leaving you alone with him. And we’re absolutely not doing that.” He clears his throat. “I can do this.” He turns, his hair is damp, tucked neatly behind his ears. “I’m gonna have to… you know, do what he asked, will you be okay?”
He’s going to fuck your mouth and your ‘pretty pussy.’ Are you okay with that? Is your heart pounding at the thought?
“I’m good, I promise, we’ve got this, this could be like, way worse. We could be getting tortured, instead we’re just doing… this.” You babble nervously. You know members of your team who have survived far worse at the hands of an unsub than this, you can do this. “We’re seeing some minor escalation but thankfully nothing too crazy, right? You made the right call yesterday, if we hadn’t done a good job we would have seen a much more aggressive escalation.”
“Yeah, the right call.” He’s mumbling, clearly lost in thought.
“Hey.” You do your best to sound serious as he stares at you. You raise your hand like you’re taking an oath. “I promise that I’m okay with everything that is about to happen.” You smile like this is all just a funny inside joke, trying to ease whatever is gnawing at him. “I think I can handle a little dirty talk.”
“I just wish…” He starts a train of thought as he stares down at you, trying to muster a smile in return but he stops himself.
“You wish?”
“I wish we weren’t being put in this situation.” His shoulders remain tense, there’s no release of the pressure he’s holding in.
That’s not what he wants to say.
”Me too.” You put a hand on his arm, there’s no reason to push him right now, not with what’s about to happen. “Why don’t we go lay down?” You drag your hand down his arm to his hand, pulling him towards the makeshift bed. “I have an idea. Why don’t we agree to keep everything that happens during these ‘movies’ in a bubble, a bubble that we don’t touch when we’re outside of it.”
“What you’re describing doesn’t sound healthy.”
”When we get out of here we can pop that bubble and deal with all of this then, but if we’re going to get through this now, we need to be a team. When we’re filming, we step into the bubble, and inside the bubble we do whatever it takes to survive. And when we’re done filming we don’t have to feel bad about it because we’re outside of the bubble and we can just be two agents working on the case.”
”Definietly not healthy.”
”Do you have a better idea?”
”No, but if you want to talk about what happens in the… bubble, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t just because we agreed to bottle it up.” He makes it sound a lot worse than it did in your head.
“Okay, okay, it’s like diplomatic immunity, we don’t hold things that happen in the bubble against each other outside of the bubble.” You sit on the blanket, he mirrors you so you’re sitting face to face.
”That’s an even worse idea, what if I hurt you?”
You laugh, maybe for the first time since you were put in this little concrete box, a real honest laugh.
”You aren’t going to hurt me, Reid. You’re like fifty pounds soaking wet.” Sure he’s tall but he’s still Dr. Reid, you’ve never seen him hurt a fly, actually he very specifically catches bugs and releases them outside when he comes across them. And he looks like a strong wind could blow him over. You’ve heard multiple people call him a pipe cleaner with eyes.
“It’s not funny.”
“Obviously, none of this is funny.” You gesture around the room when you speak. “But it’s happening, so if you don’t like my bubble idea then let's just scrap it and do this thing.”
He’s nodding to himself, you can see him playing with his tie, picking at the fabric.
”If you say stop I’ll stop.” He mumbles, you watch as he ties a knot, his fingers moving with practiced agility, as they untie it in the same motion.
”I know Reid.”
”Spencer.”
”What?”
”I don’t like when you call me Reid, it feels… impersonal.” The knot he’s working on tightens. “We’ve been through enough together at this point, you can use my first name.”
“Okay, Spencer, let’s stop stalling before one of us ends up with a bullet in our head. We put on another good show, he has limited escalation, so let’s do this.” You hold your wrists out like you would if you were about to be handcuffed. He’s just glaring at you expectantly. “Jesus, you’re so particular, and if I say stop you’ll stop.” You mimic his strict tone. It does seem to placate him as he takes your wrist in his hand. You watch with morbid fascination as his fingers trace the veins under your skin.
“I absolutely could hurt you if I wanted to.” He grumbles under his breath as you give him a harsh look.
”Enough joking around.” You scoff and his hand wraps around your wrist, his slender, long fingers easily encircling them as he twists your arm. His free hand darts to your shoulder and with a force you’ve never seen him use before he flips you over onto your stomach, catching your other wrist and pinning both behind your back.
“I know you think you know everything, but I’d like to remind you that I have several years of experience in the field, as well as extensive training in how to use what strength I do have to the fullest extent.” As he speaks you squirm under him, uselessly, as he wraps the length of his tie around your wrist, one hand holding it in place as the other finds the nape of your neck, firmly holding you down.
“Not funny, Reid.” You groan as he pushes you down until your face is buried in the pillow.
“I agree, there is nothing funny about a little girl like you thinking that you can talk to me like that. You might have the knowledge and skillset to back up your arrogance but you don’t have the experience. In or out of the field.” You can’t see what he’s doing but you can feel the fabric tightening as his fingers wrap around them and pull, he’s somehow managed to restrain you with just the one hand. ”This is the first time you’ve ever had to be in a situation where an unsub has control over you and you’re not even acting like a federal agent, you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”
His words are clearly having an effect on you as you bite your lip to stifle a moan.
God you’re sick.
“Can’t even hold your own against someone who’s ‘fifty pounds soaking wet’.” Pulling on your wrists he yanks you up so you’re kneeling, you pull on the bindings, testing them. No matter how you twist they hold tight.
“You know you can be a real ass sometimes.” You groan, rolling your eyes as you turn your head back to shoot him a glare.
“You know you drive me fucking crazy.” He leans against you, his breath is hot on your neck as he hisses, you can’t help but sit in stunned silence for a moment, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before. “Do you know how exhausting this last year has been for me? Seeing how you handle yourself on every case? Watching you throw yourself into danger over and over again?”
”Well that’s not fair-”
”Since the day you started, they brought you in and told everyone you were a prodigy in your department, that you were going to be an invaluable asset to the team. And sure, you were, until we put you in the field and you rushed into every situation. It didn’t matter if your life was at risk, you always had to be a hero. Do you know how hard it is for me to get any work done when I’m constantly worried about you throwing yourself into the line of fire to save someone else?”
“You can’t seriously be using this as an opportunity to bring up work grievances with me.” You hiss back at him. “What is your problem, Reid?” His hand moves to the front of you, wrapping around your throat, he doesn’t squeeze but he holds it there, a silent reminder of the position you’re in.
”If you call me Reid one more time I’m going to fuck that stubborn little mouth of yours until you get it right. Until the only thing you can say is ‘Spencer.’ Until the only thing you can think about is my name.” He breathes the words out, so soft that for the first time you doubt the cameras even pick it up. If he’s playing it up for the unsub he’s doing an incredible job.
And all you want to do right now is call him Reid.
Both of his arms are wrapped around you now, his chest is flush with your back, one hand around your neck, the other drawing mindless shapes across your stomach, up and down towards your chest.
At this point you don’t even care if he’s just putting on a show for the unsub, you stop yourself from whimpering, clenching your thighs together. You whine as he leans forward. With your hands locked behind your back you can feel him pressing against you, the crotch of his boxers up against your palms. Without thinking you lean back, cupping him, earning yourself a low groan.
”Jesus-“ He gasps out as you start to stroke him through his boxers. The hand around your throat tightens, just enough to remind you of its presence, his other hand floats downward, forcing your thighs apart, he doesn’t dip into your panties yet, instead he simply grazes his fingers across the length of your clothed cunt, when you whine he scoffs. Pulling his fingers back and holding them in front of your face. “Would you look at that?” You can practically hear the smug smirk on his face as you stare at the glistening tips of his fingers. “I have a theory.”
”Oh great.” You let your head fall back against his shoulder so you can see him, sure enough he’s got a shit eating grin plastered on his face.
“I think that you want to be taught a lesson, I think that you’re acting like this because you want to be reprimanded.”
God, yes.
“No.”
“Maybe that’s what you’ve wanted all along, is that why you go against protocol all the time, barging into buildings before we have proper backup? Why you’re constantly disobeying direct orders? You want someone to put you in your place. It’s why you’re in this mess in the first place isn’t it? You were told to go with Emily but you insisted you would get more work done if you split up.”
He’s like, too good at this, the words flow off of his tongue just like a practiced actor reciting a script.
“You’re being a dick.” You snap your head back, trying to properly scowl at him but his hand grips your jaw, holding you firmly in place.
”See, even now, look at the situation you’re in. There is no reason for you to be mouthing off right now. We have a consensual agreement to fulfil the unsubs demands and an understanding that I’m going to be rough and talk to you like this. You’re restrained, and in a much worse position than I am, yet you still can’t help yourself.”
He doesn’t raise his voice at all as he goes on and on, his tone and volume stay almost frighteningly even. As if to prove his point he lightly pushes you forward, without your hands to catch yourself you fall face first into a pillow with a soft thud and a groan. He flips you before you can pull yourself up, staring down at you with a mix of quiet simmering annoyance and something else.
“The only time I’ve ever seen you not acting like this was when I had my fingers in you and my mouth on you, which confirms my theory.” You want to slap the tight lipped smirk off of his pretty face. You’ve always had such a friendly relationship with him, hearing him talk to you like this sends jolts of electricity through you.
At this point you’re so caught off guard by his vulgar ranting you just stare at him dumbly, watching as his expression becomes more and more smug.
Suddenly, you don’t care if this is all some twisted wish fulfillment for a bunch of perverts online from the mind of some sick voyeur.
You are not going to let him have all the fun, you can play this game too.
You twist your wrists behind your back, letting your chest arch up, your breasts straining against the fabric of the camisole.
“Spence…” You let out a breathy moan and watch as he immediately loses his resolve, eyes wide, eyebrows arched, just for a moment before his stern expression returns.
”I would be very careful with whatever you decide to say next, sweetheart.” His hands settle on your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You feel like you’re playing chess with him, and you hate chess with Spencer. He always tells you how he’s going to win two minutes into every game.
You’ve never beat him.
But this isn’t chess, and you can play dirty.
You chew on your lip, frowning in the process.
“Is that really how you feel?” You whisper, your voice cracking and you can tell by the way his face drops that you’ve got him right where you want him. “I thought we were friends, I- I didn’t know I was making your job harder. Does the whole team feel that way? I’m so sorry.” You manage a convincing lip tremble as you stutter your way through your apology, he doesn’t stop you as you pull yourself up and into a sitting position, facing him.
“I-“ He starts, conflicting emotions crossing his face as you lean forward, batting your eyelashes at him.
“I wouldn’t be so bad if someone held a tighter leash.” You pull on your binds with an overemphasized whiney edge to your voice. “Please don’t be mad at me, you’re right, I need to be reprimanded.” The second he realizes you’re teasing him his brows furrow. “Will you help me, Reid?”
The anger that flashes across his face almost makes you regret saying it.
Almost.
“You just can’t help yourself.” He clicks his tongue, and the look he gives you is one of fury but he couldn’t sound more pleased. He stands up, you don’t bother trying to as well, without your hands you know it would be useless. “Just remember that you asked for this.” His hands tangle in your hair as he gives you a warning tug, pulling you up from sitting to your knees.
Asked for it, wanted it, needed it.
He keeps one hand firmly in your hair, the other grabs your jaw, rougher than he’s been so far. The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.
“Open.” Your initial instinct is to snark back at him but his tone is so deathly calm a part of you automatically responds to the authority. You dart your tongue out, wetting your lips before you open your mouth. The corners of his own lips twitch.
He slides his thumb past your teeth, resting on your tongue, he doesn’t push deep enough to gag you but it certainly isn’t comfortable.
And then you wait.
His eyes never leave yours and he doesn’t move, he just stares at you, expectantly.
Son of a bitch.
He’s not gonna do anything until you give him what he wants so with a roll of your eyes you close your lips around the digit. Gingerly, you run your tongue along the length, you dare a glance up at him and he gives you a nod, grinning like a cat that finally caught the mouse.
“Isn’t it so much easier to just follow directions?”
Oh, you could kill him.
Or fuck him, you’d take either option gladly.
You open your mouth, ready to spit an obscenity at him but his thumb presses down on your tongue and all you can do is groan.
“Still not enough to keep you quiet?” He raises an eyebrow and removes his thumb, his hand moves to the front of his boxers and you watch with bated breath as those long, delicate fingers trace the outline of the sizeable bulge that you’re now hyper aware of. “Is this what you need? Is this what it’ll take to make you behave?”
Before you can think of a snarky response, before you can headbutt him in the crotch, and before you can give him the meanest glare you can muster, you lose control of yourself and your stupid body reacts faster than your brain, and you nod.
And his eyes just light up.
You’re never gonna live this down.
With your hands bound the way there are there’s no way for you to touch him, or even steady yourself. Your only anchor is his hand in your hair. It crosses your mind that he really could hurt you right now, there’s nothing you could do to stop it and you doubt the unsub would even want him to stop. He can do whatever he wants to you.
Why does that make this even hotter? What is wrong with you?
He never takes his eyes off of you, you can’t remember the last time he looked away, it’s an almost frightening look of concentration on his face as he tilts his head, examining you. You should be afraid. But you aren’t, because even now, in this situation, you know he wouldn’t ever really hurt you.
And when he’s done with your mouth he’s going to take one look at your cunt and see just how much you love this.
Behind the bravado, dominance, and faux anger in his expression, behind the show you’re putting on, you can still see that a tiny part of him is searching your face for a sign that you’re really okay with this.
So you give him one.
Leaning forward, you press your mouth against the outline of his cock. Peppering a trail of kisses along his length, trying to ignore the fact that the more you feel out this size of him, the less confident you are in your ability to fit him in your mouth.
His eyes are definitely still on you when you look up at him through your eyelashes, except now you’re rewarded with the dumb look on his face as his mouth falls open.
You’re caught off guard when he suddenly pulls you away, crouching down, you squeak as he pulls you into a kiss, nipping at you from your mouth to your chin, to your cheek, until you feel a light bite at your earlobe. He nuzzles his face into your hair and you swear you can hear him inhaling sharply through his nose but your focus shifts when his lips return to your ear.
“I don’t care what the reason is, if you want me to stop at any point you shake your head no and we will deal with the consequences. Nod if you understand.” He returns to standing leaving you breathless as you nod, probably a little too eagerly.
And without missing a beat he hooks a finger into the waist line of his boxers, tugging them down, effectively freeing himself.
Oh he’s got a perfect dick.
You’re gonna need so much therapy after this.
You feel like the last half an hour has just been you and Spencer gawking slackjawed at each other and it’s once again your turn.
He’s got the kind of dick you see in a porn and think, ‘only pornstars have dicks like that, not regular guys.’
Although, Spencer Reid is the furthest thing from a regular guy but that’s besides the point. You’re face to face with the biggest dick you’ve ever seen in person. Pretty and pale with a prominent vein on the underside, you’re shamelessly ogling him at this point, staring at the pink tip as he takes himself in his hand. His free hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushes against your lips once more and this time you don’t need to be told what to do.
You open your mouth and eagerly lean forward as he slides into your mouth.
You do your best to accommodate his size, flattening your tongue as you watch his head fall back with an obscene groan.
All you want to hear is make him make that sound.
You try to move your head forward but it’s awkward without being able to use your hands to balance yourself. You end up taking too much of him at once and you gag, his moan is pornagraphic but he’s quick to pull away as you cough.
“Are you okay?” He whispers, you know he’s trying to speak softly enough to not be heard but you doubt it works. You nod, catching your breath for a moment.
”I think I’m gonna need a little help.” You accentuate your point by pulling on the tie, wiggling your arms. There’s a moment of silence before he nods, once again he takes his cock in his hand, but this time once he’s past your lips you feel both of his hands tangle into your hair. He guides you slowly down his length and you take the opportunity to run your tongue across the vein you’d been eying. With a hiss he pulls you back, until all you’ve got is his tip.
He’s overly cautious, and surprisingly gently as he pushes your head further down, he makes sure to never push you more than halfway down his length, never gagging you. It’s almost a little boring as he moves your head up and down. He lets out a few small sounds as he gingerly moves your head. You both freeze in place when you hear a click and a crackle from above.
”I thought I made myself clear, you perform or there are dire consequences. Neither one of you looks like you are enjoying yourselves. I told you to take control, I told you to take what you want. Not what makes her comfortable. It is obvious to me that you are exercising a severe amount of restraint Dr. Reid and we both know that is not what I want to see. Now do it right, show me you can make her shine, or I will find someone else who will.” He’s practically snarling into the microphone by the end of his rant, you both cringe in unison at the sound of the click followed by silence.
When you turn to look at him his eyebrows are practically squeezed together he looks so concerned.
“Look, Spencer, I’m fine with you doing whatever you have to do. If survival is our goal here-“ As you speak he shoves two fingers into your mouth, effectively silencing you.
”You’re done talking. The next time you speak it’ll be because I asked you to.” You hardly have a second to process what’s happening before he’s squeezing your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he slides his cock back in. His hands find your hair again but instead of moving your head he thrusts himself forward. Your throat tightens, and you gag immediately but this time he pulls back only to rock himself forward again. You let out a garbled whine as he finds a steady pace, he thankfully doesn’t gag you again, careful to go as deep as he can without choking you.
You can do nothing but watch him as he fucks your mouth, his grip in your hair tightening as he holds you in place. His own hair falling in messy tangles across his face.
“Look at you, finally quiet.” He groans, snapping his neck back to throw some of his hair out of his eyes as he grins down at you, groaning.
The effect he has on you is just embarrassing at this point. You’re so turned on you’re about to straddle his foot and grind down against his socks. As you’re considering it he pulls himself out completely, a line of spit hangs from your lips to his cock. He wipes it off your lip with his thumb and taps against your cheek with his tip.
“I bet you’ll look even better taking the whole thing.” When he pushes himself back against your lips you try to pull back, opening your mouth to protest but he just takes it as an opportunity to shove himself into your mouth as you gasp. “I didn’t give you permission to talk yet sweetheart.” You whine around him as he slides his hips forward another inch. “I know you can do it, just breathe.” He lowers his voice as he pulls your hair, hard. You let out a whimper, and he uses his free hand to brush any hair in your face behind your ears.
You do your best to relax your throat as you feel him pushing further, you gag when he hits your throat but he doesn’t give so much as an inch of relief as he shushes you in between his groans.
“Almost, just a little bit more, you need to relax.”
Easy for him to say he doesn’t have a fucking baseball bat in his throat.
One hand grips your hair so tightly you feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes while the other cradles your face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. You swallow around him, taking shallow breaths in through your nose as he eases himself in the last inch and your nose hits that little patch of curls at the base of his cock. You gag around him but you’re expecting it so you manage to breathe through it enough that you don’t puke.
The look on his face makes it worth it.
Intoxicated.
Sharp little breathes as he fights back a moan, eyes dark and watching with so much intensity you feel like you’re under a microscope. His hair is in disarray and he doesn’t bother fixing it this time.
“So good, s-such a good job.” He mumbles as his hips twitch involuntarily forward before pulling back a tiny bit. His thrusts are shallow but he stays in your throat. The tears that were forming flow freely now, he wipes a few of them away but they just keep coming. You take a shuddering breath in through your nose, drool dribbling down your chin as you squeeze your eyes shut.
As much as you want to watch his reactions it takes all of your focus to not retch as he fucks your throat. You know you won’t have to last too long because his thrusts become erratic after just a few more seconds and his soft moans turn to out of breath whines. You nose hits his pelvis once more and with a twitch of his hips you feel his cum hit the back of your throat.
You can’t help but steal a few glances, opening your eyes just in time to watch his head fall back, his face and neck flush red. With his cock still stuffed in your mouth you have no choice but to swallow as he comes down from his orgasm.
Not that you mind all that much.
When your throat constricts around him he seems to snap back to reality as he quickly withdraws. In one smooth motion he sinks to his knees to come face to face with you. Both hands cup your face and you know you must be a sight. Tears and drool slick on your face, the look of admiration on his face tells you he must not mind that much though.
“Let me see.” He murmurs, tapping your chin with two fingers. You’re still catching your breath but you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the wet mess of semen and spit. “Such a good job, look how well you’re behaving now.” You’re caught off guard when he leans forward, his tongue sliding across yours, tasting the mix of the two of you. His hands find your shoulders and he lays you back against a few pillows. “You looked so pretty choking on my cock.”
Even after everything you’re still surprised to hear him talk like that, it makes your head spin. When you don’t respond he slides his hands down your body until he reaches your panties, he wastes no time pulling them down your legs and tossing them behind him. You start to squeeze your thighs together but you aren’t fast enough, or quick enough to stop him from spreading your legs.
His eyes practically sparkle.
Ravaging you with just his stare, eyes consuming, memorizing, every detail between your legs.
“Look at that.” God, he sounds so pleased with himself.
He should be, you’re dripping and he hasn’t even touched you there.
”Isn’t that answer enough?” You sneer at him, bucking your hips. The smile he gives you is so genuine you can’t stand it.
“There you go with that mouth again, can you only behave when you’re stuffed with cock? Do I need to keep you like that permanently? Want me to leave you like that until we’re found? Do you want the rest of the team to barge in here on a rescue mission only to find you drooling on my cock?” His fingers swipe through the wetness between your legs, the squelching sound makes your cheeks burn more than they already are. Your back arches as he sinks two into you, your cunt pulses around him immediately as you start to let out a pornagraphic groan.
”Shut up.” You try to sit up but a small push from him sends you back into the pillows. He gives you a disapproving shake of his head.
“I really thought we were making some progress, I guess you still haven’t learned your lesson.” He removes his fingers, rather abruptly, leaving you to whine at the absence. “I was going to be so nice to you too,” You’re getting used to being manhandled at this point, although this time you find yourself in a state of confusion as he sits beside you, lifting you by your hips and placing you in his lap. “I was going to work you open with my fingers to make this easier for you but I guess you don’t want that.” While he speaks you can feel him already hardening again against the swell of your ass.
“Spencer…” Your tone is that of warning, like you might scold him.
“Maybe you need another reminder of who’s in charge.” He bucks his hips, forcing you up and onto your knees as you straddle him, he’s quick and precise as he lines himself up at your entrance. Your eyes go wide as you realize what’s about to happen. The tip of his cock slides through your slick, when he bumps against your clit you nearly fall over. With a smirk he lines himself up with your hole, staring at you expectantly. When he tilts his hips and pushes himself into you, you both melt into a chorus of moans. The stretch burns so sweetly, your brain can’t seem to figure out if you want more or less.
“Spencer, wait- please.” You start to object but he’s already shaking his head.
“No, sweetheart. I think this is a lesson you need to learn the hard way.” He says it so gently but the glint in his eye tells you he likes this a little too much.
Almost as much as you do.
”You’ve done so good so far, I know you can do this.” He coos, his hands wander up and down your body from your thighs to just below your chest, you sit up on your knees, impaled on his cock with your thighs already trembling. “I want you to show me how good you can be.” His voice turns to a murmur as he slides a hand under your top. You’re too focused on his monster cock trying to squeeze its way into you to pay attention to the way his hand starts exploring your chest. Slender fingers, cupping your breasts and drawing gentle circles around your nipples. You shift your body down, your thighs tense as you try to slowly lower yourself but you only make it about halfway down his shaft before you can’t take anymore, when you start to lift yourself off of him in an attempt to relieve the stretching feeling he catches your hips, locking you in place.
“Please-” You start to whine as he holds steady, you squirm to no avail as he shakes his head.
“You’re not getting up until you show me you can take the whole thing.” You know he means it, there’s no persuading him when you’ve come this far. And he must know a part of you enjoys this, if you didn’t you would outright tell him to stop, you’d shake your head no and he would stop.
Probably.
”Spencer…” You whisper his name like you’re begging but you don’t even know what you want, it’s too hard to focus on anything when the burn between your legs fizzles into a warm pleasure with every passing second.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” His hair sticks to his forehead, a sheen of sweat coating his body, you likely match. His fingers alternate from tapping your waist frantically and squeezing the flesh of your hips.
What do you want?
What you want is to be at home in your own bed, in the exact same situation, with no cameras and no nightmare director watching your every move, and making demands. You want this to be real.
You want him to buck his hips up and make you take it.
You want to know what he thinks about all of this.
You want him to force you down to the hilt, to make you take all of him.
You want to know if he feels the same guilt that you do for wanting more, and more, and more of this.
You want a copy of this recording before Garcia scrubs it from the internet so you can relive it if Spencer refuses to even look at you after this.
”I want you.” That’s all you’ve wanted, for so long.
There’s too much sensation. Everything hurts and feels so fucking good and staring down at him doesn’t help. You’re a profiler, and a goddamn good one at that, but staring at his face you don’t get anything. You can’t decipher his body language in any meaningful way, not when your focus is all over the place.
“Show me.” He sounds as fucked as you feel. “Show me how badly you want this.” He pulls his hands back so he isn’t touching you at all, holding them up almost as if he were showing you he isn’t a threat. You could easily sit up and pull yourself off of him but you’re too engrossed with the way his eyelashes flutter as he stares down to the point where the two of you meet.
You start slow, inching yourself further down him but it hurts too much and you worry you’ll lose your resolve. Instead you look him in the eyes. Watching his tongue poke out of his mouth before he chews his bottom lip. An action you’ve seen hundreds of times at the office, now everytime you see it you’ll think of this.
“Can you help me stay upright?” You whisper, his hands are hesitant and practically trembling when he returns to your hips. Not the same confidant movements he was displaying before. Once you’re sure he’s got you, you take a deep breath and let your knees give out. Slamming yourself down fully onto his cock.
You’re pretty sure you scream, it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure against your cervix. When you manage to open your eyes you’re rewarded with such a treat. He’s as gone as you are, his hands flexing, digging into your skin as he bites his own lip so hard you’re worried he’ll bleed. His moans are muffled as he tries desperately to keep his mouth shut but what does slip through is delicious.
You feel a sense of pride.
You’re still catching your breath when he shifts himself up and on to his elbows.
“You want me?” He sounds as needy as you feel right now.
And all you can do is nod.
When he lifts your hips and pulls out you whimper, the sensation of relief doesn’t make up for the lack of him.
He’s gentle as he guides you rather than forces you this time down into a pillow. You’ve got your ass in the air and your face turned to the side so you can still see him in your peripheral vision.
You’re expecting him to slam into you, to immediately find a punishing pace. You’re surprised when his body wraps around yours and he kisses the back of your neck, moving down your spine until he hits your lower back and sits up.
He wordlessly lines himself back up at your entrance, and you keen when he pushes himself in, inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed within you once more. Your groan is long and drawn out as you readjust to his size. In this position he somehow feels even bigger, like he’s in your fucking stomach.
“Jesus-” Your breath catches in your throat when he grabs you by your shoulders, pulling you back against him, somehow managing to push himself deeper. Making you feel every single inch.
“That’s not the name I want to hear.” With a snap of his hips he pulls out about halfway before thrusting fully back into you.
“Spencer!” You’re so full, too full.
“There it is.” He mumbles under his breath before he starts rocking his hips back and forth, experimentally shifting from quick shallow thrusts to slow long ones. Both make you bury your head in the pillow to stifle your moans. His hands stay locked on your shoulders, yanking you back against him with each thrust, pulling you closer to him. He eventually settles himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out halfway before snapping forwards, grinding himself against you, making you feel every inch.
Slow and steady, he folds himself over you. Resting his forehead on your back as you lay there and take everything he gives you. With every thrust he brushes along that sweet spot that makes you see stars before slamming against your cervix.
And then he fucking whimpers your name.
Out of breath and desperate.
“Say it again, say my name.” He kisses you between your shoulder blades before latching onto your pulled back shoulder, sucking and nipping at the skin. “Please.”
And who are you to deny him when he’s asking so nicely?
With every snap of his hips you groan out the only thing you can think, over and over and over again.
“Spencer, Spence- Spencer, please.” You’re not sure when it started but you’re suddenly extremely aware of the knot forming in your core as your thighs tremble. With each jolt of his hips you’re pushed closer and closer to that edge, until all you can think about is him. His hands on your shoulders, on your hips, wrapping around you to paw at your chest, like he can’t decide on one so he has to alternate through them. His breath, hot on your back where he leaves kisses in between his moans. His cock, pulling out just enough to push your buttons so perfectly he must be doing it on purpose.
Closer, and closer, and closer.
Until you feel yourself nearing the point of no return, and in an instant all the sensation is gone. You don’t bother with your dignity because at this point it’s nonexistent, instead you whine and push your hips back.
His hands are back on you, forcing you onto your back, your hands trapped under you as he flips you. His forehead is slick with sweat and you can see the sweet shade of pink flushing his neck and face, devastatingly pretty.
“Spen-” You start to plead with him but he’s already on it, cock in hand as he eases himself back into the wet mess between your legs, in this position you can see the slick coating your thighs, you don’t get much time to watch his cock disappear into you because he’s on you like a predator on prey. His lips are all consuming on yours. He’s absolutely devouring you, biting at your bottom lip, darting his tongue into your mouth, you can’t resist the opportunity to suck his tongue.
God, you’re a goner.
He finds the same pace, shallow thrusts, your body jerking with each one. Fucking into you with a brutal consistency, every thrust leaves you wanting more. It almost feels like he can read your mind when one of his hands drifts between your legs, his pointer and middle finger find your clit so fast you’d think he had a map to get there, rubbing circles in time with each snap of his hips.
“Spencer…” At this point you’re running out of other words to say, he clearly meant it when he said all you’d be able to think about was his name, that’s certainly the case now as he coaxes your body towards an orgasm with surgical precision.
“Do you understand why I have to do this, sweetheart?” He separates his lips from yours, nose to nose as he mumbles, when you get a good look at his face you know he’s just as fucked as you are. But his fingers have stopped their movements and all you can concentrate on is how badly you need them to start again.
You nod furiously, you’d say anything if it would make him start touching you again.
“T-to teach me a lesson, to make me behave.” It takes you a second but you manage to get through your sentence before he laughs, burying his face in your neck
“You’re a profiler, you can do better than that.”
Does he want you to state the obvious?
“Because you don’t want him to be mad?” You know you sound unsure but you don’t care, all you can think about is his fingers dipping back between your legs. You try to rock yourself against him for any stimulation at all but his fingers squeeze your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises there.
“You’re so sweet.” His teeth graze your jaw, dragging down the side of your neck before he bites down, pulling a whine out of you. “So, so, so sweet. You think I care what he thinks?” He kisses the spot before he sits up, one hand on your hip and the other rubbing the mark he left. “Yours is the only opinion that matters to me.”
He grinds himself against you, as if you’re not already full of him.
“He said he’ll find someone else.” He’s all mumbles now. “But there’s no one else, just me, right sweetheart?” Sweet, breathy mumbles.
“You’re not- oh my god, making any sense.” Nothing makes sense right now, not when he’s starting to thrust into you again, thrusts so shallow he’s practically just grinding his hips against yours. Like he’s trying to force himself as deep as he can, bruising you even where no one can see.
”I hate that he’s right about you.” He catches your lips in his as you start to open your mouth again, his fingers brush up against your thigh as you groan into him. He pulls away just long enough to mumble, like he’s overflowing with the words and has to get them out. “I’ve seen everything he describes, I thought it all before he ever put it into words.” His nose bumps against yours as he rambles, thrusts becoming erratic as he finally puts his focus back on your clit. “The way you shine, and sparkle, and light up a room.”
“Spencer, I don’t-” You don’t know when you started crying again but you sure are now. Overstimulation, confusion, pleasure, you aren’t sure what brought it on.
“I’m gonna make you light up, you- you don’t need anyone else.” His eyes are shut tight, his eyebrow twitching as he focuses. His ramblings don’t make any sense as he babbles on and on, lost in his concentration.
“Spencer…” You softly hiss out his name as your stomach twists, he pushes hard on your clit as he continues his merciless patterns.
It feels like you’re being electrocuted in the most addicting way possible, you twitch around him, you push your head back into the pillow supporting you as your back arches off the ground. The wave finally crashes over you as you come, hard. You clamp around him like a vice and he’s quick to follow. You aren’t fully aware of the immediate aftermath but you know he’s groaning something akin to your name as he collapses on top of you.
You lay in a sweaty, panting heap for what feels like hours before he sits up. Both of you groan softly when he slips out of you. His touch on you is so light and cautious you’d think you were made of glass. His nimble fingers easily release the tie from around your wrists, you wince in pain as the blood rushes back to your hands. When you bring them in front of you, rubbing them gingerly you can see the raw red marks as well as the dark purple splotches starting to bloom around your wrists like sadistic bracelets.
“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, taking your wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the mark. “I got carried away, I- I shouldn’t have.” You put your fingers over his mouth.
“No apologies.” You lower your hand. “Neither one of us should be apologizing for anything that happens here, we’re alive and together because of you.” You’re about to continue but the buzz of the intercom snaps you both to attention.
There’s only a moment of static before you hear a sniffling sound, it makes you stare at Spencer, both of you with eyebrows cocked in confusion.
“Are you crying?” You can’t help yourself as you blurt it out, the absurdity of the situation still finds ways to shock you.
“It was just such a beautiful performance.” He coughs, clearing his throat. “Thank you Dr. Reid, that was just what I was looking for.” You’re both surprised when the speaker clicks again and you’re left alone. The room dims back down to a single bulb, plunging you both into darkness. When the lock on the red door clicks again he stands, you avert your eyes as he straightens his boxers out to cover himself back up. You only look up when he tosses your panties to you. Neither one of you seems inclined to speak but he does help you to your feet, supporting you as you limp to the bathroom. Once he props you up in the shower he steps out, you know he’s right outside, waiting.
You run the water, taking your second shower of the day. You rinse the sweat from your skin, carefully running your hand between your legs, hissing when you touch yourself there.
You’re definitely going to be sore for a while.
You finish up, toweling off and putting your top and panties back on but not before stealing a glance at yourself in the mirror.
Yikes.
No wonder Spencer’s so quiet. Your wrists are a sight but that’s nothing compared to the rest of you. When your cami hikes up you can see a myriad of bruises, up and down your waist and hips. Purple blooming all over your form, further down your thighs are a similar sight. He really did a number on you. You do your best to adjust your top so they cover everything on your torso as well as some of your upper thighs. He’s standing right beside the doorway when you step out.
“Your turn.” You give him the best smile you can muster as he slips past you but you know it doesn’t convince him you’re okay.
Are you okay?
Sort of.
You’re sore, a little bruised, and tender between your legs, sure. You’re confused, by everything Spencer says to you, in and out of the scenes you’re performing. But overall, surprisingly fine. And you can thank Spencer for that.
If you’d been stuck here with Hotch, or Morgan, or heaven forbid a stranger, you’d likely find yourself in much worse condition. Hotch and his overly seriousness. Everything is so serious and life or death with him, and then of course there’s the guilt he would feel, never ending guilt. And Morgan’s been like a big brother to you since the day you met him, even imagining intimacy with him makes your skin crawl. A part of you can’t help but be glad it’s Spencer, even if this has complicated your already complex relationship.
You’re okay, mostly.
You’ll be better when you aren’t being forced to follow the whims of some obsessed sexual psychopath, but you’re okay.
You just have to hope he’s okay too.
When he finally steps out of the bathroom he’s mopey.
That’s the only word you can think of to describe him.
He isn’t exhibiting signs of anger, or depression. He isn’t twitching like he does when he’s anxious, he doesn’t even seem to be guilt ridden, he just seems… bothered. You give him space, after what the two of you just did it’s entirely justifiable, natural even, to need space. You bury yourself in the blankets, staring at the ceiling for forever.
Until he joins you, bringing you a water bottle that you happily accept.
It’s hard to remember you’re thirsty when you’re dealing with a million other far more pressing matters. He lays down beside you, rolling over to stare at you, eventually you mirror him. So you’re both on your sides, face to face.
You don’t need to be a profiler to know something is eating him up inside. You’re about to ask, you’ll force it out of him if you have to. He beats you to it. Wetting his lips with his tongue and chewing the inside of his cheek before he speaks.
“You’re… a really great actress.” He whispers into the darkness. You can see the crest fallen look on his face the second the words leave his mouth.
That’s it?
That’s what he took away from all of this? That’s why he’s sulking? That’s why he got all quiet and sullen and pouty before you had sex? Your eye twitches, you should just roll over and go to sleep instead your mouth opens before you can stop it.
“You’re so stupid.” You can’t help yourself as you roll your eyes.
“Excuse me?” He sounds genuinely offended but you just scoff.
“You heard me. For someone who’s so smart you really are an idiot.” You scowl at him. Is that the best he can do? Some self loathing about how you might have been acting? You’ve been carrying the guilt of having feelings for him, and enjoying parts of this and that’s the best he can do? “Genius Doctor Reid, you’re supposed to be the brightest mind in the whole bureau and you can’t even figure this out.” Staring at the dumbfounded look on his face all you can think about is how despite this all he’s still your Spencer, no matter how much he’s put through.
He is still the guy who makes you coffee for every plane ride, the guy who has an extra shirt if you forgot to put your pajamas in your go bag, the guy who looks confused and asks Morgan what’s so funny when they tease you about your crush.
Tell him.
Who cares, after everything you’ve been through in the last forty eight hours? The damage to your relationship is done, you lose nothing if this goes wrong.
“You’re being unnecessarily cruel.” He looks so genuinely upset. You inch yourself closer to him. Until your noses are almost touching, your hand wanders across his face, tucking a stray curl behind his ear.
“Everything that’s happened to us is unnecessarily cruel.” You mumble before closing the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips into his.
a/n : probs one more chapter after this, maybe a short epilouge after that
tw: use of y/n (only once im sorry), shit writing, sad puppy baby spence, insecurity
word count: 1855
spencer reid was evil. you were sure of it.
his existence had to be some kind of practical joke, sent from your friends to mock your need to be the smartest in every room. or perhaps a punishment from god, for your pride.
and as you stand there, staring at him as he introduces himself to the team. well, everyone except you. you stay firmly rooted to your place leaning against your desk, cup of coffee in hand, trying to decipher the new guy. you’d heard from hotch that he was brilliant, supposedly, with an iq of 186 and three PhD’s by the age of 22. and quickly, your pride is replaced with envy.
as accomplished as you were, you couldn’t top him. you were about a year and a half older, and were only midway through completing your second doctorate, this one in psychology, but your first being in english literature. whilst you loved saying “that didn’t happen in the book” or seeing the impressed look on people’s faces when you told them you studied literature, it wasn’t particularly handy in your field.
meaning, doctor reid with his doctorates in mathematics, chemistry and engineering, as well as BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy meant that he had the upper hand. plus, that stupid eidetic memory of his. and he was younger than you.
it filled you up with an unbridled, all-consuming rage. you’d had academic rivals in the past, mainly in school, but it had never felt quite like this. at school, nobody cared if you got an a- or, god forbid, a b rather than an a. but here, at the bau, when you’d already established yourself as the brain box of the group, there was nothing more humiliating than getting knocked down a peg by someone younger.
apparently, your staring is palpable, because he turns his head and meets your eyes, despite still being engaged in conversation with the rest of the team. he smiles awkwardly, and you hate him even more for how endearing it is, how it makes you want to wrap him up in a blanket and protect him from all the horrors of the bau. you genuinely question whether he meant to sign up for this, whether he knew what he was getting himself into. you wonder if he’s ever actually seen a gun before. his sweater vest and satchel say otherwise.
“y/l/n” hotch calls, gesturing you over so you can no longer avoid interacting with who you’re sure will be your mortal enemy. you reluctantly walk over. “i’d like to introduce you to ssa spencer reid-“
“dr reid.” gideon interrupts, and whilst you know he doesn’t mean to, all it does is rub in how much smarter he is in comparsion to you.
you stick out your hand, begrudgingly.
but he doesn’t return the gesture.
“the number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. it’s actually safer to kiss.” he says, reciting the fact as if he’d said it a million times over, adjusting the strap of his satchel.
your hand falls back to your side and you stare at him blankly. yet another endearing thing to make you hate him. this has to be a record for how quickly someone can detest a person they’ve just met.
spencer had been there over a month and you still didn’t like him.
it wasn’t a spit-in-his-coffee, tie-his-shoelaces-together kind of dislike, but it was close.
rather than greeting him in the mornings like you did the rest of the team or ever engage in conversation that wasn’t entirely professional or ever even look at him.
okay, except for maybe when he worked at the blackboard during a case, or worked on a case file, or did anything in concentration. somehow, you were entranced by him, and the way his tie is perpetually crooked, or how his glasses slide down his nose, or how his legs are just so long and lanky he doesn’t quite know what to do with them.
there’s a small part of you, buried deep inside of your gut, that feels a warmth for him. it’s not the typical burning you got when you felt jealous. it was cozy warm, like a mug of hot chocolate on a snowy day. and it stunned you, practically paralysed you, with the confusion of it all.
you hated spencer reid, that was certain. there was no debating that. the blushing and the butterflies and the obsessive staring was just a new development of your hatred. it had to be, there was no other plausible explanation.
spencer, on the other hand, was completely confuddled as to why you hadn’t been as friendly as the rest of the team, especially since you seemed to get along so well with everyone else. everyone but him.
he supposed he should feel used to people not liking him by now. growing up as a prodigal genius should’ve made him more used to judgement or distaste. people often saw his intellect and his assured nature as arrogance and assumed he thought he was better than those around him. and, yes, whilst he was comfortable sharing his knowledge, that was about the only area where he was comfortable with himself. he should be used to the judgement and the ridicule and the bullying, but apparently, he wasn’t.
and it wasn’t even that you had been rude. you’d been polite, friendly even, but he could tell that behind your eyes and behind your genteel nature, there was something about him that you did not like.
what he didn’t seem to realise was that it had very little to do with him and much more to do with you.
it was 9pm and you were still in the office. everyone else had already left except, you guessed it, dr spencer reid. you’d actually finished filling out your paperwork about an hour ago, but when it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere, you decided you weren’t either.
except, you’re getting tired and the fluorescent lights of your computer screen are practically burning your eyes. so, regrettably, you pack your stuff up, listening to the irritating scratch of spencer’s pen against his file. the good doctor was apparently a luddite and refused to use anything electronic. well, except his phone, but that was because it was practically impossible to live in the modern world without it.
you stalk your way to the elevator, and as you wait, impatiently, for it to reach your level, you feel the presence of another body appear next to you. you don’t have to look to know who it is, you can practically feel the superiority radiating off of him.
even being next to him evokes that pitiful burning in the pit of your stomach, and your skin feel like its crawling with a hundred tiny maggots, and all of it encompassed by an overriding feeling of not enough.
and that feeling makes you feel all the more pathetic.
you’d proved yourself, you knew you had. you were the first in your family to attend university, top of your class, you had a PhD. but something about the genius beside you, with his clueless superiority and arrogance, made it all seem like it was worthless.
and maybe, worse than anything, was that he really wasn’t arrogant. despite being the smartest in almost every room he walked in, he never entered it with an air of pretence or superciliousness. he constantly had people underestimate him and was always trying to prove himself. a part of you wished he thought more of himself, thought himself better than he was, so at least then you’d have a genuine flaw to point out, to make yourself feel better in the face of all of his accomplishments.
but his perfection, in every aspect of his life, was a slap in the face.
because despite your intellect, you were deeply flawed; insecure, jealous, petty. you had to live with all of that imperfection, whilst he traversed life flawlessly.
“the elevator’s taking a while to arrive.” he breaks the awkward silence, that always seems to form whenever it’s just the two of you, especially without a case to fill the empty space.
“yep.”
he just nods slowly, taking the hint that you have zero interest in conversing with him, but still feels a little ache in his chest from his lack of understanding as to why you couldn’t simply hold of polite conversation with him the way you did the rest of the team.
luckily, the elevator hears your prayers of escape and appears the very next second, and the two of you enter. unfortunately, you just feel claustrophobic, trapped in this tiny box with him.
the pair of you are silent the entire ride down, until you stop outside, surprised to see the streets splattered with rain. it seems the pair of you had been too consumed with your work to notice the outside world.
spencer decides this is the perfect time to approach you about his concerns, watching as you fumble to get your umbrella out of your bag.
“this might be inappropriate, but i have a question.” he says, his innocence being painfully endearing to you. “have i…done something? to upset you, i mean.”
you should’ve known this day would eventually come. you should’ve rehearsed the perfect response, the perfect explanation as to why you treated him painfully similarly to how you treated unsubs. but you didn’t, you couldn’t come up with any plausible explanation as to why you couldn’t just be polite to the poor guy.
“i-…” you think for a second, and a second more, watching as the rain splatters down onto the pavement. “no, reid, you haven’t done anything.” you say, because really what other answer is there?
“so why do you treat the rest of the team so differently than me?”
“i don’t treat you any differently. you’re just new, i suppose.” but that was hardly a fair response. he’d been at the bau months now, he had become a regular fixture in your day to day, so that excuse just fell flat and you knew it.
“y/n.” he says it with that infuriatingly endearing tilt of his head, tilting his head like a puppy. but his tone, so knowing and so certain, just reminds you of how much you envy him. you had never been certain about a thing, and him feeling certain about you after just months of knowing you enraged you, for reasons you couldn’t truly understand.
“i have to go, reid. have a nice evening.” you say with that polite tone, that is obviously covering up some kind of blatant dislike, and walk off into the rain, heels clacking against the pavement, umbrella still lost in the bottom of your bag.
and he stands there, his hair getting wet, adjusting the straps of his satchel the way he always does when he feels lost and unwanted. seeing you practically run into the rain, soaking yourself, pinches his heart, because he knows what that means. that you’d rather soak yourself to the skin that stay with him for a minute more.
summary: when an injured FBI agent arrives, a routine trip to the ER becomes a meeting neither he nor his doctor can quite forget.
masterlist
You knew House was punishing you. You had made a mistake on the last round of tests, and now you had to cover his clinic hours, fill out paperwork, and basically be his bitch until he decided you'd suffered enough.
You hated him a little on days like this.
“Where’s House?”
“In his office.”
“And why are you here?”
“I’m being nice,” you replied to your boss, forcing a smile.
Cuddy didn’t buy it, but she also knew that whatever House did with his team—and whatever you were willing to do for him—was none of her business.
“I need your help. I have an injured FBI agent, and I want someone from the team to take care of him.”
You nodded and set the patient file back down on the nurses’ station counter, following the sound of her heels down the hallway.
Why would an FBI agent be at the hospital?
And more importantly, why wasn’t he being treated by an ER doctor?
“Why am I the one treating him?”
“Because he’s a federal agent.”
“And?”
“The hospital already has enough legal problems without adding the Department of Justice to the list.”
The two of you reached the emergency room doors faster than you expected. Inside, the usual chaos of the department echoed through the halls.
“Besides, I’m short-staffed in the ER and overloaded with doctors in the clinic.”
You let out a resigned sigh before pushing the door open with your shoulder.
You followed your boss to one of the beds, where a young man sat waiting with a blood-soaked compress pressed against his temple. Blood had made its way down to the collar of his shirt, though his calm expression suggested the injury looked much worse than it actually was.
“Agent, this is the doctor who’ll be treating you.”
Even through what was undoubtedly a painful experience, he was polite enough to thank Cuddy.
You took the intake sheet and glanced at the name written across it.
Spencer Walter Reid.
“What does everyone call you? Spencer or Walter?”
“Spencer,” he answered.
“Spencer,” you repeated.
You introduced yourself with the same kindness he had shown, and watched him smile awkwardly.
“We should take a look at you, okay?”
Reid lifted the compress slightly so you could inspect the wound. Once you had seen it, you asked him what had happened.
“A suspect tried to run. There was a struggle. I hit my head against the frame of a metal door.”
“Did you lose consciousness?”
“No.”
“Dizziness? Nausea? Blurred vision?”
“No, no, and no.”
You pulled a penlight from your lab coat pocket and checked his pupils.
“Follow my finger.”
He obeyed without complaint.
“Headache?”
“A little.”
“That’s generally expected when someone splits their head open.”
The agent appeared to seriously consider your observation before nodding.
You stepped closer to inspect the injury. Carefully, you brushed aside a few strands of hair stuck together by dried blood.
“You’re going to need stitches.”
“How many?”
“Five at minimum. No more than seven. Does that worry you?”
“No. I’m curious,” he replied with a small smile.
You asked a nurse for a suture kit and began cleaning the wound. The gauze turned red almost immediately.
“Was it at least worth it?”
“Sorry?”
“Did you catch the bad guy?” you clarified.
In situations like these, you usually tried to keep the patient talking to distract them from the pain they were about to feel.
“Huh, yeah. Right after he shoved me, my partner got him. But the blood pouring out of my head didn’t leave much room for celebrating.”
“Scalp wounds bleed a lot,” you commented when you noticed he was still watching you carefully as you prepared the supplies. “It looks worse than it is.”
“I know. Approximately five percent of cardiac output goes to the head while at rest.”
You looked up.
“Did you Google that on the way here?”
“I read it in a medical textbook years ago.”
You had to admit that answer caught you off guard, and suddenly he became twice as interesting as he had been moments before.
“So you’re a smart guy.”
“I wouldn’t... put it that way. I just like learning.”
“Learning what? Medicine?”
“Anything, really.”
A shy smile appeared on Reid’s face.
You were already holding the lidocaine injection, along with an apology written all over your expression.
“This is going to hurt a little, okay? Just a tiny pinch.”
Spencer nodded.
You began injecting around the wound, and felt guilty every time you heard him exhale sharply from the discomfort.
When you were finished, about a minute later, you studied him to make sure he was alright.
“We’ll wait for it to kick in. Barely hurt at all, right?”
Even though both of you knew you were lying, he agreed anyway, and you rewarded him with a smile.
Something about him made you want to speak the way you were now—not condescendingly, but gently.
“So what do you study if you want to end up chasing criminals?”
“There are a lot of career paths that fit the profile. It depends on your specialty.”
“What did you study?”
“Psychology. Sociology. And a few other things.”
You were threading the needle when you glanced over.
“‘A few other things’?”
“I have several doctorates.”
Now you looked up completely.
“Several?”
“Three.”
“That is not a normal number of doctorates,” you joked, and apparently he found it funny.
By then, you had moved to stand beside him.
“I need you to stay still.”
“I’m not moving.”
“Good. Try to keep that up for the next five minutes.”
He turned out to be an exceptionally obedient patient.
Over the next several minutes, you could barely hear him breathe. Unlike when you administered the anesthetic, he showed no signs of discomfort.
A while later, you tied off the final stitch and examined the wound.
“You’re going to have a scar,” you remarked casually.
You finished cleaning the area and placed fresh gauze over it, hoping he might have a slightly less miserable day. As much as anyone who had just received stitches could.
You stepped back in front of him before continuing.
“As general instructions, keep the wound clean and dry for the next twenty-four hours. After that, you can wash it with water and mild soap, but no scratching your head.”
“Understood.”
“And I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t hit your head again.”
Your patient laughed softly.
“That usually depends on other people.”
“Then try surrounding yourself with less violent people.”
You grabbed a sheet of paper and started writing down instructions.
“If you experience dizziness, blurred vision, vomiting, severe headaches, or any unusual symptoms, come back to the ER immediately.”
“Understood.”
“It’ll hurt once the anesthetic wears off,” you added. “Tylenol should help. And you’ll need to come back in about seven to ten days to have the stitches removed.”
The man’s expression shifted slightly.
“That might be a problem.”
“Why?”
“I’m only passing through New Jersey.”
You frowned without realizing it.
“You don’t work here?”
“No. My unit is based in Quantico.”
You nodded slowly.
“Well, then you don’t have to come back to this hospital specifically. Any doctor can remove the stitches. A clinic, a hospital, even your primary care physician back in Virginia.”
“That makes things much easier.”
“Although I would appreciate it if you didn’t decide to remove them yourself.”
A look somewhere between confusion and disbelief crossed his face.
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“You’d be surprised how many people do.”
He smiled again.
The curve of his lips was small, but enough to soften the seriousness of his features.
Now that you had time to really look at him, you noticed he had very nice eyes.
There was something strangely pleasant about him—something you couldn’t quite identify.
Maybe it was the attentiveness with which he listened, or how sincere he seemed every time he spoke.
Whatever it was, you found yourself holding his gaze for a second longer than necessary.
“Can I do anything else for you, Spencer?”
“No. You’ve already done more than enough. Thank you, really.”
You gathered the empty wrappers and bloodstained gauze from the tray.
“I hope you feel better soon. I’m sorry you had to go through this.”
A gentle expression appeared on his face.
“Oh, it wasn’t your fault. It was very kind of you to help me.”
You looked down briefly, unable to stop a small smile.
“I’m just doing my job.”
At that exact moment, your pager vibrated in your pocket with its familiar beep.
A case.
When you looked up one last time, you found Reid watching you with curiosity.
“Duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Agent.”
“You too, Doctor.”
You left the cubicle and hurried down the hallway. The constant sounds of monitors, phones, and conversations blended together around you as you checked the pager message.
By the time you reached the Diagnostics Department, House was already leaning against his desk, tossing a ball in one hand.
“Why did you take so long?”
He didn’t even bother looking up.
“I was working. Doing your job, actually.”
Foreman laughed from the conference table.
“She’s got a point.”
“Nobody asked you,” House shot back.
You dropped the file onto the table harder than necessary and collapsed into a chair.
“Cuddy sent me to treat an FBI agent.”
“And did he survive?” House asked.
“He only needed a few stitches in his head.”
“What a tragedy.”
You shook your head as you opened the folder.
“Besides, he was probably the cutest guy I’ve seen in months.”
The room fell silent for a second.
Foreman raised an eyebrow.
“Wow.”
Cameron looked up from the lab results she had been reviewing.
“That cute?”
“Maybe not conventionally attractive. But he was to me.”
Chase pointed at himself.
“And what about me?”
All three of them stared at him.
“What about you?” Foreman asked.
“Well, if we’re going to start ranking people...”
“Don’t do this,” Cameron said, hiding a smile.
“I’m just saying, I find it offensive that I had to find out this way.”
“Poor Chase,” Foreman commented. “You’ve just been replaced by an ER patient.”
“I wasn’t even competing,” Chase defended himself.
“And you still lost,” House added, finally joining in.
Chase shot them an offended look.
“You’re all terrible people.”
“We know,” the blue-eyed doctor replied.
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
“I don’t even know why I told you that.”
“Because you’re in love,” House said.
“I am not in love.”
“Have you forgotten his name already?”
You opened your mouth to answer.
And stopped.
Spencer.
You remembered his name far too well.
House smirked triumphantly.
“Uh-huh.”
“Shut up.”
You picked up the new case file and tried to focus on the test results in front of you.
But no matter how hard you tried, your mind kept drifting back to hazel eyes, a shy smile, and a federal agent who was far too intelligent for his own good.
You wondered if he had already left.
And, without meaning to, you also wondered if you would ever see him again.
syopsis: obsessive nerds satoru and suguru have fawned over you since freshman year, jointly thirsting over your instagram and watching you silently in the halls. the stoners are invited to one of choso's partys, and fuck, they get really lucky. they worship you like a goddess and end up being thrown into your perfect orbit, in a secret affair behind your horrible boyfriend sukuna's back...
a/n: this is a much needed edited re-up of ruin me!
cw: so many typos... :: smut :: p in v :: deep fucking :: mmf :: oral (fem + male receiving) :: some very emotional sex :: a little angst (to comfort) :: fluff :: choso x reader if you squint :: a lil sukuna x reader (very toxic) :: name calling :: alcohol and weed consumption ac: @/mongsanghwa @/pamalechano @/hiikeu
“fuck, look at this sugu, she posted.”
satoru’s voice was hushed and frantic, but suguru didn’t even need to look, he already knew who it was. he leaned in anyway, exhaling through his nose at the beauty on satoru's screen.
your tongue, glossy and pink, flattened against the side of a ridiculously expensive erwhon gelato cone, your eyes looking up through your pretty lashes at the camera like you knew exactly what you were doing.
“shit, she’s so bad,” suguru sighed, lips curling into a sly yet crooked smile.
satoru groaned, raking his hands down his pretty face then bringing the phone closer like the pixels could bring him some sort of salvation. he zooms in on your cheekbones, your earrings, your mouth, that fuckin' mouth... then he pinches out to see it all again in it's full frame.
divine, he thinks.
“she doesn’t even know we exist,” suguru sighs, sounding almost proud of the fact. as if it made the fantasy better, or purer.
they were in the back row of their social studies lecture, tired and now, very overstimulated.
the professor was droning on about something to do with economic hierarchies, but all satoru could think about was your mouth and whether or not that was your real lip color or something expensive from sephora.
suguru’s mind wasn’t much better, he’d already saved the photo to his camera roll.
you were the shit, and not in a try hard way.
you were just it.
2000's pink fever dream is the kind of vibes you gave off. wearing whatever shoes were hot that week and some low rise jeans that hugged you snug, you flowed through the quad in tops that looked straight from a britney spears music video.
you were always laughing and draped in people who looked just as cool but still somehow dimmer than you.
there were whispers every time you passed, who you were dating now, what party you were at last night, which guy was crying after you’d ghosted him.
you were a story literally everyone wanted to tell.
but satoru and suguru didn’t just want to tell it, oh no. they wanted to live inside of it, in more ways than one...
no one looked at them. not as much as you, anyways. to put it lightly, no one looked at them in a way that was... appreciative.
sure, they were hot, that much was obvious.
satoru was tall with ridiculously good bone structure and an unfairly handsome face, he was the kind of guy you'd make eye contact with but instead of getting giddy, it makes your stomach drop like, "is he staring at me or am i just being weird and looking at him creepily...".
suguru definitely had an allure. he was pierced all over his face but not in a trashy way, dressed head to toe in black and always looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, yet still somehow better looking than everyone else.
so yeah, they're were hot. but they were weird.
they jointly have over 4000 hours on terraria. they watch stupid anime's all day and talk about different concepts and theories for hours after, and they play pokemon go and digimon all day unironically.
real nerd shit.
it was a known fact that the two could find a certain interest and obsess over it for the next bajillion years. so, when it came to you? it was safe to say they noticed quite literally everything.
like how you always posted around 11:30am like clockwork, probably right after class.
like how you changed your highlights every other week to match your current aesthetic, “🍸” was suguru’s favorite, that one had a photo of you in a tiny yellow bikini licking salt off your wrist.
like how your phone case had changed, a clear one with a blurry photo tucked into the back. satoru had spent ten minutes trying to enhance it in his camera app. it was some girl, maybe a friend? maybe someone you'd kissed.... yuck. either way, it ruined his entire afternoon.
“remember that video she posted last month?” satoru said dreamily, might as well of been thinking about a dead lover. “the one with her in the pool?”
suguru shakes his head. “don’t,” he sighs.
“she was doing that thing with her eyes, remember? like, eye fucking the camera? and she had that little chain around her waist, oh my god—"
“i said stop,” suguru snapped, though he was smiling. “i had to excuse myself from psych after that one. couldn’t stand up for ten fucking minutes.”
satoru swiped through your profile, it was as if every new photo was a different flavor of devastation.
you and your friends in the back of some expensive car. you holding a cocktail and laughing with your head thrown back. you bent over in a mini skirt, taking a mirror selfie with a little ass showing.
was this gross? definitely. did they care? a littleeee, but it wasn't like you'd give two weirdos the time of day anyway, so it didn't matter! that was their logic, anyway.
“i bet she moans pretty,” he said absently. suguru smiled and nodded. “oh, absolutely.”
satoru let out a huff. “jeez, i’d buy her a car just for saying my name.” and saying that wasn’t even absurd, the two of the boys were filthy rich.
“she always smells good, too.” satoru adds. “like… like a sexy scent. i don’t even know what it is. something grown.”
suguru huffed a laugh. “you sound so psychotic.”
“you smelled it too, though. that one time in the elevator. when she came in with maki and was on the phone with sukuna? she pressed the button and i literally blacked out, never been that close to her before.”
“right, and she had those jeans on, the real low ones.” satoru clutched his chest. “fuck. she’s so hot.”
they lapsed into silence again, both of them stewing in their own separate daydreams.
it wasn’t just that you were hot, everyone was hot in college. but you were something else, your own category.
suguru reached for satoru’s phone and swiped through your tagged photos now, which were even more the reminder that you were way out of their social circle.
there were many candid flashes of your life. you in the club with yuki and maki, glitter around your eyes and a bottle in one hand. you curled up on a dorm bed with shoko, half asleep and smiling wide with those pretty lips, your arms tight around ieri's torso. you and choso at a rooftop party, your chin on his shoulder and your fingers looped loosely around his belt.
satoru groaned. “i hate that she’s close with choso.”
“he’s like, her best friend.”
“urgh."
when class ended, the boys stood and made their way out of the room. suguru slung his bag over his shoulder as satoru joked about one thing or other, the two best friends falling into easy conversation.
as they step out into the hallway, however, all conversation stops when they spot you.
you were at the end of the hall posted up against the lockers, even the fluorescent lighting couldn’t make you look bad. if anything, it just made your skin glow warmer, your lip color glossier.
but, like always, you weren’t alone.
he was there, sukuna.
and god, he looked like a big, red, flashing warning sign, like something straight out of a sex and violence movie. he was tall and cut like a knife, his red eyes dark and oh so mean.
“gross,” satoru scoffed, ducking his head.
suguru didn’t add any quips, he just stared with clenched teeth.
sukuna had his hand on your waist, his chrome hearts rings catching in the light as his fingers dug into your flesh.
god, it was so possessive it made them sick, like he was daring anyone to look.
“he doesn’t deserve her,” satoru whispered, too quiet for anyone but suguru to hear.
“mhm, n' he cheats on her, too,” suguru muttered. “everyone knows it. choso was telling me he was touching up some girl at a bar the other week right infront of her.”
they stared at the scene like poor kicked puppies. sukuna was probably murmuring something dirty against your ear, and all you did was smile and hit his chest, acting like you both liked and hated it all at the same time.
satoru’s heart was pounding not with jealousy, or, not just jealousy, but with rage, helpless obsession. it was the possessive ache of wanting to save you from someone who didn’t deserve your attention, like at all, much less your affection.
he wanted to grab you by the shoulders and ask what you were doing, ask what you saw in him when you could have had the world.
then suddenly, as the boys are bickering over how shit of a boyfriend sukuna was, your gaze sweeps over the crowd for a second. and then it pauses, on them. or maybe just past them? maybe you didn’t see them at all? but your lashes flicked up, and satoru swore your eyes met his.
it was less than a second. a glitch in time. and then you looked away.
“we should go,” suguru said hoarsely.
satoru nodded, dazed. “yeah, yeah. let's go.”
they turned and walked in the other direction with their hearts pounding and their ears ringing, like they’d just survived a brush with a godess and came out utterly unworthy.
you on the other hand? the gaze you'd felt penetrating the side if you head earlier was driving you up the wall.
just for a moment, the faint prickle on the back of your neck, that sixth sense that someone was watching. not in a creepy way, more like a spotlight brushing over your skin. you looked up lazy and bored with your manicured hand still in sukuna’s, and there they were.
satoru and suguru. the weird ones.
the smart ones, the ones who sat in the back row and whispered loudly. they wore dark colors and always looked like they were thinking about something far too complicated to say out loud and share with the rest of the normies.
you knew who they were, obviously. not by name, by vibe. the tall one with the white hair and the other one with the bun and the earrings. they were always together, always some what quiet. always, always, staring.
they were looking at you now, or maybe through you.
you held their eyes for a second too long, or maybe not long enough? your eyes flicked over them like flipping a page, your stomach twisted a little when they blinked like they were too afraid to breathe.
and then you turned away.
“what?” sukuna asked getting all weird and possessive already, his voice low against your temple. “who th' fuck was that?”
“no one,” you said quickly, “just some nerds.”
he grunted and pressed a kiss to your cheek. it was hard and a little too showy for you, but you smiled like you liked it nevertheless.
his hand stayed on your ass the whole walk back to your pretty little dorm. on lookers offered their stares up like children seeing animal mascots on the street. and you liked it when people stared, or, you were supposed to.
that was kind of the whole point, wasn't it? being seen with him. it felt good being the girl everyone wanted yet so out of reach. it meant you were interesting, y'know? you were hot and keepable.
and sukuna was a lot of things, not really good things, but things all the same. sexy, really fucking mean, arrogant, your friends all had different names for it. toxic, thrilling, psychotic, exciting. but he was never boring, so that was a plus?
when you get back to your place, the dorm door smashes shut behind you, and suddenly he was all up on you with his heavy hands grabbing at every inch of your body, his mouth already sliding over your neck like he needed to mark you up.
you tilted your chin up and played along, somewhat. giggling when he pushes you against the wall tighter.
“i missed you,” he said, already pulling at your top. “fuck, you look so hot in this.”
“you saw me this morning,” you said lightly even as your stomach curled tight.
“not enough,” he rasped.
he kissed you hard and messy. sukuna was ever the desperate man when it came to sex, he tugged at your waistband and shoved you toward the bed, and you went.
~
it felt good, in theory...
how he just knew how to fuck you in a way that felt different to anyone else, it wasn't exactly nice, per se, but it was different, that's for sure.
your head always managed to stay up in the clouds during sex with him. way way up in the clouds.
you thought about how his hand always squeezed the fat too hard on your delicate throat. how he never asked beforehand if you were down or how he got really mean when you moaned too loud. how he always acted like he was the one doing something for you.
gross, really.
you finish up after a good half hour and your bodies collapse against the mattress.
sukuna inhales dragging smoke from the now lit cigarette between his fingers, eyes slipping across your body like he’s still hungry, or maybe just checking to make sure you’re still all there.
“you came, right?” he asks dully.
you nod. you didn’t, but he’s not looking at your face so he wouldn't know anyway.
he smirks and pats your thigh as if to say, 'good girl'. his tatted chest stretched as he inhaled deeply, they were sexy, sure, but now they just look like big flashy warnings you'd ignored.
“you’ve been weird lately,” he says curt. you roll onto your side away from him, dragging the sheets higher to hide your naked body.
“i’m tired,” you reply.
“you’re always fucking tired.” he snarls. like it’s your fault for being drained as if he’s not the reason you keep losing sleep.
he gets up. doesn’t bother with a shirt or anything, only paces toward the mirror checking his reflection. you watch him from the corner of your eye as he he adjusts his necklace and wipes his thumb across his mouth.
“i don’t like when you get quiet,” he says.
“i’m not quiet.”
“you were quiet at the party last week. and yesterday when i called, you sounded so off.” he doesn’t ask how you are, shit, he never does. it’s always, what’s wrong with you, never, what happened? he can tell when something’s different, but he doesn’t want to understand. he wants it fixed, he wants you back to normal. back to the chick that kisses his jaw while laughing at his jokes, clinging to his arm at kickbacks like a trophy wife.
“i’m fine,” you say.
you’re not, you've got that dull ache in your chest after he touches you and that knot of disappointment in your stomach when he says your name like some stupid command.
you used to feel chosen and so, so wanted, but now you just feel like a bet he doesn't like all that much.
“you’re not gonna start some shit, are you?” sukuna asks roughly,
“what are you talking about?”
he turns around with slitted eyes. “you always do this shit. pull away when things are good. look, i know i fucked up last weekend, okay? that bitch came onto me. i didn’t do shit.”
and there it is.
you hadn’t brought it up, hadn’t said a word about the girl at the bar last weekend. she had her hands all over him and he sure as hell wasn't moving, like, at all. so that whole 'she came onto me' thing was obviously bullshit.
you sit up slowly with your shaky arms around your knees. “i didn’t say anything about that,” you whisper gently.
“yeah, well, you’re thinking it. i can see. i know how your brain works.”
and that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? he doesn’t know how your brain works, hell, he only knows how to manage it, redirect it or drown it out.
he climbs back onto the bed, sitting over you and locking you in with his big, strong arms. “don’t start being weird, babe,” he says with that disgusting persuasion. his hand cups your face and his thumb strokes your cheek. “you’re mine. yeah?”
yuck.
"mhm."
he kisses your forehead sweetly like he’s doing something tender. but your skin feels... rotten, frankly.
as he peppers kisses to your face, reality starts to slowly creep into the cracks of your battered heart. you don’t want this anymore, but you don’t know what else there is.
you're looking up at him but your head is racking through the options. what else is there?
you could date a jock, maybe a business major who's destined for success? perhaps a quiet boy who actually pays attention to you.
with that thought, your mind is thrown into a daze, a nerd daze to be precise.
you think about the look those grade A hotties gave you earlier, the freakishly tall ones in the hallway. you don’t know their names, but you sure as hell remember the way they made you feel with one little glance.
hm.
before you know it, sukuna's throwing on a beater and fixing his hair in your mirror before patting your ass and mumbling a ‘later.’ like you were just another one of his hoes rather than his girlfriend.
there’s a hollow ache in your ribs, the kind you ignore, ignore, ignore, until it piles up behind your lungs, ready rot.
you sit up groggily and the mirror on your vanity catches your —admittedly— terrible reflection. you've got smudged mascara and your lipstick half gone. you look like a girl who’s just been fucked, sure, but not in a good way, kinda like an accidental one night stand kinda way...
why do you keep letting him do this to you?
you sigh and look down at your phone, deciding there was no one better to call right now than your right hand man, choso.
he picks up after two rings. “yo.”
“hey,” you say curling your legs beneath you. “you busy?”
you hear him exiting whatever room he was in then he responds, “nah. what’s up?”
“just…” you hesitate and take a deep breath, the words feet much too heavy. “i feel like shit.”
“ryomen?”
you sigh.
“he’s such a dick,” choso scoffs like he’s already angry for you. “what happened this time?”
“same shit,” you mumble. “he left without even looking at me. he barely touched me. like i was just… just there to get him off.” you despise how much you sound like a frail little girl, but you couldn't help being vulnerable in this moment.
you hear choso inhale like he wants to say something cruel about sukuna, but doesn’t wanna kick you while you’re down.
instead, he suggests, “you should come to this thing m' having tonight. it's at my place, just a few people. yuki’s coming, maybe shoko. i’ll let you smoke some of my shit.”
you press your lips together. “wow, let me? how generous of you." you smile, but it fades almost as quick as it came. "hm. but sukuna’ll be there.”
“no,” he says simply. “he doesn’t know about it."
oh? that surprises you, suddenly you feel much happier.
“what?” he adds dryly. “i’m allowed to throw a party without that asshole, and you need to get out. please?”
you hum like you haven't already made up your mind.
“you can wear that matching set, the leopard print one,” choso adds. “the ones so sexy.”
you give him an excited giggle and agree.
“fine,” you say. “i’ll come.”
he hums like he knew you would. “i’ll text you the details. bring whoever you want.”
you thank him then hang up and lay back again.
sure, sukuna had basically ruined your entire afternoon, but chosos parties were always nice, and he wouldn't be there. win win!
~
meanwhile, satoru’s dorm smells like weed and really expensive cologne.
the taller guys legs are criss crossed on the bed with his shirt clinging to his broad chest, his glasses halfway down his nose. suguru’s in the desk chair off to the side with his sketchbook balanced on his thigh, pen smoothing over the page. they’re both a little baked.
“sukuna can't handle all of that, bro,” satoru says after a moment. “he’s such a fucking clown.”
“i hear ya.”
they'd been taking shots at the man for being a pissy boyfriend for the past half hour.
“she should be worshipped,” suguru echoes, voice low. “with tongue.”
satoru laughs like he's short of breath. “you’re gonna make me hard again.”
“you’re always hard.”
“only for her.”
satoru grabs the blunt and takes another hit, suguru adds a shadow to your lips, the shape of them exact from memory. he doesn’t need reference photos anymore he could draw you from bone and ash if he were ever stranded in the pits of hell.
“gross. what if she's with that flop.” satoru sighs.
he groans, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it over his face. “i need to go to the gym, i can't imagine her with that dick any longer.”
suguru just keeps drawing. his phone buzzes against the desk, he glances down, then lifts it. “it’s choso.”
he picks up. “yeah?”
choso’s voice is clear. “yo, i'm having a party at my place tonight, you two should come.”
suguru glances at satoru, who’s peeking from beneath the pillow with a very interested look, they weren't really the guys to be invited to functions.
“who’s coming?”
“toji, nanami, yuki. maybe shoko. and, uh,” choso pauses. “y/n.” suguru’s grip on the phone actually quadrupled.
the two boys quite literally jitter at the mention of your name, their minds racking with the millions of possible situations that could occur tonight. this wasn't real, surely?
“y/n's coming?" satoru mouths sitting upright like an excited puppy.
suguru smiles at satoru and nods, making the white haired boy grin from ear to ear and jump up from the bed like the big goof he is.
“we’ll bring something,” suguru says, calm as ever, although, let's be real, he's fucking ecstatic. “see you soon, cho.” he hangs up and closes the sketchbook.
satoru is scrambling for a hoodie. “are we bringing alcohol or pot?”
"pot, obviously.”
“should i put on cologne or is that too much?”
“nah, it's never too much.”
satoru smiles. “okay, okay! i'll put on the nice one.”
“do you think she’ll talk to us?” satoru asks, suddenly nervous.
“no,” suguru says.
“but we’ll be near her.” satoru swallows.
“okay, yeah. near’s good.”
~
choso’s posted up on the porch like some washed up security guard.
his shoulders relax when he sees them walking up the sidewalk, two tall silhouettes backlit by the streetlights. satoru gets there first with his geeky faded digimon shirt being overshadowed by his sheer muscular mass.
“you postin’ up like a bouncer now?” he teases, breath fogging in the crispy weather.
“gotta keep the freaks out,” choso mutters, glancing between the two of them. “and then i remember i invited you.”
suguru smiles, he was dressed like a chanel model cross frat attire, for a total geek he knew how to throw a fit. black button up halfway open reveling his tribal tattooed chest and some ridiculously expensive jeans that flattered his body so well. “and aren’t you glad you did?”
“jury’s out,” choso rolls his eyes.
satoru digs into his pocket and pulls out a small tin of weed. “look, our entry fee.” he says, flipping it open and offering it like a tray of macarons. “it's really good shit, so be greatful.”
“right,” choso says, but he takes one.
“suguru bought ‘em. he’s got a good dealer,” satoru borderline whines, he doesn't like people doubting him or his best friend.
"i'm just messin with you, toru." choso pushes satorus shoulder and laughs. "are you guys gonna be alright in there? lots of people y' don't know."
“we’re always alright,” satoru grins.
“sure,” choso says. “you two have a weird effect on people.”
satoru grin's teasingly “you mean a sexy effect.”
“i mean a weird one,” choso reiterates.
suguru chuckles, “we’re on our best behavior.”
“that your best?” choso gestures to suguru’s half open shirt. “jesus.”
once they smooth inside they're blown in the face by the potent smell of alcohol and grass.
people give them glances then quickly look away like they're either intimidated or just not coherent enough to fully appreciate their beauty.
they find a couch in the corner that's low to the ground and good for people watching. suguru takes the end and man spreads out while satoru slouches beside him with his long limbs draped in studied disarray, his finger idly tapping his phone screen but not really looking at it.
frank ocean is softly floating in the background, it's overall a good kinda vibe.
they're just settling in when they notice toji. he’s up near the kitchen leaning against the counter dressed in black on black on black. he doesn’t smile at anyone and he doesn’t blink, just watches them watching him.
satoru lifts two fingers in a greeting. “toji,” he calls.
toji raises his cup in acknowledgment and stalks towards the two.
“you look well,” suguru smiles.
toji’s voice cuts across the room. “hm, what’d you bring?”
“weed,” satoru answers, grinning. “and each other.”
“i figured,” toji mutters. he takes a sip from his cup, then adds, “y'know, y/n's here.”
“oh, when'd she get here?” suguru asks trying to sound nonchalant.
“just walked in,” toji says. “looked abit sad, i can't lie."
“aw,” satoru hums looking over the crowd.
“and sukuna?” suguru asks.
toji’s yawns. “haven’t seen the guy, don't think toji invited him.”
“good,” satoru flashes his pearly teeth.
toji shakes his head as he watches them for another second. “you two are fucking sick,” he says.
“we know,” satoru replies.
“but you’re fun to watch,” toji adds, then vanishes into the kitchen.
satoru exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “i might combust.”
“oh cmon,” suguru says. “we haven't even seen her yet.” but obviously, as life would have it, they clock you.
and when you walk into the room like some higher being with that outfit, satoru breathes your name out then slaps a hand to his big stupid mouth. suguru doesn’t say anything but his hands are already itching for a pen, wanting to capture this moment in his own little way.
you looked perfect.
that’s all they can think in their half baked brains, watching you from across the room like you’re the moon and they'd never seen night before. the party smooshes around you all, orbiting the shine of your pretty smile and the flash of your earrings, the sweet ridiculous sway of your hips as you laugh at something yuki says and lean into her like you belong to no one.
they're not breathing right, they keep inhaling too deep or too slow, then holding it like they're trying to trap the moment inside their lungs.
“my god,” satoru mutters, "look at her.”
"i know..." suguru's got one of his hands rubbing his temples like this is all too much for him.
they’re stoned, yeah, but it’s the kind of high that sharpens things instead of dulling them down to a blunt smack. it makes your mouth dry and your stomach hollow and your hands twitch when you see something you want but just can’t touch.
you’re surrounded, of course. draped in others arms and flowing conversations while smiling so, so brightly, sipping from someone else’s cup.
yuki’s arms around your waist, maki’s laughing near your shoulder, shoko leaning in close to talk to you over the noise.
“i’d ruin her,” satoru says softly.
“shh, not here,” suguru murmurs.
then, choso appears, intruding their spectacle. he slips behind you like a shadow and you lean back into him freely, your head tilting toward his shoulder and your hand coming up to hold around his wrist. your fingers brush the hem of his sleeve and satoru physically can't help but twitch.
“what the fuck,” satoru huffs.
“best friends,” suguru reminds him. “remember?”
choso says something and you laugh, he wraps an arm around your waist and you don’t move away. satoru makes another strangled noise like the drama queen he is.
“calm down,” suguru says, though even his usually calm and soothing voice is aggressive now.
yet, their malice almost instantly disappears when they watch your eyes scan the room then, oh shit, they land right on them.
satoru feels it like a physical blow to the head, your gaze lands on him, then suguru, then both of them. your expression doesn’t change much, just a soft, almost curious look.
and then choso follows your gaze too, and...
fuck.
he smirks and they panic.
you smile as choso whispers something only you can hear in your ear, "you see those two over there? they've got this huge crush on you, y'know. might be worth indulging to forget about that asshole for tonigt."
you considered his words, it was the nerds from earlier, and hell if they didn't look even more attractive in the dark lighting... maybe choso was onto something.
he starts walking toward them, still holding your waist guiding you through the people like he’s bringing you home.
satoru’s heart starts flipping out, perhaps even convulsing and dying. suguru quickly closes the sketchbook he was about to start drawing in and sets it beside him.
“play it cool,” he murmurs.
satoru nods. “yeah, yeah! cool, i'm so cool,”
“lower your shoulders,” suguru adds.
“right.”
“stop bouncing your leg.”
“fuck me, bro.”
you stop in front of them like a beautiful monet. next to you choso cheeses. “you two remember how to say hi to a girl, or do i have to teach you?”
“hi! i- uh,” satorus voice cracks and he slaps a hand over his mouth.
“hi." suguru cuts in trying to save his best friend. you smile at him, sweet and a-lot-a-bit amused at gojos little slip up.
“hi,” you say, and your voice is warm and clear, offering satoru a smirk that makes his ears turn redder.
“this is satoru,” choso smiles, gesturing with one ringed finger. “he’s sort of a science freak, he's an astrophysics major, thinks weed makes him smarter.”
“it does,” satoru replies instantly, sitting up and adjusting his glasses while adorably avoiding eye contact with you. “scientifically.”
“right... and this is suguru,” choso continues, looking at him with a smile. “ he's an arts major. probably has a hundred drawings of you in that little sketch book.”
suguru almost choked at the call out and fumbles to skwark out a response. “hey! don’t tell her that.”
hm, this was definitely getting intriguing. you glance at him, angling your head to access him better. “oh, is that true?” you tease.
he meets your eyes shyly. “maybe."
you giggle and satoru feels it sink deep into his love struck heart.
they could'nt believe it, you were seriously talking to them, like, right now. offering them your perfect pretty voice as you stood there radiantly gazing at them through pretty lashes. they could feel their blood rushing to all different places at the sheer proximity...
"you’re choso’s friends?” you ask, looking between them sweetly pretending to not notice the way they're practically eye fucking you. they were definitely fans, you could just tell. not to mention one of them apparently has some secret stalker sketches of you, they weren't exactly being subtle.
“yeah, classmates,” suguru throws out, rubbing his neck and adjusting his jeans while satoru still sat peering up at your figure.
these guys were a little weird, you'd thought that since seeing them in the hallway, but they were hot. like, smoking hot. “i’m a media comms major,” you giggle, “minoring in fashion marketing.”
“we know.” satoru blurts out way louder than anticipated, then catches himself. “i mean, cool. that’s cool.”
you raise a brow. “you guys stalking my linkedin or something?”
“lowkey, yeah,” suguru says unapologetically.
“jesus,” choso mutters.
but you laugh again like you don’t mind. you twirl a piece of hair around your finger. “that's... cute, i guess."
cute. she called us cute.
“mm. more like dumb freaks,” choso says fondly. and you just smile like you’re not even a little surprised. maybe you knew?...
“good,” you say. “i like freaks.” and satoru’s entire brain turns to mush while suguru clears his throat and pulls at his jeans once again.
choso drops down onto the couch with his legs spread and his back slouched, and you slip easily into the space beside him, your thigh brushing his.
“so,” you say, stretching your legs out. the hem of your skirt riding higher, “what do two scary smart guys like you do for fun?”
“this,” satoru says, pointing to his blunt.
“and this,” suguru murmurs, tapping his sketchbook, you glance over at the long haired guy.
“are you really drawing me or was that like, a joke?”
he doesn’t answer at first, just looks at you with that hesitant gaze, then flips open the sketchbook, turns it toward you, and holds it still.
your face sat staring back at you, charcoal and his smudged obsession all over the page.
hm, he was serious...
you nod, then laugh. “that’s kinda insane,” you smile, appreciative yet a little concerned, as one would be.
“yeah, he’s kinda insane,” satoru says.
“takes one to know one,” you reply, not looking away from suguru.
his voice is embarrassed now as he avoids your sparkling eyes. “do you... do you mind?”
you glance at him, then satoru, then choso, who just shrugs like he’s used to this kind of attention around you.
“guess not,” you say. “i think it’s hot, just wished i'd known of such devout fans a little sooner, y'know.”
satoru makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat, suguru just hums and flips to a fresh page. he was always quieter when he was embarrassed, nervous, or flustered, and satoru could tell suguru was going insane over your careless flirting.
every word that fell from your mouth was driving the boys insane, they glanced at eachother and exchanged a silent conversation. one that said, 'i'm so fucking hard right now what the hell am i supposed to do!?' they both clear their throats and shift in their seats.
your eyes drag over to satoru next, making him tense up a little. “and you? physics, right? what do you do in your spare time?”
“i… read things. smoke, i think about time a lot.” look at photos of you, he almost stutters, adjusting his glasses again out of nervous habit.
you blink. “hm, time?”
“yeah, like, the concept of it. what it means that we experience things in sequence. how we know we’re not dreaming.”
god he was such a dork, but you loved it so far. he was cuter than suguru, one was stoic and sexy and the other was slightly more bubbly and cute, this dynamic was really starting to grow on you.
feeling confident you let the sweetness drop and the sultry tone take over, deciding to tease him in that flirty way.
“you're so weird.”
“yeah,” he says breathless at the change of mood, “i know.”
you stare at him, his big black rimmed glasses and his faded digi shirt, how big he was for such a timid seeming guy.
then you shift to suguru, he's quiet and strange, i mean, who the hell draws hundreds of sketches of someone they've never had the courage to talk to before?
yeah, they were both lowkey kinda guys, quiet and awkward. but fuck if they weren't bad as hell. catching their eye in the hallway and now meeting them at a party? the universe was surely giving you signs.
you watch as their eyes seem to wash over each and every part of your body, taking in every little detail.
you’re a little high, but not stupid. you’re used to attention but not like this. theirs feels… different. more intense, almost like they’re not flirting, more so studying.
choso slings an arm behind you, tapping your shoulder with two fingers. “you good?”
“mmhm,” you hum, leaning into his touch. “they’re interesting.”
“told you.”
“and hot.” you murmur.
satoru hears it and his breath hitches.
“you guys live on campus?” you ask, them being oblivious to the ulterior motives cooking up in your head.
“yeah, the dorms,” satoru says.
“it’s kinda gross.” suguru adds, the boys once again exchanging a look to almost check up on eachother. we're good so far, normal conversation isn't that bad!
“so you guys hang out a lot?” you ask, tilting your head.
“basically live in each other’s pockets,” choso says, tapping ash into the cup again. “they’re like married. it’s freakish.”
“shut up, it’s just practical,” suguru replies.
“yeah, no, that's hot,” you repeat again. two sexy guys living in the same dorm knowing they're both fans of you and we're currently shitting bricks over this insignificant conversation? this situation was almost too perfect to be playing out the way it was. you felt like the universe was playing some reverse harem trick on you.
you’re lounging back now as your finger traces patterns on the head of the couch right by sugurus neck.
they're almost having an out of body experience, everything is too much. your perfume is quite literally assaulting their noses in the best way, your body is moving and shifting and it's only worsening the growing bludges in both of their pants.
they feel an overwhelming urge to just pick you up and take you back to their dorm, sit you on the bed and study every little thing. ask every question they've been dying to know about you, take turns worshiping, praising, pleasuring the beauty that only existed on their phones until this very moment.
now you're talking to choso about whatever party's happening next week, engulfed in his words giving them time to debrief off to their own side of the couch.
suguru leans into satoru's ear and whisper screams like the room isn't teeming with noise. "what the hell do we do now?"
satorus still cooling down from the light teasing and rubs his eyes under his glasses. "she's literally right there, we can't lose this opportunity, bro. what should we say?"
"we could ask about her modelling?" suguru suggests.
"that's creepy." satoru shakes his head, shooting his head over his shoulder to make sure you're still busy talking to choso.
"her hobbies?"
"too basic!"
"then what the fuck do we say?!"
"you're acting like i talk to women!"
before they can finish their pathetic little plan to keep you interested, choso turns to them and speaks up.
“i’m gonna go grab a drink,” he laughs. he pushes up from the couch, a cocky smirk falls across his mouth. “don’t embarrass yourselves too hard, boys.”
suguru rolls his eyes and satoru feels his bones tense.
and just like that, you’re alone.
in this perfect little corner of the room, it’s just you and them. two boys who’ve been obsessing over you for months like it was a sport, acting unbothered every time you walked past even though they were starving in ways they’d never ever admit.
satoru leans back like he’s relaxed with his legs sliding wider, pretending he’s just getting comfy to hide the way his pants are getting tighter and tighter... his fingers tap his thigh slowly as he plasters on that wicked smile, yet inside, he feels like if he blinks wrong he’ll cry.
suguru try's to look calmer but his thoughts are loud, every one of them about where to take this next, how to keep it cool, how to not give away that he’s two seconds away from losing all of his composure.
you can pick up the sexual tension and decide to capitalise on it. “jeez, you guys always this intense?”
you fold your arms under your chest and lean in giving them a good look at your pretty cleavage. both of them glance down quickly, then immediately back up.
instead of panicking, satoru answers smoothly, “maybe you’re just distracting.”
suguru hums. “yeah, kinda hard not to stare at a girl like you.”
underneath the nonchalant-ness, they’re freaking the fuck out. since when were they able to hold up conversation without nerding out and scaring people off?
you laugh, waving it off. “i’m teasing. you’re just a bit nervous, that’s fine. you guys don’t talk to many girls or something?”
satoru gives a little shrug. “not ones like you.”
suguru leans in closer, “definitely not like you.”
you can tell that they're going to war in their own respective minds, you sorta had that effect on people. but they for some reason, made it much more obvious than other guys.
cute, you liked virgins.
behind this blatant flirting your mind drifts to sukuna, then to the girls you know he's hiding somewhere in his phone, and suddenly he's gone again. funny how that happens. if he can treat you like shit, then you can do the same.
your eyes drop to the sketchbook on suguru’s lap at the half finished sketch of yourself, he really was talented, you liked that in your men.
“so… you always draw girls you wanna fuck, orrr?”
satoru genuinely almost groans at the vulgar words coming out of such a cute mouth, but suguru doesn’t react as strongly.
“no.”
you turn your head slightly, lips turning up into a smile. “just me then?”
his eyes flutter shut for half a second like you'd caught him red handed. “yeah... just you.”
you trail your gaze down his torso deliberately, then turn to satoru.
“what about you, gojo?”
he clears his throat gently, “satoru, you can call me satoru.. and what about me?”
you lower your voice, fingers playing with your skirt. “d'you want me too? is this something the both of you like... discuss in your little nerd cave?”
he actually laughs under his breath trying for suave. “want’s a mild word...”
"hm. so, you ever think about what it’d be like?” your voice goes low. “taking me apart together?”
might as well throw the ball out there and see how they react.
and react they did, the guilty look on their faces confirmed what you pretty much already knew, they were into that freaked out throuple shit.
you continue like you’re talking about the weather, just trying to get a rise out of them, mentally and physically. “who’d start,” you say, “and who’d finish.”
your hand slides down suguru’s solid bicep and his throat bobs hard.
“you’d take turns, right?” you ask sweetly. “be real nice to me?”
satoru curses under his breath and suguru digs his nails into his knee to keep from shivering.
you smile at them, “or maybe not?”
now their heads are filled with images they’ve only let themselves fantasise about in the dark. suguru’s brain is showing him flashes, your hands bound with his belt, your mouth open and wet, your thighs trembling under both their grips.
satoru’s picturing you in his lap, suguru behind you, his fingers splayed over your throat while satoru kisses the words out of your mouth.
you lean back, finally giving them room to breathe, but they don’t. they seriously can’t.
and still, through the thick syrup of want, you feel it: the sting of guilt. you’re not drunk, maybe a bit high, bust still. when it came down to it, you were just being reckless while hurting.
memories of sukuna’s thick fingers on your waist just yesterday, the way he grunted when he finished and didn’t look you in the eye. just zipped up, threw some unsignificant words your way, and left.
you think of all the nights you cried over him and all the times you begged, all the times you forgave him just to keep things civil.
and you think of last weekend. and the weekend before that, and the weekend before that.
it seemed like you had a new story for each function you went to together, this was not healthy.
...yeah, fuck it.
they obviously want you, really badly, and you needed a good distraction. what better distraction than two tall, handsome strangers to take your mind off things?
you move so you're sitting in between them, and they part for you like the red sea. "can't let geto take all of the attention now can i?"
“jesus christ,” satoru whispers as you sit down almost ontop of him, he tries his best to keep his hands to himself as you readjust your skirt while sitting squished between them.
you catch yourself grinning before grabbing the white haired boys collar, what did you have to lose? one night, you could indulge for one night.
you lean in, suguru’s breath fans over your cheek as you press your lips to satoru’s, it was barley a brush, yet the exhale that escaped his lips was thick and needy. his hands jumped to your jaw but you pull away quick to give suguru some attention.
he meets you halfway with his eyes falling shut. his hand guides up your body and brushes your waist although he doesn’t pull you in, not yet, not unless you want it.
and you do.
so you kiss him deeper with one hand gripping his shirt and the other sliding up into satoru’s soft hair. they’re both touching you everywhere like they can’t believe this is real, they're half expecting to wake up in a cold sweat.
you pull back for air with lips bruised, and satoru’s chasing you before he even knows it, a needy, gasping thing.
your mouths meet messily with hunger. you nip his lower lip and he whimpers, then moans low in his throat as your hips shift between them, pressing firm to suguru’s thigh. satoru’s pupils are blown so wide they look bottomless.
and god, god, they want you.
"holy— are you real?" suguru manages to groan, and you feel ecstatic at the feeling.
all until the fear hits.
your eyes open, just barely and you do a quick sweep of the room. you see them everywhere, phones.
not aimed at you, but they're everywhere all the same. in hands, on laps, on tables. camera lenses you can’t see and screens you can’t control. this isn’t your dorm, this isn’t even your party, this is choso’s house. and you’ve made a career, a life, out of being seen a certain way, you can’t risk this.
not when there’s a chance he could see it. sukuna was a headache you wanted to deal with much later down the track.
you pull back pressing your palms to their chests. their mouths chase yours dazed and so out of breath, but you hush them with a kiss to the corner of suguru’s lips, a brush of your fingers down satoru’s jaw.
“we should take this somewhere more.. private.” you whisper sensually.
you slide off the couch and tug your dress into place, checking over your shoulder once as a coy smile spreads across your swollen lips. suguru’s standing eagerly and satoru fumbles with his belt that you'd pulled at earlier.
“lets go upstairs, yeah?”
you shoot down the hall and up choso's long stairway, you faintly hear them behind you whispering curses.
“jesus christ.” satoru mutters under his breath. “what's even happening...”
“this is a dream, it's gotta be.” suguru says.
“if it is, don’t wake me.”
you reach the upstairs hallway where the rooms are, and choso's standing by his bedroom door with the drink he said he was gonna grab earlier.
you look up at him and he seems to know the situation before you even had a chance to explain. his eyes flick over your body, the smear of gloss on your chin and the flushed heat of your cheeks, he doesn’t judge.
he stares behind you at the taller boys practically shaking with nerves, he tries to surpress a laugh at how pathetic his friends look. although, hes proud of them for not totally ruining their opportunity with you by saying something too creepy or out of pocket.
you step close, just enough for him to hear you over the noise of whatever shitty drake song was bumping.
“can i use your room, cho?” you ask politely. the way you say it is sweet and light, but choso can hear the not so nice undertones, the rage. the heartbreak. the fuck you of it all.
he looks like he's contemplating for a moment, then exhales through his nose. “both, huh?" he teases, earning a bashful look rom all three of you. "course, go crazy.”
you grin shyly as your fingers brush his wrist as you pass by, "thanks, love ya."
when the two men scuff by, choso nods, and yawns. “don’t fuck up my shit.”
satoru closes the door behind you with trembling fingers and suguru rubs his neck anxiously like he's ten seconds away from falling apart all over you.
they both look at you with wide eyes and unsure, after all, this was their first time.
they’re looking at you like you’re quite literally the single most amazing thing they've ever seen, and even with the air of uncertainty, they both looked so beautiful you wanted to sob.
you take a shaky step back toward the bed, and they follow suit.
they don’t rush you or fumble, they just inch closer like gravity’s dragging them to you. like they’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment and they’d rather die before wasting it.
you stand next to choso's big comfy bed, suguru stands close infront of you as satoru circles behind, they're both sweating bullets. you watch as their hands shake with the need to touch, to grab.
"well... go on." you whisper.l
both boys tense up, but as soon as the hesitation's gone they're scrambling to try and make this feel as natural and consensual as possible before indulging in their fantasies, like they'd always said they would if this was to ever happen.
“is this okay?” suguru asks, brushing his fingers along the bottom of your skirt. “we’ll stop if you—”
“—no,” you breathe. “no, it's fine. don't stop, just... please.”
the boys look at eachother like they'd struck gold.
satoru’s long fingers pull your tight top up and over your body, kissing at your neck as he does so. suguru stands behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a deftness that makes your thighs clench, his mouth grazing your shoulder blades as the straps fall loose down your arms.
they undress you like they’re unwrapping some beautiful luxury gift. for virgins, they were doing wonderfully so far.
suguru’s hands slide down your sides to unzip your skirt, and it pools around your ankles in a heartbeat. satoru drops to his knees to help you step out of it, and you could swear he shudders when your bare thighs come into view.
“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re…”
but he doesn’t finish.
he just looks up at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, blue and blown with complete and utter awe, he's staring like you’re some divine creature.
then suguru turns you gently, his hand curling under your chin to tilt your face toward his. he kisses you slowly, and when he pulls back you’re trembling from the sensuality of it all.
you almost feel greedy having this much attention on you.
choso’s sheets are soft and rumpled beneath your thighs as they ease you down, laying you back so softly. satoru kneels beside you and suguru leans over you, and they begin to undress themselves slowly.
you cant help but groan because god, they’re unreal under all of that geeky shit.
suguru shrugs off his sweater, the hem dragging over his beautifully cut torso revealing smooth, pale skin and thick lines of muscle traced with soft black hair.
he’s covered in little scars, faint things like he’s lived a hundred lives just to get here, in this moment with you.
you can’t look away from the tattoos that curve around his chest, how they stretch over his muscle as he inches closer.
satoru pulls off his jumper in one messy sweep, ruffling his snowy hair and leaving it even more tussled than before. his t-shirt comes next, he’s a little leaner than suguru, but muscular all the same.
you stare, and they know you’re staring. i mean, you weren't being very subtle about it...
satoru goes redder in the face from this new attention, his hands are shaking again as he peels off his jeans. when you glance down, you gawk as his pretty cock slaps back against his tummy, so hard and long.
suguru’s slower as usual, keeping his eyes on you the whole time as he undoes his belt and pushes down his jeans, the snap of leather making your thighs squeeze together.
and then they’re both kneeling at the foot of the bed, fully undressed, looking at you like you’re god.
“she’s shaking,” suguru notices as his eyes trail up your bare legs. “we should start slow, satoru.”
you're genuinely overwhelmed at how methodical they seem to be, how having their undivided attention suddenly flipped the power dynamic, now you're at their mercy.
when they lay you back, when they open your thighs with trembling hands and eager mouths, you feel a flip of need in your stomach.
you’ve been touched before, plenty. you’ve been kissed, been fucked, been thrown around a bedroom by a man who only knew how to want you with his hands, not his heart.
sukuna was always rough and so, so selfish. he’d shove your knees apart without looking you in the eye, fuck you hard and fast like he was trying to pour out all of his frustration, and always left you cold and empty afterwards.
you let yourself be used, again and again. hoping that one dad, he’d see you, want you in the way romeo wants juliet.
and now? instead of that, there’s this.
satoru’s mouth hot and wet and oh so greedy as his tongue slides past your lips, moaning like he’s already got his cock inside of you.
suguru’s hands fan over your chest, groping your tits sensually, “fuck, want you so bad."
satoru pulls away from your lips with a gasp, tugging at your jeans. “fuck, want you bare. now.”
suguru butts in, “that okay?”
you nod, also breathless. “yeah,”
“good girl,” the purple eyed man smiles, his eagerness making you throb.
shit, for virgins these guys knew how to get a girl going, your mind was blown.
satoru falls to his knees and kisses your thighs feverishly, his spit drips onto your pussy before he laps it up with a filthy moan. “fuck, you’re wet,” satoru pants. “is that for us?”
you nod with your hips trembling, whines spilling out with each breath. "f—fuck! he's, yes it's for you." you groan.
suguru snakes a hand around the front for your cunt and finds your clit in record time, dj-ing the bundle of nerves using satoru's spit as lube. "aw, you like that baby? like having us both at once?"
they moan in sync when you moan out a "fuck, yes!"
satoru buries his face in your cunt like he’s trying to suffocate in it, his tongue circling your clit now as suguru toys with your nipples, his two fingers working deep inside you, slapping wet sounds into the quiet of the room. satoru's sloppy and greedy with his jaw completely soaked, eyes rolling back every time you whimper. “taste her,” he mumbles up to suguru. “holy shit, taste-”
suguru shifts positions and leans down without hesitation, then licks you right off satoru’s mouth. your knees almost give out.
“perfect,” he mutters.
“so fucking good,” satoru finishes.
they drag you further up the bed, both of them hard and leaking. you see the way satoru grips the base of his cock, flushed red and twitching, precum spilling down his knuckles. suguru’s is heavier, curved meanly upwards, all veined and dark, there's a piercing glinting at the tip.
“can we take you?” satoru pants while suguru's leaving heavy kisses up and down the sides of your shoulders.
“—yes!” you whimper, “please, please.”
the black haired ones on you first, face now buried between your thighs in place of satoru, tongue working your clit while satoru kneels beside your head, stroking his cock. “open,” he tells you, you obey, and he spits in your mouth with a devilish grin.
“swallow it,” suguru says, watching from between your legs. “good fucking girl.” he praises as he watches your throat bob.
they take turns. satoru fucks your throat slow and deep, his hands cradling your head like you're both fragile yet able. suguru sucks and licks up every inch of your cunt, his tongue curling inside you, then pulling back to spit on your clit before rubbing it in with his fingers.
“she likes that,” satoru says with a wrecked voice. “look how loud she's gettin'.”
“jesus,” suguru growls. “god, let me fuck her already—"
“wait,” satoru groans, pulling out of your throat with a pop. “i wanna be in her mouth when you go in.”
they flip you, get you on your hands and knees. satoru kneels in front of you, his cock glossy with your spit. suguru lines himself up behind you, hands firm on your hips.
you’re soaked and throbbingas he slides in with one slow, mean thrust, and you scream around satoru’s cock.
suguru groans a pornographic groan. “tight fucking pussy,” he pants. “gripping me so hard, fuck!”
“she's doing so well, taking my cock to the —fuck— to the base,” satoru gasps, thrusting into your mouth.
they fuck you in sync. suguru pounds into you from behind, each thrust making your thighs shake, cock punching deep into your cunt while satoru holds your face steady and uses your throat like a pocket pussy. tears streak your cheeks and spit drips from your lips.
you're completely and utterly wrecked, yet you’ve never felt more loved.
“gonna cum,” suguru growls, yanking you up by the hair. “gonna fill her up,”
“inside,” you gasp, pulling off satoru. “please, please come inside!”
suguru moans at that, and with one final pull, he's spilling inside you hard and deep. he keeps thrusting through it, fucking his cum back up into you.
“switch,” you mumble almost instantly. “i want both.”
satoru's all breathless but he's grinning like a kid on christmas, he helps you onto your back.
suguru leans down and kisses you filthily, cum still dripping from your pussy onto the sheets.
you’re shaking, but still hungry for more of this sweet, sweet sex.
“you sure?” satoru pants, slapping his cock against your ass before lining up.
“yes,” you breathe. and when you confirm, he slides in slowly.
he tried to hold back, but the moment he bottoms out, his control shatters. he slams into you, moaning like he’s possessed, watching his cock fuck suguru’s cum into you with each thrust.
“fuuuuk, you’re dripping,” he gasps. “that’s his, huh? all that from us?” he leans down and kisses your open mouth, then pulls back to spit in it again. you swallow with a moan.
suguru watches, stroking himself with a fucked our expression. “you’re both so hot,” he sighs. “look at you two, jesus.”
after a good few deep thrusts, satoru too finishes inside you hard, his cock spamming and jerking deep in your cunt. you feel every spurt, hot and full mixing with suguru’s, dripping down your thighs.
and then, “open up,” suguru says, kneeling over your chest from his spot beside the bed.
you stick out your tongue and his seed covers the inside of your mouth. you swallow it all and the action makes the boys hard all over again.
still, they gauge that this was probably enough for the first time, and they rush to clean you up immediately.
this was sex you could seriously get used to.
~
after the clean up, you’re asleep before either of them can even utter the word 'aftercare'.
curled between them in the tangle of choso’s sheets, one leg tossed over suguru’s thigh, your cheek pressed deep into satoru’s warm chest.
your breathing is soft and steady like you’ve never slept better, like you were meant to end up right here, with both of them wrapped around you tight.
satoru stares down at you, stunned.
“she’s asleep,” he whispers.
“mm,” suguru hums beside him. “out cold.”
satoru breathes out a disbelieving laugh. “holy shit.”
suguru smiles slowly. “yeah.”
“i mean,” satoru whisper screams, “did that actually just happen? like, what the fuck?”
he looks at you again, at your bare shoulder rising and falling and how your lashes kiss your cheeks. your hand is fisted into his shirt, you’re holding onto him in your sleep.
he swallows. “fuck, man.”
suguru’s hand rests lightly on your hip, his fingers dotting soft circles over your skin, he can’t stop touching you even now. “that shit was like a dream.”
“she was perfect,” satoru agrees.
suguru's hand slides carefully up your spine and you shift slightly in your sleep, a soft whisper, and both of them freeze as to not wake you further. but you don’t open your eyes, you just sigh, sweet and content, pressing closer into the warmth of their worn out bodies.
suguru watches you like he’s studying religious scripture. “i’ve imagined it,” he says quietly. “a thousand times. how she’d sound. how she’d taste.”
satoru nods. “i thought it wouldn’t be as good as i imagined.”
“mhm, but it was better,” suguru says, voice hoarse.
“so much better.”
their thoughts drift back to how easily you let yourself be taken care of by them, letting them see you vulnerable, see you cry, even. they knew you didn't get that with sukuna.
"bet that beg's never fucked her like that.” suguru jokes, and satoru rolls his eyes. “obviously. if some virgins can outfuck that clown, that's just embarrassing.”
tthey stare at you again, admiring your pretty features as you sleep soundly.
satoru brushes a knuckle along your temple. “she was genuinely phenomenal, oh my god.” he's obviously still convinced this was all a dream.
suguru hums. “she clenched so hard on my cock, i thought i was gonna die.”
they both fall silent again, looking down at how peaceful you were.
“i hope we made her forget. about him, i mean. could tell something was up,” suguru sighs.
satoru nods. “mhm, hope we gave her something to think about instead of whatever issues they're having.”
“she deserves it,” suguru murmurs.
“yeah,” satoru says. “she deserves everything.”
"and you don't even feel the slightest bit guilty? screwing a taken women?"
"nope. not when her man is that dick."
suguru just smiles, brushing his hands through your hair and humming in agreement.
the room smells like you, they smell like you. they’ve got you on their hands, in their mouths, under their nails. you’re in their teeth, in their veins, in their bloodstream.
they'd never felt so utterly consumed before, and they wouldn't want it any other way.
~
the door creaks open just after two.
choso leans into the doorway with a curious glance, taking in the sight of you sleeping peacefully against the two boys.
“hey.” he whispers into the darkness.
satoru flinches like he’s been electrocuted.
“jesus!”
“shhh.” choso murmurs into a dry tone. “you’ll wake her.”
suguru huffs, “shit, how long have you been standing there?”
“long enough,” choso says, stepping fully into the room now. he crosses to the side of the bed like he’s done it a thousand times. “relax, m' not pissed off or anything.”
“you’re not?”
choso shrugs. “i let you guys come up, lowkey egged her on, too.”
satoru looks at him. “so you’re not… like grossed out?”
he glances down at you again, at the way you’re sleeping, deep and undisturbed with a softness on your face he hasn’t seen in weeks. he sees the glow in your skin and the tension gone from your shoulders, melted away like butter on a hot day.
he sighs. “no, she clearly needed this.”
satoru and suguru exchange a glance, unsure if they’re about to be punched or hugged.
but choso only leans over, hands surprisingly careful, and nudges satoru’s shoulder with a low murmur. “alright, up.”
satoru quirks a confused brow. “what?”
“move, she sleeps better when she’s not squished between two lanky assholes.”
“but she’s—”
“oh my fucking god, move.”
his tone leaves little room to argue, so suguru sighs, then gets up stiffly trying not to wake you, untangling himself from the bedsheets and carefully withdrawing from the warmth of your body. satoru follows, groaning quietly. you stir a little but don’t wake, just curl inward into the space they leave behind, a faint sound of protest escaping your lips.
satoru almost cries at the loss.
“go,” choso puhes, “before she wakes up and feels weird.”
suguru looks at you one more time. then nods solemnly. he pulls on his hoodie, grabs his sketchbook from the floor, but satoru just stands there, staring.
choso raises a brow. “need help?”
“no,” satoru mutters. “i’m fine.”
he pulls his shirt on inside out, then they leave without another word.
choso sighs then pulls off his boots and shrugs off his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of his desk chair. he stalks back to the bed, careful not to wake you, then eases himself into the space satoru left behind.
you gravitate toward the new heat, you nuzzle into his chest with a little sigh, one hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt.
he smiles gently, taking in your adorably clingy nature.
“hey,” he murmurs fondly, brushing your hair from your face. “there she is.”
he doesn’t say anything else. just watches you sleep for a moment, long fingers stroking the plush of your cheek. your lashes flutter a little and your lips twitch, then you breathe his name without waking.
he closes his eyes contently, “sleep, ma,” he mutters. “you’re okay."
~
shit, your head was pounding.
your body was weighed down heavy with the kind of sex ache that makes your thighs shake when you stretch. you shudder under the covers and blink blearily into the chest in front of you.
“choso…?”
“hey.” his voice is sleepy and he’s barely opened his eyes. “mornin’, sweetheart.”
you’re nestled against him like you always are after long parties at his place, except this time your lips are swollen, your thighs are sore, and your body still sings with the memory of being ravished.
“uh, how did you—"
“js' found you like this,” he says simply, brushing a knuckle under your eye. “figured you’d want someone to keep the nightmares away or whatever.”
your heart melts.
“thank you, cho." you whisper.
he hums like it’s no big deal and like holding you through the night isn’t his favorite part of every party he has at his place.
you curl closer into him, your sleepy face tucked under his chin, breathing in his familiar scent. you and choso have always made sense, bestfriends since the beginning. you’ve never had to ask for much with him.
maybe it’d be easier if he didn’t care so much about you, if he could just be the guy who hosts the cool invite-only-parties and didn't get involved in the messy shit.
but he’s never had that option with you, no way.
not when he’s watched you make yourself small and insignificant for someone who doesn’t deserve you, he’s seen the way sukuna leaves you hollowed out and timid, he’s picked you up from the worst nights and still thought you were the best thing that ever happened to him.
he’s just there.
not because he wants anything from you, god, never, he’s not sukuna.
he just wants you to be safe, he wants you happy. wants you to know that someone sees you, that someone really gives a shit, because he really gives a shit.
so yeah, if it means slipping into bed beside you so you don’t wake up alone, brushing your hair back from your cheek while you breathe soft and steady, he’ll do it. because you’re his girl, even if you aren't really his girl. he’s always going to look out for you, no matter what.
if he can't be the one loving you right then he'll do everything he can to make those who can, do.
“hey, cho?”
“mm?”
“…do you have their numbers?” you ask shyly, trying to sound as flippant as you could.
he doesn’t have to ask who you mean, he just cheekily smiles. “yeah, baby,” he says. “i got you.”
"and cho?"
"yes?"
"don't tell ryo."
he would never, don't you worry.
~
monday
you told yourself it was just a one time thing. afterall, two guys at once was a bit much, even for you. (no matter if they were the best fuck you'd ever had.)
but then monday came.
you walk into the small campus café with your laptop tucked under one arm and your sunglasses still perched high on your pretty cheekbones, and there they were.
satoru and suguru. sitting in the back sharing a muffin, whispering furiously about whatever nerdy thing it was. normal, they hadn’t been inside you at the same time forty eight hours ago.
you almost turned around, but then suguru looks up, satoru following.
shit, they were so fucking pretty.
his eyes darkened when they landed on you like all he needed in this moment was to be close to you again, and you couldn’t move. couldn’t scoff and turn around, couldn’t not walk over to them when he raised a slow hand and curled his fingers in a quiet, come here.
so you walked over, and sat between them.
the vibe was a little akward, yet still somehow more comfortable than your expected. satoru was looking at you with that cute needy expression, and suguru smiled when his knuckles accidentally pushed at your wrist when he reached for his coffee. your stomach was flipping like a schoolgirl’s.
"you look as beautiful as ever, y/n." satoru murmurs as he grabs for your hand under the table.
"i still can't believe you're real, god, you're so cute." suguru whispers as his hands grip your thigh descreetly.
jeez, one night and they're getting this bold? you couldn't lie, you liked it.
an expectant smile crossed your lips when satoru leaned in and asked quietly, “wanna come over later?” you nodded, you knew you could never say no to these two.
tuesday
satoru keeps a bottle of lotion on his nightstand that smells like coconut and soy.
you’re not sure why that’s what sticks with you the most.
he'd kissed your thighs for fifteen full minutes before even touching you, he whispered mine, mine, mine into the hollow of your throat when you came, he looked at you after, eyes wet and mouth upturned like he’d seen something so divine.
instead of that, all you could focus on is lotion.
the smell of it on your wrists when you woke up in his bed, your body all aching and sore in the best way. when he sat behind you on the floor after your shower, hands gliding gently over your skin with the stuff, murmuring such sweet words in your ear.
“you’re so pretty like this,” he’d smile, rubbing circles into your shoulders. “all quiet and sleep.”
you let him touch you for a long time. let him press kisses down your spine, let him pull you into his lap and rest his cheek against your back as he listened to your hear beat.
you didn’t ask what this meant and neither did he, too soon for that.
wednesday
suguru brings you over to the dorm while satoru's out, and he sketches you.
you don’t know how you got to that point, one moment you were sitting on his bed in your underwear, eating strawberries from a chipped glass bowl, and the next he's looking at you like van gough looked at sunflowers.
“y/n, stay like that,” he said gently. you thought he meant it as a joke or something. maybe he was gonna do something freaky, but instead, he grabbed his sketchbook.
and then he drew you.
you followed his instructions and let him work away while you admired his beautiful face, taking in every little curvature of his blessed body. after he was through with sketching you raw, he placed his book aside, climbed onto the bed, straddled your hips, and kissed you so hard you felt him deep in your heart.
he’s quieter than satoru is and so much more intense. less prone to fidgeting, more prone to doing.
“you should be adored,” he said at one point, dragging his mouth along your collarbone as he plunged deeper inside of you. “you should be touched with all the care in the world.”
he didn’t realise you were crying until he kissed your cheeks and tasted the salt.
thursday
satoru’s the one who starts questioning every little thing first between the three of you.
at first he just acts really weird, he talks fast and says shit like “we’re not your boyfriends, right?” and, “i don’t wanna make it weird, haha, unless you do, but even then like… i dunno, just ignore me!”
you're lying on his floor in between his legs, he keeps running his fingers through your hair. you’re not wearing a bra, and he’s definitely hard, the perfect setting to have your mind turn hazy with pleasure.
but then, “do you regret it?” he asks suddenly.
"hm?"
“the weekend..” he replies. “and… everything after.”
you sit up with a confused look on your face.
satoru’s face is a mess of contradictions. he looks both nervous and cocky, like he’s daring you to reject him but also it would ruin him if you did.
you roll your eyes then kiss him rough until he's gasping for air.
“does that answer your question?” you murmur against his mouth, then he lets go of a groan.
“i’m so in love with you it’s disgusting,” he blurts out, then slaps a hand over his big mouth, turning red. “wait, pretend i didn’t—"
you kiss him again.
friday
suguru finds you in the library as you’re curled into a corner with your laptop, your hoodie's pulled over your head and your sunglasses are on. you're trying to avoid attention and pretend you’re being productive, when really, you’re just replaying the last five nights in your mind on repeat.
he smiles to himself and walks over, setting a cup of coffee by your hand. “hey there, pretty,” he says quietly.
he’s wearing glasses today with a loose button down, his hair is tied back in a low bun, he looks as perfectly put together as usual.
you grin before you can stop yourself. “hey, handsome.” he sits in the seat beside you, draping his arm over the back of your chair.
“you looked like you needed caffeine,” he murmurs. you glance at the coffee. it’s your exact order. “and a kiss,” he adds, even softer.
your face flushes hot.
“but i can wait until later.” he adds.
he doesn’t say, 'my place or yours,' but you hear it anyway.
you bite your lip, you know you weren't in a position to reject such a beautiful man. “later,” you echo, with a wide smile.
saturday
by now you stop acting like this isn't something you want.
there’s no “maybe this is a phase, maybe i just needed a distraction.”
there’s no one night stand logic that can explain the way suguru presses his face into your stomach after he comes, arms wrapped tight around your hips whispering about how he never wants to let you go.
there’s no throw away excuse for how satoru touches your face so gently, palms cupping your cheeks, thumb brushing your big lip, whispering your name as he thrusts in and out.
there’s no ignoring the ache in your chest when you leave them in the morning. your fingers hover over your phone every night, like maybe if you just called, one of them would show up at your door again. you’re not sure when this stopped being about sex.
and hell, you’re not sure it ever was.
saturday was spent overthinking.
sunday
satoru and suguru have you shared again, you're panting heavily from their joint efforts to make you finish as they caress your face tenderly, covered in sweat themselves.
"you did so well, baby. you took the both of us like a pro." satoru praises.
"it's like you were made just for us to take apart, isn't that right, honey?" suguru adds.
you could only whimper in reply from the intense moment that still hadn't been shaken yet.
the two hush you, whispering such sweet words while they kiss up and down your body trying to calm you down. you're left reeling with the thoughts you didn't want to acknowledge quite yet.
“i’m scared.” you whisper.
the boys stop their aftercare and move to hover around your face that's now somehow covered in tears.
"oh, my sweet girl... of what?" suguru asks, stroking your head as satoru rubs your cheek.
"it's just... this is getting too much. i'm scared of sukuna finding out, i'm scared of you two leaving me, or getting bored, or someone finding out, or—"
"—baby, relax. thats not gonna happen, we promise we'll—"
you cut satoru off. “but what if it’s just a phase? or something stupid we’re all into just because it’s new? what if i wake up and you guys leave? what if you don’t want me tomorrow? what if this whole thing is just…”
you're unloading everything that had been slowly eating away at you, you can’t finish through the small sobs.
suguru cuts in firmly this time. “no.”
"y/n, listen to me. me and satoru aren't going to abandon you, hell, if anything you should be the one walking away from us. were just two freak losers who got extremely lucky."
“yeah,” satoru agrees, his voice cracking halfway through it. “you’re not just something we wanted to fuck, okay? we want all of you, all of the time. but if sex is all you want to give us, then that's fine, we really don't mind.”
you close your eyes. the room is so quiet now, just your breathing and theirs, the soft creak of the floorboards as the building settles.
“it just feels so wrong... like i'm using you two to get over the pain someone else is giving me. someone who i'm still technically with..."
“we’re not taking anything negatively from this,” suguru speaks softly. “we don’t want anything you don't want. we just want you, in whatever way you want to be wanted.”
satoru exhales through his nose. “we’ve admired you for so long,” he murmurs. “we've been needing this for literal years, y/n, we're never going to just up and leave, it's a privilege you even looked our way that day in the hallway, let alone let us have you like this. morals be damned, we couldn't care less about you using us for solace.”
his confession makes you want to sob harder.
“i never thought i’d get to touch you,” suguru adds. “never even dreamed of this. of holding you like this. of being held by you, so don't worry your pretty little head, we're completley at your mercy.”
youre overwhelmed by the honesty, by the massive amount of devotion these two silly guys have you. hell, you were cheating on your boyfriend and using them as emotional anchors, they seriously were obsessed.
still, their attention always felt so pure.
“...you make me feel like i matter,”
“you do matter,” satoru assures, “you’re the realest person out there, y/n. and we lo-like you for you.”
"we love every part of you, okay? we're not gonna leave you." suguru smiles.
your eyes sting worse, and you think of sukuna, of all the nights you curled away from him after he’d taken what he wanted. you think of the mornings he didn’t even say goodbye. you think of the shame. the emptiness. the way you convinced yourself it was love when it really, really wasn't.
this, what satoru and suguru give you, is nothing like that.
you reach for them, pull them closer until their limbs are tangled in yours again, until you’re flush against suguru’s chest and satoru’s long body is draped around your back.
you close your eyes with a tight throat. “don’t let me go,” you whisper.
“never,” satoru murmurs into your hair.
“not ever,” suguru echoes, thumb stroking your waist.
~
now it was time to face the elephant in the room, after your week of emotional, intense sex with satoru and suguru, sukuna finally came over after a week of radio silence.
he basically cock blocked you just as you were about to leave your room and head to the boys, the quietness felt so disgusting when he was close.
he sits at the edge of your bed with his arms folded across his broad chest, you’re still by the door with your keys dangling from your hand, bag slipping off your shoulder.
“you’ve been weird,” he says flatly.
you blink, taken aback. “what?”
he doesn’t look at you when he says it again. “you’ve been weird. haven't texted for days. no invites.”
you gulp. “look, sukuna, i’ve just been—"
“busy?” he cuts you off, his voice deadly sharp. “yeah. busy ignoring me.” the door clicks shut behind you and your hand trembles on the knob.
“i’m not ignoring you,” you say much quieter now. “you’ve been busy too, no? with law midterms, remember?”
“don’t patronise me.” he scoffs.
“i’m not,” you murmur. “i’m trying to talk to you.”
he stands abruptly now pacing, fingers running through his pink hair in that agitated way that always comes before he says something horribly cruel.
“nah,” he mutters. “you’re trying to do damage control or some shit. every time i text, you take hours to respond. you come back home late, you dodge my calls, you’ve been hanging out with..." he pauses, squinting. “who’ve you even been hanging out with?”
"so you're stalking my location now?" you try to shift the conversation but the blank look on his face lets you know that he's not having it.
your mouth goes dry. you feel the heat rise in your cheeks, guilt, even though you told yourself a hundred times it wasn’t really bad cheating if he was doing the same behind closed doors.
“choso,” you lie. “and shoko. i’ve just been trying to keep my head on straight, kuna.”
“bullshit,” he snaps. “you’re lying.”
“i’m not!”
“don't fucking yell at me, you are.” he growls.
you can’t look at him, because he’s right, you are. not just about who you’ve been with, but about everything. about how you recoil when he touches you, you don’t like how he talks to you in front of your friends, you look for other names in your phone when things go wrong.
“why are you doing this,” you ask softly, “why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”
“because you’re not the same,” he snarls. “because something’s fucking off, and you think i’m too stupid to notice!"
you feel a knot in your stomach, not guilt, but anger. you’ve kept your mouth shut for months, made excuses for him, wiped away your own tears before anyone else could see them. and now he’s standing in your dorm, looking at you like you’re the problem? like he hasn’t been slowly sucking the light out of you since the start of the semester.
“it's none of your business. you do the same thing, sukuna,” you snap.
his red eyes narrow.
“you go ghost, ignore me for days, don't call, don't text. maybe i don’t wanna tiptoe around you every day. maybe i’m tired of getting punished for needing space, or being quiet, or not wanting to fuck you every single time you come over!”
his face twists. “so that’s what this is about?”
you laugh bitterly. “of course that’s the only thing you hear!”
“i fucking knew it,” he seethes, stepping closer. “you’ve been getting dick from someone else.”
your blood goes cold.
“the fuck?”
“who is it?” he demands. “that freak choso? is it toji? what, are you on some slut streak now, trying to fuck your way through all your little guy friends?”
you’re shaking with anger now.
“get out.”
“what?”
“get out, sukuna.”
he stares at you with his chest heaving.
“don’t talk to me like that,” you whisper. “don’t come into my room and call me names and accuse me of shit that you’ve done to me.”
he laughs then scoffs, stepping back. “so that’s it, huh? i call out your bullshit and suddenly i’m the villain?”
“you’re always the fucking villain!” you yell.
...
“you’re fucking pathetic,” he spits. “cry me a river, i'm gone.”
but you don’t cry. not until after the door slams or until you hear his boots stomp all the way down the hall, not until he’s fully gone. and then you’re on the floor.
knees pulled up to your chest with your hands shaking. it’s not even the fight, it’s the months you spent convincing yourself he loved you, you forgot how to want things that weren’t him, he turned every good thing sour and convinced you that it was your fault.
eventually, your hand finds your phone. you stare at your contact list through blurred teary vision. you scroll past 'kuna's' name, you scroll past choso.
and you stop on satoru and suguru's. your chest heaves with pain, you shouldn’t. they don’t deserve this. you can’t drag them into your mess just because you’re too weak to be alone.
but you think about their little confession earlier, how they were so adamant on being there for you, and decide this is the best thing you can do.
“hello?”
satoru’s voice is expectant like he was already waiting for you to call. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out except a strangled breath. “hey,” he asks softly. “are you okay?”
and you break. “can i come over?” you whisper. “please?”
satorus heart breaks in two when he hears the gentle sob in your plea, “of course,” he says. “i’ll come get you.”
“no,” you say quickly. “don’t. i'll come.” there’s a beat of silence. you imagine him looking at suguru. maybe nodding. maybe holding the phone between them like you’re some rare bird that landed in their hands and they’re afraid to scare you away.
“we’re here,” suguru says quietly now. “whenever you want.”
you nod, even though they can’t see you. “i’m leaving now.” then you hang up.
you stumble across campus with your hands shoved deep in your pocket, all you can think about is getting to their dorm and collapsing into their arms.
when you arrive, satoru’s there with the adorable messy hair you'd grown to love. suguru stands just behind him in a black t-shirt with his hair tied back, looking scared for whatever had hurt you now.
when you walk in past the boys, the pressure seems to ease up, but you could still feel the guilt eating away at you.
satoru comes to you first with his arms open and wide, suguru follows close behind, you fall into satoru’s chest shaking. he holds you like he wants to sew your broken parts together with his hands. suguru’s arms wrap around you both from behind, breath warm on your neck.
no one speaks until you whisper, “can i stay?”
suguru laughs solemnly. “you never have to leave.”
then they kiss you tenderly, this is what you needed.
some may of preferred a soft night full of praise and tight cuddles, but you? you just needed them to take your ability to think away, there was time for that softness later, afterwards.
ithey knew you well enough by now to know exactly how to take care of you in this kind of situation, and they got straight to it.
five minutes later they've wrestled your clothes off, and satoru’s tongue is trembling in your cunt like he’s going to cry from how good you taste.
he’s murmuring your name over and over with wet lips dragging sloppy kisses over your folds, his moans humming against your clit. he sounds wrecked, like he's unworthy but taking all he can get anyway, not at all entitled or selfish.
and suguru, he’s watching as his hand slides over your stomach, tracing circles against your skin as he holds you still for satoru’s mouth. every movement is so gentle, so purposeful.
but satoru just groans, deeper, like he physically can’t help himself.
“can’t, she’s so good— fuck, you’re so fucking good—" his muffled voice is strained and needy.
he laps you up with a helpless rhythm, his hands are gripping your thighs like he’s trying to keep you there, keep you there for him to service. his glasses are long gone, his eyes are glazed, his mouth is glistening with you.
you can barely breathe, you’re crying for what seems like the fiftieth time that week. not messy out of control sobbing, just quiet, stuttering tears. and it’s not from the orgasm building in your spine. it’s from how they’re treating you so gently.
suguru notices your wet face immediately and leans in, kisses your cheek, then, “you okay, sweetheart?”
"...i just... he never—"
your voice cracks and you can't finish the sentence, not that you need to.
because they know, they know.
satoru’s pace falters just a little. suguru’s fingers rub up and down your tummy.
“he doesn't deserve you,” suguru says, so low it’s almost a growl. “he can't handle all of this.”
you turn your head and sob once, the truth of his words really hit something deep within you it seems, because then you come.
hard.
satoru groans like he’s the one finishing, licking you through it with desperate, uncoordinated strokes, gasping against you like he’s addicted to the taste of your pleasure.
your body locks, then shudders, then melts.
and suguru pulls you into his big, safe arms, kissing your wet eyelids shut, murmuring soft, incoherent things against your skin.
you blink up at him, dazed and sore.
“do you wanna stop, baby?” he asks in a quiet voice.
and you say no.
hell no, you don’t want to stop.
you want to be held, ruined, then rebuilt afterwards.
you want them to drown out everything he left behind.
so suguru fucks you slow.
he guides you onto your back, one hand cradling your face, the other stroking down your thigh as he lines himself up. you feel the thick head of his cock press to your entrance, and your fingers tremble where they’re fisted in the sheets.
he pushes in.
inch by inch.
watching your face.
watching every reaction.
he doesn’t slam, doesn’t shove, only presses in gently until he’s buried inside you to the hilt and your walls are fluttering around him.
you gasp, whimper, any sound you could possibly be making in a situation like this was pouring out in humiliating waves.
and he moans, “fuck,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “you’re— so tight, s-so good—"
satoru is still beside you, one hand in your hair, the other jerking himself slow, his mouth slack.
“she’s perfect,” he whispers. “she’s fucking... god, suguru, look at her.”
and suguru is, he fucks you like you’re made of glass. like this is the only chance he’ll ever get to love you. slow, dragging thrusts that push so deep they punch even the littlest sounds out of your sweet mouth.
you cling to him.
you whimper his name.
“please,” you gasp. “please! don’t stop— don’t leave—"
satoru kisses you so soft it makes your head hurt.
“never,” he says.
that seems to start the mantra of praise as they spill pretty words into the air.
"he didn’t deserve your body. or your heart.”
“we’ll take better care of you, baby.”
"pretty things like you need to be treasured."
and then, "open for satoru, sweetheart.”
you blink through the tears, still spread open and full of suguru, and then satoru is there again, cock flushed and leaking, breath ragged as he kneels by your head.
“can i?” he whispers. “i’ll go slow. i swear.”
and you nod.
because you trust them.
because you want them.
this was all happening so fast but you just couldnt seem to care.
satoru hovers your chest, his cock heavy on your lips and you open for him with tongue out, lashes wet, suguru still thrusting into you slow and deep and steady.
“fuck,” satoru breathes. “fuck, baby! just like that—"
you suck him in and he chokes on a deep, sensual groan.
his fingers curl in your hair as he starts to fuck your mouth, soft at first, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you, but you whimper and gag and grip his thigh, and he loses it.
he starts moving faster, much deeper.
the wet sounds of your mouth around him mix with the slap of suguru’s hips against yours.
you’re being worshipped and all but consumed. you can’t speak, can’t even think, you’re just feeling, a vessel for their pleasure, full of their hands and cocks and pure, undying love.
because that’s what it is.
twisted and bruising.. but it’s love.
there's no possession, or violence. just two boys who’ve been obsessed with you for years, who would rather die than see you cry over someone who didn't deserve you again.
and when they both come, satoru across your tongue with a helpless sob, suguru deep inside you with a raw groan and a hand pressed over your heart, it feels like freedom.
this is what it feels like to be fucked loved right.
you lay there soaked while they pet your hair and whisper. “so good,” satoru smiles. “you were so fucking good."
“you always are,” suguru adds. “you’re ours.”
you’re not crying now, not quite. but your chest feels split open, nerves buzzing like something too big to hold is trying to crawl out. you can’t speak. can’t move. you just lay there, fucked full and coated in their cum, staring at the ceiling like it’s got answers hidden in the plaster cracks.
satoru takes note of your dazed expression. “hey,” he says softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “too much?”
you shake your head, but your mouth doesn’t cooperate.
suguru’s weight moves behind you, he’d curled around your back after they’d finished, warm and sticky yet safe. now he leans over you, his voice a low drawl in your ear. “you’re okay, you’re safe, baby. with us.”
you nod, a tiny tremble as satoru presses a kiss to your forehead. “let’s clean you up.”
they lift you gently, one arm under your knees, one around your back. satoru carries you to the bathroom while suguru turns on the shower, testing the temperature with his hand. steam curls around your skin, soft and warm.
they step in with you, satoru supports you against his chest, water running down both your bodies. suguru kneels in front of you with a washcloth, moving like he’s handling a painting or a prayer. “gonna clean you real gentle,” he says. “you did so good for us.” the first touch of the cloth between your legs makes you shiver.
“i know, i know,” suguru murmurs. “you’re sore. we’ll be careful.”
he’s not just washing, but caring for you as he dabs away the mess between your thighs. “look at how much we gave you,” he says softly, gazing up. “you took it all. every drop.”
you shudder, just a little, overwhelmed sound. satoru kisses your temple. “it's okay, baby. it's okay."
suguru cleans the rest of you up, at this point your entire being feels free of impurities, your soul, even. its like they’ve cracked your soul open and poured themselves inside.
you look up at them, blinking through tears and steam. “you don’t just want me for sex?” you whisper.
satoru makes a strangled sound and hugs you tighter. “jesus,” he breathes. “no, never.”
“we want all of you,” suguru says. "every inch of you, baby.” you bury your face in suguru's chest, he’s also a little shaky.
“you could fuck us a thousand times,” he says, voice cracking, “and we’d still just wanna talk to you. sit next to you and listen to you talk about anything and everything.”
“we wanna know you,” suguru says. “wanna ruin every memory you had with him, overwrite them.”
your heart breaks, but not from pain, or from pleasure, but from the terrifying, beautiful truth of being seen. being known.
suguru whispers, “you’re so good to us.” then satoru kisses your forehead. “you’re enough,” he says. “just like this.”
you fall asleep so warm, soothed down into unconsciousness by their arms. now, you’re silent between them.
suguru looks over you softly, and satoru is awake too. lying stiffly beneath you, eyes wide open and glassy in the moonlight. “you know she hasn’t fully broken up with him,” suguru whispers.
satoru’s face drops like a puppies “i know.”
“hm.”
satoru exhales, rubbing gently on your arm. “i just… i don’t wanna be a secret, y’know?” he says. “feels like i’m in middle school again. like i’ve got a crush on the most popular girl in school, and if anyone finds out, i’m gonna get laughed out of the room.”
“you’re not in middle school,” suguru mutters. “you’re in a bed with her.”
“i know. js' doesn’t feel real...i keep thinking,” he says softly, “what if she wakes up one day and regrets it?”
suguru doesn’t say anything. the thought has haunted him too. “what if this is just a rebellion?” satoru whispers.
“what if she’s just pissed at sukuna and we’re… convenient?”
“we’re not convenient,” suguru says. satoru lets out a short, bitter laugh. “she's been too vulnerable with us for this to just be convenient.”
"hm, i guess..."
“don't worry toru, everything is going to be alright,” suguru says. satoru nods and curls his arms tighter around you.
he presses his mouth to your hair. “i love you,” he whispers. not expecting an answer. just needing to say it. suguru’s hand smooths protectively over your stomach. “i do too,” he says. “always will.”
you stir a little, murmuring something incoherent in your sleep. satoru freezes and suguru holds his breath, but you don’t wake, just nuzzle closer.
your body knows where you’re safest.
~
you were back in your own orbit, mentally healing from the crash out with sukuna and using the memory of satoru and suguru to ground you to whatever schedule you were trying to stick to.
you were doing really well, things seemed a little less scary when you were alone nower days.
but, you know what they say about good things.
a disturbance from your daily note revision was interrupted by a loud knock. you open your dorm door half asleep, thinking it’s shoko or maybe choso coming to check in, your voice is groggy. “hey, who is it—”
“so you're fucking them?”
it’s sukuna. he storms inside without waiting, he smells like weed and sweat and pure and utter rage. when the door slams shut behind him, it rattles the frame. “answer me,” he snarls. “are you fucking gojo and geto?”
you blink, completely stunned. your heart jumps in your chest. “what are you even talking about?”
“don’t fuck around right now!” he growls, stalking closer. “don’t lie to me, i’m not stupid.”
“we're not a thing anymore sukuna why the fuck do you care?! you walked out on me!”
he scoffs, “you think that counts as a break up? did those words ever leave my fucking mouth?" he scoffs loudly. "god, you think i haven’t noticed? you've been walking around all chappy like, like you’ve been—” his mouth twists up in disgust, “—bred.”
you freeze.
“i didn’t want to believe it,” he spits. “but you’re fucking filthy. knew it the second i saw you the other night. knew something was wrong, you’ve got that look on your face, like you’ve been ruined, like some other dick already beat me there.”
“you’re out of your mind.” you roll your eyes.
“am i? am i?!” his voice ricochets off the walls. “how long has this been going on? how long you been sneaking around behind my back? letting those losers put their hands all over you? let them stretch you out like the whore you are?”
“don’t talk to me like that,” you say quietly, not matching his energy at all.
he laughs cruelly. “why not? isn’t that what you are now? a whore? letting two guys run a train on you like you’re fucking community pussy?”
you flinch like he’s hit you.
“what’d you do, huh? let them talk sweet to you?” he sneers, advancing again. “gojo tell you you’re pretty? geto say you’re ‘divine’ like he’s reading fucking poetry off your tits? is that all it took to turn you into a cheating slut?”
youre growing really sick of this degrading asshole, he opens his mouth again to choke out another quip, but you slap him, hard.
he doesn’t react, just wipes the corner of his mouth, then looks at you with a stare darker than fury.
“don't talk about them,” you say, voice trembling with rage. “they've treated me better in one night than you have this whole relationship.” you snarl.
“so that’s it, then?” his voice rises. “you let them rail you and now you’re in love? we're just over?”
“well yes? they actually give a shit about me."
he laughs again, but it breaks off. something flashes across his face, almost like pain. then: “they don’t care about you. they just wanted to see if they could fuck the golden girl. you’re nothing special, not once they’ve both had you.”
“you don’t know a thing about them.” you stand your ground, staring daggers into his eyes.
“i know they’re pathetic. i know they’re weak little virgins who’ve probably been jerking off to your instagram for years. and now what? they tag teamed you and whispered some sweet nothings while they watched each other fuck you? did you like that? getting split open like a pornstar, is that your thing now?”
you’re seething.
“i didn’t believe it,” he spits. “choso said you were glowing. said you were feeling good lately, didn’t even think twice. just figured maybe i’d finally gotten through to you, maybe you were actually starting to feel something. turns out you were getting it from them.” he shakes his head.
you take a breath, steadying yourself. “you never gotten through to me,” you say. “never even tried, so miss me with that bullshit.”
he snarls. “don’t fucking do that. don’t act like i didn’t care about you—"
“—you cared about you, sukuna. about being right. about being the one i came back to, even when you didn’t deserve me.”
his eyes widen with disbelief. “and they do?”
“they listen to me! they make me feel safe.”
he stares at you. his breathing is hard now, chest heaving. “so what, you gonna be their little girlfriend now? hold hands in the quad with your geeky little nerd boyfriends? gonna let them show you off like a piece of meat?”
“yeah, maybe,” you say. “maybe i will.”
he shakes his head. “you’re a fucking slut.”
you feel the blood drain from your face and he notices it. he sees the pain flash in your eyes. and for a second, just a small, fleeting moment, he looks like he regrets it.
you lift your chin. “don’t call me that.”
“why not?” he snaps. “it’s what you are now, isn’t it? playing perfect on campus while you get used like a fleshlight by the two weirdest freaks in the math building.”
“get out,” you whisper.
but he doesn’t move.
“get the fuck out!" you begin to yell, walking up on him until he backs up towards the door.
"you'll miss me." he tries to push, looking you dead in the eye as he smiles with that belittling glint.
“i missed you while we were still together, fuck face.”
silence.
"whatever. m' gone." and he turns, and he leaves.
"stay gone this time." you call out, slamming the door.
you don’t hear from sukuna again after that night. you thought maybe he’d show up the next day, demanding an apology, some groveling, some ridiculous admission that you were wrong to move on. but he doesn’t.
instead, from then on he starts showing up in other ways, on your feed, tagged in blurry stories from parties, surrounded by girls who don’t know better.
you hear through the grapevine that he’s been on a spree, sleeping around. saying shit like “i’m single now, guess i gotta make up for lost time,” with a smug little grin. even maki brings it up once, rolling her eyes. “he’s just a horny cunt. it’s pathetic.” you nod, sip your iced coffee.
“he’s trying to prove he doesn’t care,” choso adds. “but he does. it's fucking embarrassing.”
instead of replying you start filling that space sukun left with something else. ever since you finally broke shit off with him, you’ve been getting closer and closer to satoru and suguru, and not just physically anymore.
you're listening to them talk about their majors in the library as they help you with your marketing assignments.
you pose for suguru whenever he wants to draw you, his new folio of work was going to be centered around you this semester, apparently.
you'd sit in the middle of satoru's bed as suguru sat on the floor looking up at you, sketching lines. satoru would be busy typing away at his computer completing his homework. it was the kind of domestic bliss you'd always longed for in a partner, and in this case, partners.
on the weekends, the boys would take you out to pretty cafes, hidden spots where the lighting was perfect and the scenary was photographable. you'd put them to work taking various photos of you for instagram, saying you've been 'slacking off lately' because of them. "the fans need something to eat. after all, you two aren't my only ones, after all."
they just smile and count their lucky stars that they were able to help you curate the very thing they obsessed over not too long ago.
their dorm became the place to be, after parties you'd all crash out together in suguru's bed, tangled in the limbs of one another.
the boys staring became a normal thing, you'd always catch them looking at you, taking apart every movement you made. it was daunting at first, but now you knew it was just because they admired you so much.
it definitely made you feel special.
you go to another party the following friday. not one of choso’s this time, but a campus wide art show afterparty in some crumbling loft. suguru’s reading a short piece upstairs for his portfolio, and you cheer loudest in the crowd, earning a soft smile from the man.
satoru stands beside you in his hoodie and jeans, chewing his lip and looking like he’d throw hands for a single glance in your direction. afterward, you snap a photo of you sitting on a couch, a flash of suguru’s rings on your waist and satoru’s hand on your thigh. a caption that says, 'soft launch?' your comments go feral.
@/tysoc23: who is she with???
@/miamiamia she’s got secret lovers now?
@/innnoooo wish that was me.
every day you spend with them, your light gets brighter. you start studying with them more often in the campus chapel between classes, lying beside them in the pews while suguru reads out loud from his religion texts, you and satoru listen with fond expressions listening to him recite the scripture.
suguru smells like amber and ink, a smell you'd grown to adore.
every afternoon spent with satoru, he walks you across campus just to detour into the physics building to show you something dumb, a chalkboard equation that “reminds him of you,” because its so complicated yet beautiful, whatever the fuck that meant.
you cherished every second nevertheless.
he makes you laugh so hard your cheeks hurt. he always knows when you’re about to cry, even if you don’t.
they don’t push and they don’t ask for more than you’re ready to give. and yet, you want to give them everything.
satoru starts leaving one of his hoodies in your dorm becuas he knows how cold you get when they aren't there. suguru brings you incense and hangs it by your mirror. their things start to trickle in, little tokens, little bits and pieces.
one night, you fall asleep with your head on suguru’s chest and wake up to satoru’s fingers in your hair, his sleepy voice whispering something like, “she’s so perfect.” you pretend to still be asleep.
sometimes you wake up alone. sometimes you wake up tangled between them, your legs draped across suguru’s lap, satoru’s breath hot on your neck. and sometimes, on soft mornings, when the world is still, one of them will whisper that they like being your favorites.
you still don’t define it, but everyone, including the three of you, can tell you're a thing.
~
sukuna watches from the jealous, seething sidelines, and you know he was.
you catch him across campus sometimes, lingering too long when you walk by. you hear about the girls he’s sleeping with, the way he drinks too much now and picks fights with guys he used to ignore. you don’t feel anything for it anymore, pity, anger, jealousy, none of it.
it's just a good, fair distance.
~
a few weeks pass by of healing, love, friendship, all that lovely gooey shit.
you’re sitting at a tiny booth in a tucked away cafe, one of those old ones that still plays jazz from a radio and serves lattes in chipped ceramic mugs. your hands are wrapped around your cup, legs crossed under the table, suguru’s sketchbook open between you.
“this doesn’t look like me,” you tease, squinting at his latest drawing.
“it’s not you,” suguru murmurs, smirking faintly. “it’s the concept of you.”
“oh my god,” satoru groans from your other side, halfway through stealing the sweet foam from your latte with his spoon. “can we go five minutes without suguru seducing you with dumb art terminology?”
“i’m not seducing her,” suguru says, without looking up. “i’m studying her. for my project, duh.”
“same thing,” satoru mutters, dropping the spoon into your saucer and leaning over your shoulder. “let me see.”
you tilt the sketchbook so he can look. his chin brushes your temple and his breath is warm.
“whoa,” he says, genuinely awed. “she looks… weird but hot.”
suguru glances up and happily shrugs. “that’s what she is.”
you roll your eyes, but your smile is shy. “you guys are so weird.”
“and you like it,” satoru beams.
you bump your shoulder into his. “i guess.”
suguru just hums, pencil still moving. “you keep saying that like we didn’t catch you doodling our initials in your notebook last week.”
you go still. “…you went through my notebook?”
“you left it open.”
“that’s private!”
“you drew little hearts too,” satoru gasps. “and put my letters before his, you love me more!”
“i’m leaving.”
“you’re not,” suguru says calmly, flipping the page again. “you haven’t finished your drink.”
you fake roll your eyes, but genuinely, you've never felt more at ease.
the three of you orbiting each other so naturally, like this was always fated to happen.
you catch suguru’s eye, then he smiles at you softly. satoru tosses a sugar packet at you and sticks out his tongue. you laugh. and it’s good, more than good, actually. it's perfect.
you think you could do this forever, forever with these two insanely hot nerds who just so happen to be just as infatuated with you, as you are them.
forever intertwined with these people who look at you like you're made of gold.
you knew for the rest of your life, you were going to be deeply rooted in the narrative that was satoru and suguru, and god, not you, nor them, would have it any other way.
a/n i hope you liked this re-vamp! if you saw any typos... no you didn't. (i suck, ik i need to proofread plz don't throw tomatoes at mama)
pairing: hiromi higuruma x f!reader
chapter: 2/??? (previous)
tags: coworkers to lovers, office romance, slow burn, secret relationship, modern au/no curses, eventual smut
w/c: 3.2k
The rest of the week passes without much hassle. You meet some more coworkers and even go out for lunch with the IT department, paid for by your manager as a welcome.
“So,” Yuuji Itadori is the youngest person in the firm, fresh out of college, “how have your first two weeks been?”
You think for a moment, nodding as you swallow your food, “it’s been a lot—this is definitely one of the biggest companies I’ve worked for—but I’ve really liked meeting everyone. I expected lawyers to be less…”
“More stuck up?” everyone laughs at Yuuji’s interruption, a couple people chiming in to agree.
Another coworker sitting next to you leans closer, “there’s definitely a few of them that are all work no play. Super serious all the time.”
You nod again, thinking about if any of the people you’ve met match that description. Some of the older lawyers seemed a bit stuck in their ways, but you weren’t sure that you’d call them stuck up. So far, everyone had been nothing but lovely to you.
The five of you finish your lunch soon after, walking back to the office and making general chit chat.
“Just a few more hours until the weekend, we’ve got this,” Yuuji walks in front of everyone else, turning around with a big grin and a thumbs up, “and why would anyone bother us on a Friday? That would just be mean.”
“Alright Yuuji, let’s stop fantasising and get back to work.”
The restaurant you’d gone to was only a 5 minute walk from your office, so you return with a few minutes to spare. You remove your coat and sit down, spotting a notification on your work mobile: Invitation to ‘Birthday Drinks @ 18:00’. You don’t recognise the senders name, but it looks like it was sent to all users, with 30-odd people having already accepted.
There’s no harm in some socialising, you think, pressing the accept button.
When you return to work, the general IT inbox has been flooded with panicked emails from one of the older defense attorneys. The entire message is written in the subject lines with multiple exclamation marks and all flagged as urgent. ‘Please help I can’t do any time recording’, ‘Help my files aren’t uploading to case’, ‘canttime record or upload file’, ‘help please my screen is blue’.
As the most junior IT staff, it’s between you and Yuuji to assist with issues that come into the general inbox, so you spin in your chair to beg the graduate only to find that he’s gone.
“Where did Yuuji go?”
“Toilet.”
That little weasel. He owes you big time.
With a quiet sigh, you send the woman an email back before pushing yourself out of your chair. Dreading having to assist, you only catch the elevator to the 1st floor and take the stairs to the 3rd (because there’s no chance you’re walking up 4 floors).
You’d hardly been onto the 3rd floor except when you recovered that file. It’s still very quiet, fewer people tend to be in the office on Fridays, but there’s a frantic tension in the air as a short, older lady rushes between multiple sets of desks and urges the attorneys to have a look at her PC. She stands over Hiromi, who has a hand over his face and a look of exasperation as she talks at him.
You slowly begin walking over, and when Hiromi notices you, he smiles slightly. Taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, “don’t worry, help is here.”
The older woman follows his gaze and rushes over to you, introducing herself as quickly as possible before grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards her pc, “oh it’s been such a nightmare! All these new systems and computers, they’re more hassle than they’re worth!”
When she shows you the issues, it takes everything in you not to let out a small laugh. It was always going to be easy to fix, you knew that, but normally you still have to do a little bit of work.
“Higuruma, come and look at this!”
From the corner of your eye, you can see Hiromi huff as he stands up and idles over. He puts his hands in his pockets, watching as you wriggle the display cables which gets rid of the blue tint. Once you’re done, you close the application she’s using and reopen it, “if one of these applications ever prompts you to open them in Safe Mode, just click ‘cancel’ and open it normally. Otherwise you won’t be able to do anything, like record time or upload new files to a case.”
She looks astonished by how promptly her issue is fixed, “look at you, you’re a computer whiz!”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m happy to help,” you catch Hiromi’s eyes, which are slightly squinted to hide his amusement; you can’t help wondering whether his laugh is as rich as his voice.
You’re about to leave when Hiromi says your name, asking if you could look at something on his PC. He gestures for you to sit in his desk chair and leans over to grab the mouse. He’s close enough that you’re able to smell his cologne, warm and spicy with a woody base.
“I was having an issue,” your eyes leave his screen and trail up his arm, taking in the way his sleeves are rolled up. His glasses sit low on his nose and his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, “I’m not able to get access to this file, but from what I can see I should have permission already.”
When his head turns to you, locking his eyes onto yours, you remember that you’re supposed to be helping. You take the mouse off of him and begin poking around, inspecting the file details, “I’m guessing this was emailed to you?”
“It’s from a disc, IT already checked it for me,” you vaguely recall being told you’d have to check any external storage that gets sent before anyone else has access to them, “do you need it to take a look?”
“If you don’t mind me taking it, that would be great.”
He hums and moves away, getting the disc and holding it out to you as you get out of his chair.
When you return to your desk, you’re surprised to see that it’s already 3pm. You sit down and check for any urgent emails, only to be pleasantly greeted by an empty inbox. Getting straight to work on checking the disc, you grab the external CD drive and plug it into your PC.
“Where’d you get that from?” Yuuji is leaning against your desk, hovering over you, clearly bored.
“Hiromi Higuruma up on 3rd floor, he’s struggling to get access to it,” you answer, not really paying attention to the younger man, “I couldn’t turn him down.”
“Wait a second,” Yuuji spins your chair so that you’re face-to-face, “Hiromi Higuruma… like, THE Higuruma?”
“Is there another Hiromi Higuruma that works here?”
Yuuji’s jaw drops and he blinks, dropping his voice down to a hush, “when we were talking about some people being stuck up,” his eyes dart away before meeting yours again, “well, Higuruma is exhibit A. Most of us have barely even spoken to him before.”
You tilt your head, an unconvinced smile playing on your lips, “I don’t know, he’s been pretty friendly to me.”
You don’t miss the way Yuuji’s brows furrow before he shrugs. He opens his mouth to talk again but gets interrupted by the IT manager, who tells him to get back to his work. He makes an exaggerated whine before saying he’ll talk to you later and slowly dragging his feet back to his desk.
The next few hours are frantic, with endless calls and emails about minute problems that they need fixed ‘right now’. You get multiple tickets asking about the printers and fax machines, which have you running around each floor to try and get it sorted, barely receiving any thanks in return. Higuruma’s disc lies on your desk, taunting you every time someone else begins bothering you.
You don’t even notice when the clock hits 5:45, and all your colleagues begin slowly winding their work down. There’s a clatter of things being put away into work bags and people shuffling over to the sink to wash up their coffee mugs.
“Hellooooo?” it isn’t until Yuuji is back, waving a hand in your face, that you actually see the time, “we’re all gonna go over together in 5, if you aren’t ready then you’re being ditched.”
“Yuuji!” one of your coworkers chastises him, gently whacking the back of his head before turning her attention to you, “we’ll wait if you need us to, don’t worry.”
You shake your head, beginning to save everything and log out, “It’s honestly no problem, the bar is pretty close so I’ll just head out after you guys. I need to go and freshen up anyway, so I’ll be 10 or 15 more minutes.”
She quirks a brow, as if to say ‘are you sure?’ before nodding and turning around, grabbing Yuuji and taking him away with her, “we’ll see you there, then.”
Everyone leaves shortly after, all waving and saying goodbye as they exit. You smile politely and finally begin to pack up your stuff, making sure to pack your work laptop and the external disc drive; you were hoping you could look at it over the weekend, so it could be back with Hiromi on Monday.
It takes longer than you’re expecting before you’re ready to leave, having gone to the bathroom to reapply your makeup. You’re ready at 10 past 6, making sure everything on your floor is locked and shut.
A head pokes through the door as you’re turning off the lights, startling you as they call out your name, “I’m about to lock up, I’ll wait for you.”
“Hiromi,” you smile, walking slightly faster to reach him, “I’m done anyway, just need to turn the lights off.”
He nods and opens the door fully, holding it for you as you flick the lights off and walk past him. You thank him and begin to walk up the stairs together, “are you going straight home?”
“Unfortunately not,” he sighs, shoulders hunching slightly, “the drinks are for one of the other defense attorneys, it’s the only time I have to show my face.”
You can’t help but smile at his apprehension: who would’ve thought a big, scary lawyer would be so antisocial?
“I hate celebrating with my colleagues too,” you huff jokingly, “I’d rather be doing overtime.”
His lips break into a small smile, rolling his eyes as he replies, “I didn’t know my only options were work or drink.”
You shrug, looking up at him. It’s only then that you notice the absence of his glasses, letting you see his eyes more closely. There’s barely any colour in them, a deep brown that teeters on the edge of being black and decorated with a purple tint on the surrounding skin; evidence of all the late nights and early mornings.
“I assume you’re also going?” he interrupts your train of thought, locking his gaze with you once you both reach the reception on the ground floor, “we can walk together.”
“We are going the same way,” you smile at him, moving over to the front door before he can, pulling it open and holding it for him, “after you.”
He smiles again, eyes breaking away so that he can fish his keys out of his bag and lock up. He looks softer and more unguarded under the moonlight, tucking his chin into a checkered scarf and hiding the way his lips tug upwards.
When he turns back to you, you avert your gaze and smile awkwardly, “ready?”
You start walking as soon as he nods, shoving your hands into your coat pockets. He walks in sync with you, trying to match your pace.
“Have you been working here for long?”
“Almost 4 years now,” he answers, “the last firm I was at–one of my cases had a bit of a PR disaster.”
There’s a moment of silence before he continues, “we came to a mutual agreement that I should probably leave.”
Your steps slow, “that’s horrible, what happened?”
He doesn’t wait before he says, “my client got charged with murder.”
You don’t say anything else until you arrive at the bar, spotting your coworkers through the windows. Hiromi lets you enter first, following behind.
“You made it!” a voice you don’t recognise shouts in your direction, a tall man walking towards you both and grinning at Hiromi, “Good to see you’re making friends already!”
The man has a small badge that says ‘The birthday boy is 8 today!’ with a 3 scribbled in front in permanent marker to make it 38. He shifts his attention to you and offers his hand, “I hope this guy isn’t scaring you off, come join us for a drink later!”
He pulls Hiromi away with a grin, allowing you to make your way over to some familiar faces.
“We were starting to think you wouldn’t make it!” Yuuji laughs, a pink hue dusted across his cheeks already, “but I’m glad you got here.”
He stands up and urges you to take his seat before disappearing into the sea of people. You barely get the chance to speak to anyone else before he’s returned with two drinks, placing one down in front of you, “a token of appreciation for sorting out the defense attorneys earlier.”
Your feet feel unsteady when you stand from your seat, unsure how much you’ve drank but fully aware that it’s more than you should’ve around new coworkers, “do any of you know where the bathroom is?”
One of the women that had joined your table points you in the right direction, offering to show you but you decline, “It’s no problem, thank you though.”
You take a breath to ignore the woozy feeling in your head and the heat rushing through your veins, taking steady steps until you get to the women’s bathroom. There’s nobody else in there as you double check your appearance in the mirror. You don’t look as drunk as you feel, your makeup concealing the red flush that must’ve taken over your cheeks. Perfect. Nobody can tell, probably.
You leave and begin walking back to your table, until you spot Hiromi leaning against a wall by himself, tapping at his phone.
Calling out his name, he looks at you and his eyes soften slightly, “Hi.”
“Hey,” you lean beside him, peering at his phone, “letting your girlfriend know you’ll be late?”
He chuckles, low and resonant, “trying to work something out for a case, so definitely not.”
You almost ask if he has a girlfriend, but stop yourself and settle on ‘he probably does’.
“Do you ever stop working?” he turns his whole body towards you as you ask, “Y’know, everyone seems to think you’re scary. Or stuck up.”
He doesn’t answer, instead just holds your gaze as you continue to find words to fill the silence, voice dropping slightly, “I don’t though.”
“Well, that’s good,” his voice matches yours–almost a whisper, and he leans closer. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, “I’m glad you do.”
He doesn’t move away, letting his eyes move across your face. You do the same, eyes flicking to his nose and then his lips, which part quickly as he licks them before standing straight again. It snaps you out of your reverie, and you look around to see the crowd has started to thin. You wonder how late it is and what time is acceptable for you to leave.
“Sorry I couldn’t get that disc sorted, I’ll have it sorted first thing on Monday for you.”
“There’s no rush, really,” he insists, repeating your own question, “do you ever stop working?”
Before you can answer, someone is shouting for you across the bar. You cringe, apologising to Hiromi and excusing yourself.
“Where’s Yuuji?” once you’ve returned to your table, you notice there’s only one other person from the IT department left.
“We bundled him up into a taxi before he embarrassed himself,” you can picture him insistence that he’s not that drunk, while simultaneously being pink-cheeked and somehow louder than usual, “but we were planning to leave, and thought we could all walk together.”
By the time you arrive at the station, it’s just you left. Luckily, it’s not long to wait before your train arrives and, due to the time of night, it’s almost empty.
You sit down, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. The world feels unsteady around you, and nothing sounded better than getting home and crawling into bed without even taking your makeup off.
Someone sits next to you and you open your eyes; they could’ve sat anywhere else, they had the choice of the entire carriage.
Deep brown looks back, immediately making you feel guilty. You exhale, a little breathless as you say, “Hiromi.”
His gaze shifts away from you, “I didn’t mean to frighten you, sorry.”
Neither of you speak, he loosens his tie and starts rummaging around in his bag until he pulls out a glasses case. Opening it, he grabs his glasses delicately with one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose with the other.
“I should’ve stopped after the 2nd,” he mumbles, slipping his glasses on and returning the case to his bag, “hindsight.”
You hum in response, resuming your position with your eyes closed, “I couldn’t, every time I finished somebody had another drink in front of me.”
“They do that when you’re new,” he chuckles, leaning back against the seat, “until you leave or they can’t justify the cost anymore.”
You crack one eye open to look at him, “is that what you did? Waited until they didn’t want to keep spending money?”
“I was old news by the first time I went for drinks,” he says dryly, “and I didn’t stay long, anyway.”
The sway of the carriage makes your head feel heavier, closing your eyes again. You can feel Hiromi shift from beside you, brushing his arm against yours. For a while, neither of you speak, just listening to the rattling of the train.
After a while, he says your name, his voice soft and quiet, “that disc really isn’t urgent, I promise.”
You’re too tired to laugh properly, “you hunted me down to remind me about work? How cruel.”
“No,” he pauses, and you open your eyes again to see him looking out the window, “I just…”
You wait, watching as his jaw tenses and then relaxes, but he doesn’t finish. You can see him watching you from the corner of his eye before looking away.
“It’s a good thing we’re getting off at the same stop,” you yawn, stretching your arms out above you, “almost there.”
The train pulls into the last stop before you need to get off, and you hardly realise where you are. Your eyes drift over Hiromi one last time before they close again, mumbling, “let me know when we’re home.”
He looks down at you once more and then out the window, like he’s trying very hard not to stare.
“Alright.”
reblogs are hugely appreciated ♡
[one, two, three | masterlist]
“I sat on your lap.” you say, as if presenting evidence.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, you did.”
“You got hard, didn’t you?”
The bluntness would have shattered a lesser man. Hiromi’s jaw tightens. He bites the inside of his cheek, a habit you remember from years ago. The physical act of swallowing words he refuses to let exist.
“You already know that.” he says.
GENRE: alternate universe - modern au;
WARNING/S: r18, angst, explicit, smut, romance, fluff young love, exes to lovers, second chance romance, divorce, toxic relationship, slandering, pet names, complicated, protective, possessiveness, mutual pining, cursing, crossing boundaries rekindled romance, emotional baggage, whirlwind romance, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, reputation, scandal, trauma, smoking, cheating, alcohol, explicit sexual content, naked bodies, office sex, desk sex, oral sex, female receiving oral, fingering, creampie, morning after, p v sex, different sexual positions, rough sex, dominance, praising, dirty talk, size difference, unprotected sex, pregnancy, remarriage, actress! reader, lawyer! higuruma;
WORDS: 16k words.
NOTE: this got delayed yesterday because i didn't think it was okay and now here we are with such a long fic......but thats okay i guess, since today is valentines day anyway. that being the case, i hope everyone has a good valentines day. i have nothing to do and no one to spend it with, but im glad im able to give yall something to make you all have some enjoyment with me!!! anyway, i'll see you for nanami's tomorrow. i love you all!!! happy valentines!!!
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if you want to, tip! <3
buono san valentino, 2026;
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” was the first thing he says to you after all these years, and you can’t pretend you didn’t expect it. He has always been brutally honest. Even back then, he had been too quick to strip a moment down to its barest truth, no matter how it cuts. You did not expect anything other than that now.
Even so, the question lands quieter than he means it to, the edges worn rough by disuse. He sounds like a man unused to speaking your name, to shaping words meant only for you. It almost felt like something so foreign to the tongue that mastered it all.
And despite himself, he leans toward the warmth that lingers in your proximity. Once, you had an open door, it was as though spring was waiting on the other side. And it frustrates him to no end. He thought he had left that all behind.
Yet, how wrong he was. For you were just waiting, waiting in what felt like a door sealed for years and years, now forced open all at once with your tender palms, letting that same youthful season rush back into his life whether he wants it or not.
Divorce lawyer Higuruma Hiromi no longer resembles the man who used to fall asleep on open law books and wake with ink smudged across his cheek in your dormitory late Friday night, clumsily whispering what he had learned even in his sleep.
He was the man who argued with every footnote, who treated precedent like holy scripture, and yet, the same man who still let you doodle in the margins of his case files because, he said, the law should remember it was written by human hands.
Hands soft enough, you used to joke, to strangle him gently every night with such passionate conundrums that can rival every argument in the law books. You had giggled at that thought so viciously, almost so innocently, unsure about what he was saying. Yet you were no fool. And neither was he.
Now he looks like a verdict.
And you expected that, too.
Ten years have carved themselves into him.
His tie hangs loose, collar unbuttoned, his body folded into a leather accent chair that probably costs more than your first apartment. You could remember, the one with the flickering kitchen light and the neighbor who played ballads at two in the morning.
The office is dim, lit only by the city bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows. Tokyo Metropolitan could only hum with humble extravagance beneath you both. The neon blazing, sirens wailing, headlights crawling like arteries carrying the restless.
He looks tired to you. But not the soft kind that invites sympathy. Not the kind you once soothed with cheap takeout and your feet in his lap while he read passages you pretended to understand, pouting as his fingers drifted absently through your hair.
This is a different exhaustion.
The kind that calcifies into bone.
You think in some ways he did not change at all.
You lean against the doorframe like you own the building. As though you had the right to own the night. You stand there daringly, as though the tabloids haven’t spent three weeks dissecting your marriage like carrion birds.
Each and every time, they foolishly, cleverly, disgustingly followed you about. They were picking up the spectacle of your smile, your rings, the way your husband stopped touching you in public months before anyone noticed. You were sure they’re writing about this moment now.
You take a drag of your cigarette, slow and deliberate. "Haven't you heard?” you whisper, blowing the nicotine into the room, a smirk curving your mouth like a blade. “I’m getting divorced.”
The smoke curls between you like a dare. It was like the ghost of every almost-confession you both buried under timing, under unruly, shameless pride. Under the simple cruelty of choosing other people. People who offered advances, advances that Hiromi could not offer to you.
He exhales through his nose, long and measured, as if filing the statement under expected disasters. Of course you would arrive like this. Of course you would burn your life down and come to him for the ashes, to feed it to him until he was choking in it.
“Well, congratulations.” he whispers back, starting to straighten, vertebra by vertebra, as though assembling himself for court. He finally meets your eyes. “What do you want me to do about it, [name]?”
The way he says your name in that flat, careful, tone sends shivers down your spine. It was like evidence he refuses to mishandle words and tones he chooses with intent to underpin the other party. You let the smoke enthrall you whole, for the childish feeling comes and goes, his words land harder than the headlines.
You push off the doorframe. “Well, one simple thing, really.”
He raises a brow, that same precise arc that once dismantled a witness in under three questions. “And that is?”
You step fully into the office, heels silent on polished wood. The city lights catch on your fine gold rings, your glistening watch, the immaculate tailoring of a suit chosen to look effortless and cost a fortune. Armor, tailored. War paint in neutral tones, the red lipstick sharper than anything man had ever known.
“Settle my divorce.” you whisper, mirth flickering in your eyes like something dangerously close to relief. “And destroy my husband.”
Silence.
A long, echoing, courtroom kind of silence echoes in the room. The kind where truth stands up slowly, adjusts its cuffs, and prepares to ruin everyone and everything in its path. His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps.
“……Are you fucking kidding me?”
The laugh breaks out of you before you can stop it. Almost too bright and unrestrained Something that sounded more reckless than a confession to a murder. But you were certain that it was more authentic than anything you had let out in these ten years.
You think that you had portrayed so many people that you found yourself unsure what sort of laugh you truly had now. And it would seem that this is all that was left. After playing the part of a happy wife, there was nothing left but this. This grating, irritating, disgusting guttural laugh of a pitiful woman like you.
You cross to his desk, set the cigarette into his ash bowl like you’ve done it a thousand times before. He watches your every move, eyes dilated. It was like the years between never existed, Everything about it felt like muscle memory to you.
In that instant, it was as if it could resurrect entire versions of yourselves that never got to live, versions of yourselves that had long been forgotten. Yet it did not come naturally. Instead, it came in a cage. Before he can move, you close the distance and sit squarely on his lap.
His entire body goes rigid.
Not with desire.
At least not yet.
With restraint.
“[name], this is—”
“Why not?” you murmur, fingers sliding up his tie, smoothing the crooked knot, the gesture intimate in a way that has nothing to do with skin. “Can't the best divorce lawyer get me out of this trouble?”
His massive hands, those massive familiar hands that were once all over you, now hover in the air beside you, suspended between instinct and refusal. Almost as though he’s forgotten what they’re for.
Almost like the law has finally presented him with a case he cannot argue without perjuring his own heart. Almost like the act of touching you is a crime he’s already been convicted of, and a crime he cannot know if he wants to flee or stay for.
His voice, when it comes, is lower. Far too careful for its own good. “You don’t need a lawyer to destroy your husband.” he says to you. “You married him, you were with him for ten years. Certainly as his wife, you already know where he’s weakest.”
A beat.
A frown.
He expected that.
“And you…..” he adds, eyes searching yours with a precision that used to feel like safety. “You don’t come to me unless you’re already bleeding.”
Your smile falters, just for a second. A crack in the verdict. “Do you find that insulting?”
“No.” He says far too quickly than he should. “I find it foolish. But then again, foolish decisions are the antithesis of the better.”
He still hasn’t touched you.
And that, somehow, is the most intimate thing of all.
Your fingers remain at his tie, smoothing a crease that no longer exists. A nervous habit masquerading as control. Up close, you can see the faint shadow along his jaw where he forgot to shave, the tiny scar near his chin from the time he slipped on courthouse steps during a downpour and laughed while you scolded him for bleeding on legal documents.
He doesn’t laugh anymore.
At least not as he used to.
Not to you, most especially.
“Get off.” he says quietly.
Not harsh.
Not pleading.
Judicial.
You tilt your head, studying him like you’re trying to remember the exact moment he stopped being yours to ruin. “You used to like it when I ignored your instructions.” you murmur.
His eyes flicker somewhere. Not to your mouth, not to your hands but to the window behind you, to the city lights smeared across the glass like fingerprints. He’s looking for distance. For precedent. For anything that isn’t you, warm and breathing and sitting in his lap like a closing argument he cannot object to.
“That was before you decided to marry up for the contacts.”
There it is.
Not jealousy. Not accusation.
A fact entered into record.
“I told you that was my managers—”
“Well certainly you still did it.” he whispers to you, his eyes intently away from you. “Just because you did it with someone else’s intentions, does not mean it was not your actions.”
You inhale, slow. The cigarette smoke clinging to your hair mixes with the clean, dry scent of his office. paper, leather, something faintly medicinal. He has built a life that does not require you. You can feel it in the geometry of the room. Everything was too precise, too deliberate, ever so impersonal.
And yet you are here.
On his lap, like you used to be.
Disrupting the symmetry.
“Still….I didn’t come here for nostalgia.” you say.
“Good to know.” he replies. “because i don’t practice it.”
But his hands are still hovering.
Not pushing you away.
Not pulling you closer.
Waiting for a ruling.
You lean in just enough that your forehead almost touches his. Your voice drops, stripped of performance. “He’s going to bury me.”
The confession lands between you like broken glass. You feel it in the way his breath changes. It was a quiet hitch, quickly suppressed. In the way his fingers curl slightly, like muscle memory trying to remember the shape of your waist and stopping just short of treason.
“Financially?” he asks.
You shake your head. “No, he can’t steal my money. That’s secure, in some way.”
“Then in what way?”
“Reputation. Custody of everything, of my pets. Everything that can’t be itemized.” you say to him. “And….you know that he’s a big shot in the industry. He’s going to make sure I never get roles or work again.”
His eyes sharpen. The lawyer is back now. At that moment, you were not with a man. You were with a sphinx. This version of him is dangerous in a different way. He was focused and surgical, merciless to systems and the people who weaponize them against everyone else. He knew best how to do it. You know that too well.
“Did he hit you?” he asks.
The question is so blunt it knocks the air from your lungs. “No.”
A pause.
“He didn’t have to.” you whisper, your eyes lowering. “He can’t use me if he breaks my face.”
Something in his expression fractures. At least not outwardly, not enough for anyone else to notice. But you see it. You’ve always seen the microcracks first. The tightening at the corners of his eyes, the way his molars press together when he’s holding back fury that has nowhere to go.
His hands finally move.
At least not to hold you.
To grip the arms of the chair.
Control, reasserted.
“Get off my lap, [name].” he says again, softer now. “Go on and sit like a client.”
You search his face for a trace of the man who once let you steal his fries and his sleep and his carefully constructed boundaries. You find him. He’s the one refusing to touch you. You pursed your lips in a tight line.
Slowly, you slide off his lap. The loss of contact is immediate, a draft where warmth used to be. You take the chair across from him, almost like a stranger in that client’s chair. A little further, a little lower. Deliberately so. The distance is obscene.
He adjusts his tie where you smoothed it, fingers lingering for half a second too long. He was starting to reset. No, he was certainly doing more than that. He was armoring. “Go on and start from the beginning.”
You almost laugh. There are too many beginnings. The first lie. The first headline. The first time your husband introduced you as if you were an acquisition. The first time you realized love, in his hands, was a transaction with better lighting on the sound stage.
Hiromi Higuruma listened to the details of your life he had not been privy of with focus. He tried to settle himself in that role of an outsider, as a lawyer and not that man he was. Not the man he still was who gets angry, emotionally overblown when it comes to you.
“He filed first.” you say to him, a second cigarette now on your lips. “It was a sealed motion. Allegations I can’t respond to without violating the injunction.”
His brows knit. "On what grounds?”
“Irreconcilable differences, apparently.” you say, a humorless smile ghosting your mouth. “And with such audacity, moral instability.”
Silence once more.
He sits more straight.
Then, very quietly, he repeats it.
“Moral instability.”
You nod. “Yes.”
“He has photos. Messages taken out of context. Staff willing to testify to things they were paid to misunderstand.” Your fingers lace together in your lap to stop them from shaking. “He’s building a narrative against me. I’m the unfaithful, erratic wife. He’s the patient, dignified husband forced to protect his legacy.”
“And the truth?” he asks.
You hold his gaze.
“I was lonely and I was isolated.” you say with such a morose look. “And he knew it. He orchestrated it… No one could be my friend, or my confidant unless he approved of them. How could I….I could be the one at fault if he’s doing this to me?”
The admission sits heavy in the room. Not infidelity. Not denial. Just the small, devastating truth of neglect. His jaw flexes again. This time he doesn’t look away. “Do you want to win this case?” he asks softly. “Or do you want to survive?”
The question startles you. “Aren’t they the same?”
“No.” His voice is iron. “Winning is a spectacle. Surviving is silence. The law can give you one, it takes good framing. But of course, your choices determine the other.”
Outside, Tokyo Metropolitan’s lights flicker as if the city itself is holding its breath. You lean back in the chair, studying the man across from you as smoke releases from your lips. This was the one you didn’t choose, the one you left, the one who still looks at you like you are both evidence and wounded.
“I want him to never do this to anyone again.” you say to him more honestly. “For him to pay for every bit of those ten years.”
You did not beat around the bush. You said something colder. Something far more cleaner in the dirt you surround yourself with. His eyes soften even more, perhaps just a fraction. But it was echoing with approval. Still every bit of him seemed reluctant. Yet ever so ready to be dangerous.
“Then we don’t destroy him.” he says in reply. “Instead, we document him.”
“Document him?”
“You have the money to drag it along. Why not? Let's make the truth so boringly precise…..” he adds as he narrows his gaze. “That no one can look away.”
Your throat tightens. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed someone to believe you without spectacle. “Does this mean….you’ll take the case?” you ask.
He studies you for a long moment. He was not searching for who you were, but measuring who you’ve become against the cost of letting you stand here again. Many things rush in his head, things he could not comprehend yet, things that he cannot say yet. But he does not move. Nor does he speak.
The office is too quiet once more. Even the city feels distant, muffled by glass and altitude. He looks at you like a man standing at the edge of a familiar cliff, aware of exactly how far the fall goes because he survived it once.
“There are a dozen reasons to refuse you.” he says at last.
Your chest tightens, but you hold his gaze. “And?”
His jaw shifts. “None of them change the outcome.”
You don’t breathe. “Is that so?”
“This is a conflict of interest, between us.” he says.
Your stomach drops anyway. The words are procedural, expected and still they land like loss. “Then—”
He doesn’t look away. “I have prior…involvement.”
Your laugh comes out thin. “We dated in our twenties, Hiromi. You’re not going to lose your license over bad timing and worse decisions.”
“That’s not the involvement I’m referring to.”
The air changes. Perhaps not in the way you would have expected. It came so quietly. There was nothing dramatic about it. There was no thunderclap, no cinematic revelation. Instead, it was just a subtle pressure shift, like a courtroom before a verdict is read.
You go very still. He wasn’t talking about who you used to be to each other. He’s talking about the way his voice lowers when he says your name. About how his hands refused to touch you, certainly not because he didn’t want to, but because he did.
Hiromi cannot let it be. He lets it fester, especially about the fact that you came here first, before the statements, before the damage control, before the world could tell you what your marriage was worth. Your pulse trips over itself.
“Are you refusing me?” you ask, quieter now.
He leans forward, forearms resting on the desk. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that you can see the faint crease between his brows, the one that only appears when he’s choosing restraint over instinct.
“No, not really.” he says. “I’m…merely setting terms.”
“Terms?” you repeat, tasting the word.
His gaze flicks briefly to your left hand. Your expensive ring is still there, still gleaming under city light like a lie with excellent marketing. Then it lifts and returns to your eyes. You could feel your heart skip a beat.
“If I take this case, [name]...you know what I’ll do.” he says, each word placed with deliberate care, “I will dismantle him. Methodically. Publicly if necessary. There will be no ambiguity when it’s over. No narrative he can hide behind.”
The promise is not cruel.
It is precise.
It was why he was good.
“And when it’s done….” he continues, softer now, “There will be nothing left tying you to him. Not legally. Not socially. Not in the quiet spaces where people pretend vows still echo.”
Your throat tightens. “I know.”
“But you don’t walk out of that clean.” he adds.
You blink. “What?”
His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to.“You don’t get to burn your life down and pretend you’re untouched by the smoke. If I do this, you lose the version of yourself that survived by smiling beside him. You lose the safety of being misunderstood.”
A pause.
“And you don’t come back here….” he finishes quietly to you. “Unless you’re prepared for the possibility that I will ask for something you can’t litigate.”
The words settle between you, heavier than any threat could be. It is not a threat. But it certainly wasn't a confession either. It’s a door that was closed, but not locked. It was with the understanding that opening it will cost you both the illusion of restraint.
“I sat on your lap.” you say, as if presenting evidence.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, you did.”
“You got hard, didn’t you?”
The bluntness would have shattered a lesser man. Hiromi’s jaw tightens. He bites the inside of his cheek, a habit you remember from years ago. The physical act of swallowing words he refuses to let exist.
“You already know that.” he says.
No denial.
No apology.
Just a fact.
You turn away first, not in retreat but in consideration, letting the cigarette die in the porcelain ashtray. The ember collapses inward, a soft surrender. Smoke curls up, thin and fading, like the last excuse either of you had.
When you face him again, you don’t return to the client’s chair.
You close the distance.
Slowly at first.
More animalistic now.
More deliberately.
You kneel in front of him. Not submission, not performance, but proximity stripped of pretense. The city light spills across the polished floor, catches in your hair, turns your eyes bright in a way he hasn’t seen in years. Not since before careful smiles and strategic silences replaced whatever this was.
Hiromi’s throat tightens. You see it in the movement of his swallow, in the way his fingers flex once against the arm of the chair before going still again, as if he’s afraid of what they’ll do if he lets them move.
“I thought about finding you again.” you say softly. “Years ago. Even when I was married.”
The admission lands like a dropped glass. It was not loud, but irreversible. His brow furrows. “Was I meant to be your secret, then?”
You shake your head immediately. “No. Never that.”
Your lips curve. Perhaps not into a smirk, not into cruelty but into something tired and honest. “You would’ve been as visible as his mistress.” you say. “An open scandal. No shadows to hide in.”
He exhales, a quiet, disbelieving sound. “Then why didn’t you?”
You look down at your hands, at the faint tremor you can no longer disguise as poise. “Because I wanted to believe I was better than him….That if I stayed, endured, kept choosing the respectable ruin, I could pretend I took the higher ground.”
Silence stretches between you.
Not empty nor was it depraved.
Instead, it was full of the lives you didn’t live.
“But I’m lucky, aren’t I?” you add, lifting your gaze back to him. “Now I don’t have to pretend.”
Your hands come to rest lightly against his thighs. You were not grasping, not pulling. Your palms were simply there, the contact almost formal in its restraint. You feel the tension in him, coiled and controlled, the rigid discipline of a man who has built his entire life on not reaching for what he wants.
“And besides….you know I’m no good.” you smiled at him. “But still….you want me anyway.”
“[name], you shouldn’t—” he begins.
You huff a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. Your other hand settles opposite the first, mirroring the contact, a balance he cannot misinterpret as accidental. “Let me make it up to you, Hiromi. Let me love you.”
Hiromi’s hot breath catches in his throat as your hands settle on his thighs. The contact is light, almost innocent, but the implications are anything but. He swallows hard, his eyes locked on yours as he tries to process your words.
"You don't know what you're offering to me, [name]." he says hoarsely. "What I want from you." His hands twitch, hovering just above your shoulders as if he's fighting the urge to pull you closer.
"I've waited too long for this. If we start down this path, I won't be gentle. I won't hold back." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'll take everything you're willing to give and then some. Are you sure this is what you want?"
His voice is low and intense, filled with a hunger that has been building for years. You could feel your heart beating harder and harder against your chest second by second. You meet his gaze steadily, your own eyes filled with a determination that matches his intensity.
"I'm sure." you say quietly to the man you left ten years ago. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. "You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his as you speak. "Take me, Hiromi. Take everything I have to offer. I'm yours."
Your words are like a match to gasoline, igniting the desire that has been simmering between you for so long. Higuruma Hiromi's control snaps. With a growl, he pulls you onto his lap, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he kisses you with a ferocity that steals your breath.
He stands abruptly, lifting you easily as if you weigh nothing. He carries you to his desk, sweeping the papers and books onto the floor with a single swipe of his arm. He sets you down on the edge of the desk, stepping between your legs as he continues to ravage your mouth with kisses.
Hiromi’s big hands roam over your body, squeezing and kneading your flesh through the fabric of your clothes. He tugs impatiently at your shirt, popping buttons in his haste to bare your skin to his hungry gaze.
He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the swell of your breasts, his tongue darting out to taste the soft skin. His fingers hook into the waistband of your dress skirt, pushing it up around your hips as he steps closer, pressing his hardness against your core.
You can feel the heat of him even through the layers of clothing, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Hiromi’s cold lips trail up your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He finds a particularly tender spot and bites down hard enough to leave a mark.
"You’ve decided but I decided on something too…." he growls against your flesh. "The only payment I’m taking is you.”
Your eyes widen at his words, a mixture of shock and arousal coursing through you. A while ago he was ruminating with the past, with the spring of your youths and the distance that was left behind. Yet it was as if the door had been fully opened.
The implication is clear.
He's not interested in money or any other form of payment. The only thing he wants is you. After a decade, it was still you he wanted. Even when you had abandoned him and made his life a misery and lonely desert, he still wants you to blossom in it.
Your heart races as you consider the implications. This is more than just a one-night stand or a fleeting affair, you were aware of this. This is Higurama Hiromi, your ex-boyfriend, the lawyer you just acquired to defend you in your divorce, was now claiming you as his own, demanding your complete surrender.
"And if I refuse?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hiromi chuckles darkly, his hand sliding up your thigh and beneath your dress skirt. "Then I'll just have to convince you otherwise." he says, his fingers brushing against the lace of your panties. "I can be very persuasive when I want to be. And I want you. More than anything."
His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them aside as he seeks out your most intimate flesh. You couldn’t help but release a gasp as he finds your clit, circling it with a gentle touch that sends shockwaves of pleasure through you.
"See how wet you are for me already?" he murmurs to you. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mind is still resisting." He slips a finger inside you, pumping slowly as his thumb continues to tease your clit. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to take you right here on my desk. I need to hear you say it."
His voice is low and commanding, leaving no room for doubt. He's not going to stop until he gets what he wants, not until he hears the words from your own lips. He has waited for so long for spring to come. He was not going to let it go.
You bite your lip, torn between desire and hesitation. The rational part of your mind screams at you to stop this, to push him away and walk out the door. But the ache between your legs is impossible to ignore, and the way he's touching you feels too good to resist.
"I...I want it…I want you." you whisper finally, your voice barely audible. "I want you to take me. Right here. Right now."
As soon as the words leave your lips, Higuruma Hiromi's control snaps in its entirety. With a growl, he lifts you onto his desk, sweeping the remaining court documents, other papers and all those law books onto the floor with a single swipe of his arm.
Higuruma Hiromi doesn't hesitate. He lowers his body, his hands gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart. He leans in without hesitation, his breath hot against your core as he inhales deeply.
"You smell so fucking good, you always have." he murmurs to you. "I bet you still taste the same."
He doesn't wait for a response before burying his face between your legs. His tongue slicks through your folds, teasing and tasting as he explores every inch of you. He finds your clit and sucks it into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud in a way that makes you see stars.
Your hands all but fly to his darkened hair, gripping tightly as you grind against his face, chasing the pleasure he's giving you. Hiromi’s masterful tongue delves deeper, the nostalgia of pleasure hitting you as you scream.
He keeps plunging into your entrance as he fucks you with his mouth. His hands grip your ass, lifting you closer to his face as he devours you. He can feel you getting closer, your walls fluttering around his tongue as he pushes you towards the edge.
He pulls back suddenly, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. "Come for me, [name]."he commands. "Come on my tongue like a good girl."
He expertly dives back in, his tongue circling your clit rapidly as he slides two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head. It only takes a few more strokes before you're crying out his name, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Higuruma Hiromi doesn't let up, continuing to lick and suck through your climax until you're a trembling, boneless mess on his desk.
You do not remember much after that.
But you knew that you felt good, far too good.
You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.
WHEN YOU WAKE, IT ISN’T BECAUSE OF THE SUNLIGHT GLEAMING IN. It’s to the low murmur of a voice you know by muscle memory. For a moment, you don’t move. Your body is warm everywhere, especially down there where his cum dwelled ceaselessly.
It was still heavy with sleep everywhere, with the dull, satisfying ache of muscles used and reused, with the unfamiliar safety of not being alone when you open your eyes. The air smells faintly of tobacco and paper and the ghost of your perfume clinging to borrowed cotton.
You’re wrapped in a blanket. Not tucked. You were fully wrapped, securely. With intention to keep you comfortable. Beneath it, a long dress shirt drapes over your skin, the fabric soft from years of laundering, the cuffs hanging past your wrists. It smells like him in a way cologne never could. The starch, smoke, and something clean and dry, like old books and winter air.
You are naked underneath.
The realization arrives without panic.
Only memory.
Dawn, filtered through half-closed blinds. His name in your mouth is like a verdict you chose.The way restraint finally broke, not with the ardent violence that could have been, but with the quiet, tender inevitability of something deferred too long.
You turn your head.
Hiromi Higuruma sits at his desk, backlit by the pale gray of early morning leaking into the city. His upper body is bare, dress shirt discarded somewhere out of sight, tie gone, suspenders hanging loose at his sides. A cigarette rests between his lips, forgotten more often than smoked, its ash grown long and precarious.
He looks like he hasn’t slept.
Not in the frantic, unraveling way you’ve seen in tabloids and courtrooms, but in the deliberate stillness of a man who chose wakefulness over vulnerability. The kind of sleeplessness that comes from watching the shape of a life shift in real time and refusing to blink.
“…No, we have to do it immediately.” he says into the landline, voice even. “Go and file the response by noon. We’re not contesting jurisdiction and I am not arguing more about something ridiculous.”
A pause. He listens, eyes flicking briefly toward you. Somehow not surprised to find you awake, as if he’s been aware of every shift in your breathing. He takes a moment to look at you, taking in the sight of you before he ends up talking back to the other line.
“No, that’s not important.” he repeats, quieter. “And there will not be a statement. That’s not advised right now. That’s it. Yeah.”
Your chest tightens.
Not she.
Not the client.
Not your name.
Just a boundary placed between you and the world.
He exhales, finally taking a drag from the cigarette, the ember flaring briefly before dimming again. Smoke curls upward, dissolving into the dim office air. You find how perfect this sight of him was. How focused he was about his craft, about your business. It made you feel something wanton.
“…Because there is nothing to clarify about it.” he says into the receiver. “The filings will speak for themselves, as they usually do. Fine, yes. Goodbye.”
He hangs up with a soft click. Silence returns in the room. Yet this time, it was not empty. But rather it was dense. Delicately layered with everything that happened between midnight and dawn, everything that still hasn’t been said.
You push yourself up slightly, the blanket slipping enough to reveal your shoulder. The shirt shifts against your skin, cool where it’s lost your warmth. He notices. You can tell by the way his gaze drops for a fraction of a second before he deliberately looks back at the paperwork in front of him. Restraint, reassembled.
“You’re up.” he says. It’s not a question. His voice is rougher than usual, worn at the edges.
“You didn’t sleep.” you reply.
He stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray without looking. “I had calls to make.”
You study him more closely. You could tell the tension in his shoulders, the faint marks at his collarbone you don’t remember leaving but know you must have, the way he sits perfectly straight despite the hour, as if posture alone can impose order on what you’ve done.
“What time is it?” you ask.
“Six twenty-three.”
Too early for the world. Too late to pretend this was a dream. The realization settles over you with the slow certainty of daylight creeping through the blinds. The thin, pale bands stretching across the floor, the couch, the edge of his desk. Morning makes everything real. Night allows for ambiguity. The morning files it into record.
You gather the blanket closer, the wool warm but not warm enough to quiet the awareness of bare skin beneath borrowed fabric. His long shirt hangs loosely on your frame, the hem brushing your thighs, cuffs swallowing your hands.
It smells like starch and smoke and something unmistakably him, a scent that feels more intimate than anything that happened before dawn. You could feel nostalgic, remembering when you were much younger. How he would always smell so good, full of smoke and old oak scent.
Daylight makes you aware of the consequences.
Everything about you two is easily fractured.
You hadn’t realized how fragile this quiet is.
But then again, you had left him to boost your career.
Everything about this is going to be fragile.
“You covered me, huh?” you say.
Your voice is soft, rough with sleep, carrying across the immaculate stillness of the office. Shelves of case files stand in perfect order. The city hums faintly beyond glass. Everything here is controlled, except the space between you.
“Cleaned me a bit…” You attempt a smile that doesn’t quite land. Honesty has made a habit of slipping past your defenses in this room. “But not down there—”
The words hover, intimate and absurd in equal measure. Across the room, Higuruma Hiromi stills. It’s subtle to you. The pause of ink on paper, the faint tightening along his shoulders. But you’ve always noticed the small fractures in his composure. His pen hovers over the document as if the next word suddenly requires more care than the law usually demands.
“I was still inside for quite a while.” he says.
The statement is delivered in the same tone he uses to cite statute. Every bit of it is factual, unembellished, yet just as much impossible to misinterpret. You could feel your ears turn red. He sets the pen down with deliberate precision.
“I didn’t have the heart to see my hard work disappear.”
The corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself. It is the closest thing to humor he’s allowed this morning. It is also not entirely humor. Heat rises beneath your skin. Not embarrassment, not shame, but the quiet recognition of care expressed in a language that borders on claim and stops, deliberately, at respect.
He finally looks up. There’s a faint flush high on his cheekbones, barely visible in the cool morning light. The cigarette in the ashtray has burned itself into a thin column of ash, forgotten mid-thought.
“You were asleep for a while, though,” he adds, quieter now. “You looked…peaceful.”
The word sits strangely in the air, as if it does not belong to a room built for litigation and controlled ruin. It sounds unfamiliar in his mouth, like something he rarely permits himself to witness, let alone protect.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
Outside, the city continues its orderly ascent into the day. The morning trains gliding into stations on the minute, crosswalk chimes repeating their polite insistence, the low murmur of a million lives resuming their scheduled negotiations. Tokyo does not pause for private upheavals. It absorbs them, files them away, moves on.
Inside, your chest tightens with the weight of what he’s admitting without saying. He chose to let the night remain intact. He chose not to erase you from it. And more than ever, he wants more of it. Not wholly in the reckless, devouring way of midnight, but in the dangerous quiet of morning, where wanting becomes a decision.
Your fingers tighten on the blanket, knuckles whitening beneath the wool. “You could have woken me up and sent me on my way, Hiromi.” you say again. “My driver is downstairs.”
The reminder lands between you like a line drawn in chalk: escape is available. Logistics are intact. The world you built, the one with schedules, staff, and careful exits, is still waiting at the curb. You were certain you even had a schedule to fulfill today.
His gaze lifts to you, steady, searching. Not pleading. Not apologizing. Simply present. “Dl Yes.” he says. “He is.”
Not was. Not might be. He knows. Of course he knows. He noticed the car idling before dawn, the silhouette in the front seat, the quiet discipline of a driver trained not to ask questions. He leans back slightly in his chair, the movement measured, buying himself distance without retreat.
“I could have woken you, like I used to do, when you had auditions.” he continues. “Ensured you left before the building filled. Before anyone could speculate. Before this became… complicated.”
A pause.
“I did not.”
The admission settles into the room like dust in sunlight, still visible, yet so inescapable. You swallow. “Why?”
He studies you for a long moment, as if weighing which truth will do the least damage and finding none that qualify.
“Because you were not a problem to be managed.” he says at last. “You were someone who finally stopped running…At least that’s how I took last night.”
The words land somewhere deep.
You were bypassing your practiced defenses.
Outside, a train departs. Inside, you feel very still.
“And…I know you would have left and discarded it.” he adds, voice lower now. “Sending you away would have made it easier to pretend this was a lapse.”
The words settle into the space between you. It was not accusatory, nor was it pleading. The way you heard it, you think it was simply a truth he has carried long enough to recognize on sight. Many things can be real at the same time. He will see the truth differently from you, most of all because you were sure you had jaded him as much as his profession had.
You purse your lips, the instinct to deflect rising like muscle memory. “You wanted to cage me.”
His gaze holds yours, steady and unflinching. “You caged me first, sweetheart.” he says.
“I know.” you whisper, wanting to look away in shame.
No heat. No bitterness. Just facts laid bare. “You did so ten years ago. And I still am now. What do you think I feel?”
The question lands harder than any raised voice could. The city hums beyond the glass, indifferent. Inside, the air feels thinner, as if honesty has displaced the oxygen. You open your mouth. You wanted to argue, to dismiss his words, to reach for the practiced defenses that built your life and find none of them fit.
“I know and I just—” Your breath catches.
It was not a lapse. You couldn’t even call it an accident. Not even a moment of weakness you could file under is regrettable but necessary. His eyes do not leave yours. He is not rescuing you from the sentence. He is waiting to see if you will finish it.
Your throat tightens. “It wasn’t.” you try again, softer now. “And that’s the problem.”
The admission changes the shape of the room. His shoulders ease at your words. Perhaps not even in victory, but in recognition. As if a tension he’s held for a decade has finally been named aloud. You think you hold your breath for a long time, transfixed in his gaze.
“You think I wanted to cage you.” he says quietly. “I wanted you to choose me.”
The simplicity of it steals the air from your lungs. So plain and so simple. The boring truth you thought to yourself long ago could not be enough. That safety you had risked for this starlight on the stage. Yet they were words you think you were more fond of hearing now.
“I did choose you.” you whisper. “Once.”
“Yes, you did.” he says to you, as you find yourself standing to move towards him. “And then you chose a life that required you not to. After all, the glamor was tempting, wasn’t it?”
Your fingers curl against the edge of his desk. “You think I didn’t feel it? Walking away like I’d amputated something and calling it maturity?”
His jaw tightens. “I thought you were relieved to see your dreams come true.”
The words are so quiet you almost miss them. You stare at him. “Relieved?”
“You didn’t look back,” he says. “Not once.”
Because if you had, you might have stayed.
Because if you had, you might have ruined him.
Because if you had, you might have ruined yourself.
Both of you would have been miserable, you think.
“I couldn’t.” you say, the truth scraping on its way out. “If I looked back, I would have run. Because I would have been miserable….if I didn’t get to enjoy the life I lived—”
“I know.” Hiromi affirms your words as you stand before him, his clothes pooling over you, hiding nothing but the upper half of your body. He lifts your head, your chin tight in his fingers. You were forced to meet his eyes.
“But now you don’t have that excuse.” He speaks to you, a small smile on his lips.
“No, no…I do not.”
YOU DON’T SEE HIGURUMA HIROMI FOR A COUPLE OF DAYS. But he doesn’t disappear at all like he did many years ago. Instead, he takes the time to tell you about many things happening with the divorce proceedings.
He updates you thoroughly, yet all the while still finding it to be brief and concise, polished to the point that you wonder if he’s talking to you more like a client and not the person he seems to be infatuated with. He sent at odd hours, the kind that suggest he drafted them between hearings or long after the office emptied.
Filed motion to expedite proceedings.
Opposing counsel acknowledged receipt.
Estimated timeline shortened by two weeks.
No emojis. No pleasantries. No mention of that night.
You appreciate it more than you can say. The efficiency. The care hidden inside professional language. He’s using his reputation, his firm, his time to make this easier for you in a quieter, faster, cleaner way. A kindness disguised as procedure.
You type thank you more times than you send it.
Because what are you supposed to say to a man whose life you walked out of once, a decade ago, in pursuit of a future you weren’t sure would love you back? What do you say to the man you reappeared before, all the sudden, so desperate and distressed, asking for help dissolving a marriage you built in the aftermath of leaving him?
What do you say to the man you slept with in his office, as if ten years had folded in on themselves, as if the versions of you that never happened were trying, briefly, to exist? And worst of all, what do you say after confessing the things you should have told him ten years ago?
That you were terrified of staying.
That you loved him in a way that made you feel small and enormous at once.
That you chose your dreams not because they mattered more but because you were afraid you would disappear if you didn’t try.
You had watched the words land in his silence, heavy and irreversible. Now there are only his messages. Far too efficient and distant for your liking. But you supposed it was your karma now. You did break up with him.
Work fills the space where he used to be. You went ahead with a coffee in your hand to the early call times, ate some good instant ramen at the late-night shoots, the mechanical repetition of lines you’ve said so often they no longer feel like yours while drinking bourbon.
Wardrobe racks being brought to your trailer, the beam of the harsh lighting on your skin, the directors and staff calling your name. You move from film set to soundstage, from one role to the next, slipping into other lives so you don’t have to sit too long with your own.
It’s easier that way. On set, you are decisive, luminous, untouchable. You hit your marks. You deliver tears on cue. You fall in love with co-stars beneath artificial rain and forget them the moment the director calls cut.
No one here knows that your phone lights up with legal updates from the man you once almost built a life with. No one here sees you stare at his name until the screen goes dark. No one knows that you are starting to become more fond of him again.
It’s easier than thinking about the last time you saw him. His office lights dimmed, case files pushed aside, the city lights glowing through the windows behind him. Easier than remembering how his hands hesitated before touching you, like he was already bracing for the consequences. Easier than the quiet afterward, when neither of you said what you were both thinking to each other.
This changes everything.
But the world doesn’t stop for complicated feelings. Contracts are signed. Scenes are shot. Your manager reminds you of schedules. Your lawyer reminds you of dates. You could feel your phone buzzing from your trailer table again.
Court confirmed hearing date.
You stare at the message for a long time. The sound behind you disappears into nothing. You try your best to think of something. All the sudden your heart skips a beat. Your thumbs hover over the screen, the cursor blinking in the empty reply field like a pulse.
You type: Thank you for doing this.
Delete.
You type: I’m sorry.
Delete.
You type nothing.
You groan aloud, frustrated.
“You okay, [last name]–san?”
You looked up, feeling a bit embarrassed being caught in the moment. “Y–yes….I’m fine. Just some updates on the divorce.”
“Oh, that’s right!” The staff gasped. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you, [last name]–san. It’s really rough to leave a marriage that lasted that long.”
Not really. You think to yourself. I already slept with my ex turned divorce lawyer….
“Uh…thank you.”
Before long the days passed.
The weather changed.
All of a sudden, you were in court.
The courthouse looms ahead in stark gray, all sharp lines and unforgiving symmetry. You arrive early, sunglasses on. You don’t do it for the press, even when they get your best side of the face in the shot. Instead, you do it for the illusion of distance.
Your heels echo against the marble floors as you step inside, each click too loud in the cavernous lobby. First hearing. Divorce proceedings. Routine, procedural, impersonal. You tell yourself that’s all it is. You can get through this.
And then you see him.
He stands near the courtroom doors, dark suit immaculate, posture straight in that way that always made him seem taller than he is. Higuruma Hiromi looks exactly as he always does in court.
He looked handsome in his suit, standing with severe composure. But you notice the details no one else would: the faint crease between his brows, the way his fingers tighten around the folder in his hand, the fraction of a second he freezes when his eyes meet yours.
It’s the first time you’ve seen him since that night.
For a moment, the courthouse noise fades. The murmur of other cases, the shuffle of papers, the distant echo of a gavel. There is only the space between you, heavy with everything unsaid. You wonder if he regrets it. You wonder if you do.
He inclines his head in a small, formal greeting, the kind reserved for colleagues and opposing counsel. Not for someone whose name he whispered like a confession just days ago.
“Good morning.” he says, voice even with professionalism.
Your throat tightens anyway. “Good morning.” you reply, matching his tone.
You compose yourself as he does. You know that the courtroom doors are opening and the world is watching, and whatever you were in his office cannot exist here. Not for anyone else, not for the press and not even for him. Not today.
He steps closer, stopping at a careful, neutral distance. But it was close enough to speak without raising his voice, far enough that no one could mistake the interaction for anything but legal. You found your lips in a tight line.
“What is it?”
“I received confirmation from the clerk.” he says, eyes flicking briefly to the folder before returning to you. “The judge assigned is known for efficiency. If both parties remain cooperative, this should proceed without delay.”
You nod. “That’s…good.”
A pause. He studies you for a fraction too long, gaze softening in a way that would be imperceptible to anyone else. “You look tired.” he says quietly, then, as if catching himself, adds, “Filming schedule?”
You almost laugh at the awkward correction. “Something like that.”
Another pause stretches between you both, something so thin and fragile. You see him taking a breath as he nodded. “I hope you get some rest soon then.”
“I hope this ends and settles itself, so I can get some rest.”
“I reviewed the financial disclosures. You were not lying.” he continues, voice returning to its measured cadence. “There are no irregularities. Your interests are protected.”
“My interests, huh.” you repeat, the words tasting strange. “Thank you.”
He gives a small nod. “It is my responsibility.”
But you both hear what he doesn’t say: I would have done it even if it wasn’t.
The courtroom doors open wider at that moment. You could tell that the people interested in this entire clown affair had begun filing in. He shifts his weight slightly, as if preparing to step away, to return to the role the world recognizes.
Instead, he says, very quietly. “Did you sleep at all?”
The question lands like a dropped glass. You meet his eyes. “Did you?”
A beat passes. He smiles. “No.” he admits.
The honesty sits between you, raw and unfiled, with no legal language to contain it. Footsteps approach. Voices echo. The world resumes. He clears his throat, the sound soft but decisive. “We should go inside.”
You nod. “Of course.”
He gestures toward the courtroom with professional courtesy, allowing you to enter first. As you pass him, you catch the faint scent of his cologne. It was the same, you think to yourself. Everything about it was achingly familiar.
For one reckless second you are back in his office that night once again, the endless beam of Tokyo Metropolitan’s city lights burning behind him, his hand hovering at your waist like a question he already knew the answer to.
Inside the courtroom, you take your place at the table. He sits beside you, close enough that your sleeves almost touch, yet separated by a distance far greater than the width of polished wood. He leans slightly toward you, voice barely audible.
“We will get through this.” he says.
You whisper back. “I can only hope so.”
The courtroom doors close with a heavy, final sound that reverberates through your chest. You sit beside Higuruma Hiromi, your tender hands folded too tightly in your lap, exhausted eyes fixed on the polished wood of the table as people settle around you.
You could hear the loudness of the papers shuffling, the chairs scraping, the loud yet quiet murmurs filling the air like static. You tell yourself to breathe. Then you feel it. Anxiety flooded through you at that moment.
A presence across the aisle. Familiar in a way that makes your spine go rigid before you even look. Your ex-husband is there, even when he said that he wasn’t going to attend, to focus on a new movie he was working on.
He looks older than the last time you saw him. He was already older, yet this time, he was older beyond his years. Grey everywhere, somber in all of his skin. His shoulders are tense beneath an expensive suit that fits like armor.
His jaw tightens when his gaze lands on you, then flicks. It was brief yet sharp and it was towards the man sitting at your side. To Hiromi. The realization hits him in real time. You see it in the narrowing of his eyes. The way his mouth presses into a thin line. The way his attorney leans toward him, whispering something urgent that he doesn’t seem to hear.
Your pulse roars in your ears. Beside you, Hiromi doesn’t move. But you notice the subtle shift in his posture was evident. You could see how his chest puffed. His shoulders squaring, presence sharpening, like a blade quietly unsheathed.
“Do not look at him.” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear.
But the warning came too late.
You already have.
And it made you both sad and angry.
This was the man you married.
A pitiful shell of a man who took advantage of you.
Your ex-husband’s gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment you are dragged back into the life you are trying to leave. The arguments that looped without resolution, the silences that lasted days, the texts and calls with the other women and so much more.
The slow erosion of something that once felt unbreakable came to you, more and more. He glances again at your strident dark haired lawyer. Recognition dawns. Not personal per say. You think it was more professional.
Higuruma Hiromi was a famous high-profile attorney. He has always had a reputation for ruthless precision. A man who does not take cases he cannot win, and pushes forward without a care in the world, so long as his clients are satisfied.
Your ex leans toward his lawyer, whispering sharply. The lawyer’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly before schooling their expression. You swallowed as you found your gaze towards Hiromi who seemed to not be fazed by it all.
“This is going to get messy, isn’t it?” you whisper.
Hiromi’s reply is calm, measured. “It was always going to be.”
The judge enters. Everyone rises. You barely register the formalities. The case number is read, then the names, then you got lost in all the procedural language. It goes on and on, until your ex-husband’s attorney stands.
“Your Honor.” she begins to say. “My client has concerns regarding the accelerated timeline and—” her gaze flicks toward you, then to Hiromi himself. “—potential conflicts of interest.”
The words land like a slap. "Of course he’ll bring it up.”
Hiromi doesn’t look at you. His eyes remain forward, expression unreadable. “Anticipated.” he murmurs. “Not a worry.”
Your ex-husband stands abruptly. “I’d like it on record at this moment.” he says, voice tight. “My wife’s attorney has a prior personal relationship with her.”
The courtroom stills. Every sound seems to vanish into the high ceiling. Heat floods your face. Your hands go cold. Higuruma Hiromi confidently rises slowly beside you, unhurried, composed. He looks at your ex-husband before focusing on the judge.
“Your Honor, this is not a concern.” he says, voice clear and steady. “I disclosed all relevant professional history to opposing counsel. There is no legal conflict that impairs my ability to represent my client.”
Your ex lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Professional history, huh?” he repeats. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Your chest tightens. “Please—” you start, but your voice falters.
Hiromi’s hand shifts slightly on the table, not touching you, but close enough that you feel the steadiness of it like a barrier between you and the storm. “There is no conflict. I am her legal representative here, not anything else.”
The judge’s gaze sharpens. “Sir, you will address the court with decorum. There is no conflict here. Mr. Higuruma is a lawyer. The record shall state nothing.”
Hiromi nodded at the judge. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
Your ex’s eyes return to you, and for a moment the anger fractures into something rawer. “Him?” he says, quieter now. “You replaced me with him?”
The question is not legal. Not procedural. Not appropriate for a courtroom. It is personal. It always was. Yet it was more than likely a wound for him, even if he had been cheating first. Regardless of whether he knows you slept with Hiromi or not, he knew that Higuruma Hiromi was your ex-boyfriend. That was worth a bleed. Your throat closes.
Hiromi speaks once again before you can. “My client’s personal life is not on trial.” he says, each word precise. “We are here to dissolve a marriage that has, by both parties’ admission, irretrievably broken down.”
Silence hangs heavy for a moment, broken only by the shuffle of papers and the quiet clearing of throats as the attorneys prepare. You glance at your ex-husband. He’s sitting straighter now, jaw tight, hands clenched over the table. There’s a dangerous tension in his shoulders, like a coiled spring that’s only waiting for the right trigger.
The judge clears her throat again. “We will proceed with the matters relevant to this hearing.”
Chairs creak as everyone settles. But the usual rhythm has come and gone with all of its legal formality and its endless procedural monotony. You feel it in the way your hands tremble in your lap, the faint pulse in your throat.
You stare down at the polished table, seeing the reflection of your own face. You were someone caught between past and present, between two men who know different versions of you. Yet you do not want more of the past, even when one of the past sat beside you. You just wanted to move forward.
Beside you, Higuruma Hiromi leans close enough that only you can hear him. His breath is calm, measured, a quiet anchor. “Stay with me here, okay?” he murmurs. “This is going to be a bit long.”
You lift your head, meeting his eyes. There’s something in his gaze. He was firm with it, almost protective, a silent warning. “I know that.” you reply, forcing a steady tone. “Let’s just get this over with.”
The judge’s gavel has barely settled when the clerk begins the session. “This is the first mediation session regarding the divorce petition filed by the petitioner. Today, we will discuss division of assets, spousal support, and any other matters requiring mutual agreement. Please provide statements as necessary.”
You swallow hard, your hands still trembling slightly in your lap. Across the aisle, your ex-husband sits rigid, jaw tight, fists clenched. The air between you is sharp, charged. It was not welcoming. You don’t expect it to be when he wasn’t done with having more influence with you.
The mediator gestures to your ex. “Please begin.”
Your ex rises abruptly, voice taut. “I…I don’t accept the terms of this divorce!” His gaze fixes on you, fiery and wounded. “I don’t agree with any of it!”
You brace yourself, fingers tightening around your own notes. Hiromi leans close, his voice low. “Stay calm. Answer only when necessary.”
But your ex isn’t listening. He stands taller, chest puffed with a dangerous energy. “You can’t just walk away! You can’t—”
Before he finishes, he lunges toward you. Your body freezes. Hiromi reacts instantly. He steps in, positioning himself between you and your ex. Your ex’s momentum carries forward, and instead of hitting you, he collides with Hiromi.
The impact thuds sharply against Hiromi’s chest, but Hiromi doesn’t stumble or falter. Instead, he shifts his weight, steadying your ex-husband without letting him fall, his darkened eyes hard and commanding.
“Sit down. Now, sir. Or we’ll be having these procedures with a criminal assault case too.” Hiromi says, voice low but unyielding. Every word carries a precision that makes your ex pause mid-motion.
Gasps echo through the courtroom. The attorneys snap to attention. The mediator’s pen hovers in midair, but Hiromi doesn’t flinch. Your ex stumbles back, chest heaving, glare still locked on you. He mutters incoherent threats, but Hiromi’s calm presence is unbreakable.
You exhale shakily, hands pressed to the table. “I…I just wanted—”
Hiromi’s hand gestures slightly, firm but subtle. “You will speak only when addressed by the court. Go back to your position, sir.”
Your ex glares, mutters under his breath, but slumps back and this time, remains seated. His lawyer seems apologetic to all of you and to the judge. Hiromi sighs as he gathers his composure before going back to his seat.
You lean slightly toward Hiromi, whispering, “Thank you. I…I don’t even know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slides a document slightly closer to you, the corners brushing your fingers. It’s neat, precise. It was the summary of the points the court will discuss today, written in Hiromi’s careful hand.
“Focus on what matters, okay?” he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear. His eyes flick briefly to your ex, sharp and calculating. “Answer only what is necessary. Don’t give him more than he’s entitled to.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “I…I’ll try.”
He gives the barest tilt of his head in acknowledgment, eyes softening just enough to remind you he’s not just your lawyer today. He’s a shield. And just as much, he’s a man that cares for you above all else.
The mediator calls the session back into order. “We will begin with a review of joint assets. Please provide an account of your holdings.”
Your ex-husband leans forward immediately, voice sharp, venomous. “I should be entitled to more than half! She—she’s hiding things! She thinks she can walk away with everything while I—”
Hiromi’s eyes flick to him, icy calm. “Your Honor, if I may?” he interrupts smoothly. “My client has disclosed all joint accounts, investments, and property. Allegations of undisclosed assets are unsubstantiated.”
The ex’s face flushes red. “I—this isn’t fair! After everything—after what she did—”
You stiffen. He thinks he has moral leverage, but Hiromi’s presence is steady, unwavering. “Sir, you cannot argue with the law.” Hiromi says, voice firm but controlled. “And the law does not reward infidelity. Any personal grievances are irrelevant to the division of property. The petitioner is entitled to exactly what the law grants her.”
The courtroom falls silent. Your ex sputters, muttering under his breath, “I can’t believe this… she—she cheated me…”
You feel a flush of anger, your chest tightening. Hiromi leans slightly toward you, whispering, “Ignore him. Stick to the facts. We protect only what is yours. Nothing more, nothing less.”
You nod at him. You took a breath, letting the control of the situation settle in. When asked to provide information about your finances, you answer calmly, factually, leaving nothing out but adding nothing extra.
Your ex grows more frustrated. “And what about the house? The savings? I—she can’t just—”
Hiromi interrupts, smooth and precise. “Your Honor, the petitioner has already offered her fair share for the jointly owned home, as according to the law. Further demands are without legal basis.”
“Without legal basis?” Your ex’s voice rises. “I earned half of everything while she—while she—”
Hiromi’s gaze snaps to him, unflinching. “Your Honor.” he says, voice low and deadly calm. “The petitioner’s entitlement is calculated according to law, regardless of any personal misconduct by either party. Attempts to claim more than legally entitled are not permitted.”
Your ex freezes, jaw tight, caught between fury and impotence. He mutters something incoherent and sits down, defeated for the moment, the tension around him simmering but contained.
The mediator continues, going step by step through assets, savings, the main residence, and potential spousal support. Hiromi handles every challenge, keeping your ex’s arguments firmly grounded in reality. Each time your ex tries to exaggerate or claim more, Hiromi counters calmly, legally, without a trace of emotion.
By the end of the session, partial agreements are reached. The joint assets are divided according to law, the house’s status is clarified, and once it is sold, you share the profit. The spousal support is conceded, because your ex-husband had cheated. He has nothing beyond what the law allows and certainly nothing more.
You lean back slightly, a fragile sense of relief washing over you. The chaos through these many hours, the ceaseless verbal attacks, the endless grasping, the bitter attempts to punish you, has been neutralized for now.
Hiromi leans slightly toward you as you gather your bag, his voice quiet but firm. “Today went exactly as it should. You protected everything you’re entitled to. He won’t take more than the law allows, don’t worry.”
“I know that but I worry.”
“He cheated first. He has no moral ground here, either.” He tells you straight. “Don’t worry about how everyone will react. You are the victim here.”
You exhale slowly, feeling the tension finally begin to drain. “I…I couldn’t have done this alone.” you whisper.
“You didn’t have to.” he replies simply. “That’s why I’m here.”
THE MEDIATIONS COME AND GO, ONE AFTER THE OTHER AND YOU ATTEND EACH AND EVERYONE. Your ex-husband stops attending altogether. At first, it was excuses, vague claims of work obligations, illness. Whatever the reason, the court accepts them, and the sessions proceed without him.
When he does attend, he always causes nothing but grievances to you. The most you would say was bringing the woman he had cheated on you with, as “his most ardent support” in the proceedings. That had caused you much anger, and a verbal match ensued.
It wasn’t long before you started to become infuriated with each and everything he has said, especially with the things he had done. You asked the judge to put a stop to his attacks and the judge all together barred him from his own divorce proceedings.
With every mediation that passed, your ex-husband’s absence became the new normal. Hiromi and you were left alone at the table with his associates, the court mediators, and the procedural formalities, but no one challenged you directly. Your answers remained calm, precise, factual. There was no room for him to maneuver, no way for him to manipulate the process.
Hiromi’s presence beside you made all the difference. His posture, calm and unflinching, his voice low but firm when speaking on your behalf. Every motion, every word, seemed measured to protect you while keeping things efficient.
What should have been tense, exhausting, and emotional hearings had become almost mechanical under his guidance. You began to rely on that steadiness, letting him take the weight of confrontation while you followed his lead.
Eventually, you noticed something strange happening. The tight knot of anxiety you used to carry before each session began to loosen. Sitting across from him, listening to his calm explanations, watching him handle lawyers and mediators alike, you realized you were…calm. Comfortable, even.
It wasn’t just the court. It was everything about being with him. His patience with you in everything was impeccable. In every question, every fear, every irrational worry, it was everything to you.
And it was not limited to the courthouse. It extended into private conversations, even into the quiet moments between you in his apartment, or in the rare times when you found yourselves together at his place after long days. Even in bed, his patience never faltered.
There was no judgment, no rush, no pressure. It was just a steady, patient understanding of you. Wanting you, in ways that your ex-husband never had the patience or desire to desire. Perhaps that was what made it even more beautiful to you.
You let yourself realize, finally, that the divorce was no longer the storm it had once been. The documents, the court dates, the ex-husband’s fleeting threats. All of them existed, but they no longer defined your sense of stability. You were protected. You were in good hands. In Hiromi’s hands, most of all.
And yet, a different worry began to creep in. A worry of a more trivial, but no less real kind. You glanced down at your phone during a lunch “meeting” that everyone assumed was strictly professional.
Hiromi reached across the table to push a menu closer to you, his fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. He didn’t look up from the documents in front of him, but you felt it. You felt the warmth that had long belonged only to you.
A notification popped up on your phone: a journalist’s account of a photo snapped from outside the restaurant. Someone had caught a glimpse of you and Hiromi leaning toward each other over papers and coffee, captions speculating about more than just legal discussions.
You groaned softly. “Great. Just great. We’re officially the courthouse power couple now.” you muttered, not looking up from your phone.
“Maybe outside of the courthouse too, but well. Besides the point.” Hiromi glanced at you over the top of his folder, eyes sharp but amused. “Are you worried about what they think?” he asked, voice low, calm, and entirely too knowing.
“I can’t help it, I suppose.” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Half the time, we’re pretending this is all strictly ‘lawyer and client’ for the world to see but…everyone can see us now. They’re going to assume the wrong things.”
He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tilting in that way that always made your pulse skip. “Let them assume. We know the truth, don’t we?”
You exhaled, realizing he was right. No matter the whispers, the photographs, the attention, you and Hiromi knew what was real. That was all that mattered. Only the truth you both hold matters.
Still, you couldn’t help glancing at the phone one more time, thinking to yourself, if someone got a good photo of the two of you laughing over lunch, leaning a little too close, sharing the same umbrella after a drizzle, it would be chaos. But maybe, just maybe, it was a chaos you didn’t entirely mind.
By the time the next formal hearing arrives, something has changed. The courthouse lobby is buzzing with life. A few journalists linger near the entrance, cameras discreetly aimed at the front doors. Then there were more in other places within the facilities itself.
Many people all but flooded in the corridors and the hallways and they all whisper as you walk past them with your bodyguards and your entourage. It’s not that you did anything public, at least, not intentionally.
But your previous relationship with Higuruma Hiromi, the story of your messy, public divorce, and the glimpses of your closeness during mediations came to light, this has also made you both figures of fascination in the public eye.
“Seems we’ve become the courthouse’s most talked-about case.” Hiromi murmurs as you ascend the steps, his tone dry but amused. He adjusts his tie with that effortless composure that always makes him look taller, sharper, untouchable. “It’s been a while since I have had a cult following.”
You glance at him, smirking despite the nerves prickling your skin. “Cult following, huh? Because we’re…efficient?”
He shoots you a look, one corner of his mouth quivering. “Not because of efficiency. And you know that. I know you see the edits on the internet.”
“They’re not exactly what I think of every time we’re together.”
He pauses, his eyes narrowing, getting darker. “Then what do you think about?”
“Something else.” you say almost too confidently, looking at him, and then his body. “You know what I like.”
“Your professionalism wavers easily, it would seem.”
“So does yours.”
Inside the courtroom, the atmosphere is different. Everyone in the room started to glance toward you as you entered, a murmur of recognition passing quietly through the gallery. Some nod politely, others whisper behind their hands. Your presence here, once private and procedural, now feels performative, almost the same as it usually was when you were on the film set.
You slide into your seat, Hiromi beside you as always. His tender, caring hand brushes briefly against yours, not in a claim, but a grounding touch. You notice the slight tightening of his fingers, subtle enough that only you would feel it.
“Focus.” he murmurs, eyes forward. “They’ll stare, they’ll whisper. It doesn’t matter.”
You nod, though your stomach twists. Every eye in the room seems to measure the distance between the two of you, the ease of your closeness, the quiet familiarity that’s impossible to ignore.
The mediator calls the session to order, but the whispered attention doesn’t fade. Your ex’s absence is glaringly obvious now. His chair remains empty. The judge raises an eyebrow, but neither you nor Hiromi flinch. You are the center of the room, the story. You are the ones in control.
Hiromi leans slightly toward you, voice low. “Remember what we’ve done. All your assets, your reputation are secure. He can’t touch anything anymore. This is just…noise.”
You let out a small, almost humorless laugh. “It feels like we’re celebrities in a soap opera.”
He glances at you, expression unreadable. “If it keeps your ex from showing up, I’ll allow the end of the soap opera.”
For a moment, the tension lightens. The eyes, the whispers, the cameras. They are distractions, nothing more. But you feel it, a strange thrill: you and Hiromi, together, untouchable in the eyes of the court, and impossible to ignore.
The hearing begins. Questions are procedural, predictable. But every time your ex’s name comes up, the emptiness of his chair resonates like a victory to you. Hiromi answers calmly, legally, flawlessly, leaving no room for dispute. Every asset, every account, every legal right you have is protected.
As the session wraps, the judge nods. “The court will continue the remaining matters on the scheduled date. This hearing is adjourned.”
You rise, gathering your papers, your bag, your composure. Hiromi stands beside you, close enough that the press and onlookers can see the subtle connection between you. Nothing overt, nothing staged but undeniable.
Outside the courtroom, whispers follow you down the marble steps. People notice the way he walks beside you, the ease of your closeness, the quiet strength in your interactions. He takes your hand in his. Your eyes widened slightly.
Hiromi leans slightly toward you as you exit. “They’ll talk, either way. Close or not, holding hands or not, it’s the same.” he murmurs. “Let them all talk. It changes nothing here.”
You squeeze his hand, fingers curling instinctively around his, feeling the warmth and quiet strength radiating through the simple touch. For a moment, the chatter, the flashing cameras, the whispers, they all fade.
You are acutely aware of the weight of his presence beside you leaning closer at each moment, steady enough to ground you, entirely willing ot be yours in that small moment, as everyone's eyes, everyone's lenses turned to th two of you.
“I…” you start, unsure what to say, your voice low. “I didn’t expect—”
Hiromi gives a small, knowing smile, eyes forward. “That you’d notice? Or that you’d care?”
“Both, I suppose.” you admit, your throat is tight. “It’s……weird. Being seen like this. Everyone is staring. And yet, it doesn’t feel wrong.”
“It shouldn’t, it never should have.” he murmurs, tightening his grip just slightly, enough to anchor you without drawing unnecessary attention. “They can talk all they want. None of it changes what’s real. None of it changes us.”
You glance down at your joined hands, the simple act carrying a weight far beyond its size. The world may have spun stories around you, assigned motives and imagined scandals but here, on the steps, walking away from the courtroom, you feel a rare, quiet certainty.
“Do you think they’ll follow us?” you ask, a wry note creeping into your voice despite the tension. “The reporters, the whispers, the courthouse gossip?”
Hiromi shrugs almost imperceptibly, a small, controlled movement that somehow carries both amusement and warning. “Let them. This isn’t about them. We’re not performing, we’re…here.”
“They’ll call you no good.”
“Then let them.” Hiromi smiles at you. “We’re happy. That’s all that matters here, isn’t it?”
His words settle into your chest like a promise. Amid the chaos of everything that had been happening in that short amount of time, there is a clarity, a center you never thought you’d have.
With Higuruma Hiromi beside you, even a hand held quietly in public feels like armor as much as his words were in the courthouse. It was everything and more.
A flash from a camera catches the corner of your eye. You instinctively glance at the crowd, then back at him. Hiromi’s gaze meets yours, steady and unwavering. There’s a subtle challenge there, but also a quiet reassurance.
“Ready?” he asks.
You nod, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. “Ready.”
And together, you walk down the steps, hand in hand, letting the whispers follow behind you. The courthouse fades in the distance, the world is still watching, still talking but that doesn't matter. Not when you are happy, not when he is happy. You were aware you were no good, but so is he. But that’s better, because you can be the same together.
THE SUN WAS TOO BRIGHT. You moan aloud, the sound tearing itself free before you can think to stop it. On this day of all days, the day the divorce was officially granted, you find yourself trapped in Higuruma Hiromi’s embrace, his body pressing against yours with a weight that is both grounding and consuming.
The world outside doesn’t exist. The courthouse, the whispers, the cameras, the lingering traces of your ex-husband’s attempts to claim what was never his, everything was gone. They all dissolve into nothingness the moment Hiromi’s harsh, yet careful hands settle over you.
Skin slides against skin, slick with the heat of desire and the rawness of emotion. Every movement is charged, urgent, yet precise, a reflection of the man beside you who has guided you, protected you, and understood you in ways no one else ever could.
You arch into him instinctively, clinging to the familiar strength of his body, feeling the steady, deliberate rhythm of his control. He keeps you close, almost cruelly, his hands tracing paths over your curves with a confidence that borders on domination.
“Today…” you gasp, voice trembling. “Fuck….…I can’t…not think of you.”
Hiromi’s lips brush against your neck, his voice low and husky. “You don’t have to think. You only need to feel. Here. With me.”
He had decided earlier that morning that attending court was a waste of time, especially getting out of bed when you were underneath his sheets, tainted by his touch. One phone call led to his underlings being able to handle the paperwork and formalities.
All that mattered that special morning was claiming you, marking you as his own once again. His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you onto his cock with each snap of his hips. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure.
"Fuck, fuck…." Hiromi growled freely. "You feel so good. So tight around my cock."
He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck as he bit and sucked at the sensitive skin. He knew he was leaving marks, claiming you in the most primal way possible.
But he didn't care. Let the whole world see that you belonged to him now. He felt your walls starting to flutter around him, signaling your impending orgasm. He reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around it.
"Come for me, sweetheart.” he demanded. "Come on my cock like a good girl."
His thrusts became erratic, his own release barreling down on him as he chased yours. His thumb pressed hard against your clit, pushing you over the edge. You screamed his name as you came, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice. That was all it took to send him spiraling into his own orgasm. He buried himself deep inside you with a roar, filling you with his hot seed as he shuddered above you.
Even as he emptied himself inside you, Higuruma Hiromi knew he wasn't done. Not by a long shot. He had waited too long for this for a long time, dreamed of this moment with you in his bed for years and years. He wasn't about to let it end so quickly. He rolled his hips, grinding his still-hard cock against your sensitive flesh as he felt himself starting to swell again.
"I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart," he murmured again, voice rough and low, vibrating against your skin. "I'm going to take and take, push and push. We have something to celebrate, after ten years, after all."
You shivered violently, breath hitching. Your hands clutched at him, pulling him closer, needing every inch of his body. "Hiromi… please…" you gasped, words breaking into moans, incoherent, but full of longing.
He didn’t answer with words. He pulled out slowly, watching as his cum leaked out of your well-used hole. Then he flipped you over onto your stomach and entered you from behind in one hard thrust, setting a brutal pace that had the headboard slamming against the wall.
He just moved closer, pressing into you with a fierce, unrelenting rhythm that stole your breath. Every thrust, every movement sent sparks through your nerves, and your body melted against his, all thought and restraint vanishing.
You moaned loudly, arching into him, lost. Lost in the heat, lost in the feel of him, lost in the sensation of being wanted, claimed, worshiped. “Ah… I can’t… can’t hold it…”
"Don't hold back, sweetheart. Keep screaming, keep meeting me half way." Hiromi growled against your ear. "I want to feel you come apart on my cock. I want to hear you scream my name."
You do as he says, screaming loud as his gruff hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto him with each thrust. The heat makes you feel like you could pass out at any moment. You feel drool pouring out the corner of your lips as he starts kissing you, his tongue pushing deep into your throat as you moan.
The more he pushed deeper, the faster he went, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room with echoes that were sure to be more thunderous than before. Your hands on his hair, his lips now kissing your neck, as much as he started sucking and biting.
Your pleasures were mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. He could feel your walls starting to flutter around him once again, signaling your impending orgasm. He reached around, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around it.
"Come for me, pretty sweetheart." he demanded of you, this time more hoarse than before. "Come all over my cock like the good babe you always have been."
Your body obeyed his command, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name over and over, losing the tone as it cracks in the flood of pleasure, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice as you came undone.
Hiromi followed you over the edge, his own release hitting him hard. He buried himself deep inside you with a roar, filling you with his hot seed as he shuddered above you. He collapsed onto you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
Your body trembled beneath him, still shivering from the intensity of your climax, each pulse of pleasure leaving you weak and raw. Hiromi’s weight pressed you gently against the sheets, grounding you even as your mind spun from the aftermath.
You could feel the lingering warmth of him inside you, the heat of his release, and it anchored every shiver, every quiver. He stayed there, chest pressed against yours, breathing heavy, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the thin layer of skin between you was intoxicating.
His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns across your shoulders, down your arms, lingering in places meant only for him. “I love you. I love you more than I could ever describe. Even when you’re no good, I want to be with you.”
Your breath hitched at his words, the raw honesty in his voice sending a shiver straight through you. “Hiromi…You don’t have to…” you whispered, voice trembling. You…you don’t have to say that. You…you’ve given me everything already.”
He lifted his head slightly, eyes locking with yours, dark and unflinching. “No, no.” he said firmly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “I have to say it.”
“Hiromi—”
“Because if I don’t, you might think—” His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “—that any of this is just physical. That any of what I feel can be contained by words, by touches, by…this.”
Your chest tightened. “I…I don’t deserve you sometimes, I hurt you. I broke your heart and I….” you admitted, voice breaking. “After everything—after the mess with him, after—” You stopped yourself, not trusting your voice.
Hiromi shook his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead, soft and grounding. “Stop it, okay?” he murmured. “Don’t apologize. Don’t justify. You’re not ‘no good’ to me. You’re human. You wanted a life and I just….things are different now. Nothing can prevent us from being together.”
You felt overcome with emotion at his confession. “Hiromi….”
“And I…I want every part of you. Every flawed, beautiful, messy part. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I stayed.”
You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes, a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and the lingering thrill of what had just passed between you. “I’ve never…felt this safe with anyone. Only you. Even back then….” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper
Hiromi tightened his hold, pressing his body closer. “Good.” he breathed. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. You don’t have to worry. You don’t have to carry the weight alone. Ever again.”
“Hiromi.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He whispers to you, pressing a kiss on your cheek, then to your lips. He smiles. “Let me love you.”
You tilted your head, pressing a kiss to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I…I love you too, Hiromi. More than words could describe.” you whispered, letting yourself finally melt into the warmth of him. “I’ve been waiting…I’ve been holding back for so long, and now…I can’t anymore. I just…”
“You don’t have to say more, okay?” he interrupted softly, nuzzling into your hair. “I know. Every look, every touch, every time you let me in…it tells me more than words ever could.”
You rested your head against him, chest rising and falling against his, shivers still running through your limbs. “Thank you.”
“No, no.” He shakes his head, smiling wider. “Thank you.”
epilogue
A few months later, the same courthouse that once echoed with the hollow finality of your long suffering marriage in divorce now buzzed with a different kind of anticipation. It wasn’t exactly the same fanfare, but it was everything to you.
The Tokyo District Court was reserved compared to the grand hall wedding you had with your ex-husband. But even with all fluorescent lights, polished floors, and quiet authority, this was probably a better wedding to you than the first one.
The last time you stood there to declare your wedding after the glamorous ceremony, your hands had trembled as the clerk stamped the final page. The air had felt heavy, like something irreversible had just been carved into stone. This time, your hands were steady.
The clerk recognized you. Her brows lifted almost imperceptibly before her professional composure returned. Papers were placed in front of you again. A pen slid across the desk. Beside you stood the infamous divorce lawyer Higuruma Hiromi.
He looked as he always did. Dashing in his immaculate suit, tie aligned with near-mathematical precision, expression composed enough to intimidate a courtroom. Yet there was something unmistakably softer in his gaze when it turned to you. His hand rested at the small of your back, firm and grounding, as though the world itself might tilt without his steadying touch.
“I suppose this is ironic, isn’t it?” you murmured, glancing at the very bench where you once sat alone.
“The law is not concerned with irony. It records conclusions and beginnings with equal neutrality, sweetheart.”
You smiled faintly. “And what is this?”
His fingers intertwined with yours. Warm. Certain. “A new precedent….One I intend to uphold for the rest of my life.”
There were no sweeping violins. No dramatic audience. Only a quiet exchange of vows that felt far more binding than any spectacle could offer. Your voice wavered only once, not from doubt, but from the overwhelming clarity of knowing you were choosing again. This time, without any intention to let go.
When the final signature was placed and the declaration made, the sound that echoed in the hallway was not the hollow stamp of loss. It was your laughter. You stepped out of those courthouse doors no longer carrying the weight of something broken, but the certainty of something rebuilt.
“I’m very happy to call you my wife.” Hiromi whispered against your skin, pressing a kiss on your cheek.
You giggled. “I’m very happy to call you my husband too.”
It caused quite a stir. But of course it would. He was your long time ex-boyfriend, the one who represented you in your divorce and now after just mere months of reconnecting, you were both getting married like nothing happened. Yet that was just life.
Life was as unpredictable as the weather. But this unpredictability was more than welcome to you, to him. It was all you both could have ever strived for after such a long time being apart, suffering in the silence of your own respective chaotic worlds.
But now things made sense.
Being together made sense.
Being happy made sense.
Months later, the world was louder. The red carpet stretched endlessly beneath your heels, a river of crimson beneath flashes of white light. The premiere banner of your new film towered behind you, your name emblazoned in gold.
Reporters called out questions in overlapping waves. Microphones extended toward you like reaching hands. And beside you, as he had been since that quiet courthouse a few months ago, stood Higuruma Hiromi, your husband.
He wore a tailored black tuxedo now, the severity softened by the unmistakable pride in his posture. His hand never left your waist, ever so protective and careful. Your own hand, where your gleaming wedding band shone, rested instinctively against the gentle curve of your stomach.
You were pregnant.
You both were happy about it.
And certainly, it seems everyone is too.
The news had broken hours before the premiere, it was the right time, seeing as you were already far along. Headlines called it shocking. It was so sudden, so unexpected. It was the effect of that beautiful whirlwind romance that people did not even expect.
The internet, as always, had opinions. People always had something to say about things. But none of that noise reached you the way his quiet voice did when he leaned closer. He was all that mattered to you, as much as you were all that mattered to him.
“Are you tired?” he asked, low enough that only you could hear.
“I’m fine, sweetie.” you assured him. “I have a very capable attorney ensuring my safety.”
A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “But I’m not just your attorney now, no?”
You giggled happily. “No, no. You’re also my equally very capable husband.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” he whispers to you, kissing your lips, which makes you giggle even more.
A reporter shouted, “How does it feel to be newly married and expecting while starring in the most anticipated film of the year?”
“It’s amazing! It’s everything that one can dream of, after a long long winter.” you tell them, smiling and waving at everyone. The cameras flicker even more. “I’m with someone that makes it all easier.”
Hiromi’s gaze looked at you lovingly before it flicked toward the cameras, measured and calm. “Life rarely adheres to strict timelines. But when events align in one’s favor, it would be unreasonable not to express gratitude and contentment.”
You laughed softly, the sound warm despite the chaos. “He means we’re very happy.”
The flashes intensified even more as your husband smiled and kissed you again, everyone eager to capture every angle of that kiss. Before long, you both moved along, but even then, everyone was crazed in capturing more of you two.
The protective curve of his arm around you, the way he adjusted his pace to match yours, the softness in his eyes that only ever appeared when he thought no one else was looking. It would be on the front page of every newspaper, article and social media site before the end of the night.
Once, that courthouse had marked your ending.
Now, it was merely a footnote in a far greater story.
You leaned toward him as photographers called for one final shot. “Marrying you in that building might be my favorite plot twist.”
Hiromi glanced down at you with happiness, nothing else mattered now. “Then let us ensure…..that every chapter that follows from here on out surpasses it.”
Summary: Satoru follows you everywhere even when you need to pee
Warnings: overly freaked out gojo, face riding, piss kink/watersports, bare rubbing??? idk what to call it tbh, not proofread :((
"Satoru! Can I please pee alone?" You rolled your eyes, when you felt his presence behind you. He followed you everywhere. If his able to he'll do everything with you. Usually you wouldn't complain, you loved his clinginess, but today especially you were just tired and needed some sort of privacy.
You've noticed a shift in his energy whenever he followed you into the bathroom lately. Most of the time, he'll just on the counter or by the door yapping your ear off while you do your business. Though, lately he has been paying unwavering attention to you whenever you were peeing.
It almost creeped you out with how his suddenly dilated eyes zoned in. There's times you could've sworn he licked his lips at the sight of your peeing cunt. Then when he kept pushing to come sit with while you peed, you knew he was up to something, especially when his usual yapping turned to radio silence and stares.
He clung to your waist, "Sweets, there's no need to be shy, I've seen you pee hundreds of times." He pressed a wet smacking kiss on the side of cheek.
"That doesn't matter, I just want some privacy okay?" You turned in his arms, frowning up at him.
Satoru touched his forehead with yours, lightly kissing your lips, "There's no privacy in our relationship, baby, plus I have to take a piss too." He pouted down at you, blue eyes twinkling.
Damn, your unreasonably handsome boyfriend. How could you ever deny a face like that, "Fine, but don't be weird Satoru." Which you knew was a impractical request from your freak of a boyfriend.
Pushing him off you lightly, you walked to the toilet, side eyeing him one last time before pulling down your pants and sitting down. Closing your eyes, you breathe out as you try to relax and let go, but the uncomfortable silence is making you pee shy. Yet, nothing comes out even though you've been needing pee for awhile since Satoru wouldn't let you leave his cuddly embrace.
Soon, you hear shuffling which you assume is Satoru getting comfortable on the counter until you hear, "Baby, scoot back for me." Opening your eyes you are met with his semi hard cock centimeters away from your face.
"The fuck? Toru what are you doing?"
"I told you I had to pee sweets."
"Yeah? Meaning you go after me."
"Come onnnn, you're taking too long and I need to piss now babe please."
"Fine, but be quick." You give in, barely even caring to put up a fight in the first place. Following his request, you shift back enough to leave him space to aim.
Surprisingly, his instance to pee with you, calms your nerves enough to pee. Sighing as you slowly relieve yourself, Satoru follows shortly behind. The sizzle hitting the toilet water takes of the once loud silence.
Little do you know, Satoru is staring down at you with a menacing plan forming. He holds his stiff cock, moving it just enough to hit your clit, "Mmph," He tries to contain his moan, stroking his cock slowly.
"Satoru?" You exasperated, the sudden sensation of his hot strong stream hitting your cunt throws you off.
"Shh, baby, just enjoy it."
Staring him deep in his eyes, you spread your lips giving him more access to your cunt, "Make it worth it," You gasp out, watching as his cheeks turn a deep rouge and blue eyes partially taken over by his dilated pupil. His stream hits the opening your cunt, applying pressure that has you heaving at feeling.
Satoru strokes his cock faster, at the sight of his hot piss dripping from your cunt. Moaning out when he watches the ecstacy slowly take over your expression, his free hand takes your jaw into his palm forcing you to look down at the mess the two of you were making.
"F-fuck, I knew you wouldn't mind," Squeezing the base of his cock to stop his rapid stream, "Hold it for me, baby." He bites his lips as he lifts you up from the toilet.
Your confusion is clear in your face but you follow his instructions. Satoru quickly lowers himself on the ground, kicking his sweats off. Once settled, he signals you to lay on top of him, "Come piss on me. Make me filthy," Stroking his cock as he speaks in fumbled moan, bucking his hips to chase his pleasure, "Mark your territory, make me yours."
Sitting yourself on his hard twitching cock, you began to move your hips, placing on hand behind you on the ground. "This is fucking disgusting," You moaned out when his tip rapidly rubs against your pebbled tip.
Piss leaves your wet cunt, warming his pulsing pink tip. Satoru whimpers when he feels you wet his cock, "Fuck, I've dreamt of this shit. Been dreaming of it for weeks." Moaning at the hot stimulation.
Speeding up your hips wanting give him the pleasure his been craving, cunt catching his wet tip at your hole. Letting it rest there, feeling his hot stream clash with yours. Using your hand you grab his cock working the tip back and forth between your folds. His head tossed back, mouth agape as his moans become more whiny.
"Satoru, I need more!" You moaned out, body hot with the new sensation.
He suddenly grabs your hips, pulling you towards his face, "Let me clean you up, baby." His blue eyes stare at your cunt like a predator awaiting its meal, "Fuck I need to taste the sloppy mess we made baby please give it to me." He sticks tongue out, eyebrow furrowed awaiting for you.
You couldn't wait any longer, sitting on his awaiting tongue. Throwing your head back when his needy mouth immediately goes to work. His fat tongue rapidly licks up and down, slurping up whatever he can. The sound of his slurping almost embrasses you when you realize what his drininking up, but that feeling doesn't last long when his mouth catches your clit.
Thighs trembling beside his head as you topple down barley catching yourself, "Oh my god, don't fucking stop!" You yell out, gripping his hair as you grind down harder on his face. His tongue moves back down to your empty hole, wiggling itself inside. Mouth agape as you try to keep up with his speed of his flickering tongue deep in your cunt.
You feel a sudden smack on your bare ass, Satoru signaling you to continue riding. Trying to regain your composure you ride his tongue, crying out. A hand comes between your thigh, reaching your pulsating clit, giving your pearl the attention she deserves.
"Keep going, I'm almost there!" Moaning out when you feel a pressure forming in your stomach. Satoru flicks his tongue between your soaked lips, fingers quickening their pace on your clit, "Oh Satoru!" You call out, when the pressure finally breaks, be able to release the building tension.
Satoru helps you ride out your orgasm, vibrations being sent through your body by his own moans when you feel a substance hit you back. Moving off his beautiful face, you rest your head on his chest. Heavy pants are heard throughout the room as the two of you lay in each others waste.
"Fuck Satoru, you're fucking freak."
He grins up at you, hair messy from you pervious grip. Your wetness and more covering his giddy face, "You love it, baby, now give me a kiss." Puckering up his lips, leaning you to catch yours.
"Hell no!" You swerve his attempt, there's no way you're kissing after what's been in his mouth.
"Come on sweets! Give daddy a kiss!"
Hehehe, okay not sure how much I this but it's been a reoccurring fantasy of mine :)))) If you likey feel free to request * wink wink*
this has been sitting in my drafts for two months :') happy early valentines day!
evil hinge user; satoru gojo and suguru geto
things to know: looonggg one-shot (wc: 9.1k), fem!reader, modern au, lowercase intended, suggestive language, scarjo, mentions of areas in toronto bc that's all i know😭 not set in place there though, alcohol consumption, smut: threesome, oral, fingering, p in v, eiffel tower (i'm so excited), everyone's a switch, missionary, doggy, riding, manhandling, edging, creampie, worshipping. not proofread. i got this prompt from a girl talking about her hinge experience on tiktok but i cannot find it anymore :( first bit was heavily inspired by that, the rest is my work.
it has been about a year and a half since you went through the most brutal breakup ever known to mankind.
you weren't sure what you saw in the guy, really. he was a broke bum, narcissist, cheater... the list goes on. his ass had you arranging emergency sessions with your therapist on the regular, you had to call the cops on him twice, and you finally got rid of him for good after going mia on everyone you knew and moving to a new country.
you had always been a city girl but also wanted to be by beaches. would you look at that. you moved to the edge of the city, near the ocean but also downtown. the beaches were clean and beautiful, city never slept, the nightlife was lively, food in every corner—you were living the dream.
however, because you were very new, you were also very lonely. you managed to make one girl friend from work and would go everywhere with her. parties, clubs, restaurants, the beach, literally everywhere.
there was one night you went out with her and complained about how your vibrators just weren't doing it anymore. you needed dick. she mentioned how she just uses dating apps to find dick herself. no commitments, attachments, nothing.
so because of that, you've been on dating apps for a few months now.
you weren't stupid or naive though. you weren't under the guise of finding the love of your life on these fuckass apps. you were solely on these apps to fuck around; whether that be to bully men, get to knows someone casually, or to have sex with no strings attached.
on a random wednesday night, whilst waiting for your garlic butter shrimp to cook, you were scrolling on hinge to pass time. it had been about a month since you last been on the app—you came across a misogynistic loser and he got your account temporarily suspended for cussing him out.
oh well. womp womp.
you sighed to yourself while sauteing your vegetables, finding no change on the app. ugly men, shitty attitudes, self-centred, and overly creepy.
you suddenly stopped, jaw dropping. on your screen displayed the finest men you had ever seen. the picture was of two men, and the picture looked like it was taken at a party.
the man on the right was wearing a football jersey with baggy parachute looking pants. he had beautiful tan skin. he was huge. his shoulders were broad, chest very clearly poking out, and his thighs looked like he never skipped leg day. in the picture, he lifted his jersey up a bit, exposing his toned abs, but he wasn't lean. he had something close to a dad bod but not quite. his right arm was covered in tattoos, one looking like a dragon wrapping around his forearm. he had long, noir hair that was fell past below his shoulders. he had dark, monolid eyes, that looked purple. you were unsure of his eyes were genuinely that colour or if the camera just added that hue.
right beside him was a man wearing light wash jeans and a white t-shirt that wrote "don't hate me, it turns me on." he was a lot more pale than his friend. he was slightly taller than him too, had rock-hard abs, and an overall leaner build, but had the same broad shoulders, and perked chest. instead of tattoos, he had scars on his forearm. you'd wonder where they were from and figured if it was his profile, you'd ask after getting comfortable. he had short platinum white hair that covered his brows. he also liked like he had an undercut. his sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose, revealing his bright blue eyes.
you wondered why guys insisted on posting their friends on their profiles, but whatever, you digress.
they were sexy—sculpted like greek gods with faces you could never forget in any lifetime.
these two could slide.
these two could hit.
you scrolled down to see who's profile it was.
you scrolled down to see more pictures to figure out which one of the friends it was. it didn't really matter, you would have sent a like or rose anyway.
you came across a mirror picture of the tanned man. he was wearing a black tank, flexing his bicep while a white cat hung off of it.
suguru
pronouns: he/him
you should *not* go out with me if: you want a good time ;)
you plated your food and went through some more profiles. nothing compared to suguru's. you were just disappointed by the selection of men. you almost resented hinge for not getting your type on the algorithm. you were about to give up when you came across the exact same picture again.
you took a better look at the profile to make sure you weren't tripping. you scrolled down to see the pictures. the next picture you saw was a shirtless selfie. he was smirking into the camera, and his white hair looked wet. the phone was angled down where you could see his abs, happy trail, and print from his white sweats.
"oh my god." you said to yourself, dropping your fork.
two for two.
satoru
pronouns: he/him
if loving this is wrong, i don't want to be right: bad bitches
now, you wanted to be messy and fuck around with these two guys. best friends? you'd already sent a like to the first one, it's time to send one to the other. at least one of them would match you.
you finished your food and started getting ready to go to bed. you brushed and hopped in the shower. the match came through before you finished exfoliating your legs, though you couldn't hear because of the bathroom fan. you got out and checked your phone to see a message from hinge at 10:42pm.
it's a match!
victim #1 acquired.
satoru: okay hi
satoru: you're so gorgeous i would fight three mountain lions in a mcdonald's handicap bathroom with my hands tied behind my back and my only weapon being a shake weight glued to my forehead just to get to know you
you: wow.
the typing bubble pops up immediately.
satoru: at a loss for words?
you: yeah actually
you: that was a lot
satoru: my bad
satoru: you make me nervous, pretty thing
satoru: also had to make sure you’re not a bot first
you roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you.
satoru: so... you always this hard to impress or what
you laugh under your breath, shaking your head.
bold. annoying. hot. seems he's the pretencious one, apparently.
you: you haven’t impressed me yet.
satoru: tragic
satoru: guess i’ll just have to change your mind
your huffed another laugh.
you: delusional already?
satoru: only when it comes to you ;)
this was going to be fun.
you were straightforward with your intentions: you wanted casual sex. if you ended up liking someone and your relationship blossomed into something special, then so be it—you'd let it happen and see how it plays out.
he simply replied with "i like you. same."
thank god.
you managed to move the conversation off hinge and got satoru's number. you texted for a little bit—just regular shmegular ice breakers without disclosing too much, yet ensuring you guys are compatible-ish.
satoru ended up calling it an early night, mentioning he wanted to save the good stuff for when he takes you out on a date soon.
because you took time out of your saturday night to text him instead of sleeping, you woke up a bit later than you usually do. it was 9:48am when you woke up because of the sunlight pouring onto you from your window. you groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes awake.
your eyes almost skimmed past the notification you received at 7:10am. "holy shit."
it's a match!
victim #2 acquired.
suguru: morning
suguru: figured i’d say hi
you smile at your phone.
you: just hi?
you: i was expecting a little more..
especially after the very interesting first impression his best friend made you thought.
there’s a pause. the typing bubble appears, disappears, and appears again, as though he was debating on the right thing to say.
suguru: good morning pretty girl
suguru: hope you slept well
you bite back a grin.
you: mmm better.
you: good morning to you too ;)
you: now you've got my attention
suguru: pretty sure i already did
suguru: but glad to hear it nonetheless
conversation with suguru was a lot different than satoru's. while with satoru it was easy-going, you felt a bit more intimidated by suguru. they were both fun, but his words had a lot more weight than his aloof best friend's.
you spent about two hours texting him. first and foremost, stating your intentions to which he responded "likewise."
you got his number as well. the rest of your conversation moved off hinge, where you pretty much made the same small talk as you did with satoru.
two for two.
six days fly by and the conversations just kept getting better with both men. your talks with satoru had a lot more depth now, whereas with suguru, you became a lot less intimidated.
as anticipated, you began to like both.
besides their looks, they had a lot of personality too. they both had great character from what you've witnessed so far.
satoru's introduction spoke for itself. he was funny, flirty, honest, and a talkative guy. to your surprise, suguru was exactly the same as him, just a little more reserved, less talkative and outgoing.
both men were promising. both men had piqued your interest.
it was a slow wednesday afternoon when you sent them both a text:
you: it's so boring today ugh
you: i'm done all my work and there's still two more hours until 5
you: entertain me
you: what are you doing
you put your phone down, online shopping on your work computer when your phone lights up.
suguru: called an early day at work
satoru: finished my lab early
and then a simultaneous:
going to the gym
you grinned. what were the chances they were going to be together? likely.
you replied back to suguru first.
you: mmm checks out
then, to satoru.
you: don't get too cocky and hurt yourself
you sent them both the same text, again. just for shits and giggles, and also because you're a sucker for big, muscular men.
you: send bicep pics
you: i'm a visual learner ;)
meanwhile, satoru and suguru were very distracted by you. their other friend, toji, whom they invited to join at the gym, was getting pissed off.
"the fuck is wrong with ya?" he questioned with a scowl on his face.
"hm?" suguru replied, not even looking up at him.
he rolled his eyes and looked over to see what satoru was doing. he was also glued to his phone.
agitated as ever, he grabs suguru's phone. "jesus fucking christ. a girl? you're fucking with your gains over a girl?"
"chilllll," suguru hummed, reaching back for his phone. "she's cool. i like her."
"yeah, clearly."
"no. look at her," suguru panned over his phone for toji to see your hinge profile.
"not bad," toji admitted, "but i don't care. now what's twiddle-dumb doing over there? why aren't ya working out?"
satoru looked up from his phone, "i'm talking to this girl from hinge." he walks up, closer to toji and suguru and shows his phone. "isn't she hot?"
all three men looked at the screen.
"holy shit," toji muttered from in between the middle of them.
satoru looked up to see their reactions. his grin froze when he found toji trying his best not to laugh and suguru with both brows raised, looking like he's just seen a ghost.
"what?"
"satoru..." suguru rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"what?!"
suguru unlocked his phone and holds it up right beside satoru's.
in disbelief, he scrolled up and down, ensuring it's the same profile and not some sick joke suguru's playing.
it is.
the same pictures, prompts, info—it's the same girl.
it's you.
"no fucking way?" satoru exclaims.
"we're talking to the same girl."
at the top of both screens, your messages start appearing.
on satoru's:
you: you gonna show me or what?
you: personal trainer or whatever ;)
and on suguru's:
you: you've been typing for an awful long time bae :(
you: missing your sexy ass, come back
toji finally bursts into tears, laughing his ass off.
then satoru grinned like this is the best thing that’s happened to him all week. "okay," he says. "she got us."
suguru shook his head, but he’s smirking too. "she did it on purpose."
"oh, absolutely," satoru snorted. "respect."
toji recollected himself, "serves you dumbasses right. you should really get rid of that picture on your profile. you're easy targets."
satoru and suguru looked at each other, confused, not knowing how to proceed. "so what now?"
"i don't know?" satoru replied. "we've never done this before. our types are completely fucking different."
"i know," suguru sighed. "what'd she tell you?"
satoru raised a brow, "casual sex. going with the flow or whatever."
suguru rolled his eyes, "same. you like her?"
"well, yeah."
"fuck. me too."
they ended up finishing their workout before continuing the conversation. they hit the showers and while in there, it was awkwardly silent. toji was sick of it. he loudly expressed that they should just both stop talking to you and find someone else. you were playing them anyway.
at the surface, it was the most logical thing to do. no problems would escalate and they'd preserve their friendship. however, deep down, they did not want to let you go. they both spent the rest of their shower silent, figuring out how they could work this out.
they got out, changed, and were ready to go home when satoru spoke up with an idea.
satoru: sooooo...
satoru: suguru, huh?
you were driving back home when your carplay displayed satoru's notification. to say you almost swerved off the road laughing is an understatement.
you assumed they were stupid. there was no way you went this long without either of them knowing.
you: oops :(
you were expecting to get blocked there and then with your reply. you weren't really sure how else you would to be frank. you were hoping you'd at least get one of them in bed before they found out too, but they texted you at the start of the week.
satoru: so here's the thing
satoru: we talked
you: and?
satoru: i like you, he likes you
satoru: we want to take you on a date if you're down
you: what days? and times?
satoru: tomorrow at 7pm
you: and what about him?
satoru: i think you're misunderstanding
satoru: we're going to take you out
satoru: together.
satoru: by the end of the night, you decide who you like better and the other backs off
satoru: no hard feelings :)
you sat at the red light and just stared at the car screen dumbfounded. you turned your hazards on and stopped right there, at the light. a bunch of cars honked at you before passing by, to which you ignored.
what the fuck?
together?
you agreed. what else could you do? two men you desired wanted to take you out on a date. together. everything fell into your lap—you're practically getting everything you've wanted from the two. together.
you got home and immediately started looking for something to wear for tomorrow's date. you tore apart your entire wardrobe trying to find the outfit. you tried on a good ten dresses before deciding on an off white satin maxi dress, with lace cups.
you were anxiously keeping an eye on your phone. to your surprise, neither of them texted you for the rest of the day. you almost thought they could just be ghosting you after making the plan, in hopes you'd go to the restaurant while they successfully stood you up for playing on their phones.
serves you right, you thought.
but you were going to go anyway.
it was 6:15pm when suguru finally texted you.
suguru: hey, looking forward to seeing you tonight
suguru: what's your address?
you: are you planning on murdering me
suguru: maybe 🤷🏽♂️
suguru: i'm kidding
suguru: i'm sending a car to pick you up since satoru's being a drama queen and we may be five minutes late.
suguru: not a great impression, i apologize.
you were in awe. you could not stop smiling. you felt butterflies everywhere.
this was the standard you had that no man had ever reached, despite it being the bare minimum. the dating scene is in shambles. you usually expected your dates to either pick you up themselves or send you an uber but it barely ever happened. you were planning on ordering an uber for yourself but having a driver come collect you was thoughtful to say the least, especially because they were going to be a bit late.
you: no i actually prefer that! thank you
you sat in the front lobby of your apartment building, keeping an eye out for your ride. a man in a suit entered through the revolving door and immediately spotted you. he asked for your name for confirmation before leading you out.
outside idled a blacked out cadillac seven seater. the driver had the door open for you and held his hand out for you to enter safely. talk about professional. this wasn't an uber. it was quite literally a personal driver.
you sparked some conversation with the driver. out of curiosity, you really wanted to know "how did you know it was me you were picking up?"
"mr. geto had given a description of you, ma'am. i was able to identify you because of that description."
"all good things, i hope," you replied.
"very good things."
"may i ask where we're going?" you asked the driver politely.
"kaiseki yu-zen. it's a japanese restaurant downtown."
oh wow. you knew about it but never got a chance to go down yourself. it was one of the very few five star restaurants in the city, and on the michelin guide. it was expensive.
upon arriving, the driver once again opened your door and held his hand out for you to get out of the vehicle.
you gave both names, not knowing who booked the reservation. it was satoru. you were sat at your table, an excessively large booth for just three people. you looked through the drink menu the waitress had given you.
it was expensive, indeed.
you were stunned to see $30+ drinks on the menu—something you would never order on your own. she came back to get your drink order rather quickly.
"i'll just have a water for now. with a lemon slice please."
"are you sure you don't want anything else? mr. gojo likes treating his guests."
"she's right," you heard a voice call behind you.
you turned around to see both men walking beside each other in formal attire. suguru in an all black outfit, a crisp shirt and looser fit slacks. satoru was wearing a white shirt under a black blazer, and wore black slacks as well.
they looked so much better in person.
you didn't even know how that was possible.
you stood up and satoru greeted you with a respectful side hug. "i hope we didn't keep you waiting for too long, pretty thing."
"not at all," you reciprocated his touch.
suguru on the other hand, greeted it with a gentle kiss on your right hand. "you look beautiful tonight."
"thank you," you smiled back.
he guided you back to your seat, where satoru held it out. once you took a seat, satoru pushed the seat in, adjusting it closer to the table to your comfort.
small talk was going around the table. you were asked how your day was going so far, what field of work all of you were in, family life, etc.
wonderful first impressions so far.
you don't know why you were so nervous. you usually never were in dates with men, and it was always the other way around. you were the maneater. they were usually nervous. you preyed on the sounds of their hearts thumping out their chests, the sweaty hands and beads falling down their forehead. you weren't expecting this anxiety being evoked by the two men sitting across from you.
you looked down at the menu, pretending you weren't listening to them trying to talk to you about which apps you were wanting to order.
alcohol.
a cute little cocktail would help.
"you look like you're struggling," satoru noticed. "order whatever you want. i promise i won't cry over the prices," he winked.
you smiled back at him, "i believe you. i just feel like i should ask for recommendations. i don't come to places like this very often."
"what are you into? if you like sweet, i can help you. otherwise it's all suguru's forte."
you glanced at the drink menu, and back up at them. "i don't like tasting alcohol. at all. sweet sounds good. i'm good with fruity, sour, savoury, whatever. kinda leaning towards fruity but just nothing strong."
suguru hummed, "the bellini is sweet. peach shnapps, white rum, sangria. that's what satoru goes for. the dragon kiss martini is fruity and sour. yuzu and dragonfruit with vodka and prosecco. you also can't go wrong with a mojito or margarita."
you looked at him impressed, "you sure know your stuff, wow. matter of fact, i was looking at those."
"suguru used to be a bartender," satoru informed. "you can trust him with your drink order."
"that's interesting," you looked over at suguru again. "you never told me this. where did you work?"
"just over in yorkville. i left two years ago but i'm still the designated mixologist."
satoru had pulled his phone out to show you some of the drinks suguru had made in a group setting. all of the drinks looked unique, innovative, and genuinely gorgeous. "he's actually a scientist. and artist. both, really."
suguru shrugged his shoulders, not so humbly, "what can i say?"
you discussed appetizers rather quickly. everything on the menu looked delicious, so the obvious answer was to order everything. satoru and suguru both insisted.
"so, what do you do now?" you asked suguru.
he put his water down, "i own a restaurant."
"how have we not talked about this?" you raised your eyebrow, still impressed. "what's it called? i may have to visit one day."
"you're in it, sweetheart." suguru smirked. "well, it was the gojo family's but this one had no interest in it. they passed it onto me."
"really? you two must be super close," you stated the obvious. "what do you do satoru?"
"i'm finishing my phd in medicinal chem. i'm under the wing of a pathologist right now. masamichi yaga. love the guy. i'm trying to be just like him."
"he's written a few papers with yaga too," suguru added. "he's the real scientist here."
you whistled, and applauded as a compliment. "curing chronic shit and what not, huh? don't get targeted and killed by the government. what got you into it?"
"i'll try my best," he laughed. well, someone pretty close to us passed away. i've always been special so i wanted to do good."
great question, you thought. "i'm sorry for your loss."
satoru huffed, "don't worry about it. it happened years ago."
the waitress' entrance made your nerves calm down. well, her, and the fact that satoru and suguru swiftly changed the topic without issue. the conversation fell back to learning more about you.
drinks and food were going around the table, and as it does, it was an effective social lubricant.
conversation drifts the way it does when nobody's checking the time anymore. the three of you were jumping from stories, to jokes, to side comments that spiral into laughter. the restaurant fades into background noise.
you observed the restaurant in the midst every now and then to really take in the moment. the warm light, soft clinking, the low hum of people on dates just like yours put you at ease.
the third drink loosens everything.
you began telling them about a hinge date from a few weeks ago. "i was really upfront," you say, rolling your eyes. "literally said i wasn't looking for anything serious. just wanted something casual."
satoru snickered already knowing where this is going, "and?"
"and suddenly i'm the worst person that's ever existed," you laugh. "he kept asking if i was 'that kind of girl.' like… yeah. i told you i am."
suguru shook his head, amused, "let me guess. still expected sex?"
"oh, absolutely," you scoffed. "just wanted me to pretend i didn't. i don't get it though," you shrugged. "men do it all the time. but when a woman's honest about what she wants, suddenly it's the end of the world."
satoru giggled with you, "that's insane."
suguru leaned back slightly, watching you. "there's nothing wrong with being obvious."
something about the way he says it with a calm and assertive, makes your chest warm.
you smile. "exactly. like why are we all pretending? what's so appealing about subtlety?"
the moment stretches, easy and light, but charged in a way that sneaks up on you. under the table, you shift. your heel slips off without ceremony. your foot finds satoru's ankle, drags lazily upward along his calf.
he inhales sharply, a quiet sound he doesn’t quite manage to hide. he doesn’t move away.
on your other side, your hand rests on suguru's thigh. your thumb brushes once like you're emphasizing a point in the conversation. his muscle tenses beneath your hand.
his gaze flicks down to where you're touching him, then back up to your face. he smiles.
the conversation keeps going.
that’s the thing you appreciated most about satoru and suguru.
nobody freezes. nobody calls attention to it. it just becomes part of the night, like laughter and drinks and leaning a little closer than before.
desserts were ordered, all shared amongst the three of you. you took the first bite and it immediately melted into your mouth. you could not help but let out a hum of approval—a little more sensational than expected.
satoru steals bites like he owns your plate, insisting your chosen dessert is so much better than his. suguru still lets your hand linger on his thigh longer than necessary.
when it's time to cover the bill, satoru insisted on paying while suguru refused to accept his money.
"let me at least cover our wonderful waitress' service."
"i'll allow that," suguru sighed. he looked over at the waitress, "don't you dare even thinking about putting any of it in the tills."
satoru pulled out cash, a little bit more than what the food cost. the bill was seven hundred dollars. he gave the waitress nine hundred. "split with the kitchen and bar," he cupped his mouth with his hand, "keep the three for yourself though. they can figure out how to split the rest."
you stretch slightly, glancing between them. "i don't think i'm ready to call it a night yet."
"me neither." satoru agreed, resting his hand on top of yours. "hey, why don't we go to mine? it's a twenty-ish minute drive."
you don’t hesitate. "that sounds fun. suguru, you coming?"
"count me in."
there's a car waiting for the three of you outside, similar to the one that picked you up. satoru opened the door for you and ran over to the other side to sit in the back with you. suguru sat in the front.
the conversation kept going. so did the touching.
despite suguru being in the front, he was caressing your left knee through the gap between his seat and the door. satoru on the other hand, was rubbing his thumb in circles on top of your right hand.
"hey satoru," you began. "i don't mean to be intrusive. and don't answer if you don't feel like it..."
"shoot," he replied. "what's on your mind, pretty thing?"
"how did you get all these scars?"
he snorted before bursting out into a soft laugh. "just stupid little fight when i was younger."
"just a little fight?" you repeated, a little concerned. "that looks ridiculously painful."
"oh it was. i had to take care of him and he was whining every two seconds," suguru added. "the other guy had it coming though."
"really?"
"really." they both answered at the same time.
you stepped inside their apartment. it smelt clean and lived-in. aromas of sage and jasmine hit your nose the moment you entered.
the city lights were spilling through the high, floor-to-ceiling windows. you took a seat and to your surprise, both men knelt to take a heel off. their shoes were kicked off shortly after. satoru grabbed his remote and music began to play in the back.
you leaned against the kitchen counter, drink that satoru offered you in your hand. you watched them move around the space as you did the same.
you made your way to the centre of the living room, admiring the view of the city's skyline. the floor was cool under your bare feet. you felt the weight of two pairs of eyes on you. it wasn’t predatory, but rather appreciative—like you were the better view.
you're all thinking the same thing.
then, they finally moved. it was a coordinated shift. satoru's hand found yours, his long fingers lacing with yours as he guided you a step forward, towards the window. suguru moved behind you, a warm, solid presence that made the hairs on your arms stand up. you didn't flinch. you leaned into it, arching your back slightly like an invitation.
"i don't think i've ever laid eyes on anyone as beautiful as you," satoru said softly. "i truly would fight three mountain lions for you."
you giggled at the reference to his very first text to you. "thank you. i really appreciate it."
"you're dangerous," you heard suguru mumble.
"oh?"
"yeah," he added. "and very obvious."
you grinned, eyeing him from behind. "i thought we collectively agreed that wasn't a bad thing."
"it's not," he replied. "not at all."
suguru's lips met the sensitive skin where your neck met your shoulder, a soft, deliberate press that made you shudder. he left a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses up your throat. his large hands slid around your waist before slowly moving upward to cup your breast through your satin dress.
his thumb brushed over your nipple, and the fabric, already thin, did little to mask the jolt of pleasure that shot through you. as he squeezed gently, the delicate lace strap of your dress slipped from your shoulder, sitting around your upper arm and leaving more of your skin bare to his touch.
at the same time, satoru was on knees in front of you. he looked up, his bright blue eyes dark with intent and a lazy smirk playing on his lips. he hooked his fingers into the hem of your maxi dress, the satin dragging against your skin as he slowly raised it. his gaze followed the path of the fabric, exposing your thighs, your hips, until the dress was bunched around your waist.
"may i have a taste?" satoru asked. "another round of dessert sounds reeeal good right now."
this is what you had been anticipating all night.
you weren't going to be subtle.
the moment you nodded with desperation, he didn't waste a second. he pressed his lips to your knee, then higher. his kisses were a slow, torturous trail that left you wanting more. suguru's mouth was still on your neck, hand still gripping your breast.
you were caught between them.
satoru nudged your legs apart with his shoulders, and you obliged, widening your stance to give him better access. the first touch of his tongue against your clit was captivating—you were aching for this all evening. you gasped, your head falling back against suguru's shoulder.
satoru was skilled. his movements alternating between broad, flat strokes and precise, flicking circles that had your toes curling into the rug below. he held you steady, his hands gripping your hips, his only focus the pleasure he was building between your legs.
suguru took advantage of your exposed position. he nipped at your earlobe, voice in a low rumble. "you like that, don't you? how good is he making you feel?"
"so, sooo good," you breathed out, voice already shaky.
his other hand came up to tilt your chin, turning your head just enough so he could capture your lips in a deep kiss. it was messy and hot, a contrast to the steady rhythm satoru was setting in between your legs.
the stimulation was intoxicating—you were addicted. suguru's kiss, his hands on your body, and satoru's mouth were working you into an oblivion. it was simultaneously all too much yet not enough. you could feel the pressure building low in your stomach, a tight coil of pleasure ready to snap.
"i'm gonna— gonna!" you whimpered against suguru's lips.
"go on," suguru murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. "put on a show."
your cries were swallowed by suguru's kiss. your body arched, thighs trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you, each more powerful than the last. satoru didn't stop. his tongue continued to draw out your orgasm until you were a mess in their arms.
he finally pulled back, looking up at you with a victorious, glistening grin. satoru stood up, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss that let you taste your own arousal. suguru eased his hold on you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before carrying you to satoru's bedroom.
satoru held the door open as you were carried, "after you m'lady."
you were almost surprised at how well they were sharing you.
you fell back onto the bed, chest heaving as you were a tangle of limbs and satin. satoru and suguru were on you in an instant, stripping away the rest of your dress and their own clothes until there was nothing but skin on skin.
the mood shifted from slow and sensual to sharp and needy.
suguru stretched out beside you, pulling you into a searing kiss as his hand roamed your body like he was relearning every curve and engraving it into his memory. satoru knelt by your head, his pale cock hard and flushed, curving up towards his stomach. he stroked himself slowly, his eyes locked on yours.
"you look so fucking pretty like this," he rasped, his voice thick with desire. "open up for me, pretty thing."
you turned your head towards him, parting your lips obediently. he groaned as you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head before you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper. he tasted fresh with mild notes of a salty taste of his skin.
he groaned at the sight of his dick restrained in your throat. "your mouth was made for me, sweets."
while you were focused on satoru, suguru shifted.
he settled between your legs, hooking your knees over his shoulders. he watched you for a moment, dark eyes filled with lust before he lowered his head and buried his face in your pussy. he was just as relentless as satoru, his tongue lapping at your folds, lips closing around your clit and sucking hard.
suguru slid two fingers inside you, curling them to find that spot that made you see stars. he pumped them in and out, mouth never leaving—not even to breathe.
you moaned around satoru, the vibrations making him hiss. they were working you in tandem, pushing you towards yet another orgasm.
you were completely at their mercy, and you loved it.
suguru's fingers and tongue, the feeling of satoru sliding in and out of your mouth, you could feel yourself getting to that sweet finish again. your body began to tighten, movements becoming more frantic.
they must have sensed it. he reached down, his fingers gently placed on your throat, holding you in place as he thrust deeper. "that's it," he grunted, "take it, baby."
suguru's fingers started pumping faster, his tongue flicking rapidly against your clit. just when you were close, he withdrew them. you whimpered at the sudden emptiness.
"so needy. don't worry, sweetheart," he cooed while slapping his thick head against your throbbing entrance. "i won't leave you hanging. just be patient, okay?"
he pushed his cock into in one smooth stroke. he began rolling his hips into you slowly, but deep, bottoming out so you could feel every inch of him as he filled your cunt.
"you're perfect," suguru murmured, beginning to pick up the pace once you adjusted to the stretch.
you could not see this night coming to an end any time soon.
satoru also began to move faster in your mouth. his hands found their way to your neck, gently holding you in place. the room filled with the sounds of skin-to-skin contact, their pleasure, and your own muffled moans and gags around his dick.
satoru was the first to lose control. his grip on your neck tightened, hips snapping forward with need. "fuck, i can't—" he choked out. he was chasing his high desperately. his thrusts became erratic, his breathing faltered. "look at me," he commanded.
you forced your eyes open, meeting his wild gaze. "fuck, yeaaahh. just like that—" with a final, guttural groan, he buried himself deep, pulsing as his warm seed spilled into your mouth.
your mouth was finally free. the moans, and cum you’d been holding back spilled out—involuntary, loud, and messy.
the neighbours must have hated you.
he moved down the bed, eyes filled with a new kind of hunger. he leaned over you, his lips finding yours in a messy kiss before he moved lower. his mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking and flicking your bud with his tongue while his hand rolled and pinched the other.
he was worshipping you, his hands and lips everywhere. he kissed his way down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel before moving lower.
suguru took that as his cue. he gripped your hips, pulling you onto his cock as he drove into you fast and deep. each thrust hitting your g-spot. satoru's fingers found your clit, swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves as suguru fucked you hard.
your second orgasm hit you even more intensely than the first. you cried out, clenching hard around suguru. your body convulsed as pleasure took over you, leaving you shaking and breathless. the remnants of satoru's release in your mouth spilled out, dribbling down your chin and onto your tits.
suguru inserted two fingers back inside of you, pumping them relentlessly, stretching you, prolonging your finish until you couldn't take it anymore. satoru's finger was pressing hard onto your clit, still overstimulating every. single. nerve.
"sugu— ohh, fuuckk!" you gasped, your body giving out as a wave of pleasure washed over you.
it was too much, an intensity that bordered on pain, but it was exactly what you needed. a gush of wetness erupted from within you, soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you.
he finally eased his fingers out, giving your trembling thigh a gentle pat. "that's my girl," he smirked, voice thick with satisfaction before suguru lapping up your release.
you collapsed onto the bed, boneless and panting, your mind a blissful blank.
you were a mess. a soaking, trembling mess.
and you had never felt better.
they gave you a moment to catch your breath, but you were far from finished.
you wanted more.
you wanted all of them.
a new energy surged through you. something predatory and demanding. you sat up and pushed them both back with a firm hand on their chests. they obliged, settling back on the bed, curiosity and anticipation stirring.
"your turn," you purred, voice husky with desire.
satoru chuckled, "okay, nympho."
you knelt between them, first turning your attention to satoru. he was semi-hard, glistening and still sensitive from his recent release. your goal was to bring him back to his full, glorious peak.
you leaned in, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss before trailing your mouth down his chest, your tongue flicking over his nipples. you could feel his heart hammering against your lips.
you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, giving it a slow, firm squeeze. he groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. you leaned in, flattening your tongue and licking a long, slow stripe from the base to the tip, savouring the familiar taste of him.
you took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sinking down as far as you could. you set a steady, worshipful pace, head bobbing, and hands working in tandem as his dick grew in your mouth. you could feel his muscles tensing, his breath hitching as he approached another orgasm.
however, it was short lived. just as his hips began to twitch, his hands flying to your hair, you pulled off completely, leaving him throbbing in the cool air. he let out a frustrated whine, "hey, i didn't do anything to you. that was suguru."
you just smirked, turning your attention to suguru, who had been watching the entire display. "you just called me a nympho."
"not a bad thing," he exclaimed.
you looked over at suguru and placed a hand on his chest. he shook his head in agreeance, "not a bad thing."
"see," he scoffed. "but add sadist to the list, wow."
you chuckled before giving suguru the him the same treatment. your lips and tongue exploring his mouth before taking his length. you got a better look at him this time. he was different from satoru—almost as long but thicker, tanner, his taste slightly muskier.
"look how hard you are for me," you teased before moaning around him, vibration making his hips jerk up off the bed.
he grew bolder, his hand tangling in your hair and attempting to guide you, to push you deeper. you immediately stopped, pulling back and releasing him with an audible pop.
you looked up, your eyes locking with his, "no touching."
he got the message loud and clear. he liked it. his hands fell away, and he settled back, letting you have complete reign again.
you turned back to satoru, who was watching you with a desperate, hopeful expression. you took him in your mouth again. you brought him to the edge with different strokes of your tongue and lips.
you alternated between them. you'd suck satoru to the edge, denying his release. "you want me so bad, don't you?"
his breath came in ragged gasps, hands fisting the sheets. "yes, ple— please. don’t stop," he begged. you ignored him, pulling away at the last second.
then, you switch to suguru, pulling away whenever he tried to take any control. with one hand, you stroked satoru's aching, throbbing shaft, and with the other, you pumped suguru's.
you went back and forth, your pace quickening, your movements becoming more desperate, until they were both panting and rock hard, completely at your mercy. you were in charge of their pleasure, and you were going to make them beg.
you turn to one, then the other, giving them slow and sensual kisses. you can trail your fingers over their chests, down their stomachs, purposely avoiding their pulsing cocks.
"alright, you're having too much fun. get on your hands and knees," suguru commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.
you eagerly complied, rising onto all fours and presenting yourself to them.
satoru knelt behind you, running his hands over your ass and down your back. he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with the head before slowly pushing it inside. you moaned breathlessly as he filled you, length hitting your cervix with ease. he set a punishing pace from the start. his hips snapped against yours, hands gripping your waist to pull you back onto him with every thrust. it was revenge, you assumed.
suguru approached in front of you, cupping your face in his hands. his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "doing okay?"
you nodded, "yessss~," voice stammering with every thrust.
his mouth formed a crooked smile as he guided himself to your lips. "good." he gently grabbed your chin, making you look up at him. "serves you right for being such a brat."
they found a rhythm, a perfect sync between the deep, powerful thrusts hitting your cervix and the thick weight filling your mouth. as satoru rammed into you, suguru would push deeper into your throat, rocking you between them at once.
suguru's hands held your head steady, his thumbs stroking your jaw as he watched you take him. "that's it," he praised, his voice a low rumble. "you look so perfect like this. completely stuffed, full of us."
satoru's hands roamed your back, fingers tracing down your spine. "she feels so fucking good, suguru. no way you're keeping this to yourself. so fucking wet."
the praise combined with the relentless stimulation was your undoing. your orgasm built impossibly fast in your core.
"i'm gonna— nghh~ again!" you cried out, the sound muffled by suguru's length. you placed your hands on his thighs and pulled away. your body convulsed, your inner walls squeezing hard around satoru as your climax tore through you.
"fuck, there she goes," satoru grunted, his rhythm faltering as you milked him. the feeling of you clenching around him was too much.
"cum inside me, 'toru! i need it," you moaned, words torn from you in a moment of pure, absolute, unadulterated need. "please, please, please!"
that was his breaking point. satoru buried himself into you. you felt his hot, powerful pulse of his secretions spilling into you, coating your insides. the feeling was so intense, it added to your own orgasm, making you shudder and spasm between them.
suddenly, you felt strong hands on your hips. satoru pulled out of you just for suguru to get behind you in in one seamless motion. they manhandled you with effortless strength, flipping you over and pulling you on top of suguru. you were straddled above him, back against his chest, not hesitating for a moment as you sank down onto his thick, hard cock again. he filled you perfectly, and you let out a shuddering moan, arching backwards to get a grasp of his face.
he kissed you passionately—slow, sensual, and intimate, tongue intertwining with yours. your body started to move on its own, rolling your hips onto him.
then you saw it.
glancing down between your bodies, you watched as satoru's cum began to leak out of you, a pearly white trail coating suguru with every rise and fall of your hips.
the sight was filthy.
it turned you on more.
it made you ride him harder.
"fuuuckk, baby," suguru grunted. "you're riding me like you own me."
satoru whistled at the sight, inching closer to you as he sucked on your neck, definitely leaving a mark. he nudged your leg, spreading you open to give himself a perfect view.
he leaned down, his breath tingling against your ear. "look at that," he murmured, his voice thick with awe. "look at the mess we made."
his words sent a fresh jolt of pleasure through you. suguru thrust up into you from below, his heavy balls smacking against your skin with every powerful upward thrust. the wet, slapping sound because of the cum dripping out of you was obscene to say the least. the stimulation was overwhelming, your senses had blurred. you could feel another orgasm building, impossibly more intense than the last.
satoru placed his hand on your neck, kissing your jaw before lightly tapping your face, "eyes on me, sweets."
you didn't break eye contact at the order, but he did. his gaze fell to your breasts bounced with every drop, the cool air kissing your sweat-slicked skin while satoru's cum trickled out, a lewd, glistening trail that heightened the raw intimacy of the moment.
he could not resist. his mouth found your nipple rather quickly, tongue swirling around your bud as he lightly tightened the grip around your neck.
your pleasure built quickly as suguru's cock hit deeper with each upward thrust. your body was still sensitive from before, and as his rhythm turned erratic, you felt his first warm surge of his release flood within you. it pushed you over again, muscles tightening around him, cries echoing as waves of ecstasy ripped through you.
the first thing you noticed was the air. it was a lot cooler now.
the windows were cracked open somewhere behind you, letting in a steady breeze from outside, carrying the distant sound of traffic and waves. you didn't notice that in the midst of everything. it brushes over your overheated skin, raising goosebumps along your arms.
the room smelt like sex, clean linen, and still sage and jasmine.
your heartbeat was still loud in your ears. everything else felt muted.
suguru was the first one to move.
he slipped out of bed quietly and his footsteps faded toward the kitchen. you heard the soft click of a cabinet, then the rush of water, and glasses being set down.
satoru stayed where he was, sprawled beside you, staring up at the ceiling like it's the most intriguing thing ever. his chest rose and fell slower now. "clothes," he abruptly remembered. "let me get us some clothes."
"there's no need, truly," you reassured. "i've got you two."
he shook his head, "it gets cold up here. really cold. i'd love to keep you warm with my body but i fear it won't be enough."
he grabbed a shirt from his dresser. it's soft and oversized, clearly well-loved. he leaned over and helped you put it on. he was so gentle compared to how he was not too long ago.
you watched as he pulled on his own shirt, boxers, and fluffy pokemon pjs. you began to form an opinion on him. you had no cons on your list. he was funny, smart, generous, and ethereal. he was also obsessed with you, from what you gathered at least. and the best part about it? he wasn't shy expressing it.
right on cue, suguru came back in with two full glasses of water, condensation already gathering on the sides.
before he could say anything, satoru grabbed the nearest pair of shorts and threw them at his chest. they hit with a dull thump. "put those on," satoru irked. "you're too comfortable."
suguru blinked, looking down, then up. "i was getting water..?"
"naked," satoru snarked.
"god forbid a man be confident," suguru countered, putting the shorts on anyway.
you lifted your head slightly from the pillow. "why shouldn't he be?" you winked at suguru.
suguru exhaled through his nose, something close to a laugh.
he handed you one glass first. the water was icy. very much needed. it made its down your throat, causing you to shiver. a little spilled out the corner of your mouth before you could catch it.
suguru noticed immediately. "hey," he leaned in, wiping it away with his thumb without thinking.
now here lied your predicament.
you also had an opinion on suguru. no cons on your list. he was just like satoru, just a little more reserved. they shared the same interests, humour, conversation, literally everything. again, he was just more reserved. not a bad quality, in fact, it was something you appreciated.
you took another sip, then tilted the glass toward satoru, sharing the glass with him. he drank after you, lips brushing the rim where yours were, water dripping briefly down his chin before he wiped it with the back of his hand.
suguru watched the exchange with quiet amusement, taking slow sips from his own glass as he sat back on the bed beside you.
eventually, you sank into the mattress between them. satoru settled close on one side, thigh pressing against yours. suguru leaned back on the other, one arm resting loosely behind your shoulders.
the breeze continued to slip through the windows, fluttering the curtains softly. somewhere outside, a car passes and someone laughs on the street below.
life kept going but right now, everything was still. you were content.
suddenly, the exhaustion caught up to you. you snuggled close to both men and closed your eyes without meaning to.
when you woke up, it was bright. soft light filtered through thin clouds and glass hit you. pale gold stretched across the walls and ceiling, warming the apartment in a gentler way than last night.
you shifted slightly and realized you were still between them.
fuck.
they were both awake.
satoru was sitting against the headboard, laptop open on his thighs and glasses perched low on his nose. you glanced at his screen and he was reading something dense and scientific. he scrolled slowly, focused, one hand absently resting near your shoulder.
he was babbling about something to suguru in a whisper. "and i just don't know how i'm going to conduct this. like, i know what to do but i don't. this is making sense to me but at the same time, it's not? am i stupid?"
suguru was near the foot of the bed, propped against pillows, a book open in his hands. one knee was bent, foot resting lazily on the mattress. he was still shirtless. you examined his tattoo closer.
"mhm. very," he responded calmly, like this was completely normal. he flipped to the next page, "yeah, i can't help you. i have no idea what you're talking about. ask yaga or something."
"you're sooo helpful."
"you're so welcome."
it took you a second to process how strange this was.
"oh, morning," satoru greeted easily, closing the laptop partway when he noticed you moving.
"hey," you replied, voice rough and groggy with sleep.
suguru looked up from his book. "sleep okay?"
"yeah," you answered, "really well actually."
"good," he answered, putting his book away.
you cursed yourself for legitimately knocking out. you'd usually slip out of the room and hang out on your own until your date was ready to talk about how (if) you wanted to proceed. if not, you would just leave and block their number and profile.
they put you to sleep.
you did not know how to get out of this situation.
they caught you off guard. you weren't ready to have any sort of conversation, let alone what you knew was going to spark up shortly. you enjoyed your night a little too much.
fuck.
"so… have you decided?"
phew. i need to take a break from smut after this one lol
An: I’m new to tumblr so idrk how to work it so sorry if it looks weird I’m trying my best.
—-─ ⊹ ⊱꒰☆꒱⊰ ⊹ ─—-
Your fingers teased yourself open slowly. You loved this. Your dorm was too crowded, privacy almost impossible to find. So you came here at night, when it was quiet and no one was around.
You’d done this before. It had always been exactly what you needed. And after today? This was perfect.
A soft moan slipped from your lips as you brought one leg up onto the dashboard, giving yourself better access. Your head fell back as you pushed your fingers inside, heat instantly spreading through your body.
God, it felt good.
Your fingers moved skillfully, searching for that spongy spot you loved so much. You exhaled shakily when you hit it just right—
And froze.
Headlights pulled into a spot a few spaces over.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
You dropped your leg quickly, heart racing, praying they hadn’t seen you. Slowly, you glanced over.
A boy you vaguely recognized sat in the driver’s seat.
He wasn’t looking at you.
He was looking down.
Down at his hand wrapped around his dick, pumping slowly.
Holy shit.
You gasped. Was he doing that while driving? That couldn’t be safe. But god… his white hair almost glowed under the faint light, and he looked hot. He threw his head back, clearly moaning, and you wished you could hear it.
That thought alone made you spread your legs again.
He still hadn’t noticed you.
You slipped a finger back inside yourself, moaning softly as you watched him. You were wetter now—far wetter than before. Watching him affect you like this was almost embarrassing.
Almost.
You circled your swollen clit slowly, eyes locked on his moving hand. Fuck, he was hot.
Your hand slid up to squeeze your clothed breast, imagining it was his instead. Just as you let out another breathy moan, your eyes met his.
Fuck.
He saw you.
You quickly looked away, heat rushing to your face, but when you dared to glance back… he was still watching.
And his hand hadn’t stopped.
He found this hot.
And to your surprise—you did too.
Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hand back to your breast. He nodded once.
An invitation.
Your other hand drifted down between your legs again. Even through the glass, you could see the way his smirk deepened. Neither of you could see below each other’s chests, but the way his arm moved told you everything.
You picked up your pace.
Your fingers traced tight circles over your clit, breath growing heavier. His eyes never left yours. You brought two fingers to your mouth, sucking them slowly, watching him groan at the sight.
Then you pushed them back inside yourself, gasping at the stretch.
His hand moved faster now.
He tugged at the collar of his shirt and you gave a small nod. In one smooth motion, he pulled it off, revealing a chiseled chest that made your stomach tighten. God, you wanted him to stand up—wanted to see all of him—but the mystery only made it hotter.
He gestured slightly toward you.
You slipped your fingers out with a soft sigh and pulled your shirt over your head. Then your bra followed. When you looked up again, he was blushing.
You smirked and rolled one nipple between your fingers, moaning softly.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, pumping harder. He was close. You could tell.
So were you.
You plunged your fingers back inside yourself, other hand tugging at your nipple. The thought of climbing into his car and straddling him flashed through your mind—but the distance, the glass between you, the silent understanding… it was intoxicating.
His eyes locked with yours as his body tensed. You watched him shudder as he came, white streaking across his chest.
That was all it took.
Your orgasm hit hard, unraveling through you in waves. A loud moan spilled from your lips as your body trembled around your fingers. Even through the glass, you were sure he heard.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Just staring.
Breathing.
Then he gave you one last slow smirk… started his engine… and drove away.
Leaving you alone in the dark—still flushed, still aching, and already wondering if you’d see him there again tomorrow night.
“I HATE GOJO SATORU SO MUCH TO THE POINT I WANT TO FUCK HIM!” — GOJO S.
WARNINGS: (NSFW) smut— p in v séx, dirty talk, slight choking, fingering, light spanking, pussydrunk!satoru, just him being a cheeky asshole. Set in the pre-Shibuya events.
SUMMARY: It’s 2017 and, after a tiring week, you decide to get silly drunk to unwind. What starts with just a few glasses of wine with your friends, ends in an anonymous late-night confession in the underground sorcerer gossip board on the web, about hating (and wanting to fuck) Gojo Satoru. Gojo pretends he has no idea who wrote it. He does know. It’s gametime for him.
A/N: this is based on a real text i sent to my best friend like a year ago after we spent 2hrs watching gojo satoru edits on tiktok. i had to do it. writing this was so fun so i hope you enjoy! not proofread. Reblogs + interactions are super appreciated!
last work: the devil’s concubine — toji fushiguro.
“I HATE GOJO SATORU SO MUCH TO THE POINT I WANT TO FUCK HIM!” by: user193779002
Yeah. You read that right. I hate Gojo Satoru.
I hate his stupid face. I hate the way he talks like he already knows what you’re going to say before you open your mouth. I hate how he walks into a room like he could buy everyone’s souls (i DON’T CARE if he technically can. I DON’T CAREEEE.).
I hate the stupid blindfold he wears and the outdated sunglasses he puts on whenever he wants to look handsome. Ugh. WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABT HOW CRINGY THAT IS!! Anyways. Also, the stupid white hair that looks like it costs more to maintain than my entire monthly food budget. Dumbass.
I hate how he’s always right.
I hate how he smiles when he wins like it was never even a competition.
And most of all I hate how fucking tall he is, how he has to bend down a little to talk to anyone, or when he walks around like we should kiss the concrete he steps in. Or when he looks at me for two seconds longer than necessary during a mission debrief — my body betrays me so hard I want to scream.
I want to climb him like a tree. I want to ruin that infuriating smirk. I want to make him shut up for once by sitting on his face until he forgets how to form words.
I hate him so much he makes me wet.
Kill me now.
[ Comments — Sorted by: most popular ]
user_nanamistielover: LMFAO not the sitting on his face part 😭 whoever u are spill the tea sis!! ↳ reply from glitteryomen: the “two seconds longer during debrief” is sending me that’s literally only like 4 people max who get debriefed with him regularly 💀 WHO ARE UUUU
anonymous_curseuser2894: Mods pls pin this. This is the best confession since the one about Nanami’s tie wanting 2 be used as a blindfold ↳ reply from mod_jujutsugossip: We cannot pin confessions. They range from earliest to oldest posting date.
user193779002 (you): delete this pls i was drunk i swearrr adminnnn FUCK
gojo_defender: was it necessary to say you hate him? 😒
mochi_lover99: “i hate him so much it makes me wet” HELLO?????? i aint seen a confession so detailed since the one abt nanami’s tie but u go girl
The thread exploded overnight.
By morning, screenshots were circulating in every private group chat from Tokyo Jujutsu High alumni to the few active Grade 1 sorcerers that still bothered to know what was going on in social media. The way it was phrased was too specific, too petty, too familiar. The way it lingered on the exact tilt of his head during debriefs. The casual complaint about the blindfold-sunglasses combo switch—like someone who had watched it happen a hundred times in person. It was.. interesting.
You didn’t even remember submitting it.
It had been one of those rare nights after long missions throughout the week—cursed spirits popping up like weeds across half of Tokyo.
Everyone was exhausted, running on fumes and adrenaline crash. Shoko had dragged you, Utahime (who was visiting), and a couple others to a quiet bar in the city to grab “just one drink”, as she said. Then there were two drinks. Then you lost count somewhere around the third bottle of that sweet wine you always asked for in the weekends when the week had been stressful enough.
You didn’t even remember pulling out your phone — which you did — giggling hysterically at the screen while typing with one eye closed. Shoko laughing beside you. Utahime trying (and failing) to snatch the phone away. Something about “anonymous confessions board” being linked in the alumni Discord. You hit post before your brain could catch up. And before the girls could even know what you wrote. They were even more drunk than you were; you didn’t worry about that.
You were worried about now. Now, the entire sorcerer community was dissecting that confession like a Grade 1 curse.
You avoided the faculty lounge for two days straight.
On the third day, Gojo found you anyway. He always did.
You were in one of the empty training halls, pretending to adjust a training dummy’s stance when the air shifted—the unmistakable pressure of Infinity brushing the edges of the room like static. The one you hated the most.
“Yo.”
You didn’t turn around. “Busy.”
“Really? Looks like you’re aggressively staring at a wooden dummy. Is it cursed or something?”
He appeared beside you in that annoying teleport-way of his, hands in pockets, head tilted just enough that the blindfold caught the overhead lights. That stupid smirk already in place. You did hate it.
You gripped the dummy’s arm harder, resting bitch face in displau. “What do you want, Satoru.”
He leaned in slightly—too close, always too close. Damn Satoru and his lack of personal space awareness. “Heard there’s this super spicy confession going around. You see it?”
Your stomach dropped through the floor. Nah. He must be talking about the other tens of confessions that the Jujutsu Gossip Wire website had everyday since the blog opened in 2006, though it refreshened every year. God bless the non-existent digital footprint (or, better said, the one-year embarrassing footprint.)
“Nope,” you lied, voice flat. “Haven’t been online. Less so in those blogs. Didn’t know you were an avid reader.”
“Oh, it’s my newspaper, mhmm.” He dragged the sound out, amused. “Weird. Because the latest confession got some very… detailed opinions. About my hair. My height. My face.” A pause. “And apparently how wet I make the poster.”
You whipped around so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. “Satoru! How many times I’ve told you I don’t care about that blog? It’s just bored fangirls writing fantasies about you guys most of the time. I already had enough with that Nanami confession a year ago.”
He raised both hands in mock surrender, grin widening. “Whoa, defensive much? I’m just saying. Whoever wrote it sounds really worked up. Almost like they’ve known me since… oh, I don’t know… 2006? First year? Same class?”
Your face burned. Could’ve been mistaken by anger. But you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. “Lots of people hate you, Gojo. You’re not special.”
“True. But not a lot of people know exactly how long I linger during debriefs.” His voice dropped, playful but edged with mock suspicion, “That’s pretty specific, don’t you think?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. The words from three nights ago echoed traitorously in your head.
“he looks at me for two seconds longer than necessary”
He stepped closer. Infinity didn’t block you—he let it drop just enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.
“Anyway!” he continued casually, like he wasn’t slowly cornering you against the training dummy, “You’ve got paperwork to do. Yaga told me to come find you for that.”
“Alright then.” you nodded, brushing the dummies’s dust off your fingers, looking at Satoru, who lingered on the same spot, like a stick figure, with a small smile. “Are you well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. He was like a kid sometimes.
“Yep. Yep.” he nodded, finally moving to hide his hands on his pockets, turning around to walk carelessly, “Lighten up a little, it’s only monday!”
You rolled your eyes once he was out of your vision. He truly was insufferable.
That same night…
Entry #262 - Posted: January 30th, 2017
"I KNOW EXACTLY WHO WROTE ENTRY #261 AND I'VE BEEN WAITING YEARS FOR HER TO STOP HIDING BEHIND 'HATE' BECAUSE THE TRUTH IS I WANT TO FUCK HER UNTIL SHE FORGETS HOW TO SAY ANYTHING BUT MY NAME SHE HATES SO MUCH. SHE'S BEEN DRIVING ME INSANE SINCE SECOND YEAR AND I'M DONE PRETENDING I DON'T NOTICE HOW SHE LOOKS AT ME WHEN SHE THINKS I'M NOT LOOKING. COME GET WHAT YOU'VE BEEN BEGGING FOR, BABY. I'M NOT HIDING ANYMORE." by: the_strongest
[ Comments — Sorted by: most popular ]
anonymous-grade2: bro wrote this with his whole dick and soul
nanami simp #384: ARE YALL CRACKING OR WHAT
utahime-defense_squad: if this is who i think it is i’m sending her sake and therapy bills. she deserves both.
getosleftboob: MODS ARE SLEEPING LET THEM COOK 🍳🔥🔥
You stared at the ceiling of your apartment long after the city outside had quieted to a low hum of distant traffic and occasional late-night trains of the city. The phone lay face-down on your pillow now, screen dark, but the words were burned behind your eyelids.
Entry #262 had gone live sometime after dinner—probably while you were mechanically eating convenience store onigiri and pretending the knot in your stomach was just hunger. By the time you refreshed Jujutsu Gossip Wire out of morbid curiosity (or masochism. mostly masochism.), the thread was already on fire.
And you were swearing on everything you’ve ever known.
You had scrolled until your thumb cramped, then locked the screen again.
He’d used almost your exact phrasing structure—only difference is that he used all caps and wrote it all in the confession title, which is so Satoru. The “baby” at the end was the bullet straight to you. He’d never called you that. Not once. Until now. In front of the entire goddamn network.
And the worst part? You weren’t even mad.
You were throbbing.
Hot, restless, aching between your thighs just from rereading it twice. Your body had apparently decided hours ago that this was foreplay, whether your brain caught up or not. Filthy fucking foreplay. And honest to god, you were loving it.
You rolled onto your stomach, pressed your face into the pillow, and muffled a groan.
Sleep didn’t come. Never does when his annoying laugh is playing on your mind like how a haunted hause sounds of screeching doors and steps on wet wood.
By 2:17 a.m. you were pacing your tiny living room in the pj’s Shoko had gifted you for your borthday last year — baptized as ‘slutty pajamas’ by herself; you just thought she was kidding around — and debating whether to delete your entire digital footprint or set your phone on fire, smash it into the wall, or lock yourself to hibernation.
A soft knock at the door made you freeze.
Three measured taps. Polite. Patient.
You knew that rhythm. Otherwise, you would’ve froze to death thinking it was a stalker.
Another knock. Then his voice, muffled but unmistakable.
“Open uuup. I know you’re awake” he said, like the door was personally cockblocking him. “I know you’re awake. I can see the light from under the door. This building’s got the doors built like hell. Should fill a complaint—“
You opened the door fast, face like you would rather die rather than be going through this.
Gojo stood in the hallway, casual as ever—black hoodie, blindfold even at this hour, hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants. He’s doing this on purpose.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you.
You looked back.
The silence stretched until it felt like static.
Then he spoke, voice low and rough from lack of sleep or something else. “You read it.”
Not a question.
You swallowed. “Yeah.”
He tilted his head, just enough that the hallway light slid across the edge of his jaw. “And?”
Your mouth was dry. “And you’re insane.”
A small, crooked smile tugged at his lips.
“Newsflash. You gonna let me in?”
You opened the door wider without a word.
He stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him. Locked itself with a flick of cursed energy he didn’t even bother hiding.
The apartment felt smaller with him in it. Seemed like it was built for people not his height.
He pulled the blindfold off, hid it on a pocket of his sweats. Those eyes—too bright, too blue, too everything—locked onto yours.
“I meant every word,” he said quietly. No grin. No theatrics. Just him. “Been meaning to say it for years. Though I don’t need to be drunk to acknowledge my feelings.”
Ouch.
“You could’ve just told me. Privately.” you said, rolling your eyes back, pretending your brain wasn’t about to shut down from so much intense sexual tension.
“I could’ve.” He stepped closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint sweetness of the mochi he probably stress-ate on the way here. “I mean, I’m doing it now” he chuckled.
He stepped closer still, until the toes of his sneakers brushed your bare ones and the heat of him bled through the thin silk of your pajamas. The “slutty pajamas” Shoko had cackled about when she handed them over—black satin shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass and a matching top with spaghetti straps that kept slipping off one shoulder—suddenly felt like the worst possible armor. Straight out of a +18 magazine, or so it was for him at least.
Satoru’s gaze dragged down your body once, slow and deliberate, like he was cataloguing every inch he’d been denied for years. When his eyes flicked back up they were darker, pupils blown wide.
“You posted that in front of the entire jujutsu network, you exhibitionist freak.” you sighed in annoyance, “Do you know the amount of embarrassement I have in my body right now?”
“Ah, c’mon, it’s not that big of a deal” he rolled his eyes back.
“Not that big of a deal?” you echoed, incredulous. “Everyone now must be betting on whether we fuck Friday. Everyone knows now that I wrote that and you answered!.”
Satoru’s grin widened.
“Sounds like they’re invested.” He leaned in until his mouth hovered just above yours—close enough you could feel the shape of the words. “Maybe we should give them something worth gossiping about and quit playing games.”
Before you could fire back, his hand slid to your waist—long fingers splaying wide over satin, thumb brushing the bare skin just under the hem of your top. The touch was painfully casual, as if he’d done so multiple times and every inch of you belonged under his palms tonight. You sucked in a breath. He felt it. Of course he did.
“Still pretending you hate me?” he murmured, lips grazing the corner of your mouth. Not quite a kiss. Just enough to make you chase. Enough to make you wet by a thousand percent.
“Yes—” You cut off when his other hand found the small of your back and tugged you flush against him. Hard muscle and heat and the unmistakable ridge of him already pressing thick against your stomach through those damn gray sweats.
Your thighs clenched on instinct. Your heart rate sped up. Your lips parted in a small but sharp breath.
He groaned low in his throat, forehead touching yours in an almost desperate display of how needy he was. Just like you were. Fire and fire.
“Fuck. You’re killing me in these.” His fingers flexed on your waist, sliding down to palm the curve of your ass through the thin shorts. One cheek fit perfectly in his hand. He squeezed deliciously, “Perfect body, perfect ass, perfect everything. I should be the one hating you — never let me put my hands on you. Tsk.”
He walked you gently, backwards, until the backs of your knees hit the arm of the couch. You didn’t sit. He didn’t let you. Just kept you pinned there, caged between his body and the furniture.
“Look at me,” he said. You did.
Those eyes seemed molten emerald now—blue so dark it looked almost violet under the low lamp light.
“Tell me to stop,” he offered, voice rough. “Say the word and I walk out. We can pretend I never knocked. I’ll even delete the post if you want. Seriously. But say it, please…”
You stared at his mouth. At the way it curved when he was trying not to smile too hard.
Then you reached up, hooked two fingers in the neck of his hoodie, and yanked him down. The kiss was immediate, with no preambles. So good he groaned into your mouth like he’d been holding the sound for years. Hands everywhere—sliding up your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through satin, then higher until he was cupping your face like you might disappear if he let go.
You bit his lower lip—hard enough to make him hiss. To make him even harder, if possible. He retaliated by sliding one thigh between yours and pressing up—firm, deliberate pressure right against your clit through the thin fabric. You gasped into his mouth, your hips jerking forward before you could stop them.
“Oooh, there she is,” he breathed against your lips, “Knew you’d be greedy.”
“Fuck you.” you mumbled.
“Working on it.”
He placed open-mouthed kisses down your throat, hand slipping undee the hem of your shorts, two of his long fingers dragging between your folds, slowly, gathering wetness like he had all night to play… because, well, that’s what it was. And he smiled against your neck, knowing he finally was living this.
“So fucking wet already.” His voice dropped lower, “Just from me showing up at your door? Or was it the post? Reading how bad I want to ruin you?”
“Both,” you admitted on a shaky exhale. “Fuck, ‘toru…”
He rewarded you by circling your clit—once, twice—light enough to tease, firm enough to make your knees buckle. You grabbed his wrist. Not to stop him. To hold on, in an attempt to have a slight of control visible.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Let me feel how much you’ve been lying to yourself. Let me feel how much you hate me, hmm.”
He pushed one finger inside—slow, deliberate—curling it just right on the first stroke. Your head fell back against the couch arm. A broken sound slipped out. “Satoru—“
He added a second. Stretched you open with lazy scissoring motions while his thumb kept lazy circles on your clit, his lips pressing soft kisses on the corner of your own lips.
“Look at you,” he rasped. “Taking my fingers like you were made for it. Bet you’re gonna feel even better around my cock. She’s literally dripping for me.”
You clenched around him at the words.
He groaned. “Fuck—do that again.”
You did.
His free hand slid up to your throat—not tight, just resting there. Palm warm. Fingers long enough to wrap almost completely around. He didn’t squeeze. Just held. A reminder.
“Such a good girl, with such a good cunt” he whispered, voice laced with pleasure, “Y’like this, pretty girl? My hand here while I finger you?”
You nodded—frantic, desperate. He pressed just a little. Enough to make your pulse jump under his thumb.
“Then come for me like this,” he ordered softly. “Come on my fingers, baby. Let me feel it. S’okay.”
His fingers sped up—curling harder, thumb relentless on your clit. “Satoru— Oh god, Satoru-“ You whimpered in pleasure.
And then, you came hard—back arching, nails digging into his forearm, a choked cry tearing out of your throat as you pulsed around his fingers. Wave after wave. Relentlessly. He didn’t stop until you were whimpering, oversensitive, legs trembling. Until you could even feel dizzy. Good dizzy. Only then did he ease his fingers out—slow—bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean while holding your gaze.
“God, you’re so pretty.” He mumbled, pressing his lips against yours, “Gorgeous girl, fuck, you make me so hard.”
He did not give you time to recover, quite frankly. In a few slow seconds, after he undressed completely — and help you undress too, throwing your panties and shorts on the floor — , he was already holding you against him, lowering your back onto the couch carefully, like you weighed nothing for his strong arms.
“You okay?” he mumbled, hooking one of your legs on his shoulder, pressing a kiss on your ankle.
“Mmhm.” You nodded. He grinned proudly, spreading you a little wider, his hard, pulsing cock laying between your folds. “Still hating you though”
He stroked himself slowly, admiring your body with a smile. He dragged the swollen head through your folds. Not pushing in. Just sliding. Up. Down. Coating himself in the slick mess he’d already pulled out of you.
“Fuck, baby. This pussy is definitely worth all the years i’ve been thinking of it.”
You whimpered when he nudged your clit on the next pass—deliberately slow, letting the ridge catch just right before sliding back down to tease your entrance again.
“Satoru—” you pouted.
“Shhh.” He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, “You’re so wet it’s dripping onto the couch. Gonna have to explain that stain to your landlord, you know.”
“Fuck you.”
“Exactly what I’m trying to do.”
He kept rubbing himself against you—lazy, torturous glides—until your hips were lifting off the cushions chasing him. Every time the head caught at your opening he’d press forward the tiniest bit, just enough to stretch you, then pull back with a low groan.
“God, you’re tight even like this,” he breathed. “Gonna feel so fucking good when I finally— oh my god—“
He cut himself off by finally pushing in. One long, slow slide until he was buried to the hilt. You both froze for a second. Breathing hard. Foreheads pressed together.
“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. “You’re so tight around me. I’m—“
“You’re gonna cum, or what?” you teased, despite you being on the brink of doing so.
“Don’t tease.” He chuckled, biting his own lip as he he started moving—deep, measured thrusts that made your toes curl.
Missionary like this felt almost too intimate: his weight pinning you down, blue eyes locked on yours, one hand braced beside your head while the other kept your other leg on his shoulder, stretching you impossibly good. Every roll of his hips dragged against that spot inside you that made sparks shoot up your spine.
Eventually, he began snapping his hips faster, deeper, until the couch was creaking under the force of it, skin slapping against skin, your wetness coating his cock shiny, your gasps turning into broken, downright pornographic moans.
After a few minutes he slowed—pulled out almost completely—then flipped you both in one smooth motion so you were straddling him instead.
“Ride me,” he ordered, voice rough. Hands settling on your hips like he was ready to guide—or force—the pace if you hesitated. “Take control, baby. Fuck the hate out of your body with my own.”
You didn’t hesitate.
You sank down onto him in one smooth drop—taking him deeper than before. His head fell back against the cushions with a groan that sounded almost pained.
“Fuuuck—yes. Just like that” He groaned.
You started moving—slow at first, grinding in tight circles that made him swear under his breath. Then faster. Harder. Chasing the friction you both needed.
His hands roamed up your sides, over your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples through the thin satin still clinging to your shoulders, the only piece of clothing he didn’t take off until that moment. His hands went back down to grip your ass, helping you move up and down.
One sharp, playful smack landed on your right cheek—light enough to sting just a little, loud enough to make you clench around him.
You gasped. “‘Toru!”
Another light slap—left side this time. “Keep going, baby. Keep going for me.”
You rode him harder, your hips snapping, thighs burning, nails digging into his chest for leverage as your back arched slightly. He met every downward thrust with an upward snap of his own, driving even deeper, hitting that sweet spot over and over until your vision started to blur and your walls began to clamp him.
“Fuck, fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he moaned. “Baby, come on my cock? Please, come on my cock while I fill you up. M’so close”
You nodded frantically—words gone. Only saved for moans and quick “yes”’s.
He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, fucking you back as you went up and down, hugging his body as you let yourself go completely, shattering around him.
“Satoru!” you moaned, followed by a short cry of pleasure as you came.
“Fuck, baby, yes—“ he babbled, hips jerking up as he came deep inside you. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you down while he rode it out.
For a long minute neither of you moved—just panting, sweat-slick, tangled together on the wrecked couch.
Then he laughed and tugged you down until your chest was pressed to his. “Still hate me?” he murmured against your temple.
You huffed, feeling your body like jelly. “Shut up… I literally just came…”
He kissed the top of your head. “That’s a yes.”
You didn’t correct him. Not while he had that dumb smile you didn’t hate so much right now.
Because right now, with him still softening inside you, arms wrapped around your back like he never planned to let go—you really didn’t hate him at all.
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