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Summary: Wesker never really knew the exact day of his birth. So, you just kinda picked one and threw a party!
Fluff, with angsty undertones
Pretty please go easy on me, ya boy is trying to get back into the swing of writing.
Wesker felt like he was forgetting something. Which, was a fucking problem because Wesker never forgot anything. At all. Ever. That wasn’t an exaggeration. He still remembered that bitch Mason Carter from the boys home that thought it would be funny to try and trip him in the mess hall, then had the audacity to tattle on Wesker when he retaliated by throwing his tray at Carter's head.
So then what was Wesker forgetting? Was it nothing? No, it couldn’t be nothing. If it was, it wouldn’t be bugging him so much. He got the samples sent out, made sure Ada got the debrief on her next mission for him, responded to the connections offer with a counter offer, what the hell was he-
Oh.
His eyes finally glanced down at the tiny calendar on his computer. It was August 25th. His birthday. Well, kinda his birthday. He didn’t actually know the specific date of his birth, just the year- 1960. The actual date and month was never deemed important by the boy's home he was raised in, and when he finally did get his hands on his birth certificate- it just said the year. It was hardly a birth certificate, having the bare minimum information that Spencer decided was necessary to document. He shouldn’t have been shocked. Birthdays were frivolous, after all.
No. It was you who decided his birthday was August 25th. It was still one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for him.
He still remembered walking into the R.P.D expecting just another day at the office. An expectation that was quickly squashed when he noticed how many officers were looking at him, while trying very very hard not to look like they were stealing glances. He went straight to Marvin, him being one of the more tolerable officers in the R.P.D, and giving him a reason to procrastinate going to the S.T.A.R.S office, where there was no doubt some catastrophe waiting for him.
“Lieutenant Branagh,” Wesker said, hiding the smirk that came with watching Branagh stiffen with nerves, giving Wesker his full attention.
“Captain Wesker?” Marvin asked.
“What should I expect when I walk into the S.T.A.R.S office today?”
Marvin’s eyes darted around the room, looking to focus on anything other than Wesker's face. “I’m not sure what you mean sir. I’m assuming your regular S.T.A.R.S related duties?"
Wesker snorted out a humorless laugh. “Bold of you to be both snarky and a bad liar in the same breath Branagh, I’m impressed.”
Marvin looked confused, trying to catch the eyes of any of his coworkers for rescue. Of course this is the one time they were actually doing their jobs. “Thank you, sir?” He asked more than said.
Wesker nodded, “You’re quite welcome. Now, the truth, Lieutenant. I haven’t got all day.”
It was then Chris came around the corner, as if he was an angel answering Marvin's prayers. “Captain!” Chris said, rushing over to Wesker, “There you are! I almost thought you were actually late.” Chirs laughed.
Wesker gave Marvin one final, ‘this isn’t over’ look, then turned to Chris. “Have I ever once been late, Redfield?”
“No, that's why I assumed you died.”
That- took Wesker off guard. “You assumed I died?”
Chris nodded as if it was perfectly normal to assume your boss died because they were five minutes late for work. “Yeah, obviously,” Chirs, what? “Anyway, I need you in the office. We have a…situation.”
“A situation?” Wesker asked, hoping for more context.
Chris nodded, “Yeah, there’s a package on your desk and we’re all arguing over what’s inside of it.”
“That’s hardly a situation, Redfield.”
“Tell that to Forest. He keeps saying he’s going to open it, and he doesn’t care that it’s a felony.”
Wesker let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. The members of S.T.A.R.S were the best of the best, that wasn’t up for debate. But Wesker often wondered if they were also just giant middle schoolers pretending to be special forces agents, and doing a really fantastic job of it. “Alright, let's go.”
The walk was quiet, but not awkward. It was something Wesker always appreciated about Chris- that he saw the value in comfortable silence. It was a trait you actually shared with him. As they reached the office, Chris hesitated with his hand on the door. He turned back to Wesker. “Hey, your duty weapon has the safety on, right?”
That question instantly put Wesker on high alert. “Why?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for shenanigans.
And yet, the shenanigans continued. “Just curious.” As Wesker opened his mouth to argue with his point man, Chris opened the door and rushed into the notably dark room.
Wesker followed without hesitation. “Redfield, what are yo-”
He didn’t have time to finish his sentence. It didn’t matter in the end anyway really, because Wesker instantly found out why Chris asked.
The lights snapped on, and every single member of S.T.A.R.S jumped out from their hiding place yelling “SURPRISE!!” And to Chris’s credit, he knew his captain. Wesker's first instinct in fact was to put his hand on his gun.
Until he saw you, all puppy dog eyes and smiles, and proudly presenting a homemade cake. “Happy birthday Captain!” You grinned.
Regrettably, Wesker felt a warmth in his chest seeing you, but thankfully confusion was the prevailing emotion he felt- so he didn’t have to think about the fuzzies for too long. “I think I’m missing something.” He said as he took the cake from your hands, going and setting it on his desk. The S.T.A.R.S office was decked out for a birthday party, full of balloons and streamers. He found the “You Were Born!” banner particularly amusing. Your handiwork, judging by the hand writing.
“We’re throwing you a party!” Chris said, batting a balloon back and forth with Kenneth.
“A birthday party!” Kenneth so helpfully clarified.
Wesker knew he had been too lenient with them, letting them celebrate their birthdays and holidays. He made a note to not do it again. “Yes, I see that,” He said, looking around, “I’m wondering why?”
You stepped up. “Well, everyone else gets a birthday party,” you explained, “it felt unfair to leave you out.” Reluctantly, he deleted his ‘no parties’ mental note.
“Did you ever think maybe I wanted to be “left out,” as you put it?”
You ignored him, “But you refused to tell us when your birthday actually is. So, we just picked a day! As long as it happens at the same point in the year, it’s all the same right?” You said as you walked over to the snack table, grabbing a soda and bringing it to him.
Wesker looked down at the can to avoid your eyes. “Hmm,” He muttered, thoughts running faster than he could process them, “And why today?”
You playfully elbowed him, giving him a grin, “Because I wanted you to be at the start of Virgo season, but we were doing training when it actually started.”
Wesker blew a puff of air from his nose, finally opening the can. “Very well then.” As he spoke the words, the others cheered, happy to have permission to fuck around all day. You grinned, pulling him back over to the cake.
Jill was putting candles on it, five to be exact. She looked up at Wesker and smiled. “I wasn’t sure exactly how old you were, but I figured you were at least five,” she shrugged. You ushered Wesker to his seat as Jill lit the candles and the other S.T.A.R.S. members filed into or around the entry of his relatively small office.
You pushed the cake closer to him. “I figured we’d just get the worst part of birthday’s out of the way first.” You smirked with a wink.
Wesker was confused about what the hell you were talking about, until you and the rest of the group started singing. “Happy birthday to y-”
“No! no, we’re not doing that.” Wesker said over the choir,
“Oh come on!” you said, “Don’t be like that.”
He shook his head. “I will allow the party, but I can not be expected to endure Richard’s singing.”
“Hey.” Richard whined.
Rebecca put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but nodded her head in agreement with Wesker. “I kinda see where he’s coming from…Sorry Richard.”
“It’s fine. I’ve heard it before.”
“Okay fine,” you relented, “But, at least make a wish?” Wesker hesitated, so you pushed further. “Please? For me?”
He sighed and leaned forward, quickly blowing out the candles as everyone cheered him on. You smiled and hugged him, which in a rare act of affection he returned. Even if it was only with one arm. “So whatcha wish for?” You whispered to him as Jill cut the cake and the party started to commence.
Wesker gave you a sly smile. “Sadly, I can’t tell you my dear, or else it won’t come true.” It was really just a cover for the fact that he didn’t wish for anything, because why would he, but apparently it was an effective cover, because you gave him a playful pat on the shoulder before joining the others.
The party was one of the few purely positive memories Wesker had. Chris played a few songs on his guitar, including a rather decent cover of The Man Who Sold the Word- Wesker's favorite song. Jill set up essentially an arm wrestling tournament just so she could humble those stupid enough to take her up on the challenge. Rebecca, as sweet as she was, made sure everyone ate and even brought some leftover cake to the more tolerable cops on the force.
For the most part though, it was just the team being together. A bonding experience, with them laughing together, and teasing each other, and relaxing together. Like a family. Wesker didn’t like thinking about it now, or then, but that was probably the closest he ever got to being a part of a family. A family he would later single handedly bring to its grave. He probably should have felt worse about that than he did.
Looking back, he liked to think he felt the same then as he did now- indifferent. But late at night, when he was left with nothing but his own thoughts, the grip of guilt he felt back then was almost enough to make him feel a twinge of it today. And if he was being viscerally honest with himself, he’d quietly acknowledge the fact he missed you.
“Well?” You asked all those years ago, looking up with eyes that he still saw in his dreams.
“Well what?” He asked. Wesker had retreated to his office, never having really been one for crowds. For the most part, the other S.T.A.R.S members respected his space and continued with their festivities. You on the other hand went to find him the moment he vanished. He wished that bugged him more. He wished he liked your attention less.
You snapped him out of his spiral. “Well, what do you think of the party?” You asked.
“I think it’s a waste of time.” Albert shrugged, choosing his truths carefully.
You shrugged, going and sitting on his desk. If it was anyone else, Wesker would have deemed them rude and snapped at them to get down. But, it wasn't anyone else was it? “And yet you still let it happen,” you hummed, “and why is that?”
Wesker thought for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully. “You clearly put a lot of effort into this. It would have been bad for morale if I shut it down.” Was the half-truth he ended up settling on.
“Right.” Your tone made it clear you didn’t believe him. “Sooo…”
“So?”
“Just when exactly is your birthday captain?”
“Today.” He said without much thought.
You laughed and shook your head. “No, for real. When is your actual birthday?”
“It’s today.” Albert reiterated. You were right, in the end it didn’t really matter what day he was born on. And the look on your face at that moment was well worth the white lie.
Your mouth was basically on his desk. “No way!” You gasped, “I guessed right?!”
A ghost of a smile graced Albert's lips. “I was shocked too. For a moment, I thought you must have somehow stolen my birth certificate.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I don’t kid my dear.” He said with a gentle shake of his head. Did you actually guess his birthday right? Hell if he knew- but probably not. That being said, you were the only person who had ever cared enough to give him one. So accurate or not, he was going to keep it. If for no other reason, than to remember that at one point in his life, he had someone who cared enough to celebrate him.
You laughed, staring at him in disbelief. “Holy shit, really?! That's so funny, oh my god, I gotta tell the others!” You announced as you hopped off his desk.
He didn’t like that idea for some reason. “Be my guest dear,” He said, leaning back in his desk chair, “But I’ll deny it. No one will ever believe you.”
Your laughter almost instantly turned into a pout. “What?! Why!” You demanded.
Albert simply shrugged. “Its more fun for me this way honestly.”
You scoffed, jumping back into his desk. “You’re a dick.” you accused.
“If you say so, but I must disagree. I think I’m perfectly lovely.”
“Yeah right,” You snorted with a shake of your head. “Well, the least you could do is give me a sucker for my troubles.” You playfully pouted.
Wesker rolled his eyes, regretting that he ever told you he kept sweets in his desk. Even so, he pulled the drawer open, only to stop when his eyes caught a glimpse of colorful paper. His eyes shot to you, your poorly hidden smile confirming what he suspected. “What is this?” He asked.
“I believe that is a desk sir.” You nodded, very proud of your answer.
Albert rolled his eyes, grabbing the small box and holding it in front of you as evidence. “It’s a bit small to be a desk, in my experience.” He said flatly.
“Oh wow, that’s crazy, who put that there?” You asked, not even attempting to be sneaky. “You should open it, it looks important.”
Albert sighed as if it was a giant inconvenience to hide the fact he was actually really curious to know what his first ever birthday gift was going to be. He carefully undid the wrapping, much to your dismay, and revealed the box for a zippo.
“Open it!” You prompted. Normally that would have made him put the box right back in his desk, but lucky for you he was curious.
Opening it revealed a custom made Zippo, brushed chrome and engraved with the S.T.A.R.S crest. He flipped it to the back, only to find more engraving, small cursive text along the bottom of the lighter.
“S.T.A.R.S Never Die”
No one would be able to tell by his face, but something about the phrase hit Albert with a tidal wave of dread. One Wesker quickly shook off.
You dropped a bit. “Oh no. It’s too cheesey, isn’t it? Or morbid? Ugh, Chris said it was a stupid thing to put-”
“Not at all.” Wesker cut you off, “I actually find it…charming. Comforting in a way.”
“Really? You like it?” You asked.
“I do.” Albert confirmed, flicking open the lighter to make sure it had fuel in it. Pleased to find that it in fact did, he gave you a rare warm smile. “Care to join me for a cigarette break?” he asked.
You grinned as you jumped down from his desk. “And here I was starting to think you’d never ask.” The two of you walked out to the smoking area of the RPD, and as you did you bumped your shoulder playfully into his.
“Happy birthday Captain.”
🚬🚬🚬
Wesker leaned back in his office chair, as if leaning back away from the memory. That was all so long ago, and yet even now Wesker found himself living with your ghost. Which, was fucking ridiculous, considering you were still alive and therefore there was no ghost to live with. You just absolutely despised him now. Not that he could really blame you for that.
He sighed as he sat up and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of red 100s and a zippo, engraved with the S.T.A.R.S crest. He lit his cigarette, leaning back once again as he took a long, deep drag. He let the nicotine do its magic to his nervous system as he looked up at the tile ceiling. “Happy birthday. Asshole.” He muttered to himself, as he finally went back to his computer to continue his work.
A story about two people lost in the middle of arrangement not one of them wished for. It's about power and danger, hate and love. Will they find a happy ending?
Contents & warnings: arranged marriage, lots of fluff, slow burn-ish, sorcery, idiots searching for love, swear words, nsfw themes — please read warnings to each piece, reader discretion is advised
ART: @orukkart
have an idea for an entry? let me know in ask box!
Ever felt like there’s a hint of… evil inside you? That spark of darkness that burns bright within your soul, that tries to tear through your mind and get out to the world? This month is about each and every one of you — the strong and the snappy, the mean and the confident but also about you, who wish to be on top every once in a while. We will be taming the brats, asserting dominance and making the strongest — weak. ⋯ reader discretion is advised
a/n: there is no schedule, though I hope and plan to post once a week for the duration of the month; the details of the fics might change a little and i will add content warnings soon. please be patient with me and enjoy!
HANDCUFFS AND ALIBIS || GOJO SATORU
Usually, you know the houses that are worth your time and the ones that are a big no-no. Sometimes though, mistakes happen and to your defense, that 27 really did look like 77. || policeman!satoru x burglar!reader, wc. 5k
FEELIN' LUCKY || GETO SUGURU
He’s known for changing girls like socks, mocking the broken hearts and playing around. That’s until he gets a little sample of what it’s like to be on the other side of the equation. || frat boy!suguru x nerd!reader, wc. 9k
RUSH || SUKUNA RYOMEN
He’s undeniably the strongest cowboy in the wild coast. He holds the reigns, his reputation speaks for itself – he’s violent, he’s rowdy, he’s dominant. That’s until he entered the saloon and you put him in his place. || cowboy!sukuna x bartender!reader
ROSE, SCENT, KISS || FUSHIGURO TOJI
The story of the highest levels of sexual tension. The unbridled passion that’s bubbling under the thin layer of professionalism and authority, a fruit that is as forbidden as it is sweet. || secretary!toji x ceo!reader
Removed the post, too much drama for my old age. but I got one nice and constructive talk about the topic and I am pleased with that!
I guess I will always stand with artistic freedom and creators but I can see how it might cause some issues. Thank you those who spoke up, really appreciated it.
Suguru has a reputation of a playboy — and rightfully so. He likes to change girls, bedding them as he pleases. He thinks he can have them all. He's a player, a red flag and you show him he's wrong. It's a story about a boy who has everything but craves to have you.
contains: frat boy!suguru x nerdy!reader, pining, maybe a little slowburn-ish, flirting, smut (unprotected sex, some body worship, mentions of hooking up, booty calls, sexting), wc. 9420 ⋯ reader discretion is advised
kinktober '24 masterlist || art in the header: @/chu-cho on tumblr
Suguru knows how to navigate around the campus. He’s tried all the shortcuts, been on all the parties, talked (and fought) with all the teachers. He’s known around — troublemaker, a frat boy, a heartbreaker. It’s no news to anyone that Suguru Geto is a red flag personified; a ladies’ man, playing with every beauty he deems worthy of attention. And he’s lucky too, girls tend to love him, all of them. After all, bad girls love bad boys and good girls, unfortunately, do too. He’s a flame that attracts all the moths, a sin that tempts and renders every heart helpless. He’s a siren song luring women towards their doom. The ultimate playboy, reveling in the attention he gets everywhere he shows up, soaking it up like a cat basking in the sun.
It’s unfair, he jokes sometimes, when he aims to add another notch to his bedpost. Unfair how easy it is for him to have what he wants, how all that meets his gaze is heart-eyes and flushed cheeks. But he likes it, he likes to take, he likes to be wanted and pick from the crowd. It boosts his ego. He is, after all, drop dead gorgeous. He is, truly, with his long, raven hair and purple glint to his eyes, all surrounded by an air of sexy danger coming from his piercings, his clothes and the way he acts.
“Who’s that?” He wonders, mind rushing through the extensive catalogue of female students he knows. “She’s new.” Clearly. He doesn’t know you yet.
You’re pretty, too pretty for him to let you go just like that. You came to the party at the frat house, but you don’t seem to fit right in. Maybe you’re a transfer student? Or a friend of someone? It doesn’t look like you’re someone’s girlfriend. A man that’s sane would not let you wander around such place alone. Not in that dress. You’re gorgeous, breathtaking. You make Suguru’s heart beat a little bit faster, his pulse quickening and he can hear it in his ears, a steady thump echoing over the sound of music. It’s excitement — something he has not felt in a long time.
His friends say something. He’s not listening, eyes laser focused on you and only you. You move with grace, your hips sway from side to side like a pendulum as you find your way through the crowded living room. Your cup is empty, it’s clear from the way you tap it with your fingernail every time someone tries to stop you — you’re pointing on it, gesturing your intentions as you try to speak over the loud music and blurring chatter. You seem polite too, the way you smile brightens the area. He likes how it reaches your eyes, how your nose scrunches a little and the skin near your temples crinkle. Everything about you is hypnotizing, you know what you’re doing. You have to know what you’re doing. You’re magnetic and he wouldn’t be able to resist even if he wanted to.
He doesn’t.
You push through the crowd and Suguru follows, a predator stalking its prey. You are, after all, like a sweet little rabbit tonight. His eyes never leave your back, watching the way your hair sways and bounces with each step you take, how the fabric of your dress hugs your delectable curves. You look soft, he’d love to touch you, to squeeze those plush thighs, to feel the pliable flesh of your rear, to have your chest squeezed against the hard planes of his muscular torso. He wonders how soft your skin is under the fabric, if it’s smooth and warm to touch. He wants to find out, to explore every inch of it until he maps out every mole, scar and birthmark. He licks his lips subconsciously, his tongue swiping over the piercing in his lower lip and he wonders if you’d like it — if the cold metal decorating his mouth would be something you’re into.
He catches you in the kitchen. You’re holding a can of strawberry flavored soda and looking around, and he knows what you’re searching for. “Hey there, beautiful,” he greets smoothly, flashing you a smile that’s known for making girls weak in the knees. “Allow me,” he reaches, taking the cold metal from your hands — his fingers brush against yours as your eyes met, the touch lingering a little longer than necessary but he’s content as he swiftly opens the can for you, earning himself a chuckle.
He’s already got you.
“Thank you,” you smile, taking the drink back and filling your cup with the pinkish liquid. It smells sweet, the delicate aroma of artificial fruit breaking through the typical mixture of sweat and alcohol that fills the room. It’s refreshing, the scent, the look of bubbles dancing at the edges of your cup. You take a sip, tasting the flavor on your tongue and he wants to try it too. From your lips, preferably. Those glistening, cherry-colored lips. Oh, you look delectable.
“I’m Suguru,” he grins again, his eyes scanning your breathtaking features and committing the picture to memory. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” He already envisions you below him.
“I doubt that too,” you nod and you know he’s attracted to you. It’s clear from the way he looks at you, eats you with his eyes only. Obvious from how his gaze lingers on your lips a little longer than he should but you allow him. You introduce himself too and he repeats, testing the name on his tongue.
“What brings a gorgeous woman like you to our little shindig?” He extends his hand out to shake yours, his thumb brushing over your delicate skin as his touch lingers.
“I got invited by one of my friends but I can’t seem to find her in this crowd. I’m sure she’s having fun somewhere though, it’s alright,” you explain, briefly looking over the students crowded in the main area of the house. Most of them are drunk already despite the quite early hour but you don’t mind it. A frat party is exactly what you expected it to be. “I wouldn’t honestly dare to call this a little shindig.”
Suguru chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Well, I suppose ‘little’ was an understatement,” he grins and sips on his own drink. “How do you like it so far? Do you enjoy the mingling masses and blasting music or maybe I could steal you away? My room is just upstairs.” His eyes flick down to your lips once more before meeting your gaze again, a hint of mischief dancing in their violet depths. One step closer and he’s invading your personal space just slightly. “Because I could show you a good time, if you’d like. Just the two of us, away from all that noise and chaos,” he finishes a little quieter, a little lower. His tone is meant to seduce, to tempt you and he knows it always works. In his mind, he’s already alone with you, he imagines tracing your curves as he trails kisses along your jawline. His touch feels electric against your skin and you have to give him that — he sure does know how to get the attention he wants.
“I appreciate the offer, but I came here for the noise and the chaos,” you reply, smiling as your hand finds his wrist in a gentle caress meant to put some distance between his fingertips and your skin. “It’s not every day I get to attend a party such as this one,” that said, you’re ready to retract when his free hand meets the curve of your hip. You hear a hum and he’s suddenly much closer, you feel his breath on your lips, a mixture of mint and something strongly alcoholic. A little sweet too. A coke, maybe. There’s warmth bouncing off of him, one that you feel tingling on your skin when he leans down to meet your height. The tip of his nose teases yours before it moves to the side, running over the lines of your cheekbone.
“Are you sure?” He asks, smirking as he waits for your resolve to crumble. Not a single girl before you had resisted his charms and you surely are not going to be the first. He enjoys the challenge you present. Most girls would have melted under his touch but you remain composed. He likes that. He likes a woman who knows what she wants. “We could make our own noise, create our own chaos.”
“I’m content with all that’s happening here,” you hum, slipping out of his embrace. “Thank you for the company, Suguru. It was nice to meet you,” and you’re gone.
He stands there, dumbfounded. He stands there, once more looking at your back and he cannot believe what happened. A bunny that slipped from the hands of a wolf, girl that rejected Suguru’s charms, A moth that said no to the flames of his lust. A challenge he’s not going to pass on.
He smirks.
Before, he just wanted to have you.
Now, he has to have you.
And he will do whatever it takes.
Over the next weeks, Suguru has not given up. He hasn’t been able to get you out of his head, his interest in you hasn’t diminished; if anything, it’s grown stronger with each passing day. He’s determined to unravel the enigma that is you, to uncover the secrets hidden behind your captivating eyes and sweet smile. There’s something about you that made him desperate. A mystery he cannot quite unravel, a puzzle he can’t solve. And he thinks of you. He finds himself lost in thoughts of you more often than he’d care to admit. He spots you around campus occasionally, always looking effortlessly stunning and each time, he feels that familiar pull, that undeniable attraction that draws him to you.
Maybe it’s him, who’s the moth.
He doesn’t like this. How you always brush his advances off, how sweetly you smile while doing so. Every time he wants to touch you, you slip right through his fingers. You have tainted him with longing he has never felt before, you ruined him. He doesn’t want other women anymore, the line of booty-calls and flings blocked and removed from his phone. The nights he spends thinking of you, fucking his fist and swearing to all gods above and below to change, asking for a chance to sink his teeth into you. Because he doesn’t want anyone else. And he doesn’t know what you have done to him.
“Fancy seeing you there,” he remarks, settling himself beside you on the bench outside the library. The afternoon is particularly sunny, warmth caressing your skin as you sit comfortably, engrossed in a book. “Mind if I join you?” He asks, but he doesn’t wait for the response, as he leans over to glance at the title of your read. “Ah, philosophy. A deep thinker, huh? I like that.”
“Do you?” You ask, nudging a bookmark between the pages. “You don’t strike me as a philosophical type. You seem to me more of a live-in-the-moment kinda guy.”
He chuckles. “You’d be surprised,” he replies, his tone light and teasing, “there’s more to me than just good looks and undeniable charm. Although, I won’t deny that those are pretty great assets,” he winks playfully. Suguru leans back on the bench, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The ripped, black denim exposes a bit of his thigh, the ink of his tattoos peeking through the dark threads, drawing your attention.
“Oh, the confidence. It’s much more valuable trait than the outside looks,” you hum, leaning against the backrest too.
Geto laughs, a rich, warm sound that carries easily in the quiet outdoor setting. Then, he turns to face you fully, his expression turning serious for a moment. “But you’re right, I’m not usually one for heavy books and deep discussions. I prefer to keep things light and fun.” It’s a confession, he admits to it with a hint of vulnerability that’s quickly pushed behind his typical grin. “Besides, a guy can learn a thing or two from a smart, beautiful woman like yourself.” He flirts, but there’s an underlying sincerity to his words. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Tell me, what’s so captivating about this particular tome? What insights does it hold to have captured your attention so thoroughly?”
“It’s a tale of a man discovering what really matters in modern life, a story of loss and reconciliation. The narrator, whose days are counted due to sudden diagnosis, meets the Devil who offers him an extra day of life in exchange of making one thing in the world disappear,” you explain briefly and he watches your fingers dancing over the front cover of the book, tracing the lines of the simple graphic of a cat. “There comes the question, how do you separate out what you can do without from what you hold dear? I think it’s something we don’t pay much attention to in our lives because we have everything within reach, but what if something just… disappeared? The narrator has to take responsibility for each one of his decisions. There’s no going back, there never will be, once a thing is gone, it’s gone.”
Suguru listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he absorbs your words. “That’s quite… It makes you think, doesn’t it?” He muses, nodding slowly. “It makes you wonder what you’d choose to erase if given a chance to live just a day longer.”
“The question of how to decide what’s okay to remove and what’s not is what makes me think the most,” you look up. The day is beautiful today, fluffy clouds travel sparsely over the azure blue sky, the sun warms your skin with its golden rays and the birds sing, hidden within the crowns of the nearby trees. You hear some chatter, somewhere from the distance where other students pass by, you hear the cars that honk impatiently as they stand in the traffic and you hear a dog barking. There’s a park not far away. “Some things that are insignificant to me might be the entire world to someone else.”
“So you think the burden of consequences might outweigh the price of life itself,” he notes, his eyes studying the lines of your profile. Your eyes, reflecting the blue of the sky, your cheeks flushed from the wind and sunrays. He thinks the color of your scarf makes your complexion looks brighter. “I don’t know if I would be capable of eradicating something from the world permanently. At first, I thought it might be easy, just get rid of something small and simple, but then it made me wonder if things I think are unimportant, truly are so.”
Truth is, Suguru doesn’t think he would dwell much about the topic if not you, but he wonders what if. What if he made a decision that would cause a war? Or someone else’s loss? What if a thing that he picks results in him not meeting you?
“That’s what philosophy does to you,” you chuckle, turning your gaze back to him, just to meet his eyes glued to yourself.
“But maybe that’s what makes life worth living,” he turns to you fully, his eyes wondering as he drops his usual playfulness and mischief. “It’s much easier to pretend we have control over our lives and the world around us rather than confront the harsh truth that we are all just tiny cogs in a vas, unpredictable machine. But maybe it’s the uncertainty, the constant surprises, the knowledge that anything can change in an instant what makes the journey worth the effort.”
“Maybe it is,” you nod, taking a moment to let his words sink in. “I wouldn’t expect you to engage in topics such as this. I apologize,” you offer a smile and he melts.
“You know, most people assume I’m just a pretty face. They don’t expect me to have substance beneath the surface,” he muses, his expression turning thoughtful before he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I guess I do give them the reasons to do so. But I really enjoy talking to you. It’s nice to have conversations that aren’t just surface-level flirting and innuendos. There’s just something about you...” He trails off, reaching out tentatively, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger against your skin for a moment before falling away. “I like how you challenge me, make me think deeper than I usually do. You are a puzzle I can’t wait to solve.” His gaze locks with yours, his expression open and vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen from him before. “Can I see you again? Like this, I mean. Just talking, getting to know each other better.”
The question hangs heavy in the air as you consider it. You will meet him again, one way or another, somewhere around the campus or at another frat party. You will see him again as he targets another girl, flirting his way into another pair of panties. And you exhale, your lips curving upwards slightly as you lean your head on your fist, elbow on your knee.
“Suguru,” you begin, his name slipping over your tongue with ease you enjoy. But you know better than this. You have seen it all too well how he treats women. “I enjoy conversing with you and if it’s just talk that you want from me, then I will find time to meet you again. But I need you to know that I will not allow myself to be another notch on your bedpost. It’s easy to get swayed by your charms, but I know your reputation and I know it for sure that if I had to give up one thing in the world, it would never be self-respect.”
And he knows for sure that if he had to give up romance for the rest of his life just to have you, he wouldn’t think twice about it.
“I don’t want to charm my way between your legs,” he swears, too quickly, too desperate to make himself believable and he groans, annoyed by his own self. He nervously runs his hand through his dark, raven hair. “Just, please, give me a chance. I won’t lie to your face and say that I’m suddenly ready to settle down or that I’m done sowing my wild oats entirely. I know what kind of reputation I have and I can’t deny that I’ve played the field more times than I can count. I’ve earned it fair and square,” he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. All of the lustful nights flashed before his eyes, the nameless girls, the empty promises and unanswered calls afterwards. All the nudes, all the sexts, all the quickies in the locker rooms and dingy bathrooms. Suguru would give them all away if only earned a chance to be with you. “I want to change. I already started to change. You don’t have to believe me right away, but you are different. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew there was something special about you. And I won’t lie that I’m not attracted to you physically. That would be impossible. But there’s more to it than that. Something worth pursuing beyond just a one-night stand.”
“And what change are you talking about?” You quiz. “Because as far as I am concerned, I’ve seen you flirting with some girls just yesterday.”
And he winces, unable to deny your accusation. “You’re right, I did flirt with them. It’s become a second nature to me, a habit I can’t seem to break easily.” He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair once more, frustrated. “But it didn’t go further than talk. I didn’t… I’ve stopped sleeping around. I blocked and removed all the girls’ numbers from my phone, deleted the pictures I had. Fuck, I even declined an invitation for a party with my pals, for the first time since high school. Look,” he leans in, his eyes locked with yours and his hand finds yours. You feel his thumb rubbing soft circles on your knuckles and you wonder if it’s to soothe you or himself. “Being with you, talking to you… it’s opened my eyes to what I have been missing out on. I’ve spent so long chasing meaningless encounters, never allowing myself to form real connections with anyone and now, I’ve tasted something more substantial and realized just how hollow my previous pursuits have been. I want to do better. For you, yes, but also for myself. I want to prove to you that I’m capable of more than just cheap thrills and empty promises.”
It’s true, everything he says. He is ready to drop the player mask, to shed his frat repute just to have a chance at something real, something that makes his heart flutter in his chest and his stomach bubble with butterflies. He is ready to say no to easy sex just to fight for your attention, your touch, your heart.
He is genuine, but you just hum, your expression unreadable as you weigh your next words. You like him desperate. You like how his violet eyes sparkle with puppy-like vulnerability rather than a flirty mischief. And he is beautiful, you cannot deny it — a man of impressive built, clad in ripped jeans and leather, heavy boots and a band tee. He looks like he bites, and you know he does. You take in the sight of his piercings, the large gauges, the snake bites in his lower lip, the piercing across the bridge of his nose, right between his captivating eyes and the one right above his left brow. You wonder what kissing him would feel like. Would the metal come in the way? Or maybe it would add to the experience?
“I’m not sure what to tell you,” you sigh. “I will give you a chance if you think you can change. But you’ll need to prove it. Think about it.”
And he did.
The lonely nights he spends at the frat house, laying in bed instead of partying with his friends, he wonders where the path of his change will lead him. What if it’s him, confronting the devil and having a chance to lose himself just to earn a day with you? He thinks he’d take it. He’s sure he would. He flips on the mattress, his eyes squinting as the lights from his phone blinded him with a new message. An unknown number. He opens it, it’s a picture, a bare body that he recognizes by the butterfly tattoo on the ribcage. A nude from one of his exes. She must have gotten a new number because he remembers vividly how he blocked her. Usually, he wouldn’t think twice about it, he’d reply with something cheeky, possibly send an explicit picture of himself, maybe set up a meeting or invite her over. His fingers typed the message before his brain managed to intervene and once he hit ‘send’, he cursed out loud.
“Fuck, you idiot!”
A pillow flew across the room as he stared at the ceiling. Would it hurt to go once more with no strings attached? It’s been some time since he’s gotten laid and the vision of tension coming off of him was a temptation beyond measure. But what about you? What about a change he had promised?
Is the change even for him?
Suguru stares at his phone screen, the message he sent glowing mockingly back at him, a shameful reminder of his weak self-restraint. The girl already replied, they always reply so fast, and he doesn’t know what to do. He knows he fucked up, he knows he shouldn’t have responded. He shouldn’t have even entertained the idea of hooking up with his ex, or any other girl. It goes against everything he told you, everything he promised.
With a heavy sigh, he tosses his phone aside, despite the notifications flooding his inbox. More pictures, the location, the time — an annoying ding makes his blood boil and he groans, burying his face in his hands. He feels conflicted, torn between his desire for physical release and growing feelings for you. He wants to be better, to be the man you deserve, to be the man that deserves you. He wants to prove to you that he’s serious about changing, but old habits die hard. The temptation is still there, lurking in the shadows of his mind, waiting for a split second of vulnerability.
He tosses and turns in bed. His thoughts race with the pictures of you, his mind replaying every conversation, every shared laugh and stolen touch. He remembers the way your eyes sparkled when you discussed philosophy, the passion in your voice as you told him about the importance of self-respect. He realizes that those moments were more fulfilling than any other fleeting pleasure he’s experienced before.
But he gets up anyway, he pulls up his dark-washed jeans and a hoodie, socks and boots and he’s ready to go. With a jacket grabbed in the hallway and a phone in his hand, he leaves the house. The crisp air of near winter hits him the moment he steps outside, cooling the blood in his veins and clearing his thoughts.
12 unread messages.
He groans again, this time into the nightly silence as he strides through the pavement, legs leading him in the direction of his doom. Suguru slips the earphones in, plays on the music but the melody and lyrics are helpless against the chaos in his mind.
It’s pointless, to resist his own body. He knows it’s pointless, he knows he has control over his legs and deep down he knows he would reject the booty call if he truly wanted. You deserve a better man anyway, not a player that fucks around like it’s a sport. You deserve someone who would worship the ground you walk on, a man of culture and manners with whom you’d engage in long, deep conversations late in the evenings, not a man-boy who cannot control his own dick. But fuck, does he wants you.
He wants you so bad, he wants to be all those things for you. He wants those discussions about philosophy and life, he wants to kiss your knuckles and be the knight in the shining armor, carrying you in his arms and shielding you from the world and assholes such as himself.
He lights up the cigarette, taking a deep breath in and looking up. The night is pretty. Calm. He wonders if you are already sleeping. Or maybe it’s one of those nights that you pull in order to study and secure your grades. The semester just began but he learned it already that you care about your future more than he does about his own. You’re a little nerdy. He thinks it’s cute. He can imagine himself wrapping a blanket around your shoulders when it’s late and carrying you to bed when you’re falling asleep on top of the books and notes. You would fit perfectly in his arms.
“You fucking moron,” he slanders himself quietly, already seeing the motel in front of him. He shouldn’t be there but he moves forward anyway. He knows his ex is already waiting for him, he can tell by the lights in the room they always used to book for the casual encounters. He stops before he enters, giving the smoke few more moments to burn. He can feel it in his lungs, somehow calming as he checks his phone, scrolling through the notifications.
One of the messages is from you.
It’s innocent in the sea of suggestive texts. There’s an apology for the late hour and a book title that you promised to send him a day before. The one you’ve been reading for the last few days and the one that made him rethink his entire life’s choices. There’s not much substance in the message, but it shakes him awake.
The turn he takes is aggressive, it’s resolute. Heavy boots thudding against the concrete panels as he walks away from the motel. ‘Sorry, not coming.’ He sends the message and blocks the number, feeling lighter the second he removes the nude picture and the unwanted contact.
It takes just an hour before he knocks at your door, the dormitory silent in the nightly time so he keeps himself quiet. You open after a long moment, dressed in a make-shift pajama. He likes the way your hair is messy from the pillows, how you smell like vanilla and flowers and coffee. You look so pretty like this, so undone, so unexpecting yet not entirely disappointed to see him. You seem… content?
“Suguru?” His name comes from your mouth and you usher him inside, afraid of someone seeing him. Once the doors shut behind him, your eyes search him for answers.
“Brought you some food, I thought you might need it,” he grinned, showing off the box of pizza and a bottle of soda. “I figured you’re studying tonight and might need some fuel.”
“So thoughtful,” you tease, but the smile that shapes your mouth reaches your eyes, so he knows it’s genuine. He follows you to your bedroom and he’s not surprised seeing the notes all over your bed and scattered on the floor. The papers full of sparsely highlighted knowledge that you want to transfer into your brain take most of the space before you gather them onto a neat pile. He sits right there, on the newly uncovered spot on your mattress. It feels intimate, to be in your room, to rest on your bed, to see you in your pajama. He wonders if you know what the sight of your thighs does to him, the plush, tender flesh begging to be touched, kissed and kneaded. Suguru thinks your skin would look beautiful with bitemarks all over.
“So, pizza,” he clears his throat after letting his eyes linger for way too long on your bare legs. “I took pepperoni, I hope you like it.”
“It’s perfect,” you smile and separate the barely cut pieces for easier access. “I appreciate the thought, really. But there was no need for you to leave the house just to do this.”
“For you, I would do it at every hour,” he says and then sighs deeply. “But truth is, I didn’t plan this.” Suguru feels like he’s inside the confessional. It’s a foreign tension, completely different from the one he felt just hour before. The knot in his stomach has nothing to do with lust and desire and all to do with stress and regret. “I’ve received a booty-call from my ex. That’s why I left the house,” he spats it out quickly, thinking it’ll hurt less if he does it in rush. “I didn’t go there though. I told her I’m not coming, blocked the number and came here instead.”
You stay neutral, chewing on the pizza as your tired eyes size him up. “Old habits die hard, huh?” You mock, slightly amused by his tormented expression. His eyebrow creases before he lets himself drop back onto the mattress, a soft grunt escaping his mouth as he covers his face with his hands.
“I meant it. I want to change and I’m working on it.” He says, his voice quiet and devoid of his usual cheekiness. “I fucked up when I entertained the idea of hooking up with a random person tonight but cut me some slack, I didn’t do it.”
“Good boy,” you mock-praise and he groans again, but then his entire body tenses when you lay next to him. He feels your breath against his cheek, the tip of your nose prodding the flesh. He doesn’t move, too afraid to ruin the moment. “Do you regret it? Not going, I mean. Be honest, don’t say what I want to hear.”
“I don’t,” he replies, his tone resolute. “I don’t regret not meeting my ex and not having sex tonight. I was pent up — fuck me, I still am, and when I replied to her text, I didn’t think much about anything except for my dick. But I don’t regret not going because I didn’t want to go. And I’m grateful that you texted me because you reminded me what really is important. Right now, it’s you.”
It makes you smile. He’s torn inside of his mind but you take it as a win anyway. Before, Suguru wouldn’t second-guess pulling his pants down and now you made him think. Now, you made him reconsider; wonder who he is without the façade of the charismatic ladies’ man. He will have to learn to navigate social situations without relying solely on his charm and wit to get what he wants. But he can do this. For you.
Before he speaks again, you’re asleep already. Sideways on the bed, most likely uncomfortable but right next to him and he doesn’t dare to move a muscle in his body. You’re sleeping, your face just an inch from his own. The soft fragrance of your skin fills in his nostrils and not even the smell of pizza nearby can disturb it. There’s a hair somewhere around his face, he doesn’t know if it’s yours or his own, but it tickles his cheek every time you exhale. It’s fine.
An hour passes and he finally gathers the courage to shift, as carefully as he can, he turns to his side, to face you. You’re a vision he takes in with his eyes wide open, committing the picture of your peaceful expression to memory. He likes everything about you, every hair of your eyebrows, every freckle and beauty mark. He likes the way you look so unbothered, so comfortable next to him. He wants to touch you. Oh, how much he craves to caress your cheek, to thread his fingers through your hair. His heart thumps in his chest, reaching speeds matching those of sprinters. The feeling is foreign. Is this…? It cannot be. Suguru Geto is not about… that. His entire life he believed he’s meant to have fun, no strings attached, no responsibilities. What did you do to him?
You move and he stops breathing. It’s an instinct, he thinks, that you shift closer to him, but he tells himself you want that. And you fit so well against his chest, your head below his chin, your hand around his middle. The room spins and he wraps you in the embrace of his arms.
He feels your heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and suddenly, he calms down. It sinks into his mind that it’s where he wants to be. All the years of empty flings, the mediocre orgasms, the shameless pursuits could never compare to the feeling of you in his arms. That’s what he has been missing on. And he will do everything to be the man deserving of you.
Time passes, and Suguru slowly falls into the rhythm of his newfound resolve. It’s easy to decline hookup invitations when he can spend time with you, but maybe he did feel a little too confident when he decided to attend the big, annual party at the frat house. It’s Halloween, after all, how could he not go there when everyone will come? Quickly he falls into familiar routine of charms and alcohol, nursing a beer from a red plastic cup and chatting playfully with attractive attendees. His friends push him towards temptation, inviting more and more girls to the crowd and Suguru feels drawn to the lively atmosphere, the flirtatious banter comes as easy as breathing.
That is, before a pretty sophomore dressed in a devil costume takes a seat next to him — a seat he has kept for you, because you promised you’ll come, despite the need to study. It’s fine if the girl sits there for a moment or two, he thinks, as he engages in a conversation. He knows, it’s as obvious as day, that the second-year beauty is interested in getting into his pants — her hand on his thigh, the fluttering eyelashes and pouty lips say everything about her intentions. As the night progresses, he finds himself more and more… uncomfortable. Surprisingly.
And so, he feels relieved when he sees you in the crowd, late but looking absolutely adorable in your sweet bunny costume. It’s simple yet makes his pants grow tighter as he takes in the way the plain black dress hugs your curves. The fluffy tail bounces with each step you take through the filled living area and the long, pink-lined ears swing just slightly along with your hair whenever you move your head around, looking for something — for him and his heart skips a beat. In that moment, everything fades away — the raucous laughter, the pulsing music, even the sophomore girl next to him.
Excusing himself from company, he forces a smile as he brushes the invasive hand off his thigh and gets up from the sofa, making his way over to you. “Hey there, cutie,” he greets, pulling you into a hug and you melt into his chest in an instant. “Glad you could make it.” He breathes in your scent, letting it calm his nerves but it does little to calm other things down. Fuck, you look perfect.
“How could I miss my favorite frat boy sporting a vampire costume?” You quiz, backing up a little to take in his attire. He’s wearing all black, a dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, pants that make his legs look even longer than they are. His eyes are smudged with little bit of black eyeliner but it works for him, he looks sexy. “Aren’t you a pretty one. I might consider letting you bite me,” you tease, and he knows you’re joking but it doesn’t stop the blood in his body to travel downwards.
“Careful what you wish for, bunny,” he muses, “I might just take you up on that offer and sink my teeth into that delectable neck of yours.” His fingers intertwine with yours as he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before he leads your arm up onto his shoulder. “God, I missed you,” he murmurs as he lowers his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
He feels you chuckle, your nails scratching at his scalp as you thread your fingers through his dark locks. Once more you proved him that the change is worth it, because it’s you who’s on the line. “Dance with me?” He asks and you move with him towards the makeshift dancefloor.
Suguru pulls you closer as you enter the rhythm of the music, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other twirls you around gracefully. You’re giggling, amused by the undivided attention he pays you — he’s sweet when he has his eyes on the target, when he has to work for something. He dips you dramatically and your hand tighten on his shoulder, but it’s secure, the way he holds you as if he wished to protect you from all the bad in the world. His eyes lock with yours as he pulls you back up, flush against him. The heat radiating off both your bodies mingles together, creating an intoxicating aura that threatens to consume you whole.
You don’t really listen to what’s playing, a melody mellows in the background as his hands trace patterns along your sides and hips, follow the line of your spine, sometimes teasing the fluffy ball that is your tail. His touch ignites sparks wherever he grazes, leaving trails of fire in its wake. He’s hungry, for you, and you are too. It’s hard to deny it any longer and you think that maybe, just maybe he is ready to commit to something more than just a fleeting romance. It’s been months since he began pursuing you and his attention has been focused solely on you, despite the obstacles and temptations of his life. A reward wouldn’t hurt now, would it?
“I need a drink,” you tell him and he’s quick to react, taking your hand and leading the way towards the kitchen. He knows what you like, snatching a can of strawberry soda from the counter. When you nod in approval, he opens it, too hasty, too eager, that he doesn’t realize the way it bubbles over, spilling over the aluminum container and his fingers. Before he can react, your lips are already on his skin, licking away the sticky trail of pinkish liquid.
Suguru freezes as he feels your tongue glide across his skin, tasting the sweetness of the spilled soda. A shiver runs down his spine at the sensation, his breath hitching in his throat. Desire darkens his eyes, pupils dilate as he watches, transfixed, how you lick the sugary mess from his fingers. The sensation sends jolts of electricity coursing through his veins, pooling in the pit of his stomach. He breathes out your name, but you’re quick to shut him up.
You pull him down, your hand in his hair as you press your lips to his own. He tastes the strawberry sweetness of the soda on your tongue as it dances with his own, the flavor mixing deliciously with the taste of you. The dripping can is soon forgotten on the fake-marble countertop as he scoops you closer, arms wrapping around your waist securely. He can feel the heat of your body through the thin fabric of your costume, the softness of your curves molding perfectly against the hardness of his muscles. He’s eager, he moans lightly into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips. You feel the cold metal rubbing against your face, it’s interesting, it’s addicting. You like it.
“Always wanted to try that,” he pants out when for a moment you pull back. He chases your mouth, hungry for more, desperate.
“The soda?” You ask, pressing soft pecks to his pout.
“You.” He lounges forward once again, unsatiated and you don’t stop him. You don’t hear music anymore, all that’s rumbling in your ear is the sound of your heartbeat. You feel the heat in your veins, the flooding of ecstasy filling your cells one by one. There’s no space left between you, but you take a step forward anyway. You feel his hips rolling, a desperate cry for any sort of friction and when you slip your hand down, palming his groin through his pants, he groans into your mouth as his hips buck involuntarily into your touch. “Please,” he begs, eyes locking with yours as he leans his forehead against your own. He can feel himself throbbing beneath the confines of his pants, straining desperately for more of your attention. “You want me too, please tell me you do. I can’t… It hurts, I crave you so much, it hurts.”
“Let’s get out of here,” you murmur. “Your room is upstairs, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he breathes out. “But I won’t take you there. You deserve better than this place and my filthy bed. Let me take you to my apartment.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer and you follow him anyway, your hand incased in his large one, sticky from the spilled soda but none of you seem to care as you saunter through the dancing crowd of young people. Just to get outside.
The walk is a blur, you don’t remember much of it and so does Suguru. The night air is crisp, sending chills down your spine and the boy teases you about it, promising all the warmth he can produce in just few moments. You laugh with him, unbothered by the cool wind that tousles your hair. “It’s just around the corner,” he promises and you hum, matching his pace as he leads you through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo. The world blur into nothing, all you see is the man that holds your hand, the blue-ish hint to his hair whenever the lights fall on it just right, the sticky heat of his palm. You can still smell the faint strawberry aroma; you can definitely feel it on your tongue even though you didn’t manage to truly take a sip of it.
And you laugh again when he fumbles with the keys to his apartment. “Nervous?” You tease him playfully. “You have no idea,” he replies, smiling sheepishly and the entry finally swings open. He ushers you inside, kicking the door shut behind him and flicking the lights on.
Suguru wastes no time, pulling you flush against him once more as he presses you against the nearest wall, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. His hands roam your body greedily, mapping out every dip and curve, learning the shape of you and you do the same. He shrugs the jacket off and you’re quick to explore the broad lines of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his chest and stomach. You feel him everywhere, the hungry touch devouring every inch of your form. He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down the column of your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin and you whimper breathily — the sound undeniably similar to his own name.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, guiding him lower as he reaches your chest. His kisses grow more wet and delicate as he meets the soft mounds of your breasts, tightly confined by the neckline of your dress. He breaths in your scent, an intoxicating mixture of sweet and floral. It makes his head spin, it’s addicting. He wants more.
It’s easy to slip the dress off of you — first the straps and then the garment goes down, inch by inch revealing the smooth expanse of your skin to his starved gaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his eyes roaming hungrily over the newly exposed flesh and in that moment he swears he has never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life. His fingers skim along the edges of your bra, tracing the lace delicately before he leans in again, kissing your lips with softness that speaks more than any words could. He wants you, but he wants to worship you. He doesn’t want to make it all about lust and desire, he wants to make it about you and him. About whatever is this feeling that bubbles between you.
And so, he moves down slowly, lips mapping out the curve of your collarbone and down the path to your sternum. His hands follow your curves with gentleness he doesn’t recognize in himself. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his hot breath meeting the skin of your stomach, “just breathtaking,” he lowers himself to his knees — something he has never done in his entire life, used to have women at his feet.
“Suguru,” you breathe out but he doesn’t listen. Not when the skin of your thighs feels so soft against his cheeks, not when it tastes so delicious as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses along the plush flesh. Your fingernails find a way into his hair and he dives between your legs, encouraging one of them to hook over his shoulder. He savors the scent of you, his nose rubbing against the fabric of your underwear, prodding at the little wet patch. He licks it, his tongue flattening over the cotton, catching a hint of your taste — and that’s enough to make him go crazy for you.
“Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he breathes out, every exhale that meets the wetness of your panties sends jolts of electricity up your spine and back down to your core. He presses his lips to where he thinks your clit is, you feel him sucking gently and it’s enough friction to feel yourself pulsating. You moan quietly, the sound escaping your parted lips easily as your hold on his hair tightens. There’s no denying that you want him just as much as he wants you. He’s desperate but so are you.
Your knee buckle as he continues the torture and he coos sweetly. “Let’s take you to bed, you sweet thing,” his tone is sugary, a melody dripping with honey as he smiles at you in a way that makes you blush. There’s adoration written all over his face, his cheeks are flushed, lips red and glistening. You want to follow him when he stands up, but he swoops you off your feet, carrying you bridal style towards the bedroom. It makes you giggle.
“Practicing already?” You muse and he just smiles.
“Perhaps.”
Your back meets the cold bedspread as he lays you down delicately. No time is wasted before he’s right above you, right on you — you feel the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. No complains about it. He feels good, his hips rolling in a way that has his bulging erection grind along your panties. You hate the fabrics between you two, you hate how they make you feel less of him.
So you move your hands, slide them between your bodies, fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “Impatient much?” He teases, but helps you, pulling the shirt over his head, saving you trouble of the bottom fasteners. His lips find yours in a kiss that burns and you whimper into it, feeling the warmth spreading all over your body.
You reach down. Button, zipper. Your hands tremble as you push the fabric off his hips and he kicks it down. He helps himself with a hand and soon, his pants are on the ground, along with his socks and your bra, that you impatiently toss away. Suguru’s heart rumbles against his ribcage as he takes in the sight of your bare chest. It’s perfect, you are perfect and he cannot believe the luck he has — after years of chasing simple pleasures and meaningless peaks, he had finally found someone he wants to call his.
He feels your heart underneath his cheek as he leans down, inhaling the scent of your skin — his nose trails patterns over the soft flesh before he presses his lips to it, kissing his way towards one of your nipples. It pebbles beneath his touch, hardening as he latches onto it, sucking and teasing it with teeth, twirling his tongue all around. He matches his ministrations with his fingers, not letting the twin feel left out. Your taste is of pure heaven and the sounds that leave your mouth are ones of an angel.
There’s a patch of wet on his boxers, right where the throbbing head of his cock strains against the fabric — the precum oozing out as he grinds his hips against yours. It makes him insane how you reply with the roll of your own, to match his moves, to cause more of that delicious friction that sends both of you into a spiral of desire.
Unable to wait any longer, you hook your fingers at the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down and Suguru replies with the same — pulling the soaked cotton off of you. He wants to taste you, and he will, but not now. He reaches down, guiding the tip of his cock between the folds of your pussy, the head sliding with ease as your slick mixes with the pearly beads of semen. He loves the way your thighs tremble every time he glides over your sensitive clit, how your breath hitches and eyes close.
“Ready?” The question falls and you nod fervently, your hands finding his shoulders for balance. “Use your words, beautiful.”
“I’m ready,” you assure and then, your back arches off the mattress. He slides in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you so completely, making you go blind for a moment. The pain burns just faintly, losing its flames to the flooding of endorphins and pleasure. He goes in to the hilt, his body shuddering as he drops his head to the crook of your neck.
The feeling overwhelms him. The way your pussy grips him, like a vice that almost pulls him in more and more. It’s delightful. Ecstatic. It’s something he’s never experienced before. Is that what love feels like? He moves, slowly backing his hips until there’s nothing but a tip nestled inside you before he pushes forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs and his own too.
You paw at his arms, his back and chest. You want him closer, you want to feel all of him. Stars are clouding your vision, the world ceases to exist and there’s nothing else in it but you and the man on top of you. He feels so good, like he’s meant to be right there with you and Suguru feels the same. Like he found home, like he belongs there, in the warmth of your embrace, in the tightness of your walls. He loves the way you cling to him, the way your nails dig into his skin and your heels dig into his ass, urging him to go harder, faster. He complies, his hips snapping against yours as the wet sounds of your bodies colliding echo through the room, alongside your moans and gasps.
He changes the angle, shifting his hips to hit that spot inside you that makes the stars glitter before your eyes. He knows he’s found it when your back arches off the bed, your nails scoring down his back and a scream tears from your throat. He loves the sound, he loves the sight. He loves how you come undone, how beautifully blissed out your expression is, how your eyes lock with his even though you see nothing but haze. He grins, a smile lost against your skin as he continues pounding into you relentlessly, chasing his own high. He can feel it already, it threatens to consume him. His balls draw up tight, his heart races in his chest.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his groans and whimpers against your tender flesh as his hand grips your hip tightly. You match him thrust for thrust, nails leaving angry red marks in their wake. You feel the pleasure building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel you might explode. Your walls start to flutter around him to the rhythm of your heartbeat and the desire coursing through your veins.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Suguru gasps, his voice strained with exertion. He knows you’re close, it drives him insane. “I’m gonna—” He cuts himself off with a guttural moan as his climax hits him like a freight train. He follows you into the pit of pure delight, headfirst, no thoughts. Just pure, overwhelming bliss.
He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, as his hips buck forward few more times, riding out your highs with stuttered thrusts. You both lay there, panting and sweating, basking in the afterglow of passion. His softening cock slips out of you, followed by a gush of combined fluids but none of you worries about the mess, too blissed out to care about a thing.
“Wow,” he breathes, nuzzling his face into your neck, finding your pulse with his lips. “That was incredible.”
You giggle softly, carding your fingers through his sweat-dampened locks. They feel like silk, soft and luxurious. “Mm, it certainly was.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he exhales, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms. He presses a tender kiss to your temple, marveling at the intimacy of the moment. It feels new, like an uncharted territory that he wants to explore further. With you. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs, his voice barely above whisper and sincere. “I want to be better. To be worthy of you.”
You hum, lifting your head to look at him and all you see in his violet eyes is raw honesty and a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. “I believe you,” you tell him, leaning in to capture his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. There’s no more rush, no more lust — just pure, soft affection. “And I want to help you change. Together, yeah?”
Suguru smiles against our mouth, his heart swelling with love he never knew he was capable of.
also, guys, when did the em dash — become an ai thing? I love em dashes, I think they give a lot of clarity to the text and I like the look of them but now, it makes me scared to use them to not be accused of ai usage, ugh
Ever felt like there’s a hint of… evil inside you? That spark of darkness that burns bright within your soul, that tries to tear through your mind and get out to the world? This month is about each and every one of you — the strong and the snappy, the mean and the confident but also about you, who wish to be on top every once in a while. We will be taming the brats, asserting dominance and making the strongest — weak. ⋯ reader discretion is advised
a/n: there is no schedule, though I hope and plan to post once a week for the duration of the month; the details of the fics might change a little and i will add content warnings soon. please be patient with me and enjoy!
HANDCUFFS AND ALIBIS || GOJO SATORU
Usually, you know the houses that are worth your time and the ones that are a big no-no. Sometimes though, mistakes happen and to your defense, that 27 really did look like 77. || policeman!satoru x burglar!reader, wc. 5k
FEELIN' LUCKY || GETO SUGURU
He’s known for changing girls like socks, mocking the broken hearts and playing around. That’s until he gets a little sample of what it’s like to be on the other side of the equation. || frat boy!suguru x nerd!reader, wc. 9k
RUSH || SUKUNA RYOMEN
He’s undeniably the strongest cowboy in the wild coast. He holds the reigns, his reputation speaks for itself – he’s violent, he’s rowdy, he’s dominant. That’s until he entered the saloon and you put him in his place. || cowboy!sukuna x bartender!reader
ROSE, SCENT, KISS || FUSHIGURO TOJI
The story of the highest levels of sexual tension. The unbridled passion that’s bubbling under the thin layer of professionalism and authority, a fruit that is as forbidden as it is sweet. || secretary!toji x ceo!reader
Heyyy! You might remember me. I deleted my old account tho. Happy 30th bday girl!! Tons of hugs and love from me!!(hint:you once called me the biggest fan of your series named serendipity in the comment section) I hope you’re doing great and you are happy and healthy.🩷🩷🩷❤️❤️❤️💖✨💖✨✨💅💅💅💎💎💎 4 u.