Summary: As the warm night lingers on, you drunk dial an ex boyfriend, who happens to be your roommate, while he’s on assignment and now here you two are, spread out on your living room couch.
A/N I: My first (and possibly only) drabble, but this is actually x reader this time. I’m not using Y/N though. May have brought some of @dollys-world224’s idea to life 🤭🤭
Soft whimpers are heard throughout the small, luxurious apartment that sits in downtown Miami, the heat steaming up against the walls, leaving some sweat residue.
Underneath the ceiling fan blowing down coolness was you, drunk off your mind after another date that began with you being stood up, coming home and drinking a full bottle of wine before calling up someone you shouldn’t be bothering or you’ll regret it in the morning.
You keep on making incoherent sexual noises only you and the person you’re currently bouncing up and down on can hear.
Except this person was your Terrance.
Your fine ass space agent roommate who’s fat dick is poking against all of your sweet spots you can’t even reach with your own hands, fucking you like he finally getting a taste after a long wait.
Well. It was considering you and him been on and off for a couple years now, breaking up over your unsettled stance on wanting to travel with him as he did his assignments for his job while you worked yours or you moving to a different country for it, which he hated.
“What did I tell you, hm?” he asked in his deep British accent before slapping your ass, hearing your moan loudly.
“I. Should. Stop. Seeking. Out. When. I. Still. Got. You!” you cried out harshly, each word coming out as you thrust your hips down to his.
He growled before placing a sloppy kiss on your lips, hooking his arms under your legs before standing up carefully, lifting you with him.
He begins bouncing you up and down on his dick at a snappily pace, consistently hitting a sweet spot near your cervix, with you moaning his name out seductively.
“That’s right. You better say my name.” he mumbled, groaning at how quick you clench and unclench around him, missing that feeling.
You laughed quietly, but is cut off when you can feel your release approaching once again, burying your face into his neck.
“Hey!” as Terrance slapped your ass, making you look up all wide eye.
“Look at me while I’m fucking you through it.” he ordered, watching you nodded profusely as he slammed hard into you, signaling his release was coming.
“Oh my god…..” you cried out drunkenly, trying to push yourself off.
“It’s too much….you got too much dick!” you uttered, but he laughs, laying your body against the edge corner of the couch.
“You’re a big girl, you can take all of me.” he replied before speeding up his brutal strokes, watching you tremble underneath him.
“You owe me for making me leaving my assignment during work hours, knowing this.” he said, licking up your neck, which almost took you out.
You groaned loudly, feeling his hand slowly wrap around your neck, squeezing it a bit.
He was right since he was still in his polo dress shirt, but everything else? Gone, including your own clothes.
“Say you’re sorry.” he ordered, deepening his dick inside more, slowing down a bit.
“I’m sorry.” you said quietly, your release itching near.
His hand squeezed tighter, making you gasp and throw your head back, whining at how even more good this is feeling.
“Use your big girl voice. And wisely.” he said before grinding his hips into your pussy, hearing its wetness squelching loudly.
“I’m sorry for making you leave your job because of my neediness!” you cried out, almost wanting to rub your clit.
Terrance laughed darkly, kissing all over your face before lifting himself up, still pounding into you and moaning from it.
Both of you are sweaty and fighting against your nuts, not sure who’s gonna break first.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” he said in an exhausted voice, letting your neck go.
“Me too.” you uttered, twisting your nipples.
“Uh uh.” as he pushed in at a slight angle.
“You can’t cum until you say nobody, and I mean nobody, is allowed to fuck you like how I fuck you.” he said, eyeing you down.
“Terrance, please….I need to cum bad.” you whined, trailing your hand to your clit.
However, he’s quick to stop it, bringing it to his lips and sucking on your wrist, hearing you whine even more, beginning to slowly pass out.
“Holy shit…” you breathed out, your breathing slightly harsh.
“Come on.” he said, his mouth twitching as he can feel you clenching around him.
“I know you want to say it with that nasty voice of yours. You was talking filthy all over the call and shit.” he said lustfully, dragging his hot tongue over your hand.
You sucked your teeth loudly, feeling like your body is going to exploded if you don’t give in.
So you do.
“This pussy is yours, Terrance!” you breathed out, your legs tightening.
“Nobody else is allowed inside this but you and that fat ass dick of yours!” you added, tears pouring of your eyes.
He nods hungrily, licking his lips as he threw his head back, moaning sinfully as he speeds up his strokes, both of your moans mixing in.
“Alright. Cum for me” he said, slamming in one more time.
On cue, you cum hard on his dick, your essence spraying out, creating a tsunami under you and between y’all as your weak, erotic cries fill up the room, your body shaking a bit.
He cums really hard into your pussy, his hot seed flowing in like he’s been holding back from release all day, feeling very hot and sticky against his strained groans, squeezing the pillow next to you.
He collapses on top of you, nestling his head between your breasts before slowly falling asleep, breathing softly.
“You’re mine again…” is the last thing he says before falling asleep, his snores following.
You smile softly, rubbing his back in agreement before you fall asleep, exhausted from yet another session of him tearing up your walls.
A/N II: This was a surprise, to be quite honest. But I hope everyone enjoyed it just as much as I did, spending an hour writing this.
Nanami had never considered himself a jealous man.
possessive, perhaps, in small ways. protective? certainly.
but jealousy? it was messy. the sort of thing that clouded judgement and made people act irrationally.
Nanami preferred facts.
and the fact was that you were free to spend time with anyone. the fact that your smile didn't belong to him. and the fact that he trusted you completely.
but why—why had he spent the last twenty minutes staring at his phone?
the photo on the screen was harmless for god's sake!
a group picture from a company dinner. you sat near the center, smiling oh so sweetly to the camera.
but the problem is there was a man sitting beside you.
nothing appropriate or suspicious. just a coworker. a coworker whose arm was slung casually over the back of your chair.
a coworker who seemed to appear in every photos your friend posted. a coworker whose name you had mentioned bunch of times this week without realizing it.
Nanami locked his phone and set it face down on the table.
he hated this feeling. Not because he distrusted you.
there was no reason for the knot tightening in his chest.
there is no logical explanation for why he suddenly found himself wondering whether you smiled that brightly around everyone. or whether you looked at everyone the way you looked at him.
the apartment door opened suddenly, snapping him out of his trance.
"Kento?" your voice drifted through the hallway.
you stepped into the living room, smiling when you saw him.
"There you are."
Nanami returned the smile automatically.
but as you sat beside him and started talking about your day, he found himself listening for one name. and when it finally appeared in the conversation? his jaw tightened.
your words faltered. "Kento?" you looked at him carefully.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
then, quietly, you asked. "Is there something wrong?"
he met your gaze briefly before looking away.
the silenced stretched. not uncomfortable, just heavy. Nanami wasn't entirely sure how to answer.
you knew your husband too well to notice when something was off.
"Kento."
"Hm."
"You're doing that thing."
his brows furrowed slightly. "What thing?"
"The thing where you pretend nothing's bothering you."
you moved closer on the couch, turning toward him fully.
"Did something happen at work?"
"No."
"Did someone annoy you?"
"Not particularly."
"Are you tired?"
"Always."
your expression only softened.
your fingers reached for his hand without thinking. you interwined your fingers with his.
"C'mon, talk to me?"
you waited patiently, giving him space to speak.
Nanami hated that he was making this difficult.
eventually, he said, "Who is he?"
you blinked. "...who?"
"The coworker."
your eyes widened slightly. "Oh."
for several seconds, you said nothing.
then, "Are you jealous?"
Nanami closed his eyes briefly. "Perhaps," he sighed.
your expression softened even further.
you shifted closer until your shoulder rested against his.
"I found him annoying," you started. "He talks too much, he steals food, he's arrogant too."
the corner of Nanami's mouth twitched. you caught it immediately.
"There he is."
"I was here the entire time."
"No, you were somewhere in your own head."
you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.
"I don't smile because of him," you sighed. "I smile because i was having fun."
his gaze softened. "I know," he admitted.
"Then why are you suffering by yourself?"
a faint huff escaped him, not quite a laugh.
"Because," he pulled your joined hands closer. "I was hoping it would stop if i ignored it."
"Did it work?"
"No."
you laughed. "That was unfortunate."
he laughed along with you. "It was."
the knot in his chest began to loosen.
not because the jealousy had vanished. but because you were looking at him exactly the way you always had.
when megumi told his friends he was dating you, the first reaction was pretty much the same for everyone — a mix of 'no way' and 'i don't believe you'. the worst part? he couldn't even blame them.
megumi would describe himself as introverted and probably pretty anti social. so when you walked up to him one day and started talking to him like you knew him for years? yeah he knew he was a goner. but honestly he never understood it — you were so beautiful, pink and glittery. him, on the other side, looked like he didn't know any other colors other than black and blue.
and somehow, he still fell inlove with you. he realised it soon when he missed the splash of vivid colors in his dorm or the sweet strawberry vanilla scent you left anywhere you went.
imagine his shock when you, yes you, confessed to him first — your eyes glassy like you were actually scared he might not feel the same way. and yet, the only thing he noticed in that moment was how cute your lips looked with the pinkish gloss.
when you started dating, no one really noticed the change — you always used to kiss his cheek even as friends, and he didn't go around to brag — not because he was ashamed, but because he always was one to admire you quietly. he never hid the relationship, he just didn't announce it shouting like yuji would.
so, when one day, when you joined megumi at training, which doesn't happen often, chaos unfolded. you strut down to watch him train in the sun, your pink customized uniform (curtesy of gojo) shining in the sun. megumi didn't see you immediatly, too focused on fighting off maki.
after the sparring match (which he lost) he finally saw you — sitting on the bench with some kind of iced drink. taking a break, he walked over to you, a small smile on his face at your obnoxious waving. "what are you doing here? i thought you went shopping." he takes the drink you're silently offering him, taking a sip from the sugary liquid. definetly your taste.
"hey babe! i was, but after i bought three bags my arms started to hurt so i came back. i found these really cute purple heels that match that skirt i bought last week, do you remember which one? oh and i also found these new gloss that tastes like strawberry..." he's listening to you rambling off about whatever you bought today, following your every word with quiet acknowledgment.
"do you have the new gloss on right now?" his question throws you off, making you halt your story telling. "yes how did you know? wanna try it? i have it in my bag!" while your searching your bag — which was filled with sweets, lipgloss and perfume, megumi's eyes don't leave you. he doesn't even realise maki is yelling at him to come train until yuji shouts like a gorilla making him jump.
"can i try the gloss?" the question would be weird for anyone else but you always make him put on some to 'taste test' it. "i'm not finding it right now ugh and you have to go—" he cuts you off with a direct kiss on your lips. right there in front of everyone — you swear you hear nobara gasp.
either way, you kiss him back, the gloss transfering onto your boyfriends mouth. it's a rather quick kiss, not wanting to put on a show infront of everyone. when he pulls back his forehead against yours, his breath stutters. "it tastes nice."
you don't have time to answer — he walks back to the training ground, ignoring the way everyone is looking at him. guess they finally know you're really dating.
cw: mdni, nsfw, teacher!midoriya izuku, praise kink, p in v sex, so many praises
It started completely innocently. In the bedroom, Izuku is just like he is in everything else—analytical, observant, and intensely focused on you. He notices every gasp, every shiver, every bite of your lip, and he can't help but vocalize his findings.
"You're doing so good for me," he'd murmur against your throat one night, his calloused hands gripping your hips. "That's it... you feel incredible, you know that?"
You'd always been a confident woman, but the way those soft, breathless words hit you made your brain completely short-circuit. Heat flooded your cheeks, your core clenched hard around him, and a desperate, pathetic little whine slipped past your lips before you could catch it.
You buried your face in his shoulder, embarrassed by your own reaction—but your body betrayed you entirely, squeezing him again, tighter, chasing the ghost of his approval. You realized right then and there that you craved it. That you needed him to say it again. That you'd do anything to hear it again.
And the thing is—it's not just during sex anymore. That's what really gets you. The kink bleeds outward, seeping into the cracks of your everyday life until you're starving for it in the most mundane moments. Izuku notices. Of course he does.
You're doing dishes and he brushes past you, hand ghosting over your hip, lips pressing a distracted kiss to your temple: "Good girl." Your knees nearly buckle. You're folding laundry on the couch and he glances over from his lesson plans, smiling soft and warm: "You're so perfect, you know that?" Your stomach flips. You're walking to the train after a long day and he laces his fingers through yours, squeezing gently: "So proud of you. You worked so hard today." Your chest goes tight and achy and you have to look away because you're not sure you won't cry over something so small and simple.
But it's not small. Not to you. Because praise from Izuku doesn't feel like empty flattery—it feels earned. It's not performative or patronizing. It's careful. Deliberate. Intimate. Like he's cataloging your worth and reading it back to you so you never forget it. And God, does that do something to you. Makes you softer. Pliant. Willing. Makes you want to be good—not just in bed, but always—just to hear him say it.
What you don't fully realize is what it does to him, too.
Because Izuku's praise kink isn't one-sided. It never was. He just didn't know it until you came along and showed him. He's spent his whole life being the one seeking validation—chasing acknowledgment, working himself ragged for a nod, a pat on the back, a simple I see you. Praise was always something he needed and rarely got. So when you give it to him—freely, eagerly, without him having to earn it through blood and broken bones—it breaks something open in his chest.
The first time you whisper "You feel so good, Izuku" against his mouth, his hips stutter. His breath catches. His eyes go wide and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart ache. He doesn't just want to hear it—he needs to hear it. Needs to know he's making you feel good. Needs to know he's enough. That he's doing it right. That he's yours and you're proud of it.
So it becomes a feedback loop. A symbiotic thing. He praises you because he means it, because he's obsessed with you, because watching you light up under his words makes him feel like the most powerful man alive. And you praise him right back because you need him to know—need him to feel it in his bones the way you feel it when he says "my good girl." You tell him he's incredible. You tell him he's the best you've ever had. You tell him nobody else could ever make you feel this way. And each time, his rhythm falters, his grip tightens, and he fucks into you harder—like your words are fuel he didn't know he was running on.
Once Izuku realizes this—and it takes the former top hero's analyst brain about five seconds flat—he uses it to absolutely ruin you.
He becomes a relentless, sweet-talking menace. He pins your wrists above your head with one scarred hand, his green eyes blown wide and dark as he watches you fall apart beneath him. He doesn't just fuck you—he dismantles you piece by piece, reading every micro-expression on your face like a textbook he's studied a thousand times. He knows exactly when to snap his hips harder, when to slow to a torturous grind, when to lean down and drag his tongue over your nipple just to feel you jolt beneath him.
"Look at you," he groans, his thrusts slowing to a teasing, agonizing rhythm just to hear you whimper. The wet, obscene sound of his cock sliding in and out of you fills the room—slick and heavy and unmistakable. "Taking me so perfectly. My good girl, right? You're my good girl?"
The phrase "good girl" melting from his lips is your absolute undoing. It rips through you like lightning, straight down your spine, pooling low and molten in your belly. Your thighs tremble around his waist, your back arches off the mattress, and you squeeze around him so hard he hisses through his teeth, his composure cracking for just a second before he reclaims it. You're desperate—chasing that sweet, sweet validation, canting your hips up to meet his, needing him deeper, harder, more.
Izuku's free hand slides down your side, gripping the soft flesh of your thigh and hitching it higher over his hip. The angle shifts—deep enough that you feel him in your stomach, pressing against that spot that makes your eyes roll back. His pace turns punishing, deliberate, each thrust grinding against your sweet spot until your mind goes hazy and blank, nothing left but the sound of his voice and the relentless stretch of him inside you.
"Come for me, sweetheart. Show me how good I make you feel. You can do it... that's it, that's my girl."
And you do. You shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you so hard your vision whites out, your whole body locking up beneath him as you pulse and clench around his cock in desperate, fluttering waves. You sob his name—broken, ruined, pathetic—and he fucks you right through it, groaning low and deep as he follows you over the edge, burying himself to the hilt and spilling hot inside you, his scarred hand finally releasing your wrists to cradle your head instead.
By the time you're done, you're a trembling, overstimulated mess—still twitching around him, tears drying on your cheeks, completely addicted to the sound of his voice. And Izuku? He's just smiling softly, pressing sweet kisses to your sweaty forehead, pulling you flush against his chest while his cock still twitches inside you, already cataloging exactly which praises made you scream the loudest for next time.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
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⊹₊⋆ if it could help me write better, please don't be shy to let me know!
it was nasty, sheets pulled out from where they had once been neatly tucked in—soft skin dusted with a light sheen of perspiration, head drooping down slightly with each brush of nanami kento's slightly curved length against that gooey spot in your walls making you shudder underneath him.
it'd been what, almost two hours since you'd started, not sure how your body still had enough moisture to be soaked both inside and out, having been flipped from front to back and licked and nipped at from head to toe.
he had you on all fours, knees trembling slightly after a particularly low dip in your stomach. you were struggling to properly keep your head up, moments away from slumping forward completely when the corded muscle of his forearm moved round your side to allow his hand to cup your jaw, right under your neck. his touch was light yet strong enough to tip your head back, easing the tension that had been building in your neck.
his other hand tightened its hold on your waist, voice raspy against the shell of your ear. "just one more for me, okay? you can do that for me, i know you can."
"y-y're just so deeeeep," you groaned, hips moving back anyway, soft plap plap plap each time his hips met your own gradually increasing in speed.
"nothing you haven't done before." he murmured and gently he turned you over, your back now against the mattress and he was still buried up to the hilt inside of you, honey-brown eyes lazy and lidded as he pressed against the lower pudge of your belly.
"you feel me all the way up here?" he pressed a little harder, lips curving up in a small smile at the way you squirmed underneath him.
"does it feel good?"
his hand snaked back up to your throat, hand just resting over the exposed flesh.
you nodded, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. "soooooo good."
and he chuckled, low rumble vibrating in his chest—hand moving up to squish your cheeks into a soft pout.
"you are so cute like this."
and that's how you knew you looked awful—mascara clinging to your lower lashes, flyaway hairs stuck to the sides of your face, sliver of drool crusting at your chin.
you clenched your jaw when you felt that dip in your stomach, instincitvally moving to inch away from him, but his grip on your waist was tight, pinning you flat against the mattress.
"breathe honey." he reminded you, rubbing soothing circles into the curve of your side. "don't run from it. let me take care of you."
"too-shit—much!" you clawed out, the layered sensation of your previous orgasms making this next one feel so raw, every nerve in your body feeling alight, legs already twitching in anticipation.
"doing so well sweetheart." he moved your hand to let your fingers ghost over your clit, brain taking a moment to catch up before you started to rub messy circles over it, previous release coating your fingers with each swirl.
"just like that." he praised and the words washed over your body like warm water, it only taking a couple more strokes before you gushed all over him, small sob leaving your lips as you leaked out over his length with such an intensity you were worried he might slip right outta you from how wet your walls were.
"so perfect for me..." his voice wavered a little and you caught it, the way he throbbed against your walls making you moan.
you raked a hand against his stomach, the sensation of your nails trailing over his skin breaking the thin veil of restraint that he was still holding onto, groan deep and guttural when he finally filled you up, sheets stained beyond belief from having been exposed to literally every bodily fluid possible.
he slowly lowered himself onto you, face an inch away from your own as he brushed a hand over your face, pushing away the stray strands.
it was nasty, sheets pulled out from where they had once been neatly tucked in—soft skin dusted with a light sheen of perspiration, head drooping down slightly with each brush of nanami kento's slightly curved length against that gooey spot in your walls making you shudder underneath him.
it'd been what, almost two hours since you'd started, not sure how your body still had enough moisture to be soaked both inside and out, having been flipped from front to back and licked and nipped at from head to toe.
he had you on all fours, knees trembling slightly after a particularly low dip in your stomach. you were struggling to properly keep your head up, moments away from slumping forward completely when the corded muscle of his forearm moved round your side to allow his hand to cup your jaw, right under your neck. his touch was light yet strong enough to tip your head back, easing the tension that had been building in your neck.
his other hand tightened its hold on your waist, voice raspy against the shell of your ear. "just one more for me, okay? you can do that for me, i know you can."
"y-y're just so deeeeep," you groaned, hips moving back anyway, soft plap plap plap each time his hips met your own gradually increasing in speed.
"nothing you haven't done before." he murmured and gently he turned you over, your back now against the mattress and he was still buried up to the hilt inside of you, honey-brown eyes lazy and lidded as he pressed against the lower pudge of your belly.
"you feel me all the way up here?" he pressed a little harder, lips curving up in a small smile at the way you squirmed underneath him.
"does it feel good?"
his hand snaked back up to your throat, hand just resting over the exposed flesh.
you nodded, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. "soooooo good."
and he chuckled, low rumble vibrating in his chest—hand moving up to squish your cheeks into a soft pout.
"you are so cute like this."
and that's how you knew you looked awful—mascara clinging to your lower lashes, flyaway hairs stuck to the sides of your face, sliver of drool crusting at your chin.
you clenched your jaw when you felt that dip in your stomach, instincitvally moving to inch away from him, but his grip on your waist was tight, pinning you flat against the mattress.
"breathe honey." he reminded you, rubbing soothing circles into the curve of your side. "don't run from it. let me take care of you."
"too-shit—much!" you clawed out, the layered sensation of your previous orgasms making this next one feel so raw, every nerve in your body feeling alight, legs already twitching in anticipation.
"doing so well sweetheart." he moved your hand to let your fingers ghost over your clit, brain taking a moment to catch up before you started to rub messy circles over it, previous release coating your fingers with each swirl.
"just like that." he praised and the words washed over your body like warm water, it only taking a couple more strokes before you gushed all over him, small sob leaving your lips as you leaked out over his length with such an intensity you were worried he might slip right outta you from how wet your walls were.
"so perfect for me..." his voice wavered a little and you caught it, the way he throbbed against your walls making you moan.
you raked a hand against his stomach, the sensation of your nails trailing over his skin breaking the thin veil of restraint that he was still holding onto, groan deep and guttural when he finally filled you up, sheets stained beyond belief from having been exposed to literally every bodily fluid possible.
he slowly lowered himself onto you, face an inch away from your own as he brushed a hand over your face, pushing away the stray strands.
"You're not my boyfriend." Try telling Ryomen Sukuna that when another man gets a little too close.
A/N: you aint my boyfriend and i aint your girlfriend 🤨 if u couldnt tell, this was inspired by boyfriend by ari and social house ✌️😗 this is also an old fic i dug out 🚬 anyways exams have been fucking me raw lately and not in a fun way. i should be out here bussing it down at the club, getting lit, making questionable decisions. instead im bussing it down with textbooks and practice exams. tragic. devastating, even. it's okay though, bc i got bts tickets 😛
Art: @/pattyi.i on insta <3
Sukuna never asked for a commitment. Somehow, the arrangement just fell into place anyway. It started with small things: late night texts, showing up without warning, and a heavy black leather jacket tossed over the back of a chair like it belonged there.
Your phone buzzed softly against the counter.
you home.
No greeting, no question mark—just the absolute assumption of an open door.
yeah.
Three dots appeared instantly.
open up.
A heavy knock followed seconds later.
"Geez. No 'please' or anything" you mumbled, tossing your phone back onto the counter.
Opening the door revealed Ryomen Sukuna leaning against the frame as if he’d been waiting all night. A familiar presence filled the doorway before he even spoke, the air growing heavy with his warm, spicy cologne. Red eyes flicked down, assessing the view. “Thought you were asleep.”
“Bruh, you literally just texted me.”
He hummed, brushing past without waiting for an invitation. His hand lingered briefly on the small of your back, pressing just enough to claim the space before letting go. You shut the door behind him. “You’re going to start paying rent at this point." Sukuna stretched out on your couch, arms draped lazily across the cushions with a smirk. “You’d miss me.” An eye roll was the only response you gave him, but neither side pushed the argument.
Weeks passed in a blur of late nights and shared silences. A heavy hand would rest on your waist during trips around the kitchen, fingers brushing the curve of your hip and teasingly lingering during the morning coffee brew. On walks together, he closed the distance entirely, slipping a hand into the back pocket of your jeans. No matter how many times that hand was swatted away with a muttered, “People are going to think we’re dating” the pink haired man just shrugged, keeping his hand firmly planted against ur ass. He always stood slightly behind or beside you, a silent declaration: I’m here.
Sometimes he waited after lectures, leaning against the campus gate with a lazy, half smirk, arms crossed as the crowd filtered past. Spotting him always made your stomach twist, knowing he’d been waiting long before the dismissal bell. His gaze would lock on, serving as a quiet warning to anyone walking too close.
Nights were spent sharing the couch and stealing blankets, half tangled around his large frame while the remaining fabric barely covered your lap. Sometimes he drapes himself across you, a hand brushing lightly down your arm or against your thigh—never intrusive, but entirely claiming the space. When he relaxed completely, your fingers wander over his tattoos, tracing the sharp lines along his face and chest. Each mark felt almost magnetic under the skin. He would hum low, letting the attention slide, a thumb occasionally brushing your wrist to claim the movement. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your fingertips, a slight smirk evident in the way he adjusted his posture to keep your hand exactly where he wanted it.
There were nights spent falling asleep in his bed after an argument left unfinished—bodies pressed tight, the quiet between you louder than any words. Other mornings started tangled in his arms, hair brushing his chest, fingers clutching his shirt before fully waking up. His hand would curl around your wrist, a thumb tracing small, slow circles. The habits became second nature to notice: how he leaned a fraction closer when a stranger got too near. The amused smirk whenever a tease was thrown back at him. The trademark "tch" or scoff of annoyance that left his lips. Pressing his forehead to yours in the early mornings, claiming the first minutes of the day. Playing the thief with a tilted head and a lazy, "Oops, that's my spot now" daring an argument.
Almost like a couple. But without labels or promises, the unresolved tension grew nearly unbearable.
Tonight, gojo's house was packed. The bass vibrated faintly through the floorboards, drowning out the roar of the crowded room. People moved in a blur of red cups and loud laughter.
Pausing near the entrance to scan the room, your eyes landed across the living room. Sukuna leaned against the back of a couch, looking entirely too comfortable. A few girls crowded his space, laughing a little too loudly at whatever he’d just muttered. One girl rested a hand on tattooed arm. Another leaned in close, fingers brushing his shoulder. He let them.
Your jaw tightened.
His eyes found yours instantly, as if he’d known the exact second you walked through the door. The crowd seemed to fade under his direct stare. Across the room, through flashing lights and shifting bodies, he just watched. A slow smirk pulled at his lips, waiting to see the reaction. The girl beside him kept talking, her fingers resting on his arm, tracing the very same tattoos you usually spent hours mapping out. Sukuna didn’t move away. He just looked on—unbothered and thoroughly amused.
Typical.
Turning away before he could read anything else on your face, you made a beeline for the kitchen. A quick adjustment was made to the hem of the mini black off shoulder dress, the fabric hugging your waist and tight at the hips. Gold open toe heels clicked softly against the floorboards, gold hoops swaying with the quick tilt of your head. The reflective surface of the fridge offered a quick glimpse—makeup intact, shoulders tense, face slightly flushed from the scene in the living room. Pulling the door open, the cool light spilled out as you grabbed a drink.
“Careful with that one” a voice warned.
Turning around revealed a guy leaning against the counter, sporting a charming smile. “Trust me. It’s stronger than it looks.”
A small laugh escaped you. “I’ll take my chances.”
The guy laughed, stepping a bit closer to be heard over the booming music. “So… what brings you here alone?”
A shrug followed. “Just needed a drink and a break from… life.”
His smirk widened. “I get that. Same here.”
The conversation began to flow more freely, a genuine laugh sparking at a joke he made. It felt easy. The guy leaned in, lowering his voice. “You know, you’ve got this energy. Makes people really want to talk to you.”
A smile crept up, a sudden flutter stirring in your chest—until a familiar scent hit the air. Warm, spicy, and impossible to ignore. The exact aroma that lingered on your clothes every time he pulled you in.
Sukuna.
A heavy pair of arms slid around your waist from behind. His broad chest pressed flush against your back, almost swallowing you as he pulled you back. One hand settled flat against your stomach while the other grazed your hip, fingers brushing the edge of your short dress to anchor you firmly against him. The fabric shifted under his grip, lifting fractionally as you instinctively braced on your heels. Sukuna wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were locked dead on the guy across the counter. Slowly, the pink haired man dipped his head, his nose brushing the side of your neck before settling into the crook of your shoulder. Warm breath ghosted over your bare skin, his fingers tightening just enough to claim you. The gentle sway of gold hoops brushed against him with every shallow inhale.
The guy stiffens. “Oh—uh. Sorry, man, I didn’t know—”
“No” you interrupted, trying to shift out of his grasp. “We’re not—”
“Yeah” Sukuna cuts in smoothly, his voice low. “You should go.”
The guy hesitated, muttered a quick, “Right… my bad” and vanished into the crowd.
You turn inside Sukuna’s arms, looking up at him. “Bruh, what's your problem?”
Sukuna looked down as if nothing had happened.
“You’re not my boyfriend” you huffed out.
His eyes slowly searched your face before letting out a slight scoff.
Pushing lightly against his chest, you snapped, “Stop acting like you own me.”
He simply watched, absorbing the defiance. Then, with a sudden tug at your waist, he pulled you closer. The hem of your dress rode up your ass slightly before his hand reached behind to pull the fabric back into place.
“You want a boyfriend?” His thumb dragged slowly along your jawline, tilting your face up to force eye contact. "That what this is about?”
Silence was the only answer, making his eyes narrow. “Tch. Greedy.”
The music and chatter faded into background noise—the space between you grew heavy. Sukuna hummed softly, his hand sliding back down to the small of your back. His fingers settled there as if they had never left, pressing into the curve. Your heels click softly against the floor as he adjusts his hold, keeping the fit perfect. “And yet” he murmured, leaning closer, “you still let me do this.” Your breath catches when he pulls you a fraction closer.
“Doesn’t really sound like you want a boyfriend” Sukuna said lazily. Dipping his head lower, his lips trailed light kisses along your neck—the same familiar routine he’d done a thousand times before. It made your stomach twist. A sharp inhale brought in his spicy cologne, mixing with the soft sweetness of vanilla perfume until your head spun.
“Sounds like you just want me.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, a low, teasing vibration. “Go ahead… say you’re leaving me.”
The words never came.
A slow smile spread across his face. Because he already knows you won’t.
The motel room smells like cheap detergent and rain-soaked asphalt. Katsuki doesn't care. He's got you spread out on that scratchy floral bedspread, your jeans a puddle on the floor, your panties hanging off one ankle. He's still fully dressed — black shirt stretched tight over his broad shoulders, cargo pants riding low on his hips — and the imbalance of it makes your pulse hammer.
"You're twitching already," he says. Not teasing. Observing. Like he's reading the tremor in your thighs the way he reads an opponent in a fight.
He settles between your legs, and the weight of him sinks the mattress. His hands find your knees, pushes them wide, holds them there. His thumbs press into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, and he just looks at you. Stares at the wet gleam of your cunt like he's memorizing it, his crimson eyes dark and hungry.
"Pretty," he mutters, though it sounds more like a challenge. And then his mouth is on you.
No warning. No slow build. Just the flat of his tongue dragging up through your folds, slow and deliberate, from your entrance to your clit. The sound of it — wet, obscene — fills the room. You gasp, your hips bucking, and his hands clamp down hard enough to bruise.
"Stay," he says against you. The word vibrates through your cunt.
He licks you open. That's the only way to describe it — long, broad strokes of his tongue that part your lips, that taste every inch of you. He takes his time. He's not rushed, not greedy in the way you expected; he's methodical, determined to conquer every nerve ending.
His nose nudges your clit when he dips his tongue inside you, and you feel the rough rasp of stubble against your inner thigh. Your hand finds his hair — that spiky, ash-blonde mess — and you grip. He groans. The sound buzzes through your flesh.
"Yeah. Pull," he rasps, his voice wrecked, muffled by your pussy.
You do. You tug hard, and he rewards you by sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking. Your vision whites out. Your back arches off the bed. He doesn't let up — his tongue flicks across the tip of your clit in quick, dirty strokes while he sucks, and the pressure builds behind your pelvis like a wave about to break.
"That's it," he mutters, pulling back just enough to breathe the words against your slick flesh. "Let go. I wanna taste it."
Two fingers press into you without warning. Thick. Strong. They curl up immediately, finding that rough spot inside you, pressing and pressing while his mouth goes back to your clit. He's eating you like you're a meal, like he's been starving, and the sounds he makes — low, hungry groans that vibrate against your cunt — push you higher.
"Katsuki — I'm —"
"I know."
He doubles down. His fingers fuck into you harder, faster, that aggressive rhythm hitting your g-spot with every thrust. His tongue circles your clit in a figure-eight, then flicks, then sucks. He's relentless. He's focused. He knows exactly what he's doing, and he's doing it with the single-minded intensity of a man who always gets what he wants.
You come apart.
It hits you in a wave that starts in your gut and crashes through every nerve. Your thighs clamp around his head, your heels dig into his back, and you cry out — something broken, something that might be his name. He doesn't stop. He keeps licking, keeps sucking, fingers still pumping, and then you feel it — that deeper release, the gush of wetness flooding out of you.
He groans against your clit and drinks.
You can feel his throat working. His fingers slow, then stop, but his mouth stays. He laps at you through the aftershocks, cleaning and tasting and taking, until you're trembling and oversensitive and pushing weakly at his head.
He sits up.
His chin is soaked. Glossy. His lips are red and wet. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at you with those half-lidded eyes, dark and satisfied.
"Good?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.
You can barely breathe. You nod.
He grins, slow and wolfish. "Good. 'Cause I'm not done."
His hands find his belt. The metal clinks. And you feel that first flutter of anticipation all over again as he pulls his cock out — thick, hard, the tip flushed and wet. He gives it a slow stroke, watching your face with a predatory gaze
"On your stomach," he commands. "Wanna feel this one."
You turn. You let him arrange you, his big hands guiding your hips up, your face pressed into the scratchy pillow. You hear him spit. Feel the wet smear of it against your asshole, his thumb pressing in just enough to make you gasp.
"Gotta take care of you," he mutters, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Gotta fill you up right."
He lines up. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, slick with your own wetness, and he pushes in.
The stretch is everything. You feel every inch as he sinks into you, slow and deliberate, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. He pauses when he's fully seated, his pelvis flush against your ass, and lets out a breath that shudders.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Feel that? You're clenching around me like you're trying to keep me."
You can't answer. You can barely think. He starts to move.
Each thrust is deep. Measured. He pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in, letting you feel every ridge, every vein. The angle hits something new — deeper, fuller — and you moan into the pillow
"You gonna come again?" His voice is rough. Strained. "Gonna soak my cock?
You nod, muffled.
"Good. Do it. Squirt all over me."
He fucks you harder. His hips slap against your ass, the sound wet and sharp. One hand leaves your hip and presses down on your lower back, arching you deeper into him. The other reaches around, finds your clit, rubs tight circles while he pounds into you.
It's too much. It's not enough. You're climbing again, that pressure coiling in your gut, your toes curling against the cheap sheets.
"That's it. That's it." His voice is strained now, cracking. "Come on, baby. Let go. I wanna feel you."
You do.
It gushes out of you — a hot flood that soaks his cock, your thighs, the sheets beneath you. You hear him hiss, feel him slam into you one, two, three more times before he follows. He buries himself deep, and you feel it — the hot pulse of his come filling you, pumping into you, so much that it leaks out around his cock and runs down your thighs.
He stays inside you for a long moment. Both of you breathing hard. Both of you slick and ruined.
When he pulls out, you feel empty. You feel the wet trickle of his release sliding down your skin. He flops onto the bed beside you, one arm slung over his face, the other reaching out to rest on your hip.
"Gonna need a shower," he says.
You laugh, breathless.
Then his hand slides down, cups your wet thighs, and he brings his fingers to his mouth. Licks them clean.
summary — loving jack always had a price. you just assumed you’d seen the worst of it.
warnings — 7.1k words. MINORS DNI!! explicit sexual content (unprotected piv sex), divorce, ex-spouses with a major case of unresolved feelings, toxic relationship dynamics, codependency, alcohol use, unexpected pregnancy, discussion of abortion and reproductive choice, crying, emotional distress, also the past relationship details are left vague
author’s note — whipped this up bc i could not stop thinking about this plot 😬 yk i love a gooood angst + this one should be multiple parts!!
If you knew your ex-husband was going to be at the bar, you would have gone straight home. The only point of getting drinks after a shift was to stop being a person who’d had that shift—to sit in a sticky booth with people who’d seen the same bad day and let it dissolve into something cheap—and Jack’s presence anywhere had the effect of making you more yourself, not less; a woman performing being completely okay for an audience of one who’d seen you cry over burnt lasagna on your two-year-anniversary and had the terrible indecency to remember it.
But you didn’t know. Dana had said a few of them were going to the bar after the night shift took over, and you’d heard it would only be a few of them and not done the thinking on who’d be working the night shift—you’d assumed him, because he was always there, always fucking there. So you walked in already loosened, your badge clipped to your waistband, and you were three steps into the warm beery dark before you saw the back of his head in the corner booth.
He was nursing a bourbon he’d probably make last the entire night and he was half-listening to Langdon tell some story, his leg stretched out into the aisle, and he hadn’t seen you yet. You had a second. You could have turned around and texted Dana some bullshit excuse of getting the full eight hours and walked back to the parking lot to go home to your dog and half your bed.
You never did, though. You told yourself afterward it was because the leaving would’ve told the table something. But the truer thing, the one you didn’t want to look at directly, was that an evening without Jack had started to feel like a room with the bulb burned out. You’d gotten that bad.
“There she is,” Dana said, twisting around in the booth, already sliding to make room. “Sit. I saved you the good side. It doesn’t wobble.”
You sat, and the good side put you diagonal from Jack, close enough that his stretched-out leg was a fact you had to arrange your own legs around under the table. He hadn’t acknowledged you yet. He was letting Langdon finish; Jack always let people finish, it was something that made patients trust him and made you, toward the end, want to put a plate through the wall because he’d let you get to the bottom of sentences you’d have killed to be interrupted out of.
But you watched the back of his neck change as his shoulders went from loose to aware. When he turned, his eyes found yours like a bad number on a monitor, faster than he could’ve chosen. For half-a-second, before his face caught up, he looked so completely undefended. Then it was gone and he looked at you like you were weather he'd been told about.
“Huh,” he breathed, picking his bourbon back up. “They let your department fraternize with the help now, or are you slumming?”
“Dana kidnapped me.” You reached over and took the lime off his rim. He’d never once in his life used it—he hated citrus in bourbon—and only got it because Marlene behind the bar had been putting it in each time. Jack had decided somewhere around your wedding that debating her on it was more than what the lime was worth.
You bit it and set the rind into his napkin where it went, where it had always gone.
His eyes tracked you as you did it without any comment. The better half of five years of the lime and he’d never once said anything, only bought you the garnish on his own drink.
“How was your floor?” you asked.
“Slow.” He turned the glass a quarter-turn on the table, an old tell, the thing his hands did when he was trying very hard to keep his words scarce. “Knock on something.”
“But I like watching you suffer,” you drawled.
He huffed at that. “I know.”
That was it. He was good at letting things sit, it was the worst of his habits, the way he could absorb a thing you said and just hold it instead of returning it. Half your sentences to him used to end in a silence you'd eventually have to fill yourself. You'd forgotten how much work it was. You'd forgotten you used to do all the talking and call it conversation.
“You got Kevin this week?” Dana asked from beside you.
Jack, without a beat of hesitation, said, “She’s got Kilo this week.”
Javadi, the new and curious med student in the ER, looked between both of you with furrowed brows. “Sorry. Kevin or Kilo? Is that—are those two dogs?”
“One dog,” you said.
“Yup. One dog,” Jack agreed.
“Then why—” Javadi started.
“His name’s Kilo,” Jack said.
“No, his name’s Kevin.”
Javadi’s head went between you as though she was watching a tennis match. The table laughed because they’d heard this a hundred times and it never stopped being funny to them; the divorced two doing their oldest bit, the one argument that had outlived the marriage that spawned it.
“His papers say Kilo,” Jack said in Javadi’s direction.
Robby, who’d been completely invested in his own drink, said, “And your papers say divorced.”
“And we very much are, thank you,” you said, picking it up before the laugh had finished.
Jack stayed silent then. Robby, he’d have something for. But this was you saying it, easy and completely certain in front of everyone. The leg that had been stretched into your space this entire night drew back slowly, a small retreat nobody at the table except you could’ve felt. He turned the glass a quarter-turn.
You’d done it on purpose. You’d felt the whole night immediately tilting into the warm dangerous fiction of it and you’d reached for the one sentence that would shut it, and you’d swung it at the only person who’d actually feel the blade.
The facts of your divorce were no concern to anyone but the two of you at the table, but you could feel Jack flinch inwardly by the announcement that blanketed it all; that you now lived in separate homes, that the dog was scheduled like a custody hearing; that the word ‘we’ had a tense and it was past. None of it was news. He’d signed the same papers you had in the same flat conference room, with the same pen the mediator kept clicking until you'd wanted to scream. He knew the facts better than anyone. And still you'd watched him wince when you said it out loud.
He'd built a whole life on the difference between a thing being true and a thing being spoken; it was how he ran a trauma bay, how he told a family the worst news in the world in a voice that never broke, how he'd ended your marriage without ever once saying the words that would've made it real, just withdrawing by degrees until you were the one who had to say them for him. He'd made you do that too. He made you do all the saying. And now you'd said this, and he was sitting there absorbing it the way he absorbed everything, quietly, like he'd decided long ago that taking it without a sound was the least of what he had coming.
“Just fucking do it, Jack.”
And he did—finally, finally—push into you with a single long stroke that dragged a sound out of both of you, his coming out through his teeth, and yours into the pillow. His forehead came down between your shoulder blades. He stayed there for a second, breathing, one hand splayed wide over your hip and the other braced into the mattress beside your hips. His weight settled onto the left leg the way it always settled, a decision his body stopped having to make years ago. You could feel him shaking with the effort of not moving yet, of dragging it out, because he always did this, he always made you ask twice.
“Christ,” he breathed into your spine. “You feel—” he started, and let the words die as his teeth gently pressed into the bone at the top of your shoulder. It was then he started to move.
He fucked like he did everything else with his hands; he was methodical, attentive, and so devastingly present. He went in believing there was always a correct rhythm, and he intended to find it just to ruin you with it. He’d learned by repetition until it stopped requiring thought, until he could play you without looking, and the worst part—the one you’d never say out loud—was that it worked. It always worked. He knew the exact angle that made you stop being a person with opinions about him.
That long stroke dragged slow on the way out and snapped deep on the way back in, and your whole body misfired around him whether you’d given it permission to or not.
His palm slid up from your hip to flatten between your shoulder blades and pressed, folding you down into the mattress, taking the choice out of your spine. And the new angle had you gasping into the sheets because he’d done it on purpose; he always did everything on purpose, and now he was hitting that place that made your fingers curl and your thighs shake and a thin embarrassing whine climb out you that you’d have died before making it sober.
Jack felt the exact second your control went and he leaned into it, hips grinding deep and unhurried, holding you right there on the edge of too-much like he was reading everything under your skin.
“That’s it,” he drawled out, his voice low and even, the bastard, like he had all night, like he wasn’t already wrecked behind the voice. “Yeah, I’ve got you.” And he did. He had you exactly where he wanted you and you let him, because no one had ever taken you apart this precisely, this patiently, like your falling apart was the only thing on his list and he intended to do it right.
The dog tags swung forward and dragged close across your back when he leaned over you, then warm when they settled against your skin, and you thought—stupidly, with the part of your brain that should’ve been offline—that you used to fall asleep listening to that chain shift when he breathed. You thought there had been a version of this where afterward he stayed. You shoved that thought down. You arched your back into him instead and he made a punched-out noise, low in his chest, his grip going tight on you to leave the marks.
“Slow down,” he muttered more to himself than you, but he didn’t. His hips stuttered out of their careful rhythm because this was the one place his composure failed; it was the one place where the sealed-up, gallows humor, watching-you-over-the-glass version of him came apart at the seams.
You’d figured this out over the months. This was the only place Jack was honest. He’d never say the things across a table, in daylight, with his clothes on. But here, with his cock buried inside of you and his composure shot, the truth leaked out of him in fragments he wouldn’t be accountable for later.
“Missed this,” he got out, ragged, his mouth at the back of your neck now, words pressed into your hairline like he could bury them in there. “Missed you, fuck. You’ve got no idea, sweetheart, the things I—”
“Don’t.” You didn’t want it. You wanted it so badly your chest ached and that was exactly why you didn’t want it, because you knew what it was worth in the morning, which was nothing, which was a text about whether you’d remembered to walk Kevin. “Jack. Don’t talk. You can’t—” You let out a gasp as he pressed his hips completely flush against yours, chasing you to the hilt, as if he could physically expel the words out of you. “Can’t fuck me into being with you again.”
You felt him falter at the words, just for a beat, the rhythm catching like you’d reached back and put a hand flat on his sternum. He slowed, dragged himself almost all the way out and held there, trembling, his whole weight coming down over your back so his mouth was now at your ear and you could feel everything against the shell of it.
“I know,” he said, words ragged. “I know I can’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”
His hand moved around the dip of your waist, and he pulled out of you slow, the loss making you bite down on a sound. Then he was rolling you, one palm flat and insistent on your hip, turning you under him onto your back like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“No—” You got an arm up, forearm against your own eyes, because you knew what he wanted, and you weren’t going to give it to him. The face, the looking. From behind, you could keep it what it was; turned over, you’d have to be there for it. “Jack, leave it. I don’t—”
“Hey.” He held your wrist, thumb working into the soft inside of it where your pulse was going stupid. “C’mon. Move the arm.”
“No.”
“You won’t even—” He let out a low laugh, disbelieving, almost wounded. “You’ll let me do every other thing but you won’t even look at me?”
“That’s different.”
“Yeah.” He went quiet for a moment, and his hand slid up the inside of your thigh, holding you open, patient as anything. He knew exactly what the looking was and exactly why you were hiding from it, and he was going to wait you out. “I know it is. Move the arm anyway.”
He braced over you on his arm, the other hand drawing slow idle circles high on your thigh, his cock notched against you and not pushing in, just there, the threat and promise of him, while he looked down at the arm over your face. You could feel him watching.
So you did move the arm, mostly just to spite him by giving him exactly what he wanted. His face was right there—jaw tight, eyes gone dark and fixed on you like you were the only lit thing in the room—and the second you met it, the slight smugness melted clean down the middle and there was just the wanting underneath, naked and his.
“Thank god,” he breathed before pushing back into you. His eyes tracked your face scrunch up at the familiar—too familiar—pleasure like he’d been starving for exactly this. His hand left your jaw and found your knee, hooking it up higher over his hip. He’d always known your left hip sat wrong, that this was the angle that didn’t ache after; the same way you knew, without ever being told, to take the weight off his right side, the two of you arranging yourselves around each other the way you always had. “Knew you were in there somewhere.”
“Don’t get sentimental, Jack” you said, breathless. “You’ll pull something.”
He huffed a laugh against your jaw. Your hand had gone to his left shoulder and you pressed your thumb into the knot that always sat under the blade after a long shift, working it slow while he moved in you. He groaned low and helpless at the unexpected mercy of it.
“Mouthy,” he managed to say. “Even now.”
“You’re so—so insufferable.”
His mouth found the corner of yours and his hand slid up your ribs so his thumb could catch the underside of your breast exactly where he knew; your back came up off the mattress for him. “You married me anyway. What’s that say about you?”
You got your fingers to his hair and scratched once at the base of his skull, the thing that used to put him to sleep in under five minutes, something you’d done about a thousand times in a bed you no longer shared. You watched his eyes go briefly unfocused with how much his body remembered it meant being safe. You hated that you’d done it.
The easy heat in him went somewhere graver, and his hand came up to cover yours where it rested in his hair. He pinned it there, keeping the touch on him, like he couldn’t bear for you to take it back.
“Why’d you—” His hips stuttered. “Why’d you have to go, huh?”
“Don’t,” you said quickly, and your hand came out of his hair—you made it come down, fighting the pin of his fingers—and you planted your palm against his chest to put an inch back between the two of you. “Don’t talk. Just—shut up. Jack, shut up and—”
He took in a breath, lips still parted like he wanted to talk. You’d expected it. Jack was fabulous at saying everything important while inside you or when he was halfway asleep.
“Yeah.” He nodded shakily. “Yeah. Okay.”
He got an arm under the small of your back and hauled you up into him, and the next stroke was just deep and selfish, like he’d stopped trying to make his point and now was only trying to get somewhere. The slow ruinous tenderness burned off into something with no thought left in it, and your body surged up to meet it—God—yes, this, you could do, this didn’t ask you for anything you’d sworn off. This was just the white-hot animal fact of him and you could be all the way in without losing a single thing.
“There,” he ground out, forehead dropped to yours, both of you breathing into the same inch of air. “There—fuck—there you go.”
Your mind went black. That was the mercy of getting it like this; the part of you that counted the times he’d said your name, that totted up what the morning had cost, went quiet, drowned clean in the simple overwhelming good of him. You grabbed at his back and pulled him in past where there was room and made a strangled noise.
His hand found yours where it was fisted in the sheet and laced through it, knuckles white, pinning it down beside your head—needing the anchor—and you gripped back just as hard. The bed was loud. Neither of you cared. You'd gone past the place where you could have stopped even if the smarter version of you had walked in and ordered it, both of you just chasing the finish now with a kind of grim mutual desperation, like if you got it done fast enough you wouldn't have to deal with what it was.
“Close,” you breathed. “Jack, I’m close—”
“I know. C’mon, let me feel it—” His hand let go of yours and dropped between you, fingers finding you without a second of searching, the muscle-memory of you deathly absolute. “Been thinking about this all night.”
He worked you up to the edge with his face buried in your throat and his hips snapping. The whole thing finally cresting into something neither of you could've talked through if you'd tried.
You went over first, the peak tearing through you with your nails dug into his back and your spine bowed clean off the mattress. He fucked you through every second of it, hips ramming, dragging it up past the point you could stand. And right at the end of yours his rhythm broke and went erratic, deep and grinding and graceless, and you felt the exact moment it caught him.
His arms hooked tighter under the small of your back and hauled you up into him so there was nowhere for him to go but deeper, like the thought of any distance between the two of you right now was a thing he couldn’t tolerate. Your legs wrapped around the backs of his thighs anyway, your heel pressed into the base of his spine.
“Gonna—” His voice came out shredded, into your throat. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna—fuck—”
With a low broken sound, his whole weight crushed down and his hips gave those last helpless grinding pushes, burying himself to the hilt, spilling into you with his face shoved into your neck and his hand fisted in your hair. He continued moving even then, small, greedy rolls of his hips, working himself deeper through the aftershocks, wringing every second out.
“God.” He shuddered out the word against your pulse, hips still flush, seated as deep as he could get. His arms came around you completely—there wasn’t any inch he wasn’t holding—and he stayed there long after he finished, unwilling to give up the last of it. Greedy even now, especially now. Jack would take every second he was handed and a few he wasn’t.
His heart slammed against your ribs. His breath dragged itself slowly back down. For a moment, you let him have it. You let him stay heavy on and inside you, and you stared at the ceiling.
After a minute—because that’s all you could grant him, a mere sixty seconds—you put your palm flat on his chest, over the spot where the dog tags had settled cold against his skin, and you pushed.
He came up on his forearms and he looked down at you. That was the hundredth mistake of the night, letting him be that close to your face with the lights of the street coming through the blinds in stripes across him. He looked at you the way he looked at you in the one place he ever did, like you were something he'd been allowed to hold and was already being asked to set back down, and the wanting in it was so total and so useless that you had to look at his collarbone instead.
Then his fingers came up to your chin, tilting your head up gently to meet his eyes again. “I wish you weren’t so cruel to me in front of people.” he said, voice coming out so rough.
You knew exactly which part of the night he was talking about. He’d carried it the whole way here—through the parking lot, through the drive, through all of this, your body still humming with him—and he’d held onto it the entire time, only to let it out now because now was the only time he could.
“It’s not cruel if it’s true,” you said. “Nobody thought it was cruel.”
“No, nobody thought anything.” He caressed your jaw just slightly, and you stilled under the grazing touch. “I still felt it.”
Maybe it was the hour, or the drinks still thinning in you, or just the unbearable fact of him looking at you. Regardless of what it was, the lid you kept on the old thing slipped, and you didn't get it back down in time.
“Don’t talk to me about cruelty, Jack,” you said quietly, holding his eyes even though you could feel your own burn. You could do it for once, because he was the one that looked like he needed a collarbone to fix his gaze on. “It was your cruelty that did this.”
His thumb stopped at your jaw. And then, instead of the stillness you’d expected, his hand slid back into your hair and his arm came around you and he pulled you in, the whole weight of him bearing down. His face went into your neck.
You froze under him, suddenly hating him all over again for making this harder and harder each time.
“Go home,,” you said, and it came out lower than you’d wanted it to.
He let out a shaky breath against your skin. “I’d like to stay with you for one night. If you asked.”
Your hands came up to his shoulders. You gently pushed. “I’m asking you to go.”
He came up off you slow, by degrees, and the cold rushed into every place he’d just been. He never argued; he only gave you offers where with the condition of you having to ask welded into them. He sat up on the edge of the bed with his back to you and reached for his shirt off the floor.
People at the hospital had a word for you and it was ‘difficult.’ You’d made peace with it years ago. What you didn’t have a word for was the tired. You’d been tired before; this had a different grain to it, bone-level and sitting-behind-your eyes. Twice this week the floor had gone soft and far away when you stood up too fast. You’d put a hand on the counter and waited it out and told no one.
You hadn't eaten, either. The granola bar was still in your bag. So when you stood up from the workstation to walk the corrected units down yourself, the room didn't gray at the edges this time. It dropped. The whole thing tilted bright then dim, your hand reached for the counter and missed it by an inch, and the next clear thing was the floor being closer than it should be and a hand hard around your arm.
“Okay—I’ve got you. Sit.” Dana, you recognized. Of course it was Dana; she had a sixth sense for the exact second a person stopped standing upright. She steered you down to a chair before you’d finished falling. “Head down. Between the knees. You’ve told a hundred people to do this—do it.”
“I’m fine,” you said, voice coming out depleted. “I just got up too—”
“Yeah, you’ve been getting up fast a couple times this week.” " Her hand was on the back of your neck, two fingers at your pulse, and she wasn't looking at your face, she was looking at her watch, counting, and the professionalism of it—the way she'd switched you from colleague to patient without asking your permission—made something cold go through you. “When’d you eat, hon?”
“I ate.”
“When?” When you stayed silent, she said, “That’s what I thought.”
She straightened up and you heard her turn. “Hey! Somebody grab Robby. No, he’s not—just grab him.” She turned back to you, and gentler than you wanted, in a way that told you exactly how bad you looked, she said, “We’re gonna put you in a room. Don’t make a face. We’re gonna put you in a room, run some fluids, check a couple things. If it’s nothing—thank god—then it’s nothing, and you can be insufferable about it for weeks. But you went down, sweetheart, and I’m not arguing with you about it.”
You wanted to argue; you wanted to refuse the chair and go back to work instead of occupying a bed at work. But you were so tired. You were tired, and some animal part of you had already known that for two weeks and had been waiting, with a patience that frightened you, for someone to make you stop.
So you let Dana walk you to the room. You let her pull the curtain. You sat on the edge of the gurney in a department you'd worked in for over a decade and let a colleague put a line in your arm, and you stared at the corner of the blood pressure cuff and did not let yourself think the one thought that had started, very quietly, somewhere underneath the tired, to assemble itself, and would not finish assembling until Robby came in twenty minutes later with your labs and a look on his face you couldn't read, and asked you, carefully, like a man stepping onto ice, when your last period was.
You’d seen him tell a people about death with more steadiness than he was managing right now, standing at the foot of your gurney with a tablet he wasn't looking at, asking you about your cycle like the answer was already on the screen and he was just giving you the courtesy of arriving at it yourself.
“Why?” you asked flatly.
“Just humor me. Tell me.”
You told him and he had no reaction, and that was how you knew. Robby’s face had gone completely neutral.
“Okay,” he said, setting the tablet down. “Your labs came back. Everything’s—the anemia’s mild. That’s the lightheadedness and not-eating. We’ll sort that out.” He paused, took a breath in, and the cold thing that had gone through you on the floor came back and sat down in your chest and stayed. “Your hCG’s elevated.”
You felt your body run cold then.
“That’s the pregnancy hormone,” he said gently. He was a teacher before anything, and that reflex was still on, even with you.
“I know what hCG is, Robby,” you said, the words coming out sharp, voice cracking the last word in half. You saw him nod sharply as he decided to ignore it. “I—I know what it is.”
“It’s early,” he said. “Numbers are consistent with early, which means you’ve got time. That’s what I’m saying. You’ve got time to think about whatever you need to think about.” He was being so careful. “I didn’t put it into anything yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”
Early. You’ve got time.
He picked the tablet up—done being a doctor about it now, the official part handled—and leaned a hip against the counter, and his voice changed, going off-duty.
“Hey,” he said. “Congratulations.”
You nodded, your mind already distant.
“You gonna tell Jack?”
Your mind sharpened. For a second, you genuinely didn’t understand the sentence. Your brain refused it wholly, turned it over to look for the trick. There was no way Robby knew—there was no way anybody knew—because you’d been so careful, the whole thing happened in the dark precisely so it wouldn’t seep into the light, so nobody could say a sentence like that. Your stomach dropped through the gurney.
“Huh?”
Robby looked at you, then shrugged. “I just figured, because you two still talk. He’d want to know. Big life thing.” Then, he added softer, misreading your face completely, “I guess it’s really over between the two of you then?”
You felt your breath hitch in your throat. That was what people would think when it got out, that the door has finally shut. They’d think you were getting clear, a baby with somebody new means the Jack-of-it-all was finally done, mercifully done. That you’d moved on and met someone, that you were building a thing past the divorce you survived. This was supposed to be proof of it. The sad civilized arrangement nobody named, ended at last by a life you were starting without him.
Robby had it exactly backwards and he had no way to know it. It was the furthest thing from over. It was likely the most permanent thing that had ever happened to you, and it had Jack’s name and only Jack’s name. The thing Robby believed to be your way out was the thing that could mean there’d never be a way out. Not anymore, if you chose to have this child. Not ever. You’d be tied to Jack Abbot. A year and a half of getting clear by inches.
You realized Robby was still standing there and that he’d asked you something. He was waiting for an answer you didn’t have the throat for.
“Can you give me a minute?” Your voice came out hoarse. “Just—a minute. Please. And don’t put it into anything yet. Just—don’t let anyone know.”
Robby nodded, probably thinking you needed a beat to let the good news settle, to feel something private and large before the world got its hands on it. “Course. I’ll hold the room, keep people out. Take your time.”
His hand found your shoulder on the way past, squeezing, and then the curtain rings scraped along the rod and he was gone.
It all came up at once, fast and without warning. Your hand was flat on the edge of the gurney and you watched it shake, and you made it stop. You could always make your hands stop. What you couldn’t do was make the rest of it stop. The rest of it was the thought you wouldn't think of, thinking itself anyway, and the worst part was the voice it came in, your own, flat, professional, the one you used to walk a frightened patient through their options without ever letting it shake. You could end it. It's early. Numbers consistent with early. You knew exactly how early early was. You knew the window, the way you knew the shelf life of a unit of platelets down to the day. You knew how clean it was, how legal, how completely nobody's business but your own. There was a door. Right now, there was still a door.
There was a door. There was, right now, still a door; it was the realest door, the one that actually led all the way out that would let you walk back into the life where you got clear of Jack Abbot for good and never had to share a child or a custody calendar or a name with him. He would give you Kevin, you knew that. Over would mean over, for good, where in five years you’d be a woman the hospital remembered being married once, to the ER’s night shift attending, you know the one.
You could take that door. It was yours to take. Nobody even had to know.
You sat in the small bright room and made yourself look directly at the door and waited to feel the relief of it, yet it didn’t come. What came instead, rising up under the grief like a second tide, worse than the first, was a thing you had no word for and no right to and could not, would not, look at straight on, was that it was Jack’s.
You wished you could see it as a curse, and somewhere in the last thirty seconds it had turned over in you and come up as something else; a small, traitorous, and warm thing. It was the exact warmth that had locked your ankles around him, the same warmth that had opened the door for him every night. A piece of him you could get to keep, that no amount of divorce could put back in its box. The one version of forever you two were going to get. And a part of you, a part you despised with everything you had, wanted it. More than the baby in the abstract. His, specifically and unforgivably.
You put your hand over your mouth as you felt it all come up, and you cried—the real way, the way you hadn’t since the lawyer’s office. You cried a cry that came up from the root and shook you apart, alone, in a place where you worked, with only a curtain covering you.
You couldn’t have heard the shift change happen on the other side of the curtain. The hospital had kept turning around your little curtained box, that somewhere out there it had ticked over into evening and the day people were handing the floor to the night people. You hadn’t heard any of it.
You hadn’t heard Dana catch him at the board, and she would have—you know she would have tried—put a hand flat on his chest the second she saw which way he was moving. You only heard the curtain rings scrape against the rod.
You looked up—ruined, mid-breath, your hand still pressed over your own mouth with your face holding an expression no one had ever seen you do. And there was Jack with one hand still fisted in the curtain he'd thrown back, stopped dead in the gap of it.
He’d come in braced, almost with the same register he came in when there was a level 1 trauma, except this one was a case of lightheadedness. His sleeves were shoved to his elbow, jaw already set, and he’d walked in expecting to find blood or something else equal to that, a thing he’d be able to clean up and fix. He had a hand half-raised for it, and it stayed there, hovering, for it had nothing to fix.
You knew his face better than your own; there’d never once been a thing he could’ve kept from you, not even when it felt like he was hardly your husband, especially then. You watched the readiness dissipate off of Jack’s face, watched the doctor leave him by degrees until what was left standing was just Jack.
Just Jack had no protocol for this; there was nothing he’d been taught to do with his face when you were crying because you didn’t cry.
He of all people knew so. He’d sat at a conference table with you while a mediator clicked a pen and you signed your name with a hand that was too steady. He’d carried his own boxes down to the truck while you watched from the upstairs window, dry-eyed, because tears would have made it all real and you refused—out of spite, out of the last thing you had—to make it real where he could see.
His mouth opened, and his throat worked around words, any word. When he finally spoke, it was just your name, and it came out cracked down the middle, like a plea and a prayer.
He had no idea. It made you sob slightly louder than you would’ve liked, the realization that he was standing there gutted with fear for you, scared past the edge of himself, and he did not know. Jack could not have known that he was the answer, that you were the answer. If he’d asked you what had happened, the whole truth would have been his name and your own; it would have been the thing you’d done together in the dark a couple dozen times and called nothing.
“I hate you,” you said, because the only thing you’d been capable of doing was throwing up a wall, driving him out with your own two hands. And it didn’t work, because the words had come out between sobs, wet and wrong, the cruelty falling apart on the way out.
He didn’t argue it. He never argued the ones he thought were true. He just took it the same way he’d taken every other blow you’d ever landed, without ever lifting a hand to stop it, as though he’d decided a long time ago this was the least of what he had coming.
Still, something moved through him when the words hit, a flinch, a wince that started behind his eyes and pulled his whole face down with it.
He came the rest of the way to you anyway, and your hand came up between you—far from a hit, there was nothing left in your arm to make one, just the heel of your palm landing against his chest, more sob turned outward than strike. It pushed against nothing. Jack didn’t even rock with it. And then your fingers were curling into the fabric over his sternum instead, gripping when you’d wanted to shove, the same failure of your hands as two weeks ago; pushing him away and hauling him in, your body unable to decide which.
“You—” Another blow, glancing off his chest. “Why did we have—”
“Okay.” He let you continue, letting the first ones land, face stricken and bewildered as he absorbed the blows for a crime he couldn’t name. “Okay. Okay, hey—”
You drew back, and when your hand closed in again, his own came up and closed around your wrist. You could’ve pulled free—he’d left you room for it—but you let him keep holding it there against his chest where you’d been striking him.
“What happened,” he said, words coming out quietly, not even a question. “Whatever it is. Talk to me. What happened?”
He started to move into you, closing the space between you by inches, his other hand coming up to your face, your shoulder, somewhere, anywhere, his whole self trying to fold into your orbit the way it always had. “Just tell me,” he said, closer now, voice dropped lower, into a register it stayed it when it was only the two of you. “Let me—”
“No.” You twisted your wrist in his hand and turned your face away from the one coming toward it. “You can’t just—I won’t let you—”
His forehead had dropped down to hover over your temple, the warmth of him crowding into every place you’d been trying to wall off. “I’m not. I’m not doing anything. I’m just here—let me be here.”
Here. He’d said the word so softly, with so much surety, like it was a small thing to ask, like it had been a place he’d ever once been. The wall you'd been holding with both hands didn't come down so much as it went out from under you, the way the floor had two weeks ago, all at once and without your permission.
You stopped twisting away. You felt him feel the fight going out of your wrist under his fingers and felt the new alertness move through him.
“You want to be here,” you said into his chest, where your fists were still knotted in his shirt, the words coming out muffled aimed at the fabric. Then, through a disbelieving laugh devoid of any humor, you said, “You want to be here?”
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Yeah. I’m here.”
“Fucking—” The laugh that tore out of you was anything but one. “Congratulations, then.” Your forehead pressed down hard against his sternum, your eyes squeezed shut, because you couldn’t say it and knew you were going to anyway. At least you wouldn’t have to watch. “Fuck—You’re gonna be a father.”
Everything that had been moving stopped all at once; the hand at your jaw, the thumb that had been working slow along your wrist, the whole restless warmth of him trying to fold into you went motionless. For a second, he didn’t even breathe.
You forced yourself to look up. You wanted, somewhere mean and small and ten years old, to see it touch Jack. You wanted to finally watch something get all the way through.
You got it, and it was worse than you’d let yourself imagine.
The first thing that fell of was the part that told you he was ready to fix this, fix you. It fell clean off, his brows furrowing in worry, a tell that looked too tiny for something this large.
For a second—less than that, before he could pull the reins on it—something that had no business being there moved under the fear. You knew it because you’d felt the exact same thing only a few minutes ago, alone, the warm traitorous thing rising up under the grief. It was there, on his face—unguarded, naked, wanting—and you watched him catch it. You watched his whole face wilt as he understood, in real time, that he wasn't allowed to feel it, that the wanting was obscene standing next to your wreckage, and you watched him put it away. He got it back behind the wall fast, the way he got everything back behind the wall.
Only his hands gave him up. The one at your jaw had started to shake.
He let out a choked sound, like he was trying to lift the words out of his chest but they kept getting stuck halfway.
“You’re—” He stopped himself and swallowed, not being able to get the back half of a sentence out of his own throat. “We’re—?”
“Yeah.”
His fingers around your wrist pulled it closer to his chest, as if he could press it through his body and into wherever the words wouldn’t come from.
“Let me—” he said, and stopped. Every possible word was too big to get a mouth around. “Just—let me.” His forehead came down against yours, and his eyes shut, and you felt the whole of him shaking now, not just the hand. “Please.”
Tags: Black reader-based (anyone can read!!), feminine reader, nickname usage, no use of y/n, social media, established relationship (slight age gap! 45-year-old Jack, 35-year-old Reader), date night, sweet banter, non-accurate medical care, allergic reaction!, anaphylaxis, healthcare scare.
Word Count: 2.5K
Summary: The 2 times Jack saves you from dangerous situations!
1. That damn BMW
The apartment you and Jack shared was in disarray as you got ready for a date. Your shared closet was open with multiple hangers left bare as you tried on clothes left and right. You did mean to put them back, but you honestly forgot about the mess left on the bed and focused on the one you left in the bathroom.
On the shared countertop, there were many liquids and powders left open that you were currently cleaning up. From the bedroom, you heard a small gasp, “Baby, did the Tasmanian devil run through here?” he called from the bedroom.
“I know, sorry, I’m cleaning it up,” You responded with a clattering of all of your products going back into their respective spaces. I swear.” Yes, you left a mess, but you needed your things to be in the same place as before.
A chuckle came from the door as he walked in. Jack’s face had its usual small scowl because of the dress code. He’d have to wear slacks instead of his typical sweatpants (That he totally HATED!). He’d want his partner to be happy, so he’d have to compromise. Tonight, he looked even more handsome than usual. Maybe it was his tight-fitting shirt or his hair, but you push down your unholy thoughts with an internal groan.
Jack’s arms wrap around your waist as you pull out a few stray pieces of your hair. Beautiful boho braids that have not yet begun to tangle up (thank god for that). You smile as you feel his heavy stare on you. “Something you wanna say to me?” you joke, pushing back against him.
He hums, “You look so beautiful, baby.” You begin to feel his lips kiss behind your ear, making you gasp out a yelp. Jack continues to pepper kisses all over the back of your neck. “Thank you, my love, you look handsome as always.” You peel off his hands to turn around to him. Jack was able to take you in fully, noticing your outfit, a casual dress top paired with sleek boot-cut pants. The shirt’s pattern paired with your gold accessories looked incredible on you.
Robby made fun of the way Jack looked at you. In his words, he described it as ‘Jack hunting his prey’. You didn’t understand it until you paid attention to the way he looked at you, like he was yearning for something… you.
You felt his hands trail up your back and all the way to your face. His thick fingers caressed your bottom lip. “Thank you, baby.” Jack’s eyes linger all over your body, mainly your lips, his favorite feature on you. He couldn't stop kissing you. Jack leaned in for a kiss, his warm lips met your glossed ones. Both your lips moved in sync; his head moved to the side, continuing his mission to devour you.
Your hands wrapped around his neck, trying to move your body even closer to his, which was impossible. Jack breaks apart the kiss to catch his breath and take a good look at you. You looked back, feeling a bit dazed by the passionate kiss. Not letting go of you, he begins to kiss your neck. His lips caught the scent of the perfume you were wearing. He pauses to breathe in your scent. “We have to go before I take you here.” Jack’s voice came out desperate as he continued kissing your moisturized neck.
“Alright, let’s go.” You nodded, feeling his prickly beard on your neck.
—
The drive to the restaurant was short, no more than 30 minutes to get there. Jack’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, as always.
Your date had been going on well, the food was delicious, and no one had called either of your phones. It was finally a date where both of you could be present, something you’d both been wanting for a long time. The subtle peace.
Instead of going back home, you both decided to get some ice cream from a shop a few blocks away. Jack, being the most gentlemanly of them all, offered you his jacket. It wasn’t cold per se, but he noticed the trail of goosebumps formed on your skin. You walked alongside each other as he held your purse, looking funny as a black purse hung over his arm. As you both walked down the street, his fingers slowly circled your knuckle. His warm hands differ from your deathly frigid ones.
“Do you think that couple next to us is still fighting?” You asked, turning to look at your boyfriend. He nods, “Definitely, I’d bet they’re fighting on the way back home. There was an older couple who sat next to you two, arguing the whole time you visited the restaurant. You couldn’t complain at all. Dinner and a movie.
As you both stopped at a crosswalk, waiting to get across the street, you looked up at the traffic light. “What kind of ice cream are you gonna get?”
Jack tsked “Hmm, maybe vanilla.” You rolled your eyes. “Jack, please tell me you're joking.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “What?”
The traffic light turned from yellow to red, and you both began to cross. “You have over 25 options of ice cream, but you choose vanilla?” You made sure disgust traveled into the word vanilla. Your booted shoes clacked with gravel along the street.
Jack looked at you with confusion. “What’s wrong with vanilla? You are basically eating the same thing when you get cookie dough.”
“Still!” you playfully argue back, “It had additions to it, the cookie dough and the little chocolate pieces.”
Before you hear Jack’s response, you're harshly pulled to the other side of the street. Jack's quick instincts pull your arm. The only sound heard was an ear-piercing screech of tires. You turn around to see the car that almost hit you both. A black-tinted BMW honks and speeds off, feeling as if it’s in the right. Leaving the burning rubber smell lingering in the street as you collect yourself, “Fucking idiot!” You scream out, trying to read the license plate, but the car is way out of eyesight. A few people walking look at you, confused about the commotion.
“Are you okay?” Jack brings you back on the sidewalk. “Did I hurt you?” his voice is concerned as he examines you, doctor mode on. You nod, “I’m fine; are you okay?” matching his same amount of worry. “I’m fine. Are you sure you're good?” His fingers lightly grazed your arm and hand. “I feel like I pulled your arm out of place.”
You shook your head, “No, no, I’m good.” His worry settles only a bit, feeling a bit guilty for pulling you so hard. You notice and rub your finger along his tensed jaw. “Jack, I promise I’m good.” You peck his lips and leave another kiss on his cheek. “C’mon, let’s get some ice cream.” He stood frozen for a few seconds before grabbing your lonely hand.
Jack feels the comforting circles you are now doing on his hand. “Fine,” a long sigh coming from his mouth. You gave his hand a tight squeeze.
2. Maybe no pistachios
A physician's gala is not where you’d think you end up on a Friday night. Were you a physician? No, but you still would come and support your boyfriend. Robby and Jack were in attendance to represent PTMC. Shen was on the night shift (winning a rock-paper-scissors match between Jack, who had to attend). “Lucky bastard” is all the words Jack had for the younger attendant.
Sure, Jack invited you as your plus one, but the real reason was the food. The organization made sure to cater the best food, and you were going to take advantage of it. There were so many types of pasta, charcuterie meats, endless bread options, and your favorite. The dessert table!
You had spent most of the night grabbing new dishes for you and Jack to try (mostly desserts). A rich chocolate mousse, a creamy tiramisu, and a fudgy brownie. You were in heaven. There was so much more to try, including the delectable raspberry cake that looked delicious under the lighting.
You sat in the middle of Robby and Jack, who were doing their gossiping rounds as different physicians joined the stage. “Didn’t he cheat on his wife with a nurse at his hospital?” Robby looked to Jack as they clapped. “Shit, you’re right.” Jack choked out a laugh.
“You guys are so messy.” You cackle at the pair of best friends. They both turn to you, confused: “Messy is what you're calling it?” Robby questioned, shaking his head, “I say it’s telling the truth.” The older man shrugged, taking a long sip of his drink.
“Ya’ll are messy boots.”
It’s now Jack’s turn to side-eye you. “Here she goes with her lingo.” Robby almost chokes on his drink, turning to the side to compose himself. “Messy boots? I don’t think I’ve heard of that.”
“I bet,” You smirk, looking at both men.
The night continues with more awards and much more food to indulge in. Finally, you got the raspberry cake you’d been wanting. You use your fork to scoop a piece of cake, and your hand under it to catch any crumbs. Your fork falls in front of Jack’s lips. “Try, please”.
Jack opens his mouth, inviting the fork inside. He chews a bit, nodding as he does. “Pretty good, baby.” Robby begins to fake a gag at you, “You wanna feed me to?”
“Sure,” You tease him back, pushing his shoulder. The ceremony continues as you enjoy the spongy cake. Even giving Jack a few more bites of the cake.
There was this stinging feeling that was beginning to form in your throat. You tried to wash it down with a sip of water, but that did not help. Your hand reached for your throat, trying to take in more air, but a retraction in your chest restricted it.
“You okay?” Jack's hand runs along your back. His fingers feel the sweat forming on the lower half of your back. “Baby, you okay?” His voice goes in and out as you try to speak. Robby looks over in concern, seeing you begin to take ragged breaths.
“Jack,” Your voice is weak from the lack of air. “I think I’m allergic to something.” Beads of sweat begin to form at your hairline. It had to be the few pistachios in the cake. You’d had raspberries dozens of times before.
You tried to calm yourself, but it’s incredibly hard to relax when your throat is actively closing.
“Shit! Robby, she’s going into anaphylaxis!” Jack’s voice echoed through the room. Turning all heads to their table. All personnel rushed over, someone carrying an EpiPen, handing it to Jack. Multiple people called 911, explaining the allergic reaction, while he rolled up your dress to access an injection point.
Robby performed a visual assessment, noticing your worsening condition as you attempted to inhale. Your throat felt as if a snake had wrapped around it. “Holy shit, this sucks.” You attempt to laugh, but it turns into a coughing fit. “Alright, jokester.” Robby smiled, holding your thigh in place. You begin to tremble.
“Alright, hold still.” Jack removed the safety cap from the EpiPen. “I have to inject this into your thigh, alright?” You hummed, closing your eyes tightly. You hiss at the sharp aching pain of the needle as epinephrine is injected into your thigh. “You’re doing great.” Jack tries to bring you comfort with a small rub against your other thigh. You open your eyes to see the needle still in your thigh, you all hear a clicking sound, and Jack holds in there for a second. Robby feels your neck for your pulse, a bit weak. You grew increasingly tired, your eyelids feeling even heavier.
“She has a weak pulse,” Robby whispered to Jack, not wanting to freak you out. Jack curses, hoping the ambulance is close. You sigh in relief, feeling as the needle leave your thigh. Jack massages the injection site. “Give it a few seconds to kick in.” You nod, closing your eyes.
You feel your body fall back and a bunch of voices gasp, before you fade into the darkness. You think you remember Jack calling your name, but your brain felt too fuzzy. You needed to sleep.
*****
You awake to the brightest lights ever. You groan, covering your eyes, trying to get familiar with the room. With squinted eyes, you look around the hospital room to see Jack sleeping uncomfortably in those plastic chairs. He had what looked to be an empty cup in his hand, about to fall out of his hands.
“Jack,” your voice hoarse, you clear your throat, trying to sound more like yourself. He almost immediately awakes, hearing his name. Placing the cup on the side of him, he groans, " You’re up? " and leaves the uncomfortable hospital chair. His posture is a bit tilted as he tries to hide his pain while walking over to you.
He sits on the bed, caressing your cheeks, that returned to their original hue. In Jack’s eyes, he couldn’t stand the sight of you not being able to breathe. It was terrifying to watch his partner turn into his patient; he never wanted it to happen again.
Jack leans into place, pecks along your temple. “You need to rest. I can see you're hurting.” You say as his hand caresses your face. He ignores your comment, bringing you into a hug. “Baby, I was so scared,” he whispered. You felt his body tremble in your arms. Jack was crying.
Holding him in this emotional state caused you to begin to cry as well. “I’m sorry, I had no idea I was allergic.” You rub his back, which was just a white button-up. His jacket was abandoned on the chair.
Jack began to mumble something that you couldn’t make out, “What did you say?” He pulls away, his warm hands holding your face. “You had no idea; don’t apologize.” he wipes the tears forming at your eyes, and you do the same to him. He lets out a hearty chuckle, “I hated seeing you like that.” He pauses his tears to look into your eyes, “I was so fucking scared.”
You nod in understanding. Imagining Jack in your shoes would have you pettried as well. Jack continued wiping your tears. “I love you so much.” His words were broken as another wave of emotions came through him.
“I love you so much, Jack,” you said, sounding the same as him. Jack nodded as he engulfed you in another hug, needing to make sure this wasn’t a dream. He was afraid he’d wake up, and you would be there. You accepted, and needed physical contact after this.
You both sat there holding each other for a while. Jack got your gown a bit drenched in his tears, and you were the same. He’d whisper sweet nothings each time he kissed somewhere along your neck or grazed your lips.
To break the silence, you joke, “I have my very own tomato,” which causes a laugh from Jack. The tomato was his face, which was red from all the crying.
Jack sniffles as he accepts his role as your “tomato” before pulling you into a heartwarming kiss.
You’d been grateful enough to be around doctors tonight.
✧ synopsis: you spent most ot your life convinced that your over independence and unapologetic personality were just means to protect yourself. then suguru geto came along, tore down your walls, and made you fall hopelessly in love with him. but what happens when you discover that his devotion was nothing but a paid assignment?
✧ pairing: patrick verona! suguru geto x kat stratford! reader
✧ warnings: college setting, alt! suguru, gojo's here too, yuki is our sister, slowburn, pining, falling in love, he's down bad, drinking, parties, first kiss, regret, hurt/no confort, angst, complicated feelings, heartbreak, possesive! sugu, ex! choso, fluff. smut, solo mastubation!m->and he's so pathetic abt it!, suguru has piercings, making out, panty sucking, oral f! rec, hair pulling (suguru rec.), dry humping, unprotected piv, pussydrunk! sugu, aftercare + confessions. WC: 13.4k
✧ a/n: currently sucking my wifes toes for letting me be a part of her romcom event @uzugeto <3 and also thank you for reading through this. based on the movie "10 things i hate about you". 《 fanart by @chu-cho | divider by qtdecor 》
life was easy for a mysterious social reject like suguru geto.
famous around campus for being 'the worst of the worst', his reputation preceded him—people usually steering clear of him in hopes of not being set on fire like he'd been rumored to have done before… or just get eaten alive like that one duck a few months ago.
which, of course, are things only morons would believe; but thankfully, there were plenty of those at the university he was attending—plus, it helped keep up his 'unapproachable bad guy' persona—and there's probably nothing that geto hates more than superficial, incompetent people.
…with the exception of his friend, satoru gojo.
beneath all the money and dashing good looks that sorority girls and modeling agencies would line up for, satoru was nothing but a walking headache for geto; a cocky, self-centered, sometimes-fun-to-be-around headache.
that's exactly what awaited him behind the class doors he so-fashionably opened just a few minutes before the period would start.
you, on the other hand, have already been busy reading whatever anti-patriarchal book had currently caught your attention—because let's be honest, professor yaga's class is not all that interesting most of the time, so you might as well put your free time to better use.
comfortably sitting in 3rd row, legs stretched under the desk while flipping through the pages, you were almost unaware of whoever entered the class or walked by you—just as you intended; music blasting all too loudly in your earbuds for you to hear much.
not that there was much to be heard when suguru geto walked in. stealthy as a cat yet still managing to catch the gazes of a few people with the corners of their eyes as he sat in the desks at the very back.
MCR and linkdin park pins rattled as suguru threw his backpack onto the ground, earning a prying look from gojo, who was sitting next to him.
"you still a loser?" he quipped, elbows perched on the desk and smile bright as always.
"you still an asshole?" suguru shot back, leaning back into his chair and manspreading like he owned the place. typical.
"ouch. that depends. you interested in some fun?" satoru raised a brow.
"how fun?" —in gojo terms, speaking. their ideas of "fun" did not always align.
"that fun," satoru pointed towards you, who apparently, had the same stone-cold face you've always had on, rammed into your book as if socialising with the lower life forms around would kill you.
suguru was not that much of a loser to be getting no play. he managed. but at no point was he desperate or miserable enough to be okay with complicating his life with you.
"that's not fun, even for me," he replied, face twisting into a grimace.
"not even if i provide generous compensation?" satoru shot a hopeful charming grin
he huffed a laugh, "how generous?"
"how do fifty bucks sound?"
suguru shot you a look—only to see you smack your book against some poor soul's head. you may be pretty, but looks weren't enough to cut it. only glancing back at satoru was enough to let him read his thoughts.
"fineee, sixty." he whined. "take her somewhere. who knows? two negatives make a positive—she might be a match for your reclusive self."
nerd.
"what's in it for you, anyway?" he raised an eyebrow, glaring. satoru would rarely share any of his hook-ups (not that suguru would want any of them), much less pay him to get some play.
satoru sighed, leaning in. "i wanna make a move on her sister, yuki, but she can't date until she does." who knew getting some pussy would be so much trouble these days?
"so what?" suguru snorted, "you want me to play chaperone? keep her from getting a felony charge?"
"and hopefully you not getting any charges either, but that's besides the point—take her on a date, do something nice, help a guy out,"
the appeal was barely there.
just as professor yaga had entered the class, he gave you another look, feeling the last shreds of his dignity slip away. you had abandoned your earbuds on the desk, now (miserably) paying attention to your surroundings.
how bad could it be?
"a hundred." he sighed, sealing his fate.
"deal," satoru grinned, voice low, not to draw attention in the subsiding class.
suguru didn't know you that well—not that he's ever even felt a pull to do so either, but he's heard enough to form an idea in mind. you were a loner. intensionally so. you'd either be seen hanging out with your friend, utahime, or cursing out whoever was unfortunate enough to cross your path at the wrong minute—though you've always sworn they'd deserve it. least to say you were… opinionated.
but that wasn't gonna make suguru back out. he liked a good challenge—whether that be occasionally violating college rules and dodging expulsion, or going on a date with a certified man hater.
he'll make it work.
suguru had until the end of class to come up with something to swipe you off your feet. but honestly? he's got nothing, and it seems like resorting to his wits and charms might be the only hope right now—which usually, was enough for most girls to succumb to.
after gathering up his things and shoving the money in his back pocket, he wasted no time before following your trail as you walked out of the classroom through the sea of people.
"hey there, pretty girl," suguru tapped your shoulder, raven bangs waving in the air as he put on his most charming face.
unfortunately though, he was hit with an immediate glare.
"how was class?"
"pretty peaceful, until you decided to disrupt it," you gave him a faux smile, not bothering to look in his direction for more than two seconds.
"…talk about a touching first impression," suguru teased, walking to match your pace, "consider me intrigued."
"my mission in life," tsk. who even is this guy? "but obviously, i struck your fancy. so you see, it worked."
"pick you up on friday then?"
"oh right. friday, uh-huh," you snorted, quickening your stride. points for dedication, you thought—but you had better places to be rather than his company.
"what if i promise to take you places you've never seen before?" suguru asked, voice perfectly smooth and concealing how you're probably stepping on his ego.
"like where? your fathers garage? i'm good, thank you."
"i was actually thinki—"
"get lost, weirdo."
this was gonna be a little more difficult than he thought.
but, suguru was not one to give up so easily, and for the next week, he'd accidentally bumped into you more times than either of you could count. after your classes—he was right there to help you carry your backpack, even after you'd insist you didn't need any assistance. at the library? suguru seemed to take a liking to the same feminist novels you've been reading; you just have so much in common, right!?
well, you weren't exactly on the same page regarding this subject… but it's a good thing he's a dedicated man.
next stop? the music store.
it was a good day today. it really was. you and your sister got along, nobody seemed to make it their lifes goal to annoy you, and you managed to stop at the store and grab a few guitar picks and a cd of your favourite band's newest single.
but, of course, all of that just had to come to an end the moment you've seen none other than suguru geto lean against your car like an asshole.
"nice ride," he called out, snake bites piercings glinting in the soft light of the afternoon sun.
he cannot be for real.
"are you following me?" you spat.
"just passing by and saw your car. thought i'd say hi," geto clarified, watching you roll your eyes and simply walk past him. tch. dramatic.
"hi." you deadpanned, reaching for your door handle just as he slid sideways against your car, blocking your way and not letting you get in.
"not a big talker are you?" he pushed. deal or not, you've caught his eye.
"depends on the topic. your freaky piercings and 'can't take a hint' personality don't really whip me into a verbal frenzy."
geto tilted his head, pretending to get a better look at you, "you're not intimidated, are you?" he purred, the grin on his lips so begulling it almost convinced you—though, mostly, you just felt repelled.
"why would i be intimidated?" you snorted.
"most people are," he shrugged. truthfully so, geto wasn't known for having the most inviting personality—you just happened to be an indifferent hag about it.
"well i'm not."
"maybe. but i'm sure you've thought about me naked," he grinned, fox eyes trailing your features.
…and there goes the final ace up his sleeve.
"am i that transparent?" you asked, words glazed in irony, "oh, geto! i want you, i need you! please, take me to those bedsheets you probably haven't changed in two months!"
getos face has progressively dropped more with each sound coming out of your mouth which seemed to be enough for him to finally get out of your way and let you inside the car.
sigh.
right when you were about to get moving, another car pulled up behind you, not even bothering to park. mercedes' newest model in an obnoxious blue, and an even more obnoxious driver—satoru gojo.
he trotted his way out, abandoning his car halfway on the street and shooting geto a confident wink—most likely believing his previous investments are paying off. right… so, about that…
"do you mind?" you yelled in gojo's direction, hinting oh-so-sweetly to move his car the fuck out of the way.
"not at all," he replied smugly.
"fuck!" the scream he let out could've probably been heard from three blocks away when you carelessly reversed, hitting your bumper straight into his shiny, expensive car door and putting a wide smile on both yours and getos faces.
"whoops," you pouted.
and with that, you were on your way home. back to the comfort of your small apartment, which you've personalised and decorated so it truly felt like you.
so you put on some music, grabbed one of the countless sylvia plath books on your shelves and threw yourself onto the couch in hopes of having some well deserved moments of relaxation.
you should be in your element.
so why are you thinking about him?
☆
geto was positive you were some type of witch.
there was no other explanation for the way you pulled him under your spell.
at this point, he had to convince himself he was still doing it for the money. mentally clinging to that fading excuse every time he'd follow your trail just so he could collect more information and tips on how to get through to that stone-cold heart of yours.
he had to push aside the fact that he felt like a loser and actually do something about it; but it's like every time he comes near you, his charm and charisma evaporate into thin air.
suguru had to get in close if he truly wanted progress.
so that's how he ended up stopping your sister, yuki, after classes.
just at first glance, he could tell where most of your amiability probably went. smiling brightly and warmly, your sister walked by him after he'd discreetly dragged her to a less populated area of the campus. he couldn't risk anyone knowing his master plan just yet.
"sooo, why am i here exactly?" she asked him, her bubbly voice cutting through the momentary silence.
"you are here to help me get some insight of your sister's twisted mind," geto muttered, lighting the cigarette that parted his lips.
yuki laughed, studying his face for any indication that he's just joking, waiting for him to crack. it just seemed that unbelievable that someone might be interested in you. "wait—you're actually serious?"
unfortunately.
"please don't make it into a big deal…" getos eyebrows knitted upwards. just the thought of you finding out he came to ask your sister about you was enough to make shivers of regret creep up his neck.
"oh my god! i really thought she'd die alone!" she exclaimed; a sparce, uncomfortable silence following right after.
"'m not making any promises yet…" the thick, awkward tension that saturated the air seemed to target geto alone.
"okay, first off—she's not a fan of these…" yuki spoke, plucking the half-burnt cigarette from geto's hand and throwing it on the ground.
his face soured at the sight of the smushed tobacco, "so i have to be a 'non-smoker'…?"
"yup."
geto could only pout at her response.
"so… what does she like?" even if he was going to commit to the role fully, starting with the negatives has already lost him a point. "what's she into?"
"well, she likes pretty guys," yuki giggled lighthartedly, "so good luck with that!" geto scoffed mentally; the frown on his face able to be seen from a mile away, along with the disbelief painted on his expression. was he not pretty?
"buuut, if you really want to know, she likes thai food and listens a lot to that indie—angry girl music, or whatever it's called," yuki explained. "oh, and she's really into those feminist prose books she always carries around."
geto evaluated all the information, making sure to take a mental note of each thing. "so, what; i'm just supposed to buy her some noodles, a book, sit around and listen to girls who can't play their instruments?"
seems easy enough, he thought.
"have you ever been to club skunk?" yuki asked, "her favourite band plays there tomorrow, she's got tickets!"
geto defensively crossed his arms, his gaze briskly drifting in the distance as a couple of outcast memories flooded back from the depths of his mind. "no—no, i cant be there, alright?"
out of all places, did it really have to be the one where he drank until projectile vomiting all over the counters at eighteen?
"but don't you wanna see her?" yuki pressed, a scolding pout pushing out her bottom lip; although her real concern was her being able to date, rather than you.
"of course i do, i just—" geto muttered before cutting himself off. his mind reeled back to you, then back to his past experiences at the club; and lastly, to the money he's gotten for the sole reason of going out with you. lost in thought, the world around him seemed to fade for a moment before yuki snapped him out of it.
"…she's also got a pair of black panties if i'm not mistaken," she chirped with a devious smirk on her face, making getos eyes widen slightly.
was this a test? it felt like a test.
"very enticing, i'm sure," he narrowed his gaze before pulling back a step. "also—don't tell her i came to you, alright?"
"good luuck," yuki replied in a sing-song voice as she made her way off.
"thanks," geto nodded.
as soon as his head hit the pillow the coming night, geto knew he'll have a hard time falling asleep.
his intentions were fighting against the reality of the situation, one in which you didn't actually like him, in which he was paid to take you out. and the worst part of it? he couldn't stop thinking about it—about you.
staring at the ceiling for well past half an hour now, the only thing running through his mind was you—along with your unruly attitude and breathtaking smile. it was enough to bring geto to his knees.
his heart yearned to see you again, more than his mind would like to admit. he wondered what you were like when you were actually enjoying yourself for once, surrounded by people close to you—although, that thought made something stir within his chest.
a soft sigh escaped his pierced lips. he didn't want to acknowledge it, but the feeling was clawing from behind his ribs. he didn't want to see you with anybody else; smile at anyone but himself. in his eyes, you were meant for him alone.
geto felt that in his body and soul, the waves of realisation washing over, dragging him to the bottom and drowning him in the intoxicating essence of your mere memory.
his mind wandered, heedlessly picturing your smile—your lips, how they'd feel pressed against his cheek, drawing lower down his neck. how would you react if you saw him right now? would you be surprised? fuck… would call him pathetic?
the mattress beneath his toned body felt softer all of a sudden, as if hugging his frame; though it couldn't be a match to how delicate your touch would be, geto was sure of that.
too lost in the vastness of his imagination, the tent in his loosened sweatpants was only growing, along with the pressure in his bare abs. heat dripped off his body, his tan skin searing hot while thinking of you.
"don't… don't wanna do this, fuck—" geto squirmed under his breath, amethyst eyes squeezed shut. you'd hate him if you knew what was going through his mind right now, but it only made his cock harder.
frustration bubbled in his chest, a satin sheen of sweat coating his forehead as he dragged his hand over the growing bulge. geto couldn't help the groan that escaped him, his cock far too hard and sensitive under his veiled touch.
"i'm sorry, i need it…" he slurred, slipping his fingers under the fabric and curling them around his throbbing length. he imagined you sitting before him, right between his muscular thighs. geto heard your voice in his head, guiding him, guiding his movements as he began stroking his swollen cock.
"mmphh," he moaned at the slight relief, lips pressed together. his grip was firm and messy as it dragged back and forth around his length, using the ample amount of glossy precum as lubricant. the roughness of his hand squeezed and twisted with every pump, putting extra care over his reddened tip, just like he thought you would.
getos thick, silver rings felt cool pressed against his veiny shaft, making each motion feel more intense. his free hand gripped into the sheets beneath him, fingers curling into the soft material when the pleasure would rise above his ability to control himself.
his chest was heaving already, too absorbed in the moment not to rush. his need for release took over, and the pace of his hand increased, strong hips beginning to match the messy strokes until tears gathered up at his lashline, making the soft black eyeliner smudge around his violet eyes.
"oh god, fuck—fuck, i'm gonna—" geto whimpered, voice broken as his back arched against the mattress, "gonna—hngh—cum." he was breathless, desperately pumping his leaking cock until the warm, syrupy cum splattered onto his abs, coating his rings as the last spurts trickled down his tight fist.
he cleaned himself up, and once a few moments had passed and he'd regained control over his mind, the guilt following hit him like a train at full speed. how can something feel so good, yet leave such bittersweet traces behind?
geto could only groan into his pillow, letting the drowsiness seep into his bones and swallow his thoughts. he has one more shot tomorrow, right?
so much for 'good luck'.
☆
the hours passed by quickly until the evening finally came.
the quiet worry that crawled up his neck felt like a rugged caress in the back of his mind, reminding him of the unethical actions from the night before. geto couldn't let it show, though. not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders… or impress you, at best.
after putting out his final cigarette, geto walked into the sea of people waiting inside. the scent of sweat mixed with the various notes of perfume lingered in the air, along with the faint aroma of alcohol, everyone around either dancing or drunkenly lying with their head on the nearest flat surface.
the voices of the singers currently playing reminded him of a screeching owl getting run over by a car, if anything; the speakers probably loud enough to rupture his eardrums and make a small part of him regret he even came.
but, his purpose for being there snapped right back into focus once he spotted you in the littered crowd.
a soft smile spread on getos lips before he could think to stop it. you were dancing, movements flowing and carefree as you spun to the blasting rhythm with your arms up in the air. nothing in the entire space looked as striking and lively as you did while the coloured lights painted your skin. you looked beautiful.
his gaze flickered between you and the bar as he made his way to it. no more than a few minutes pass until he's sipping from the liquor filled glass in his hand, seemingly unbothered and nodding along to the music once he notices you swaying over just less five feet away from him.
"just a water, please," you spoke loud enough so the bartender could hear. looking over to your side as you waited, suguru geto was right there, with a grin so massive on his lips that not even the glass in his hand could mask as he covered his face.
"if you plan on asking me out again, best just get it over with," you scowled at him, rolling your eyes.
"oh, it's you," he glanced over, setting his beverage on the sticky wooden counter. "do you mind? you're kinda ruining the atmosphere for me," he tilted his head, though the corner of his lips was curling upwards.
your gaze narrowed, "how come you're not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke?"
"i quit," geto clarified, leaning in so you could hear him better over the music, "i've heard they're bad for you."
"oh, you think?" you snorted.
he took another sip of the alcohol before speaking, "you know, these guys 'the raincoats', they're not bad." now, that perked up your ears.
geto pushed himself off the chair before walking into the crowd, well aware you'd come after him after hearing him mention your favourite band.
"you know who the raincoats are?!" you yelled over the blaring noise, the disbelieving part of you wanting to ask him to name five songs.
"why, don't you?" geto smiled, pleased with your reaction. his eyes trailed down your figure, how the dress you chose hugged you just right, and how your smile seemed to light up your face.
"you know, i was watching you out there," he turned to face you, voice smooth but loud over the blasting music—even when it suddenly stopped, "i've never seen you look so sexy," he echoed throughout the quiet, chattering space, everyone around turning to look in your direction and breaking into laughter.
in that moment, though, your attention wasn't on them. it was on suguru, and how he didn't seem to be ashamed or even embarrassed for what he had said; the look on his face showed happiness, with a smile just as bright while he watched you laugh.
"come to chosos party with me," he offered, traces of warmth and longing in his tone.
another tune had started playing in the background, it was more subdued than the former, but loud enough to have to talk louder if you wanted to be heard. you glanced over to the band before speaking, the song was one of your favourites—and suguru picked up on that.
"you never give up, do you?" you smiled, and for once, the idea of spending time with him didn't seem so bad.
"w—was that a yes?" he raised his voice, curling one hand behind his ear pretending he couldn't hear you.
"no!" you laughed, stepping back into the moving crowd.
"well that wasn't a no!" suguru shot back, following you through the people.
"no!" you laughed again, heartly—looking back over your shoulder at him.
every step suguru took felt lighter somehow, like just being in your presence was enough to spark a flame in his chest. seeing you have fun and feel comfortable around him made it all seem like a dream he's had a hundred times beforehand.
he caught up with you, just like intended. what took you by surprise was the way he took your hand in his, pulling you in and spinning you around right when the peak of the song had started.
you gasped, the movement too quick for you to react—but it over before you knew it, and suguru caught you before he could feel the sharpness of your wits.
"dance with me," he leaned in, just enough for you to hear the purr in his voice, "lighten up, hmm?" he teased, quick to cut your protests short, and even quicker when he swept you off your feet, pulling you into the crowd and guiding your movements to his, matching the music's rhythm.
"let me go, you psycho!" your complaints were all but empty, broken between laughs, and blatantly ignored by suguru. his hands slipped from your shoulders all the way down to your hands, interlocking his fingers in yours before lifting them up into the air.
"not happening," he grinned, letting your movements flow in tandem.
the vast space of the club was basically crawling with people, dancing and moving from one place to another, the air heavy with smoke and heat—yet all you were aware of right now was eachothers presence, and how the subtle intimacy found its way through the fissures you let happen tonight.
sweat illuminated your faces as you continued swaying to the rhythm, fatigue slowly catching up to you and giving your cheeks a red hue.
"i'm tired!" you exclaimed, a smile still adorning your face even through the ache in your feet. thankfully, the song had ended before long after, and only then did suguru finally let go of your hands.
"come on, let's get you some water," suguru coaxed, waiting for you to step forward before following your trail, "or would you prefer i carry you all the way there?"
"something tells me you'd enjoy that more than me," you teased back.
once you sat down at the bar, the wicked voice in the back of your head encouraged you to favour a glass of cranberry vodka rather than some water. once your lips pressed to the cold rim, the sweetness soothed the stinging burn of the alcohol, leaving you with the slightest weightlessness in your limbs.
you glanced over to suguru, "that was maybe a little fun."
his elbows were perched on the wooden counter, a playful smile making its way onto his studded lips, "was that a compliment?"
"don't get used to it, geto," you snorted, taking another sip from your glass.
it felt weird but, you were starting to notice things you haven't before; like how his onyx hair seemed to fall so perfectly around his face, or how he fidgeted with his rings right before he was about to say something. it must've been the alcohol tainting your mind... but your heart has never felt so drawn to another person in a long time.
"i'll try my best," suguru grinned. his amethyst gaze caressed over your features, taking in every detail, every expression, as if it were a sight he'd be content with seeing forever and still not be enough. a soft knit formed in between his eyebrows as he glanced away for a moment, gathering his thoughts, almost afraid to overstep, "so…"
"so…" you sustained, waiting for him to continue.
"what's your excuse?" suguru asked, his voice low.
"for…?"
"for acting the way we do," he explained, studying you.
"i don't like to do what people expect…" you answered, "why should i live up to other people's expectations instead of my own?"
"so you disappoint them from the start, then you're covered, right?" suguru pushed, though he wasn't exactly wrong.
"something like that, i guess."
"well, then you screwed up," he said softly.
"how is that?"
"you've never disappointed me," suguru stated, without a trace of dishonesty in his tone.
his answer made you feel bare. after spending so long building up your walls, he's walked right past them in a way that didn't make you feel afraid of being seen.
the taste of alcohol lingered on your lips again, though the sweet aftertaste wasn't quite as strong as before. one glass turned into two, two turned into five… and that eventually led to a good time, until you were too drunk to stand up…
you hung onto suguru like a magnet as he helped you exit the bar, your mind far too fuzzy and your limbs too heavy to be doing any of it yourself.
"this 's so patronizing," you complained, eyes half lidded and barely able to see something that wasn't spinning.
"leave it to you to use big words when you're wasted," he groaned, basically dragging you up the steep hill leading to the park nearby.
"i don't think sooo," you chirped, sluggishly walking until you accidentally stumbled over air. suguru helped you up, his hands holding you from under the arms like a toddler, "why are you doing this, though? you don't care if i live or die," you mumbled dramatically.
"of course i do," he replied with a grin, setting you down on a swing.
"why?" he took your hands in his, "because then i'd have to take out girls who actually like me," he teased, eyes set on your wobbly figure.
"as if you could find one," you shot back, smirking as you leaned against the chain of the swing.
"see, that— who needs affection when i have blind hatred?" suguru chuckled.
"wait—just, let me sit down for a while," you mumbled, not really taking in his witty remarks. everything felt floaty, like you could fly away or sink into the ground at any moment.
you took a few deep breaths, letting the chilly air fill your lungs and ground you—and that's all it took for you to lose your balance and almost fall off the swing if suguru hadn't been there to catch you.
thanks to the alcohol, you could only laugh at the misfortunes of your own doing, suguru asking if you're okay going in one ear and out the other—of course you were!
he sat down on the swing next to yours, finally getting a moment to catch his breath. a part of him was glad he was here to take care of you, but the other felt guilty for how far he's let you go.
"you've had a good time… right?" he asked you softly.
"i… i—yeah…" you've gone quiet before being able to finish the sentence properly, your head lying against the chain while you slumped over with your mouth parted.
"nonono, hey—you have to wake up, okay? stay with me," suguru jumped, crouching down to be head-level with you while lightly slapping your face with the tips of his hands.
you've only been passed out for a couple of seconds before you woke up again. you were in a haze, starry eyes looking up and straight into sugurus as he held your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks—and for a moment, he could've sworn his knees got weak.
"your eyes have a little violet in them," you smiled, almost lost in the purple hues.
but, all good things come to an end, and sugurus warm smile was the last thing you saw before involuntarily hunching over and hurling your guts out.
"alright, that's good…" he frowned once you 'cooled off', pushing a few stray strands of hair out of your face, "you feel better now?"
"a little, i think," you sighed, "never drinking again."
"good," suguru huffed a laugh, reaching to take your hand, "i have some water in my car, let's get you home, okay?"
you groaned, linking your hand to his as you got up. the alcohols effect hadn't worn off completely, otherwise the embarrassment you would've normally felt would be a hundred times worse.
suguru's car was nicer than expected, a black, older model chevy, that was also surprisingly comfortable. the ride back to your apartment felt like a breath of fresh air after all of the chaos that has happened beforehand, quiet music playing through the radio.
"you wanna start a band?" he asked, gaze drifting between you and the road.
"no, i wanna sell car stereos," you scoffed, smiling, "yeah, start a band. i'd like that.
"mm, yeah, i can see you doing that," suguru agreed.
"oh, so now you know me?" you asked mockingly.
"i'm getting there…" he replied, looking over to you as he parked outside your home.
a moment passed before you answered, "the only thing people know about me is that i'm scary…" you spoke, voice somewhat quieter than usual—unsure, or maybe too aware.
"yeah… well i'm no picnic myself," suguru stated, matching your tone. the lampposts outside were the only source of light steeping though the window, making the rings on his fingers glimmer as he lay his hand atop the steering wheel.
you looked at him—really looked at him, past the harsh contrast of his exterior and what everyone deems him to be. you let yourself see the carefulness in his actions, the honesty in his voice; get lost in the warmth of his eyes.
"they don't know you, not the real you, anyway," he reassured.
"you're not as vile as i thought you were, suguru," you smiled, making him let out a light chuckle.
your chest felt warm, heart thrumming beneath it all of a sudden. everything felt so quiet—so real and intimate, like the only choice you had to make had already been written down for you. instincts had taken over as you closed your eyes and leaned in, waiting for his lips to press against yours just like you needed.
but the kiss never came…
just his voice, cutting through the deafening silence,
"maybe we should do this some other time."
you felt your heart sink to your stomach. a mixture of hurt and disbelief painted on your face.
your breath was shaking as you got out and slammed the car door in your wake. you couldn't stay here, not when he's made you feel so stupid.
"fuck…," shallow curses slipped under suguru's breath. his face was pressed against heels of his palms as he leaned into the steering wheel.
he couldn't do it, not right now. not when the alcohol was still clinging to your senses.
he wanted it to be a special moment, would have waited however long necessary for it to happen as it should.
now he's watched any chance that might've remained vanish, get torn away from his very fingertips.
and the worst part of it? you probably hated him right now.
even after the multiple attempts of trying to see you, you avoided suguru like the plague.
you couldn't let him win by giving him the satisfaction of thinking he can just get away with what he did.
and maybe you didn't cry, but the cuts of opening up to him just to get played went deeper than you'd like to admit. you replayed that night so many times in your head, wondering if you really were the one at fault, or if he was just an asshole.
you're still torn between the two.
suguru on the other hand, was running out of options.
you've been skipping the only class you shared with him. he even went to the music store hoping to catch you there, though you preferred tuning some random guitar rather than acknoedge his presence. when slipping notes into your locker only proved a further lack of results, suguru knew he'd have to resort to more drastic attempts of regaining your attention.
and that meant spending almost half of his savings buying you that guitar he saw you with.
plus, spending that much money after accepting some to take you out would make it even, right?
(wrong, but it was nice to think that.)
that's how he ended up writing you a small letter reading 'can we talk? pick you up tomorrow after class.' and tucking it neatly beneath the guitar strings. with a little more help from your sister, suguru managed to leave it in the passenger seat of your car, just waiting to be found by you.
to say you were positively surprised when you saw it was a slight understatement.
you didn't need a name to know who it was from. maybe suguru really did see through you far enough to get past the surface level, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. you didn't want to give your trust to him again just yet, but the push you needed to give him another chance made its way back into the light.
tomorrow came by fast after you'd spent the rest of the evening testing out your new gift. strumming each cord and mindlessly matching the notes to the song that was playing when you met that night at the bar.
so now here you were, standing face-to-face with suguru right outside your classroom—who definitely hasn't been waiting for the past twenty minutes just to make sure you won't sneak away before he could get there.
you'd be lying if you said that nothing stirred in your chest upon seeing him again. his inky hair was tied up in a bun, only the bottom half remaining free and flowing over his shoulders. subtle black eyeshadow was smudged lightly around his eyes, making the violet in his gaze so striking it seemed intentional. you couldn't deny the fact that you missed this sight.
"you can't just buy me a guitar everytime you screw up, you know that, right?" you initiated, a faint smile tugging at your lips.
"well, hello to you too," suguru mused, leaning against the lockers. considering you haven't immediately started the conversation by cursing him, he'd say things were going on the right track. "you did like it though, right?" he asked.
you should like it. he's stalked you well enough to know it was your favourite model.
"i do, yes," you trailed off, eyeing him.
"i'm glad," he shrugged, giving you a subtle grin, "i was running out of options."
"so you'll indulge me?" suguru continued, pushing his weight off the lockers and reaching his hand out to you.
"i wouldn't go that far just yet," you bit back a smile, beginning to walk off.
'yet' is all suguru heard though, even as he felt your ever-so-cruel intentions of tearing his heart to shreds with every step taken away from him.
it only took a few long strides for him to catch up to you, points for having legs as long as half of your height.
for the past twenty minutes, the small talk seemed to create more tension rather than release any—for you at least. you probably asked suguru "how long until we get there?" more times than a toddler on their first road trip, although he'd insist on not telling you where you're going even. you were on the teetering edge of calling the police to report a kidnapping.
shortly after the five hundredth exasperated sigh suguru let out, you finally arrived at the intended location; at the docks. not for any ferries or ships, but paddle boats.
"is this supposed to be the government-level secret you were so unwilling on letting me on?" you asked, amused.
"thought a quiet, secluded place like this might be more fitting," he shrugged.
"certainly fitting if you want to kill someone," you snickered, walking by his side over to the little ticket stand.
"in broad daylight? tsk, who do you i am?" suguru asked—deeply hurt and offended by your accusations.
"fair enough. but you're paddling." you warned, watching him pay for the tickets before handing you yours.
"right away, princess," he smirked, walking in front of you to the paddleboat and holding your hand to help you on-board. the sneer you gave him was almost involuntary—even though you might've been touched in the slightest bit by the courtesy.
the warmth of the sun entangled itself with the soft breeze swaying above the lake, the feeling of it reminded you of silken ribbons brushing over your skin. a brief moment of silence took over, the only noise being heard being the quiet sloshing of the water as you paddled further into the lake. you looked over to suguru; sleek strands of hair were dancing in the wind as he looked into the distance—not lost in thought, but as if something weighed on his mind.
his gaze drifted into the ground; the stillness made your skin crawl, and that wasn't going to change unless one of you spoke up.
"why did you take me here, sugu—"
"i'm sorry," his head snapped towards you, voice mellow yet somehow hurried as he cut you off. anything you might've thought you wanted to say got stuck in your throat at the sight of suguru's knitted eyebrows and doleful eyes. the apology took you by surprise.
"i wanted to have a chance to explain myself," his hands were in his lap, sunlight reflecting softly off his rings as he chipped away at the black polish coating his nails; a habit of his you've noticed oftentimes when he'd try gathering his thoughts, "i understand how i may have come across last time…"
"yeah…" you mumbled, unaware of what to say but keen on what he has to say.
"that was the last way i wanted things to go," suguru stated carefully. "the risk of seeing you again only for you not to remember… or even regret what had happened… turning you down seemed like the best option in that moment," he continued, finding your gaze, "even if it pained me to do so."
you could've sworn your heart skipped a beat upon hearing the last words. his eyes felt heavy on yours, glints of hope and guilt visibly sparking the same emotions in your chest—which suguru was quick to pick up on.
everything felt stuck in time, your thoughts, your surroundings—just swallowed up by the setting sun as you stared into the distance, a part of you wanting to protect herself by avoiding the situation, while the other strived for an answer to give.
"i just didn't want you to feel played."
suguru stole your attention once again—regret, regret, regret—is this what would've ended up of your heart? what would happen if you followed through? or is it just another tactic you made yourself believe in order not to risk becoming heartbroken?
the piles of proof suguru had given you about his intentions could form walls around you by now—just staring back and mocking you, telling you how stupid you are for believing otherwise. he is good, you were just to scared to admit it.
"what does that mean now?" you asked him.
"whatever you want it to mean," suguru said softly, a light tilt in his head as he looked at you, "i'm here now."
a pacing silence followed before he broke it once more with a forlorn chuckle, "it would suck if it didn't mean anything, but if that's the case—"
"kiss me."
"wha—"
your body moved without you, lips crashing onto his in the fragment of a moment in which it all felt right.
awe and surprise was laced into the sweet, minty taste of sugurus lips as they prudently interlocked with yours, his hand slipping over to cup your cheek once he got the confidence to lean in deeper into the kiss.
he tilted your head to the side to gain better access, his thumb brushing over your skin with a gentleness that turned you to putty in his hold. it felt surreal almost—for both of you, but falling into place like two pieces of a puzzle.
one hand wrapped around his forearm while the other reached to brush his hair back. the initial shyness of the kiss melted into a slow, easy comfort. his lips moved against yours at a languid pace, the familiar cool touch of his metal studs becoming a sensation you no longer just tolerated, but craved.
suguru broke away from the kiss first, but both of you were left breathless. the warm, orange hues of the sun painted over your skin like spilled honey, melting into the quiet space between you. for a moment, neither of you moved; his hand remained on your cheek, his touch soft and featherlight as he pulled you into his side.
"who could've guessed you tasted so sweet?" suguru purred smoothly, despite the chaotic rhythm of his heartbeat thrumming in his chest.
"don't get sappy now," you chuckled. there was an effortless warmth in resting your head against sugurus shoulder, a comfort that quickly became second nature.
the rest of the evening snapped by faster than you felt; paddling back to shore whilst in each others arms, listening to music on the car ride home—and before you knew it, you were back on the doorstep to your apartment, the kiss suguru had left on your forehead previously still lingering on your skin and letting butterflies roam wild in your stomach.
not long after you'd settled in bed, ready to go to sleep, your phone rings—a text from suguru, no less.
you crawled closer to your phone and unplugged the charger—the battery almost dead after having spent the past two hours on the phone with utahime, yapping and giggling about how your day had gone with him.
suguru: hey, i forgot to ask you earlier. you'll come to tomorrow's party with me, right?
suguru: no need to answer that. i'll pick you up at 7pm.
you couldn't help but smile at his determination, but you asked yourself, was a party really the place for you? especially when your ex was the one hosting it? whatever, you replied before being able to overthink.
you: do i have a choice?
suguru: nope. see you tomorrow
you: who knows, plans can change until then
suguru: goodnight to you too, princess:)
you: goodnighttt
☆
normally, you wouldn't be bothered to apply any makeup or dress a certain way—much less for a man—yet all day all you were able to think about was the way sugurus gaze trailed down your fancy, dressed up figure that night at the bar. would it be so wrong to want to pull that reaction out of him again? a little eyeshadow and a little black dress never hurt anybody afterall.
the knock on the door came sooner than expected, ten minutes earlier to be exact, but thankfully, you managed to finish your look by then. a few puffs of perfume and your purse were all that was left on your way out.
you couldn't blame suguru for being a little impatient to see you, right?
but even if he knew how just beautiful you looked before opening the door, his eyes would have sparkled all the same.
to say he was speechless was an understatement. his lips parted, but all that came out was an awkward "hi" as his gaze flickered, unknowing where to stop.
"hi," you replied, biting back a smirk after seeing his reaction—just what you intended, maybe even better, "you don't look half bad."
a lie. he looked apatising to say the least, even though not much was changed from his usual look. the worn leather jacket was still hanging off his shoulder, letting view of the way his black, fitted t-shirt accentuated his figure—biceps especially. a few thin, silver chains dangled over his chest, a perfect contrast with his rings and piercings, while his hair laid freely like spilled ink.
"i—thanks," suguru huffed, stumbling over his words.,"you look amazing."
"why, thank you," you coaxed, "should we throw the party on my doorstep, or…?"
"i wouldn't be opposed to it," suguru raised an eyebrow, his grin wiped off his face right as you smacked him in the arm. "after you," he teased, unlocking his car as he made way for you.
chosos parties weren't like the others, where the space would be crawling with drunks, fights and loud, deafening music. maybe that was a part of why you agreed to come, or maybe it was just an excuse to see suguru again.
his arm was wrapped around your lower back as you entered, a gesture you weren't exactly opposed to, surprisingly. the smell of weed, tobacco and hard liquor was the first thing that greeted you once you made a few steps in, strong enough to make a part of you regret you even came. a few familiar faces were scattered throughout the rooms, and double the gazes watching as you came in with suguru.
the thing about smaller, quieter parties was that naturally, peoples attention would be drawn a lot easier.
including chosos.
a low tune played in the background, one of your favourites, actually, as you hid away on a couch with suguru. leaning into his side as if it were your rightful place, you nodded along to the music while yapping something about your history teacher being a pervert—he wasn't really listening, too busy admiring how your legs looked in that dress.
that wasn't a problem for choso, though; smoothly cutting through the crowd before approaching you.
"hey, you enjoying the party so far?" choso spoke up, raising both you, and sugurus glances, "you look beautiful, by the way.
that was enough to make sugurus hand wrap just a little tighter around your waist, aware of how choso only reffered to you, as well.
"it's not too bad, i guess," you and choso didn't part on bad terms—more like differences of opinion—and even though its been more than a year since your breakup, he knew you well enough to know that what you said was a compliment.
"glad i could level up to your standards," choso chuckled, "let me know if you want anything, i could show you some of this new stuff i got, if you're intereste—"
"she's not, thanks," suguru cut him off. the more choso talked, the more it got harder for him not to snap. does he have the right, though? a kiss didn't mean you were his.
your attention flickered between the two before reassuring choso of what suguru said. you could tell how the energy shifted, how his hold became firmer and his tone sharper. it would be a lie if you said you weren't enjoying it.
"thought it would be nice to ask anyway," he smiled. and oh, if only looks could kill, choso would be dead by now.
"so, you know eachother?" suguru caved, looking between the two of you. the sear in his chest felt irrational, but he couldn't shake it.
"if you can call it that, sure. it's been a while, though," you bit back before choso got the chance to, knowing his response would not match yours.
"ouch," choso gave a half-smile, "sorry, are you together?"
as if the tension couldn't get any worse, the few seconds of silence that followed felt like a whole hour had passed. you had no answer. no idea of what to say, only the slightest hope that suguru would say yes.
and so he did—his tone firm and sure, masking the worry beneath perfectly.
by the time you managed to process the storm of emotions rushing through your chest, choso had left, letting out a halfhearted apology and goodbye before turning on his heel.
you could feel your heart pounding in your ears, surges of heat and something you couldn't quite name flowing through your veins. you weren't sure if the look you gave suguru reflected how vulnerable you really felt, but your voice surely let it be known.
"what was that about?" you asked, your voice thin and breathy. the possibility of him just saying that to get a rise out of choso scared you.
the sharpness in sugurus gaze evaporated into thin air once he caught you back in his view. music and chatter dimmed into nothingness, the softness in his eyes igniting a spark in your heart that only he could set aflame.
there was no need for a verbal response to know what was next. sugurus closed the distance within the blink of an eye, his lips merging with yours into a kiss that seeped of need and devotion.
your mouths swayed with no particular rhythm, a constant push and pull of your desires blending to eachothers will. involuntarily, you went in to cup his face, feel him, pull him closer, which only made suguru suck in a sharp breath as he slipped his hand over your thigh.
a swift moment of clarity washed over you, reminding you where you are still, and the amount of people just hanging around. you broke away from the kiss, a string of spit left in the wake of your flushed lips.
you wanted him in ways that were concerning to feminism.
"hey," you spoke, breathless.
"hey."
"we should get out of here."
"yeah," he agreed, seemingly entranced as he got up, letting you walk in front and carefully dragging your dress lower from where it rode up.
suguru shut and locked the door behind as you entered the first room you caught empty. bounds were off, no one to interrupt or make this moment fall apart.
his leather jacket ended up somewhere on the floor—unimportant, the only thing worth his focus was the taste of your lips and how your body melted against his as he slipped his tongue into your warmth. low groans and whimpers fell freely now, each more intense with every hungry push and twist of his tongue.
searing heat rose up in your chest, spreading throughout your body as you slipped your hands under sugurus t-shirt, feeling every ridge of his abs and how warmth radiated off him. the pads of your fingers dug into his sides, desperate to have more of him. a lewd, loud whine escaped you just as your tongue clashed into his, letting you feel something you weren't aware of before. a tongue piercing.
suguru picked up on your reaction almost immediately, though already drunk on the idea of all the ways he could use his piercing to please you. his mouth trailed hot down the side of your neck, nipping softly at the tender skin and eliciting the sweetest sounds from you while simultaneously massaging the pillowy curve of your ass.
"tell me what you need, i'm here," suguru rasped, the warmth of his breath sending chills as he spoke into your neck.
"just you, sugu. need you," you panted.
"fuck, i need you too, baby," he breathed out, dragging his pierced tongue over the purpley-red hues decorating your skin. this feeling alone could send you into overstimulation, your body tense and trembling with want and anticipation.
sugurus hands slid up your back, making you arch into him and gasp when you'd felt his hands drag down the zipper of your dress, letting it slip off your figure and leaving you in nothing but the black, lacy underwear you chose for tonight.
"i know, sweetheart," he coaxed, his voice low and thick with lust, "it's okay, sugu's gonna take care of you."
he became your center of gravity as he led you backwards onto the bed. maybe it was the comfort of the mattress, or maybe it was the view of sugurus bare, defined upper body—but you felt on cloud nine.
the way his lips began a trail of wet kisses down your body reminded you soft feathers brushing over your skin, too. smooth, ebony hair cascaded over the sides of his head like silk as he made sure to give an equal amount of attention to all of you—starting with your jaw, the valley of your breasts, and down your abdomen. your composure breaking down without save, wetness soaking your panties and making them stick to your mound—just waiting to get peeled off.
yielding to your impatience, you reached to hook your fingers beneath the hem of sodden material, desperate to feel anything close of relief. any further motion was cut short by sugurus hand wrapping around your wrist, giving you a disapproving look from between your legs. his face was so near you could basically feel every huff of air melting over your clothed cunt, doing absolutely nothing to release any tension.
"don't tease…" you complained, no real bite in your voice.
"you gonna let me taste you, pretty girl?" suguru hummed, acting as if unwrapping you was something only he gets to do.
"fuck, yes—" your voice was cut by your whimper, or more like the tip of sugurus nose skimming over your veiled slit with the weight of a feather—which was more than enough to light up a spark in your devoid senses.
suguru felt intoxicated, a low groan escaping him as he mindlessly dragged his tongue along the darkened, wet patch of your underwear. it was almost too much for you to take in—how the lace barrier could feel so frustrating, yet distributing the pleasure much more vastly thanks to the way it clung to you like a second skin.
the feeling only amplified when his lips began working their part—sucking and slurping the honeyed juices seeping from your clothed cunt until drool was leaking down his chin. with ragged, shallow breaths, suguru kept his nose pressed against your puffy clit, anchored as if he couldn't get enough.
"mmph—fuck," you cried out. the motion made your hips buckle; he was relentless—tongue dragging and prodding at your entrance with no real reward. you were getting pissed.
the lack of patience and need for more made your body move on its own, your hand reaching straight for sugurus messy hair and pulling a nasty moan from his lips. "do it right if you're gonna do it at all," you retorted, observing the meek look on his face as he unwillingly parted from your pussy.
"fuck," he mouthed, and you could've sworn you also heard a quiet " 'm sorry" before he pulled your soaked panties to the side and hooked his arms around your thighs.
suguru wanted to take it slow, he really did; but his eagerness to unravel you took over, and it didn't take long for him to figure out which buttons to push. a hum of relief escaped him as he dragged his tongue through your folds, circling your clit and talking in the way your thighs twiched in his grasp.
"mm, is that it?" he purred, eyebrows knit as he looked up to see the weak nod you managed to get through.
"yes, you're doing s—so well," your breath hitched. there wasn't an ounce of control in sugurus pace; sucking and flicking the hot muscle against your clit, the pace he set up was desperate—designed to make you clasp your shaking thighs around his head.
his painted fingernails dug crescent moons into the plush of your hips, pulling you closer into the heat of his mouth as if the proximity still wasn't enough. your back arched against the bed, greedily chasing more of that overwhelming pleasure sugurus tongue was fucking into you. it was dizzying; your coherency succumbing to nothing more than a string of needy whimpers falling from your lips.
the knot in your stomach kept getting tighter with every excessive flick of his pierced tongue, the metal barbell forcing surges of intense pleasure as it repeatedly brushed over your sensitive nub. the feeling of your hole fluttering around his muscle made suguru moan shamelessly into your heat, thrusting and swirling his tongue until he could feel you getting close.
"keep going, please—suguru, make me cum," you gasped, clawing the bedsheets with one hand while the other was still snug in his inky hair, eagerly trying to pull him closer. his face was messy and dripping with your slick, the air in his lungs lacking as he made out with your cunt, his nose nudging against your puffy clit with every movement.
yout breath caught when the first wave of your orgasm hit, sending a violent shudder through your core that made your body buckle. suguru remained unyielding against your heat, his hands gripping the curve of your hips, pinning you in place and overriding the breathless shoves you gave him in your sudden sensitivity.
low hums escaped him as he licked away any remains of the sweet, creamy sap that trickled downwards. the taste of you filled his senses as it did in his dreams—tantalising, and irresistible, but that just wasn't enough for him much longer. suguru felt weak, yet his body moved on instinct. he rolled his hips into the mattress, completely intoxicated by your essence as he pressed his clothed, aching cock against the soft surface beneath him.
you didn't have much time to recover from your high before sugurus pierced lips began kissing up your body again. the warmth left behind made you shudder, realisation that this might not be the end just yet washing over you in waves of heat and anticipation.
sugurus large frame engulfed you as he hovered above, pure need dripping off his lips and on to yours as he cut the distance. the kiss was anything but tempered—raw, and desperate; his tongue slipping into your mouth and tearing each sound from you.
"see how sweet you taste?" he rasped, pushing his hips forward and making you gasp at the contact—all too aware of how his cock squeezed in between your bodies, stiff and throbbing; urging to feel your walls stretch around him.
your hands did quick work of undoing his studded belt, and helping him slide off his cargo pants. just the thought of being in this position made you nervous—would his cock be thick? have that curve you've imagined so many times? the material of his boxers was all that was separating you right now, but as you dragged your palm over his bulge you could feel the surge of buzzing heat rushing through your core.
neither of you could mask how badly you wanted eachother, half lidded eyes gazing into the other as if missing one moment was not something you could afford.
once fully undressed, sugurus cock laid stiff on your stomach—thick, and leaking, it almost went up to your bellybutton. the phantom feeling of it already making you ache on the inside.
"tell me if anything feels off, okay? we can stop, no questions asked," he spoke carefully, leaning in to press another kiss on your cheek.
"i want you, suguru," you replied, meeting his lips halfway. your heart fluttered for every moment spent together; each one bringing you up to where you are now, with the person that you are with now—who you wouldn't replace even if given a hundred chances.
suguru cradled you in his arms from above, your faces only centimetres apart as the warmth of his bare skin melted into yours. it all felt so real—so much like the reality you've craved since long before you've even admitted.
your breath hitched once he pushed in. the gentle, yet overwhelming feeling of his tip slipping in past your folds was intoxicating; how you stretched around his length, so slowly it let you discern every ridge and curve of him.
getting lost in you wouldn't be a difficult task for suguru, who could already feel himself slip away more and more with every inch buried. his lips parted, face beautifully framed by the silken black hair flowing—such an alluring look for someone whose heart nearly stopped working the second he had you so perfectly wrapped around him.
barely halfway in, suguru stopped; his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek so lightly one could believe he was afraid to hurt you. his violet gaze searched for yours, a silent request for confirmation.
"it's okay, you can move," you smiled, voice breathy and soft. the sudden stop made you squeeze around him, eager for more.
hushed moans left you once suguru began moving again. your hands found their place holding onto his back, while your legs stayed hooked around his waist. the angle made your abs tighten, each thrust measured so that it swept over your most sensitive spots. surges of pleasure spread through you like wildfire, your thighs starting to tremble thanks to the continuous build up.
sugurus breath faltered, low pants falling off his lips as he eased into the pace. he couldn't rush, not when savouring you was so much more compelling. the sound of your voice only spurred him on, feeling himself twitch within your sopping walls just by hearing it.
each collision was accompanied by quiet plap!, leaving behind strings of slick catching in between your bodies. your thighs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him in closer before meeting his lips in a kiss. you let yourself be guided by him, too absorbed in the rising pleasure to even think.
suguru felt the change in the air; how your chest heaved, how you pulled him closer and kissed his lips. you took him apart, piece by piece. and made him fall into his urges and hasten his rhythm.
"shit—suguru, feels s—so good," you choked out a whimper, digging your nails harder into his back and making him hiss.
you were both driven by hunger and desperation, drunk on the pleasure searing beneath your skin. the kiss quickly escalated to a point where you couldn't get enough of eachother; tongues clashing and lips bitten.
"kept me waiting all that time—" he rasped into your mouth, accentuating each word with a sharper, almost punishing thrust, "fuck—can't stay away from you."
suguru pulled away first, pushing himself higher until his necklaces dangled above your face. nothing could make him take his eyes off you right now; he was entranced, feeding on the reactions painted all over your face.
louder, helpless moans ripped from your chest, mirroring the frantic rhythm of sugurus hips as he slammed into you. his cock split you open again and again, reaching so deep it made the coil in your belly feel as if it could snap at any moment.
you were dazed—neither of you coherent enough to say anything but eachothers names like a prayer. your body felt as if it were on fire, tense and overpowered by the feeling of your high approaching. you searched to press your face into the pillows, embarrassment flooding as your expression twisted in pleasure.
sugurus elbows were perched on either side of your head now, his hands cupping your cheeks and setting your gaze back on to him. "don't hide, need to see you—fuck, please baby," he pled, his voice uncharacteristically needy and soft.
"mmphh—oh my," you gasped, holding on to him tighter.
"gonna cum, pretty girl? yeah?" he panted. his pace was faltering, sloppy even; yet his cock still managed to slip in and out of your cunt so effortlessly, hitting every spot that mattered as if it were his only motivation. "gonna cum together, right? gonna let me feel that perfect pussy cum on my cock?" suguru slurred his words, eyebrows knit as he slammed into you praying he won't cum before you.
to say that suguru was in a state of bliss was an understatement; his mind was reeling, faded so that all he knew was the feeling of getting swept away by the currents of pleasure—with you as the anchor pulling him to the very bottom. he didn't mind it, though; suguru would gladly get swallowed by the ocean if it meant you being there to witness it—after all, you were the one able to give him air as well as take it.
and less could not be said about you, either. delirium flooded your mind, magnifying every touch with breathtaking intensity. you held on to suguru as he were the only thing keeping you alive right now, the threads of his being getting woven into the back of your mind and patching up spots you thought you've long forgotten.
he made you feel whole again; replacing the dimmed out light for a fire raging in your chest—stirring and spreading throughout your entire body until it consumed you from the inside out, making you shake and writhe beneath him.
"suguru—" you gasped as he leaned in until your foreheads touched, shattered breaths colliding as intimacy enveloped you. a few long, deep drags of his cock were all it took before getting pushed over the edge, your walls clamping and leaking down his length while he continued to drive into your dripping warmth, dragging out your orgasm.
"mine—mine, all mine," suguru whispered it like a chant, almost like he couldn't believe it still. it made you clench tightly around him, and that was enough to make him gasp as the air was cut from his lungs, "fuck, i love you so—haah."
you were up in your own head, dazed—hearing, but not listening to what suguru had said. whatever piece of you comprehended his words could do nothing but return the emotion, and you found those very same syllables slipping from your lips, unable to stop them.
"i—i love you too, suguru," you sounded breathless, and despite his craving to mark you fully, he pulled out—cock pulsing with each reliving spill of white, hot cum painting your stomach. his eyes were screwed shut, chest heaving and gleaming with sweat as he stroked himself, letting the last spurts of pleasure trickle down his flared tip.
strands of hair clung to his forehead as the rest cascaded down his back—it was a heavenly sight. but as the fog began to clear from your mind, it left you wandering the sharp, gutting edge of reverie, replaying those words in your head, unsure whether or not to blame your imagination.
the feeling of suguru using a damp cloth to wipe down the mess on your lower half is what snapped you out of your trance-like state. after sliding back into his boxers, he found his way next to your frame once more.
"you okay?" suguru asked softly as your eyes met, opening his embrace to welcome you in his arms. you nodded with a subtle smile, creeping up next to him. the following moments dragged out slower than ever, and you almost hated how comfortable you felt nonetheless; lithe hands caressing the side of your face, his lips pressed against the top of your head.
suguru picked up on your unusual silence though, and you felt the weight of his gaze, "what's going on?" he spoke lowly, brushing your hair with his fingers.
"did you mean it?" you replied, quicker than you meant. you weren't sure what to expect—whether your wishful expectations got the better of you, or that worry stirred in your gut unnecessarily.
the corner of his lips twisted upwards, inducing your undoing, "did you?"
his answer only made you feel more reluctant, scared even. you want to push it away and deem it as overthinking.
you want to trust the way suguru holds your beating heart in his hands.
you love him.
"suguru," you urged.
the ghost of a smile traced his pierced lips as he breathed out, the sound almost blending with the silence, "you know, i didn't have much hope the first time i approached you… much less the second, or even the third," suguru laughed, "you made me lose whatever speck was left of it."
"and yet i couldn't find myself away from you." his voice was laced with honesty, and you visibly sharpened your focus at those words.
"i wanted to know more about you, the reason why you steer everyone away when you're the most captivating person in every room."
your voice seemed stuck in your throat, and your breath hitched once suguru held your face in his hands and kissed your cheek, "i loved how bold you are," then the other, "i loved how funny, and sweet you really are," then pressed another kiss to your forehead, "and how you totally hated me." heat rose up in your cheeks as you both giggled at that, suguru looking at you as if bewitched.
then finally, his lips met yours in a short, tender kiss that spoke of nothing but devotion.
"and i love you."
your pulse quickened, just enough to make you crave more, to lean in and kiss him again—deeper, slowing time down just to let you savour this moment and etch it in your mind. "i love you, suguru," you replied, nearly out of breath.
a teasing smile spread on suguru's face, "mmh, when did you get so romantic?
"don't push your luck," you giggled.
oh, he wouldn't dream of it, not when everything felt so right. not when you looked at him like he was the only one for you.
the sense of fulfilment lived fiercely behind suguru's ribs, joy powering each frantic beat of his heart even after the shared moments of sincerity. you couldn't have said otherwise about yourself either, or deny the subtle pep in your step only suguru was keen enough to notice as you walked down the stairs to the first floor of the house.
the music died down, only a few, small groups of people remaining throughout the space, but none worth spending the rest of your night with.
that wasn't up to you though.
but to a very wild and wasted gojo.
you heard him long before you actually saw him. even after you and suguru had retreated to a quieter corner of the kitchen to enjoy your drinks, the sheer volume of his voice cut right through the distance.
"yo, suguru!" gojo's lips twist into a grin; he was adressing your boyfriend, yet looking at you, "looks like you got my money's worth!"
your eyebrows knit together, skeptical of what he meant. suguru's hand tightened unconsciously around your waist as he replied to the white haired man, "not the time," he retorted.
"why not, huh?" gojo laughed, feet dragging heavy as he walked closer.
people attention's been drawn like a moth to a flame by now, dozens of pairs of eyes watching the scene unfold. you've never liked gojo, he was arrogant and obnoxious, and right now, you were unaware whether or not to pay any mind to the word of a drunk like him.
"go away, man. you're drunk," suguru shot at him, echoing your thoughts as he strode over to hook his arm around gojo's neck, trying to guide him away. why was he so disturbed by his friend's presence?
"i'm gooood," gojo slurred, "how 'bout you, geto? you good? you get laid yet?"
you grimaced.
"or are you still playing house with her?"
gojo wasn't hiding in any way with what he said. he wanted you to hear.
your chest felt tight all of a sudden, heavy with the weight of disbelief—but one look at suguru was all you needed to confirm what you've heard.
his eyes were wide, locked with yours—though the image was growing blurrier by the second. murmuring a quiet "get the hell out of here," to gojo as he pushed him away, his steps were adamant on his way over to you.
you wanted to dissappear; to slap him and just ask him for an explanation all at once. everything played back in your mind again—'playing house'? suguru being next to you right all thanks to gojo's pretty dime?
you felt like a joke.
"hey—look, i can explain," suguru tried, reaching to hold your hands. his voice was low, laced with obvious shame.
you slapped his hands away before he could finish, "explain what, huh? that he paid you to take me out?" you exclaimed, trying not to let your voice crack or your tears fall.
you could feel your composure fraying the longer you had him in your sight. you'd never seen suguru this way before; sharp eyes now filled with worry, expression burdened by remorse—a facade you were done falling for.
"just—please, let's get out of here so i—" suguru caught onto the sides of your arms as you tried to leave.
you rushed through the crowd, shoving past bodies without a second thought. every collision echoed with their mocking laughter and pity. you've never really noticed suguru in your class before or around campus, but now it as if he were taking up the whole room, suffocating you.
it was too much for you to fully process. your knees felt weak with the thought of being used. your throat tight with all the lies you've consumed.
"i love you."
nothing but a cruel joke.
the fresh air did little to nothing to ground you, it turning to cotton in your lungs when you'd heard suguru's sickening voice call you. tears threaten to spill the more you acknowledge the part of you that craves only an explanation, a possibility that any of what you'd heard was a made up lie.
despite everything, suguru still knew you well enough to read you. every expression, every word, or moment of silence—engraved in his mind as if it were something vital.
so how could he bear to lose you?
"i wasn't intrested in any money, they're not the reason i'm here right now, okay?" suguru spoke up, doubt making his voice waver.
you scoffed, a swift pause before you replied, gaze still hesitant on meeting his. "what's the reason then, sleeping with me? congrats on that."
suguru shook his head mindlessly as he stepped closer to you. the warmth he saw in you not long ago, now replaced by a callousness he didn't want to recognise.
"my reason is that i love you," he said firmly, "and i regret what i did—but i'm thankful it brought me here, with you." a fleeting spark lit up your eyes for a second, but it was short lived; flashes of your moments together shot through your mind, each kiss, each worthless "i love you", each lie you've only now come to realise—it just made you angrier, weaker.
"i have a hard time believing you, suguru," your voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the bitterness and emotion behind it. "if you loved me, then i wouldn't feel used right now—or lied to, or ashamed of myself for not seeing through your selfish games,"
suguru kept his gaze averted, unable to look at you. your words cut through his defenses like shards of glass, shattering his delusions and forcing him to face the cold reality—you were right.
you knew spending anymore time in this moment would only end up with you acting like none of this has ever happened. but god, you wanted that; for someone to pop up from out of nowhere and say it's been a joke.
however, the only joke right now was you thinking that you could forgive suguru.
"and i fucking hate you for it," you ended sharply.
you wish that were true.
you could act tough all you want, but it wouldn't change the truth. a single tear was caught in the dimlight, slipping down your cheek as you finally turned away, leaving suguru exactly where he stood—no concrete apology given or trying to stop you.
he didn't deserve you,
but suguru loved every face of who you are. he would've happily spent his forever with the witty, sharp tongued side of you—but losing the real you left a hollow ache he never imagined he'd have to bear.
⊹₊⟡⋆ Summary: You're a photojournalist at Daily's Planet, and you've been trying to catch Superman for a year. But, who winds up with an interview with him every time? Clark Kent. You've decided enough is enough, and you're going to get your photo and interview no matter what.
⊹₊⟡⋆ a/n: Look at me with the double upload. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! I do not consent for my content to be published on other platforms and such by others. Also, please don't claim my work as your own! <3
“You were rescued by Superman?! Oh my gosh are you okay?” Lois asks over the phone. You two are on face time deciding on an outfit for your interview tonight. “I’m perfectly fine, it was nerve-wrecking at first, but because of superman, I’m still alive. Maybe I should wear something a bit scandalous to show my appreciation”. Lois giggles, as you rummage through your closet. “This is cute, right?” You show her the two-piece set. “Perfect! Wear that”. After setting up to get ready, you two say goodbye. You begin your nighttime regimen, spraying perfume on yourself to finish. By eight-thirty, you prepare tea for yourself, and research Superman’s favorite beverage.
You hear a soft knock at your fire escape window. You open it, and the broad man climbs into your home. “Hi” you say softly, taking in this 6’4 man with muscles of steel. “Hello” his deep voice is like music to your ears. “Please...have a seat” you gesture towards the dining table. You grab a soda from the fridge, “I heard it’s your favorite”. You place the can on a coaster. “That would be correct”. You smile, taking in the small victory. You place your beverage on a coaster in front of his. “I’m glad you agreed to do this interview”, You say. “Of course, I’ve seen your work. It’s quite remarkable”.
“Thank you...I’m so touched,” you try to stay professional, but he looks so good. “Would you like to begin the interview?”. Your thumb clicks the pen, and you open your notebook. “I’d love to”. You press play on the tape recorder. Your gaze falls on him, admiring the view. “So, many women find you quite attractive”, he chuckles at the compliment.
“Would you mind telling me how tall you are?”.
“6’4”
“How big are you?”
He looks at you, flattered by the question. Your eyes widen at how the sentence sounds. “I mean how much do you weigh...”. You cover your face, completely embarrassed. “225”.
“225...” you mutter; your eyes flick back to him. “I apologize for how my previous sentence sounded; I did not mean it in that manner”. “No... you’re fine”. He looks at you, “you’re fine” he repeats. The grip on your pen tightens, you can’t help but feel warm under his gaze. You continue the interview, asking him about why he’s a hero, and does the responsibility ever become too much to bear. You can’t ignore the looks he gives you; the tension is thick. Your finger presses the pause button, “Superman...I feel a bit of tension”. You bat your lashes at him, waiting for him to kindly reject you.
“Well...you would be correct” he stares at you. You toss the notebook and pen onto your couch. Superman moves the table aside, giving you room to get closer. He doesn’t give you the chance, because his hands are already on you, picking you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, “I’m not one to do this” you whisper. “I believe you, because neither am I” he pants, leaning in for another kiss. His lips against yours feel amazing, his grip on your body tightens, it’s suffocating, but hypnotizing at the same time. “You’re so beautiful” he mutters against your neck. You pull his head from your neck, kissing him again. His eyes search for your bedroom to see the door slightly open. He carries you to the room, gently placing you on the bed. When he hovers over you, you wrap your legs around his waist putting your self defense class nights with Louis to work.
You giggle at his surprised expression, when he realizes you're now on top of him. He looks at your face, hands resting on your waist. “We can’t do this” he whispers, your heart drops. “Did I do something wrong?” you question. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attracted to you, gosh no. He’s been attracted to you, since your first day at Daily Planet. With something this intimate, he wanted it to be with him as Clark Kent, not Superman. “No...no, you’re perfect. I just can’t, I’m sorry”. He gets up from the bed and leaves the same way he entered. Leaving you sitting on the bed in confusion.
𝐀/𝐍: day 5 of June Jukebox Scribbles!!!!! I'm sorry I'm running late i promise I'll do them all. I don't know what to think about this one, i really needed a longer word count to express myself better lol, i will come back to this later.🫶🏻
𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: “I'm gonna make her mine, all mine”
⤷June Jukebox Masterlist ⤷Rafe Cameron Masterlist
The first time Rafe saw you, he didn't pay any mind. The second time he did, he noticed your eyes. The third time, he knew your name.
By the fourth time, he wanted you.
Your smile, the sound of your laughter, the moles and marks on your skin, the way your lips move when you say his name.
So he did what any other man would, he talked to you, asked you things he already knew about, praised you.
Asked you to be his.
Then the fifth time came—the first time since he asked you out, the first time since you told him no— and he only had one voice inside his head, the devil whispering in his ear, I'm gonna make her mine.
All mine.
The very same night, he had you sprawled out on his bed, hands cuffed to the headboard, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed and whimpered, begging him to let you go.
Why would he? You're his. And he always takes care of his toys— even when he breaks them, he cares.
He licks a slow, long stripe down your neck, humming at the taste of raw fear on his tongue. His calloused hands roam over your soft skin, the way you kept squirming and writhing underneath him doing nothing but arouse him further.
Pausing just over your mound, he takes a long, tortuous moment just to flash a perfect smile at you. He was about to take what was his, and he would enjoy every. single. fucking. second.
His fingers swipe over your slit, and a shudder passes through your body. You were wet. Embarrassingly so. All because of the man in front of you.
You shut close your eyes, trying to escape, trying to wake up from this nightmare, but each soft circle over your throbbing clit made it harder to do so. Each pathetic mewl that left your swollen lips made you realise one thing.
𑣲⋆ if you'd like to be added to my taglist, send a letter via a pigeon...or just a reply down below🫶🏻 (i write for ce babes and bocky and now, mr rafe cameron. if you'd like to be tagged for someone specific, please feel free to let me know 🤭🤭)
notes nsfw 18+ content minors dni !! fem reader. toxic, secret non-established relationship. obsessive behaviour. choso is a possessive, manipulative meanie. y/n is a sweetheart #freemygirl. this is kinda long i’m so sorry i got carried away
dealer!choso who first sees you at a party he didn’t even want to go to, but was begged to come because "no choso means no good shit" and business is business. he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, watching through half-lidded eyes when you walk in.
dealer!choso who notices you immediately because you don’t belong here. at all. you’re wearing a baby pink slip dress with a little bow at the chest, hair done in perfect glossy curls. you’re holding your friend’s hand like she’s dragging you through a warzone, your nose scrunched up at the smell of beer and sweat and weed.
dealer!choso who watches you avoid the beer pong table like it personally offended you. you’re holding a water bottle that you brought yourself. you’re so out of place. so sweet. so fucking pretty it makes his teeth ache.
dealer!choso who doesn’t approach you that night. he just watches, dark eyes tracking you from across the room. he’s watching you fix your lip gloss in your phone camera. he’s memorising the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. he’s imagining what that baby pink gloss would look like smeared across his mouth. you catch him staring— those dark eyes, the tattoo across his nose bridge— and you look away fast. cute.
dealer!choso who bribes gojo with a free bag of supplies just to find out your name. you’re y/n l/n and according to gojo, you're “too softhearted and a good girl” and that you “bake brownies for your study groups”. choso just files your name away in the dark, obsessive part of his brain. y/n. y/n. y/n. it’s a prayer and a curse and he repeats it to himself when he’s alone that night, hand wrapped around his dripping, aching cock, thinking about those pretty glossy lips and that tiny skirt and how you’d look once he bullies his full length in between your lips.
dealer!choso who sees you again two weeks later at another party he makes sure to attend. you’re alone this time, sitting on the stairs, playing on your phone, clearly waiting for your friends to be ready to leave. you’re wearing a mini dress with ribbon straps and little bow earrings and he’s never wanted anything as badly as he wants you.
dealer!choso who sits down next to you without asking, close enough that his thigh presses against yours, and you jump like a startled kitten. “oh! hi.” your voice is so soft. so polite. he wants to hear it break.
dealer!choso who just nods at you, lighting up a blunt, not saying anything for a long moment. you’re fidgeting with your phone charm. he’s watching your fingers. “you don’t like parties.” it’s not a question. you shake your head, a little embarrassed. “my friends dragged me. i’d rather bake or have a spa night, honestly.” he doesn’t smile but something shifts in his eyes. “why do you come then?” you shrug, picking at your nail polish. “i don’t like saying no.”
dealer!choso who tucks that piece of information away like a weapon. you don’t like saying no. good to know.
dealer!choso who finds excuses to be wherever you are after that. he starts showing up to parties he’d usually skip, telling himself it’s good for business. it’s not. it’s because he needs to see if you’ll be there, tucked into a corner in another flimsy little dress, looking like a lamb who wandered into a wolf den.
dealer!choso who doesn’t talk to you much at first, just lingers. a shadow in your periphery. a dark figure by the door. but you feel him. god, you feel him. your skin prickles when he’s near. your heart rate spikes. you start dressing for him without realising it— shorter skirts, lower tops, more glitter, more pink. you want him to look. you’re terrified that he might. you’re terrified that he won’t.
dealer!choso who eventually starts gravitating toward you at every party. standing a little too close. letting his fingers brush your lower back when he passes behind you. offering you water when he notices you haven’t had anything to drink. you start looking for him too— he catches you scanning the room, eyes lighting up just barely when you find him. he hoards that look. keeps it somewhere dark inside him.
dealer!choso who finally gets you alone in the backyard at a party in late spring. you’re sitting on the edge of the deck, legs swinging. he sits down next to you. he listens when you tell him about your week. he doesn’t say much, just nods and hums, but he’s memorising every word. no one’s ever been this soft with him.
dealer!choso who finally corners you in the upstairs bathroom of the frat house, the music muffled through the door, the lock clicking behind him. you’re touching up your lip gloss. he’s behind you in the mirror, eyes dark, face unreadable. he cups your face with one hand, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, smearing that perfect gloss. his thumb pushes past your lips, just barely, and you make a sound—a tiny, breathy thing that goes straight to his dick.
dealer!choso who kisses you for the first time in that grimy bathroom, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. he kisses like he wants to consume you, all tongue and teeth. you’re making these little whimpers against his mouth and he’s grinding his hard cock against your hip through his jeans, and it’s filthy, it’s wrong, you’re everything he’s not, and he doesn’t care. he wants to taint you.
dealer!choso who pulls back just enough to see your face— lips swollen, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. “we can’t tell anyone,” he says, and it comes out rougher than he meant. possessive. “no one knows about this.” he waits for you to argue, but you just nod, eyes still hazy, and whisper, “okay. secret.” and something in him cracks open and stitches itself back together wrong.
dealer!choso who becomes addicted to you. to the way you text him with numerous emojis and call him “cho” even though he never lets anyone call him that. the way you send him photos of your outfits before parties and he has to adjust himself in his jeans because you have no idea what you’re doing to him.
dealer!choso who meets you in his car between parties, in empty hallways, in bathrooms with the lock clicked shut. his hands everywhere— slipping under your skirt, gripping your ass, two fingers pressing into the heat of your cunt while you bite his shoulder to stay quiet. he learns and catalogues every sound you make and uses them later when he’s alone.
dealer!choso who hates that you make him soft. hates that he bought a strawberry plushie and keeps it in his car because it reminded him of you. that he knows your coffee order now. your pink toothbrush that’s in his bathroom. your stuffed animal on his nightstand. you asleep in his hoodie which makes his chest ache. he’s fucked. he’s so completely fucked.
dealer!choso who fucks you like he’s trying to brand you. on your back, on your knees, against the wall, in the backseat of his car with your pink lace panties dangling from the rearview mirror. he eats your pretty pussy for hours, makes you cum until you’re sobbing, until you can’t remember your own name. “who do you belong to?” he whispers against your sensitive clit, two fingers curling inside you, and you’re crying out “you, cho, you, you, please—”
dealer!choso who always pulls out at the last second, because he hates protection. he paints any exposed part of your body with his cum — your face, your tits, your stomach — and he almost gets hard again. but he always cleans you up surprisingly gentle. “good girl, so precious” he mutters and you preen under the praise.
dealer!choso who gets high on purpose and says cruel things when he’s jealous and he’s always jealous. when you mention a party he wasn’t at, a guy who talked to you in your lecture. “what, you let him flirt with you? you spread your legs for him too?” and you cry, and he hates himself, but he can’t stop. he pulls you into his lap and kisses your tears away and whispers “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, you just make me insecure, baby. you know it’s not me talking, it’s the drugs. this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t speak to him, my angel” and you forgive him. you always forgive him.
dealer!choso who, the moment you start asking where he disappears to at night, just exhales smoke slowly through his nose and pulls you onto his lap, calloused thumbs pressing into your hipbones while he mouths at that spot beneath your jaw that makes your words dissolve into shaky little gasps.
dealer!choso who murmurs "shh, shh, don't worry about all that, just feel this" against your dampening skin as he works his way down, pushing your shirt up to close his mouth around your nipple and suck hard enough to make your back arch, your cunt already starting to pulse and leak through your underwear while your half-formed concerns scatter into nothing. his free hand slides between your thighs to drag the soaked fabric aside so he can sink two fingers knuckle deep into that tight, clutching heat, curling them just right against that spongy wall while his thumb draws lazy circles on your swollen clit.
dealer!choso who watches your face go slack and dumb with a lazy smirk because he knows you've forgotten whatever you needed to say, and when you try to protest weakly he just flips you onto your stomach on the worn leather couch, yanks your frilly shorts down and notches the blunt, leaking head of his cock against your entrance, pushing in slow and deep until your breath catches in your throat and your walls flutter helplessly around the thick stretch of him, your cervix aching from the pressure as he bottoms out and grinds there, coarse dark hair pressing flush against your ass. one hand tangles in your hair to hold your cheek against the cushion while he fucks you at a languid, devastating pace until all you can do is whimper and take it, drool pooling on the leather, your clit throbbing untouched as he chases his own release, pulling out at the last second to paint your lower back in hot, pearly streaks, then tugging your shorts back up over the mess and kissing your temple like he's done you a favor, whispering "see? don't need to talk when we can do this instead."
dealer!choso who, on your six month secret anniversary, gives you a necklace with a tiny heart-shaped lock on it. he wears the key on a chain under his shirt. “so you’re always with me,” he says, quiet, almost shy. and you cry, obviously. he pretends to be annoyed but he kisses you so gently, so carefully, like you’re made of glass. “i love you,” he says against your mouth. “it’s disgusting how much i love you.”
dealer!choso who knows he’s corrupting you. and he can’t stop. won’t stop. you’re the only good thing he’s ever had, and he’s selfish enough to keep you, even if he stains you in the process.
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