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rowarn · 1 year ago

Text

ENAMORED (m.)

soap mactavish / reader !

tags: established relationship, BIG dicked!soap, afab!gn!reader, virgin!soap, sub!reader

cw: loss of virginity, squirting, size difference, teasing, pet names, praise, wet&messy, missionary, mating press, cunnilingus, fingering, pussyjob, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, creampie

note: this is the fic from the pwp royale i posted recently! loss of virginity won so here's the result!!! MDNI.

; with a too-big-cock, he hasn't managed to lose his virginity yet. until he shares a sweet little moment with you, the love of his life ♡

5.7k words

Soap had been thinking about this for ages. He had been in positions like this before, without a doubt, with previous partners.

But there was something deep inside him that was breathless over the fact that it was you situated so cute in his lap, dressed all cozy in some clothes you had left over at his place from a previous night you had spent with him. You two had been dating for some time now but he had done his best to avoid being in this predicament because he was worried it would end the same as it had with everyone else.

Even though Soap was 28, charming and had a lot of luck scoring dates, he was still a virgin. It was the most embarrassing little fact about him. It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course. In fact, all his teammates in 141 were positive he’d gotten laid more times than he could count. But bringing a pretty thing home from a bar always ended the same for him – with them scurrying out of his door with their clothes bundled in their arms the second he pulled his dick out.

So to say Soap was nervous right about now was in understatement.

You were so warm against him, smelled so lovely that it made his heart flutter in his chest. Everything about you was so intoxicating that he was terrified this was going to end the same way it always had with other partners – with you becoming intimidated and fleeing with your tail tucked between your legs.

He was so enamored by you that he didn’t think he would be able to cope if you walked out on him like everyone else.

You pulled him out of his head when you cupped his stubbly cheeks, pulling him in for a deep kiss. His hands flexed against your hips, tugging you even closer on his lap. He was growing harder and harder underneath you and he silently prayed that you didn’t feel it.

Your hands trailed down to his chest, pressing your palms flat against the firmness there as you deepened the kiss. You sighed sweetly into his mouth, dipping your tongue in to taste him as he eagerly kissed you back. His hands weren’t idle either, going from squeezing your hips to kneading your thighs, bared from your shorts.

Suddenly, he pulled back, eyeing the string of spit that connected your lips before smiling at the way you were panting from a kiss.

“Can we do…more, Johnny?” you ask softly, rolling your thumb over the scar on his chin.

“Are you sure you want to?” he fires back, meeting your gaze under his lashes.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you smile, adjusting yourself in his lap and he has to fight to hold back the groan from how good the pressure feels even though he’s still confined to his jeans, “I love you. You love me. Of course I want you.”

The way you say it so simply and sweetly makes him smile. He suddenly takes hold of your chin and tugs you close so your forehead rests against his, “I’m not goin’ to lie, sweetheart. I…” he nervously cleared his throat, “I’m a big guy.”

You blink owlishly at him for a moment, “You mean like…”

Your hand slips further down his chest and he quickly intercepts it, taking your hand in his with a nod of his head. Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth and he can see the way your pupils dilate.

“Okay…” you whisper, “You can just…work me open, yeah?”

His lashes flutter at those words, a groan getting caught in his chest. His hands find purchase on your waist, easily hoisting you up and tossing you onto the other end of the couch before crawling over you. He immediately begins kissing your neck and you eagerly let your head fall back so he can have more access. His chest is pressed against yours, pinning you down with his weight alone as his hands continue to caress your thighs which are splayed open around his hips.

His cock is painfully hard in his jeans, throbbing with need when he realizes you've started trembling under such simple touches. You lay there so sweetly underneath him, arms splayed on either side of your head letting him touch you and see you however he wants. Pliant.

“So sweet…” he coos, muffled with his lips pressed against your pulse point.

You sigh contentedly, heart hammering in your chest when his hands finally move north and start pushing your shirt up. Slowly, over your belly button, over your ribs, catching on the swell of your breasts before you lift your head and let him strip the material off. He tosses it somewhere in the living room but neither of you care where it lands.

“Shite…” he groans when he leans back on his heels, eyes landing on your bare breasts, “You’re somethin’ special.”

Before you have the chance to offer anything in reply, he's got his lips wrapped around one of your nipples. One hand supports his weight beside your body on the couch and the other carefully slips under the fabric of your panties. You eagerly spread your legs even more, anticipating his touch where you need him most but he doesn’t make any further movements.

His hand falls completely still, fingertips resting just above your clit, just the slightest twitch down and he would be touching the little bud.

His tongue eagerly swipes over the pebbled bud of your nipple that’s trapped in his hot mouth. You let out low sighs of pleasure, mindlessly arching your hips up in hopes to get him to move that damned hand lower — but he refuses, intent on teasing you with its presence so close to where you needed him.

He's got you wound taut, tense and aching for him. He dips down and you think he's going to give you what you want, but instead he uses two fingers to peel your folds apart. You feel like the air gets punched out of your lungs, thighs threatening to twitch closed but are blocked by his hulking form in between them. You can hear the sound of your folds parting, wet and sticky and it makes his cock fucking throb.

“You’re so wet, you hear that?” he teases, popping off your nipple with a crooked grin.

“Shut up,” you intend for it to come out biting but it comes out weak and soft, which only makes his grin broaden.

Your hole clenches pathetically around nothing, drooling and leaking into your panties. You feel like you could cum if so much as a breeze brushed over your clit. You've never been pushed so close to the edge from someone teasing you like this.

One of your hands finds purchase in his mohawk, tugging the short strands so he is forced to meet you in a heady kiss. You whimper into his mouth and his free hand cups and gropes your tits in his large hand, massaging the soft flesh as he eagerly kisses you back. As you kiss, you attempt to rut your hips up in hopes of getting him to slip between your folds and make you feel good, but it doesn’t work and he chuckles. It’s cute you think you can distract him like that.

The kiss is messy and sloppy, strings of spit connecting your lips when you finally part to take a breath. You look up at him with a dazed, heady look to your eyes that has him pecking your lips once again before descending back to your breasts. You cry out in surprise when you feel the nip of his teeth against the bud. As he tortures you with his mouth, he takes the chance to tug your shorts down your legs. You eagerly lift your hips to help him rid your body of the offending clothing, tossing them to get lost somewhere alongside your shirt.

Once you’re bare, you let your legs butterfly open, giving him a full view of your completely bare body.

You’re practically panting when his hand slinks down your body once again, parting your folds with that sticky sound that has heat flushing to your cheeks, much louder now that there’s no clothing blocking it. Soap’s eyes drop to your pussy, index and middle finger holding your labia apart so he can see how your clit throbs and your hole clenches pathetically around nothing, drooling down to the couch.

“So pretty,” he coos, wishing he could roll his thumb over that pretty little clit just to watch your body twitch from the pleasure but he’s on a miss.

He surges forward again to kiss you, soaking in your happy sigh at the little affection, but it doesn't last long before he's mouthing his way down your body — nipping and suckling at your skin as he makes his way further and further down.

His large, callused hands grip under your knees and pin you embarrassingly wide open with your knees to the couch. He kisses up your inner thigh and over your pelvis, stopping to press his lips against your hip bones before his tongue dips down and swipes over one of your labia.

Your taste lingers on his taste buds and he practically moans at the feeling. You gasp, hands flying to his mohawk when he gives the other side the same treatment, cleaning up your mess with his tongue.

You desperately attempt to rut your hips up, whining with your need to feel his touch properly where you need him but he backs off and waits for you to sink back into the cushions in defeat before pressing a kiss above your clit. His pretty, blue eyes watch every pout and furrow of your brows that crosses your face from his teasing.

He can tell you’re getting frustrated and needy – just the way he wants you. The fact you’re so pliant and at the mercy of whatever he’s willing to give you is intoxicating. You’re so sweet for him.

It feels like hours that he torments you, kissing around your thighs and lapping over your folds but never giving you what you actually need. He continues to clean up any mess without actually touching where you desire him most, simply savoring your juices on his tongue.

Your clit aches, twitching with need as it begs for just the slightest touch from him — something to put you out of your misery.

“Johnny…” you pathetically whimper, fisting his t-shirt, tugging him closer in hopes of getting him to give you what you want.

His long lashes flutter as he looks at you, “What is it, sweet one? Something you want?”

“Need,” you correct hastily with a tearful glare. He thinks it’s supposed to be intimidating but he only seems to find the display cute.

He laughs softly, a charming smile crossing his face as he looks completely endeared by you, “Need, huh? Are you always this needy?”

“Only for you, Johnny!” you whimper, moving your grip on his shirt to his hair again, hoping it’ll give you more leverage but he doesn’t budge.

He laughs softly, “That’s right, little one. Just for me.”

You feel so on edge, like he’s worked you up to an orgasm without ever actually touching you properly. He thumbs your folds apart, leaving the needy little bud open and exposed to his greedy gaze. You wish so badly he would just breathe against you so you could experience something more than this mind-numbing teasing your boyfriend has subjected you to. It’s pathetic, you realize, wishing for so much as a breath against your bud. But there’s just something about Johnny that always has you hanging on everything he does. You’re enamored, in love.

That thought has you whimpering, sinking back into the cushions of the couch.

“So sweet,” he coos dismissively, smile only widening as you tearfully glare at him.

His gaze darkens at the sound of a sob tearing through your chest and he bites his lower lip when his cock fucking throbs. He didn’t really think he’d be the type to enjoy seeing his partner cry and he’s not even sure he would be into it if it was anyone but you, but here he was.

Soap thinks you look so precious like this, defeated and waiting for his next move.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he commands suddenly, chastely kissing your navel when you finally meet his gaze, unfocused and tearful, “There you go, good. Don’t look away now, okay?”

You nod your head, finding yourself getting lost in his unwavering eye contact. His pretty blue eyes and long, soft eyelashes that you could simply marvel at for hours. He was so handsome and all yours and that alone made you even wetter. Your boyfriend was on top of you, giving his all in making you feel good.

As you're lost in thought and his eyes, his fingers finally dip down to where you need him most, pressing the pads of his digits against your clit. The little bud is so hard and sensitive that the small amount of stimulation has you toppling over the edge immediately.

Your eyes remain open and locked with Soaps as you cum with a weak cry of his name. His fingers gently circle your clit, sticky, wet circles over the bud to ease you through the high.

When you finally slump against the couch, thighs twitching against his sides through the aftershocks, he pulls back. Your eyes flutter closed, panting from the exertion of your orgasm. You’re practically boneless as Soap suddenly moves you trembling legs over his shoulders.

His gaze falls to your swollen, pulsing cunt. Your folds are covered in a slick film and he can still see the way your clit and hole throbs, drooling your cum messily with every clench. Your eyes flutter open, cheeks heating when you see how intently he’s staring at your pussy.

“Don’t stare…” you whine bashfully, voice dragging his gaze back to your face.

“Can’t help it,” he gives you a crooked grin, “You’re so pretty here.”

You whine at his response, kicking your foot against his back in retaliation.

Suddenly it's like all rational thought flies out of his head and he's pinning your knees to your chest.

You gasp at the change in position, “Johnny!”

He chuckles at the way you sound shy, as if he didn't just have you cumming underneath him a minute ago.

The feeling of his breath against your sensitive folds is enough to make your thighs twitch in his grasp. He makes a show, when he finds you looking down at him through your lashes with your chest rising and falling from how hard you're breathing, of letting his tongue fall from his mouth.

Slowly, he descends, sliding his tongue between your slick folds. You practically wail, your back bowing against the couch when his tongue swirls around your clit, suckling it into his mouth. Your head slams against the couch cushion as your eyes roll back in your head, your hands gripping at his mohawk as you wail his name.

“Johnny! Johnny! Johnny!” you squeal, legs kicking and flailing at the feeling of him eagerly slurping at your clit.

He backs off for a moment, releasing your bud with a lewd pop. You're panting and trembling, your knees still pressed against your chest, open and vulnerable for him. Your precious cunt is now coating in a slick film of your own cum and his spit.

“Keep yourself open for me,” he commends with a sharp look that makes you immediately do as you’re told. Your trembling fingers grip under your knees, hugging them to your chest.

He spreads your folds apart with his thumb before his mouth finds its place there again, eagerly slurping up your cunt with a moan. He desperately eats you, swirling his tongue over your clit and dipping it into your clenching cunt to taste your juices. He's messy and sloppy, drool and your cum dripping down his chin and neck.

You cry and tremble beneath the onslaught of his tongue, he introduces two fingers, swiping them against your drippy entrance. You barely even seem to notice, too distracted humping your clit against the flat of his tongue when he lays it flat out for you.

“Oh, Johnny!” you cry out, toes curling in your fuzzy socks the closer you get to your second orgasm, “Don't stop! Please, don't stop, Johnny!”

He moans against you, the sound and feeling of it sending you over the edge. When he feels your clit throb on his tongue, he finally slips those two fingers inside you. The feeling of suddenly being stretched and filled sends you flying even higher. Soap has to use his body to hold you down as you kick and squirm from the overstimulating pleasure of having his thick fingers crooking inside you, grinding against that gooey little spot.

“Johnny-!” you cut yourself off with a deep, long moan as you messily squirt all over the front of his shirt.

Johnny continues to grind the tips of his fingers into that tender little spot inside you until you simply can’t take it anymore and shove him off with a weak cry. Soap pops the cum covered fingers immediately into his mouth as he watches you twitch and tremble against the couch, tearfully staring up at him.

“Too much, sweetheart?” he asks, once he’s cleaned his fingers off.

You nod, taking a deep breath, “I-I’ve never…” you trail off and he quirks a brow.

“Never squirted?” he finishes and you nod, “Well, I’m honored then. I guess we’re even.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, finally uncurling yourself from your position with a weak grunt, opening your arms to pull him close to you, finding yourself needing his touch.

His cheeks heat up, realizing it’s time to finally tell you his little secret, “Well…it’s my first time.”

“Making someone squirt?” you offer him a soft smile but it quickly fades when he shakes his head.

“No, I mean…” he clears his throat, “I mean havin’ sex.”

Your eyes go wide, “Really? But you’re like…really good with your tongue.”

He chuckles softly, forehead falling against your chest, shaking his head, “No I’ve got a lot of experience in foreplay. It’s after that I’ve never gotten to.”

You sit up at that, shock apparent on your face, “You’re a virgin, Johnny?”

“Aye,” he solemnly nods, trying to hide the embarrassment that bubbles under the surface.

“But how?” you question, “You’ve dated a lot. You’re good looking and kind.”

He grins at your praise, “I told you, little one,” he sighs, figuring now would be a good time to properly warn you about what you’re getting into, “I’m a big guy. Most people get scared off.”

Your brows come together in confusion, “Really?”

He nods slowly, carefully watching your face for any signs of apprehension. But you only continue to look confused.

“Will you show me?” you finally ask.

“You want to see…?” he finds himself stumbling over your question, heart hammering in his chest when you eagerly nod your head.

Wordlessly he sits up on his knees, fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans. You can see the outline of his cock pressing against the material and he does look big but you want to see him completely.

He unzips his jeans and reaches inside, hissing at the feeling of his hand wrapped around his neglected length. He finally pulls his cock free, twitching at the feeling of the cool air against him. He’s been leaking precum profusely, incredibly turned on from making you cum twice.

“Johnny…” you whisper breathlessly, eyes wide as you stare at his length wrapped in his fist, “Holy shit.”

“I told you,” he smiles crookedly but deep down he’s nervous.

This is the moment that will make or break you. Either he finally gets to be with you, the person he wants to share his love with the most, or you give him that terrified look and go scampering away.

You reach out and knock his hand away, replacing his grip with your own. His breathing stutters when you give him a few, slow strokes. Your hand is so much smaller than his, unable to touch your fingers around the girth of him. The sight has him biting back a moan because fuck you’re so much smaller than him.

“You’re going to have to really prepare me, Johnny,” you playfully glare at him from under your lashes.

His brows shoot up in surprise, “You mean you…”

“I love you, Johnny,” you smile softly at him, “I want this with you. Just…take your time, okay?”

“Of course,” he swallows thickly, quickly batting your hand away and urging you to lay back once again.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss, “Let's go to the bedroom.”

“Yeah, yeah we-we can do that,” he stumbles over his words foolishly, making his ears burn red in a way he hopes you don’t actually notice.

After some stumbling and giggling, the two of you quickly find your way to his bedroom. After shutting the door, you crawl onto the bed, relaxing into the pillow, looking like his own little piece of heaven all naked on his sheets just for him.

He strips himself where he stands at the foot of the bed, tossing his shirt into the hamper in the corner before letting his jeans and boxers pool at his feet.

He’s on top of you before you know it, bringing you in for a kiss. As you eagerly spread your legs to accommodate his big frame, he reaches between your bodies and grips his cock again. Your entire body tenses up when you feel him pressing the tip against your folds.

“Johnny, no,” you whine, pressing against his chest, “Y-You’ll tear me open if you try to–”

“Not tryin’ to get it in, pretty baby,” he coos, “Jus’ trust me, yeah?”

You watch as he swipes the head through your folds, sliding the length between them, rutting his hips. You gasp as he grinds over your clit, making your whole body twitch from the stimulation. You’re still sensitive from the previous orgasms he had milked out of you.

Before long, he pauses.

“Look at that,” he grins, “That’s how deep I’ll be.”

You feel your cunt clench pathetically at the sight of his length resting over your pelvis. You know that when you take him all the way, he’s going to be prodding painfully at your cervix. But you know you’re going to love every second of it.

Not only is he long, his girth is amazing. You know it’s going to stretch you wide, you can practically feel the phantom burning feeling you know will accompany it. His cock is uncut, messily drooling all over your skin. The prettiest fucking cock you’ve ever seen and it makes your mouth water.

“Think you can take it?” he teases, playfully tapping the heavy length against your clit.

You whine and nod, “W-Want you to make me take it, Johnny.”

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” he chuckles softly, “Aye, we’ll make it fit, little one.”

Soap’s hand finds its way between your thighs again, two fingers prodding at your entrance as his other hand cups one of your breasts. You lay back in his pillows, staring up at him like he hung the moon and the stars as he stretches you open on those two digits.

You’re pillowy soft and wet inside, pretty cunt making sticky clicking sounds as he fucks you with them. Your cum coats his skin and a creamy mess begins to form at the last knuckle when he works that tender little spot up top.

Before long, he’s introducing a third finger. He slowly presses it in alongside the other two, stretching you open carefully and methodically until all three digits are pressed inside the tight clutch of your cunt.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he encourages, “Open up for me so I can give you my cock.”

You whine at that, “Want your cock, Johnny.”

He groans, pressing a kiss against your knee, “I know you do, sweet thing. Jus’ let me stretch you open for it, yeah?”

You nod and toss your head back, working your hips down against his fingers. He carefully fucks you with them, spreading them inside so you get used to the feeling of being stretched and filled for when the real thing is finally pressing inside.

Fuck, the thought makes his cock ache.

His thumb sneaks up and presses against your clit. The extra stimulation makes you clench around them like a vice and you moan so sweetly for him. He can’t wait to feel that around his heavy cock.

“Johnny, please!” you cry, “I want you already.”

“Fuck, alright, sweetheart,” he grunts, pulling his fingers from inside you with a wet sound.

He wraps those slick fingers around his length, smearing the mess across the soft skin. It’s embarrassingly desperate, the way he grips your hips and yanks you closer to him. You gasp at the forceful handling but quickly relax into the sheets when he leans down and kisses you again.

As you’re occupied with his lips and tongue, he grips the base of his length and carefully begins to prod at your entrance. You whimper into his mouth when he starts to press inside.

Just the tip of him is a lot to take and you can't help but wince when that fat head finally pops inside. Soap feels the way you jump and quickly pulls out, biting back a groan when he sees wet, sticky strings of your cum and his pre connecting his cock to your cunt.

He uses the head to circle your clit, making you sigh in pleasure before he’s pressing back inside. This time he, when the head pops inside, begins rolling your clit under his thumb to soothe the ache.

“Just relax,” he coos, slowly circling the bud as he sinks more and more of his length inside.

The stretch stings and he fills you up more than you’ve ever experienced before. He feels so heavy and hard inside you and his finger on your clit makes you reflexively clench and spasm around him. He moans at the feeling, pretty blue eyes rolling back as he feels half his cock being hugged.

Before long, he’s balls deep, deeper inside a cunt than he’s ever been in his life. Its euphoric for him. A painful ache settles in your stomach from how he’s prodding against your cervix. He stills, watching your furrowed brows as you get used to being stuffed full of his cock for the first time.

It dawns on him suddenly that he’s lost his virginity. To you. He’s got his fat cock buried in the one person he adores more than anything on this Earth.

He’s overcome with affection, surging forward to press his lips against yours. You whine when the angle change makes him press even deeper inside you but you kiss him back anyway.

He pulls back slowly, “Just relax,” he assures you again, “That was a lot, huh? You took me so well, pretty.”

After a few moments under his careful caresses and kisses, you relax into the bed. Blinking blearily up at him, you flex your hips and stir his cock inside. You whimper at the feeling and he slowly pulls back so only half his length is left inside.

“Pretty,” he mutters, “P-Pretty and fuckin’ wet.”

“Johnny…” you sigh sweetly, clutching at his sheets as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

Your tits bounce in time to his thrusts and he can’t take his eyes off them. He’s still a little shell-shocked from having you speared on his heavy, aching cock. He can’t believe he’s got the sweetest thing creaming around him, crying his name.

“Johnny!” you cry sharply, hands flying to cup your own tits.

Your eyes are wide, almost like you’re shocked, “What is it, pretty?” he asks, panting.

He watches in wonder as you toss your head back, squealing and trembling. You’re cumming, he realizes. Squeezing and clenching around his cock like a vice.

“Shite,” he moans, hands trembling as he grips your hips, helping you rut against him as you cum, “‘S it, ride it out for me. Cummin’ nice and hard, hm? Barely even did anything and you’re creamin’ all over me.”

You whimper, eyes rolling at his filthy words. You slowly sink back into the bed with a heavy sigh, heart racing as you stare up at him. Soap loves seeing you like this, covered in sweat and twitchy from how hard you came from nothing but his cock stuffed inside you.

“More, please, Johnny,” you whine, locking your ankles around his back, locking him against you, “I want more. Please make me cum again.”

He scoffs in disbelief, pressing his hands on either side of your head on the bed, “You just came and you want more?”

“Yes, please?” you ask softly, batting your lashes at him.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispers, slowly grinding his hips against you, making sure his pelvis grinds against your clit, “I’ll give you whatever you want. This cock’s all yours now, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, “All mine, Johnny. ‘S all mine. You’re all mine. L-Love you so much.”

“Fuck!” he growls, fisting his sheets as he works his hips faster and faster against you, “Love you too. Love you, love you, love you.”

He can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed at his babbling. All he can do is work his hips against yours, listening to your pretty moans and the slick sounds of your pretty pussy being fucked.

Your back arches and you reach between your bodies to circle your clit with trembling fingers. His jaw drops at the sight. He never thought he would have the chance to see a sweet little thing like you working themself to orgasm on his cock like this before.

“Sweet baby,” he whines, sounding broken and completely broken, burying his face in your neck, “You’re so wet. You’re makin’ such a mess around me. Pretty cunt’s so wet.”

You sob at that, eyes rolling as you toss your head back. You can feel another orgasm brewing, heating your skin and making you tremble underneath your boyfriend's massive body.

“Johnny, please!” you wail, feet kicking against his back.

“What? What do you need?” he pants, drooling against your skin from where his face is still buried.

“Please!” you cry again, pressing against his shoulders to push him back.

He looks dazed, completely fucked out and stupid from having his cock fucked for the first time. You grab his hand and shove it between your thighs. He quickly picks up what you need and starts rubbing your clit.

“This what you needed?” he pants, “Needed me to play with this pretty clit so you can cum nice and hard again?”

You squeal, jaw falling open as you back bows off the bed. He moans at the feeling of you soaking him, gushing and squirting against his bare chest and all over his hand. His mouth practically waters at the thought of getting to taste you as you cum again.

“Already?” he gasps, “So fuckin’ sensitive, cummin’ so easily for me. Fuck, so good for me. I’m gonna cum, baby.”

You nod your head, still shaking from your orgasm, “F-Fill me up, Johnny. Please. Want you to cum inside!”

“Fuck, are you sure?” he gasps, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

You nod your head, “Yes, need it, Johnny.”

He fists the sheets on either side of your head as his entire body begins to tremble. His hips lose their rhythm and with a few more, weak rabbiting thrusts, he’s cumming. He cries your name, rutting his hips against yours. The movement causes him to grind against your sensitive clit, making you whimper and twitch beneath him. He grinds painfully against your cervix from how deep he is but it’s worth it to see the pretty way he cums inside you. It's a hot, thick load that fills you up and oozes out the sides of his cock and drips down to the bed.

Afterwards, there’s a stillness that falls over the two of you. The only sound you can hear is the faint hum of the TV in the living room and the heavy panting between the two of you.

Soap can’t think of anything to say, all he can think is to lean down and press his lips against yours. He wraps his arms around your body, holding you close to him as you cling onto him, still trembling.

“Love you so much,” he whispers, muffled against your lips because he’s not willing to pull away.

“Johnny,” you whimper, “I love you.”

He smiles crookedly, pecking your nose and forehead over and over again before you’re giggling and pushing him away.

With his cock softened, he slowly and carefully pulls out of you, both of you wincing from how sensitive you are. Your thighs are still open and he watches as his cum oozes from your thoroughly abused cunt. His hand slides up your thigh, nearing your folds but you quickly slam your thighs shut, trapping his hand between them.

He looks up to find you glaring at him, “Don’t even think about it.”

He grins crookedly, shrugging his shoulders, “What’s the matter, baby? Don’t fancy a go again?”

“After that?” you cry, throwing your head back to laugh, “I’ve never cum so much in my life, Johnny!”

“Ah, you really know how to boost a man’s ego,” he chuckles, flopping onto the bed beside you.

He pulls you close, tucking you against his side, “Hard to believe that was your first time.”

“Aye,” he hums, kissing your temple, stroking your back slowly, “I’m glad it was you.”

“I am too, Johnny,” you snuggle close to him, kissing his bare chest.

There’s a quiet that falls over the two of you. Your breathing slowly begins to even out and he quickly realizes that you’ve fallen asleep. He hugs you closer, protective instincts urging him to keep you safe while you’re well-fucked and vulnerable like this in his arms.

His heart skips a beat when his gaze lands on his night table, remembering the ring he’s got hidden away within. He wonders when he’s going to grow the nerve to finally ask you to wear it.

DO NOT REDISTRBUTE, TRANSLATE, OR MODIFY. DO NOT RECOMMEND ON TIKTOK.

#john soap mactavish smut #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #soap smut #soap x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

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sakuravalelp · 2 months ago

Text

Don't eat anything else - Part 2 - DP X DC

Previous part

Masterpost

This is the only chapter where I'll tag people. Please, if you want to follow the story from this point on, follow the master post :).

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"You both should stop eating the food." Came Babs voice through the comms. "Danny asked Tim to not eat anything else. We suspect the food may content poison."

Bruce subtly shared a look with Cass before returning to nodding at Masters' proud rambling about his latest contract. They had both stopped eating long ago. The soup was good; Masters’ words about Danny being a good cook weren’t a lie. However, Bruce couldn’t identify the chunks of meat in the soup.

He initially thought it was pork, though the texture seemed somewhat similar to veal. By the fourth piece of meat he ate, he could confidently say he didn't recognize it. When he looked at Cass, he saw her using her spoon to play with one of the pieces of meat on the edge of the plate, a frown hidden behind her polite smile. He was sure then that the meat couldn't be one they had tasted before.

Bruce has tasted every kind of meat that should be available to Masters. He has even tasted exotic meats that Masters would probably never encounter, having represented humanity in intergalactic meetings as Batman. Not being able to identify the meat discouraged Bruce from eating more, and it seemed to have had the same effect on Cass. They had kept their food mostly untouched, using the excuse of waiting for Tim and Danny to return before eating. It was a good call; the meat being poisoned could be the reason it was unrecognizable.

"If any of you feel any symptoms, turn off your comm." None of them made a move to do so, and after a couple of minutes Babs continued, "I'll call Bruce in 10 minutes to create an excuse for you guys to leave."

Bruce would have liked to think that they had not yet consumed enough poison for it to affect them, but there's always the possibility of it being a delayed-effect poison. If Masters' plan with the poison was to kill them, then a delayed-effect poison would allow Masters to avoid being immediately connected to their deaths.

However, Masters shouldn’t have a reason to kill Bruce Wayne and his wards. Unless the man had discovered that they were investigating his contracts, which Bruce doubted. It was more likely that the poison was some sort of chemical restraint or chemical submissive, which would explain why Masters' contracts always seemed to end ridiculously in his favor. It would be easy to make such deals with someone who was drugged to be more agreeable with you.

Not that Bruce would be willing to take the risk to find out, especially with Cass having also ingested the tainted meat. He was glad he had brought the poison antidote kit with him. Despite this, Bruce wasn't sure about cutting the visit short, at least not for all of them. Tim had been gone with Danny for a while now, and if Danny had informed Tim about the food, they were probably exchanging information at the moment. Maybe Tim was in the process of offering Danny help, and Bruce didn't want to interrupt that.

"Renovations will be starting next week, and I'm sure the place will end up being quite popular," Masters finally finished his rambling.

"It sure sounds like it will. You certainly got yourself a great deal with Kensington, Mr. Masters. I'm curious, what is your negotiation method?" Bruce asked, hoping to gather more information.

Masters had been surprisingly adept at avoiding any conversation about the negotiations themselves, always sidetracking the discussion or giving half-answers. Drugs in the food was a good hypothesis and would be the best outcome for them, as such substances usually shouldn’t take too long to get out of their system.

Yet, it didn't explain how Masters' business partners seemed to stay committed to their contracts long after they were made. The furthest they had gotten from them was confusion about how they had reached the point where they accepted the contract's conditions. However, they all seemed convinced they had gotten the best outcome possible, despite obviously getting the short end of the stick.

It pointed to something besides drug usage. Maybe Masters got blackmail material from them while they were drugged? It would be easier to draw conclusions if Masters had even the smallest slip about it.

Masters smiled, taking a sip from his wine. "Ah, it takes years of practice, Wayne. It isn't something one can learn in a day, and only those with the capacity can master it," he said. Then, before Bruce could ask any follow-up questions, he continued, "Now, Daniel and young Mr. Drake sure seem to be taking their time."

"Oh, that doesn't surprise me," Bruce said, shaking his head with a fond smile, playing farther into his "Brucie" persona while lamenting the lost opportunities to get more leads on what Masters was doing. "They're around the same age. Surely they got distracted talking about whatever is of interest to kids their age these days."

"I would be glad if my godson got along so well with your son, Mr. Wayne," Masters said with a practiced smile, though a hint of calculation flickered in his eyes. He gestured vaguely with his wine glass, his tone deceptively sympathetic. "The loss of his family hasn't been easy for him, and building a connection with someone like Mr. Drake could be beneficial. However, it is quite rude to leave the guests waiting. As his guardian, I must address this. I’ll go search for them." Masters stated, standing up from his seat.

Luckily, Bruce didn't need to interject to stop Masters from interrupting his son's conversation with Danny, since the two boys appeared by the door as if summoned by Masters' comment. Danny visibly tensed the moment he spotted Masters standing in his place.

"Daniel, it's good you're finally back. I was about to go search for you," Masters said, throwing Danny a stern look.

Danny opened his mouth, probably about to apologize for the wait, but Tim beat him to it.

"So sorry, Mr. Masters. I had to take a shower before changing clothes."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Mr. Drake," Masters said as he looked Tim up and down, evaluating if what Tim was saying was true. His eyes lingered on Tim's wet hair for a moment, and the tension in his eyes relaxed a bit. "It is Daniel's fault for throwing the soup on you. Now, shall we continue with the dinner?" Masters sat once more on his chair.

"Should—" Danny started, slightly stuttering when Masters' eyes returned to him. "Should I serve new portions? Since the ones on the table are probably cold by now?" the intensity of Masters gaze increased with every word Danny said. In response, Danny lowered his gaze to the floor, and shifted nervously.

Danny's voice was way too small by the end of his sentence, but Bruce could sense some hidden urgency in his tone. Remembering that Danny was the one who had warned them about the food, Bruce could infer that he was trying to further prevent them from eating it. It gave Bruce the impression that Masters had also caught onto that fact, given how tense the man was.

He was grateful for the kid doing their best to protect them, but lamented putting them in a position where they had to risk confronting their abuser. Bruce really hoped Tim had convinced Danny to leave with them. It shouldn't be difficult to create a reasonable invitation for Danny after Masters' comment about how he was isolating himself.

"Good idea," Cass said with a gentle smile directed at Danny before Masters could make any move.

Masters' eyes narrowed slightly, but then he nodded. "Very well. Daniel, go ahead."

As Danny hurried to the kitchen, Bruce shared a subtle glance with Tim, who was retaking his seat beside Cass. Unfortunately, instead of the nod indicating that they could get Danny to leave with them if they created the opportunity, Tim just shrugged. It wasn't the sign for Danny refusing help, but the one for things being more complicated than they seemed. Bruce sighed, and before Danny returned from the kitchen, his phone rang. He excused himself to answer Babs' call, lamenting not being able to take Danny with them.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Bruce came back from his brief call with Babs with a worried face that Cass knew wasn't the one he made when actual "family emergencies" happened. It was exagerated and dramatic, it screamed "something terrible had happened," and was perfect for this kind of situations. Bruce quickly ushered Cass and Tim out, apologizing to Masters for the hasty departure. They barely had time to say goodbye to Danny, who had hurried back from the kitchen after Masters had shouted about seeing off the guests.

Cass noticed a subtle shift in Danny’s demeanor as they prepared to leave. His shoulders dropped slightly, and there was a fleeting look of relief in his eyes. However, that relief was overshadowed by the palpable fear that clung to him; his tense posture betrayed the anxiety he was trying to hide. It was hard to leave him behind, and Cass almost ran back when she caught sight of Vlad’s possessive hand on Danny’s shoulder and his venomous, angry eyes as she was walking out the door.

As soon as they were in the car, Tim immediately began checking the vehicle and himself for hidden microphones, with Bruce and Cass following his lead with little more than a raised eyebrow. Tim’s decision to search for bugs made sense once he explained that Danny’s room had been bugged,

"Honestly, Danny's so careful with his actions and words everywhere, I wouldn't be surprised if the whole property is bugged."

The drive back to the house they had rented was tense, the atmosphere in the car thick with unspoken concerns. Tim decided to use the ride home to update them on what he had seen. In turn, Bruce spoke about the dinner with Masters, detailing their regrettable failure to extract any additional information from the man. The evening ultimately boiled down to the suspicion that the food had been poisoned. Cass remained silent, not feeling up to talking.

She had her doubts about the food being poisoned; even if the poison hadn't shown any symptoms, her past training should have allowed her to identify it if she had consumed it. It seemed unlikely that Masters possessed a poison so sophisticated that she couldn’t detect it, and the thought only deepened her unease. She though back to how their hosts acted at the start of the dinner.

Danny looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His eyes darted nervously between them and Masters, his hands trembling slightly as he served the food. The guilt and fear radiating from him were almost palpable, as if he believed he was committing an unforgivable sin by offering them the meal.

Masters, however, didn’t seem like he was planning to poison them. He behaved more like Damian’s classmates had when they once tried to trick him into eating non-vegan food at a gala. His smile was too easy, his gestures too casual, like someone who thought they were pulling off a harmless but cruel prank. It felt like he was purposely feeding them something he knew was outside their comfort zone and ethical beliefs, testing their reactions with a detached amusement.

From the very beginning, Cass had felt a deep discomfort about the food. The way Masters and Danny acted around it had set off her internal alarms. When she took the first bite of the meat, something immediately felt off. The texture was unfamiliar, and the taste was oddly unsettling—not in a way that clearly indicated poison, but in a manner that was subtly disturbing, she didn't know what she was eating. It made her skin crawl, and she couldn’t bring herself to take another bite.

The car coming to a stop in the house’s garage jolted Cass out of her thoughts. They all exited the vehicle, and Jason’s motorcycle was parked beside them as he opened the door. tightly clenched jaw. Like the rest of them, he was frustrated by their inability to take Danny with them, but he wasn’t vocalizing it because he was also worried about what they had eaten.

Once the door was opened, Bruce was ready to rush into his bedroom to get the poison antidote kit, but Jason stopped him,

"Hold on old man, I want to know what the note the kid gave Tim says. It may even say what poison was used; save us time."

"Mnn" Bruce said with a slight nod, and Tim started unfolding the paper in response.

The folded paper was as small as a pinky, but once unfolded, it revealed a full letter-sized sheet, and the text filled at least half of it. Tim skimmed the text as he usually did before reading aloud, but his face quickly drained of color. His eyes widened in horror and disgust. Instead of reading aloud, he kept running his eyes over the first line repeatedly, his gaze darting between Bruce and Cass. His jaw was clenched tightly, and he struggled to keep his composure, fighting against the bile rising in his throat. Cass couldn’t help but frown deeply, a growing sense of dread settling in as she wondered what the paper could possibly contain.

"Forgot how to read, replacement?" Jason said, his tone lacking its usual edge. He stood beside Tim, his expression a mix of uncertainty and concern, unsure whether to reach for the paper or not.

Tim takes a shudering breath, and Cass herself can't help but shift in her place, her anxiety growing, as they all wait for Tim to gain back his voice and finally read what Danny's note says.

"The meat on the food is human meat." Tim finally says with a strained voice.

There's a moment of silence in the room. Cass keeps her eyes on Tim, hoping, pleading, to find any signs that what she heard is wrong, but Tim only repeats the sentence. Her stomach churns violently as bile rises in her throat. Without effort, she sinks to the ground, her legs giving out as she begins to vomit. The pounding of her heart fills her ears, as black dots fill her sight and her hands tremble uncontrollably. She is dimly aware of Bruce doubling over beside her, and the sound of Jason hitting the wall.

She ate human meat. It may have just been a bite, but she ate human meat. The dinner had been made from human meat. Her mind recoiled at the abhorrent thought. The thought of the soup they were served makes her vomit once more. She gasps for air, her body shaking as she fights against the rising tide of revulsion, desperately trying to rid herself of the lingering taste and the horrifying realization of what they ingested. She feels Tims hand doing smalls circles in her back and realizes that tears had been falling from her face.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Danny's hands trembled as he injected himself with another dose of ectoplasm. The shaking made the syringe jab painfully as he withdrew it, causing drops of blood and ectoplasm to fall to the floor while the injury quickly healed. Ten minutes of continuous electrical shocks wasn’t the worst punishment he had received from Vlad, but it had the most severe drawbacks. His body had a harder time recovering from electrical damage than from any other kind of harm, and Vlad often exploited this weakness.

He took a deep breath as the last of the Lichenberg marks disappeared from his legs and arms, leaving only the ones he’d gotten from his death. He sat on the bathroom floor, staring at the ceiling, his legs and arms still trembling. He wasn’t sure if the tremors were from the electrical aftershocks or his own anxiety. Vlad had been furious about his little stunt with the soup and had once again reminded him that they weren't eating Danny’s friends because he was such a "compassionate guardian."

The reminder had thrown Danny into a couple of panic attacks once he was allowed to return to his room. He thanks he's advanced dissociative abilities for not having those panics attacks in front of Vlad. He doesn't wan't to know how the man would try to exploit that.

But even as his whole body trembles and aches, he doesn’t regret his decisions. This is his only chance for things to change. The Waynes are a powerful family with connections to the Justice League. While the League has not interfered with what has happened in Amity Park up till now, they might get involved if the Waynes reach out to them. It’s wishful thinking, and he’s risking a lot, but this gut-wrenching dinner has become the first glimmer of hope he’s had since his family’s death, and he’ll hold onto it with his half-life.

Once he's body stops trembling and he's head feels a bit clearer, he needs to text Sam and Tucker. He'll depend on them for this to not backfire on all denizens.

#dc x dp crossover #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #batfam #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #danny fenton #Sorry for the long wait #I got overwhelmed by the amount of people #And then felt that nothing was good enough to publish T^T #I still feel this couls be better #But I hope you all like it #Danny's plan goes a bit further than only getting the Waynes out #Tim couldn't get himself to read the whole note #He got stuck on the first line #I tried to add more descriptions of corporal expressions for Cass's POV #And a more analytical but worried for Bruce's POV

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neixins · 7 months ago

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[ID: a panel from chapter 101 of “yona of the dawn” showing gija reaching out towards the spirits of previous white dragons with a determined expression and saying, “okay! come here! come over here! i’ll take every last one of you! i will clear up your regrets! has anyone fallen off?”. the spirits, depicted as blobs with angry expressions and hands, are crowding around him. out of frame, zeno is saying, “but you have the willpower to hold back that negative energy. you embrace the evil spirits that have piled up over thousands of years, and accept them.”. end ID.]

This doesn’t need words. This is perfection.

#sorry in advance for rambling in the tags of a post from 2015 but i do have a lot to say about this #like this panel shows gija actively interacting with The Specters to illustrate the point but he Can’t See Them #he doesn’t actually know they’re there. he arguably doesn’t figure it out until ch 252 #he’s just guessing how they must’ve felt (possibly based on his own feelings of restlessness prior to yona arriving to his village)#At Best he’s basing it off records that i bet his village keeps #but he doesn’t know they’re there. it’s not like he chose to try to redeem them bc they kept tormenting him or smth #he chose to do that based on nothing but Feeling #(which is how he does everything. no thoughts just feelings and actions <3)#sometimes i wonder if the previous white dragons’ blessing would’ve been a curse if he didn’t care about them so much…..#special little guy birthday posting <3 #akayona

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saintobio · 5 months ago

Text

blank canvas. (3)

in an attempt to rekindle an already fractured relationship, you open your eyes to the harsh reality that some things, once broken, can no longer be repaired.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, degradation, explicit smut, toxic relationship

notes. 8.3k wc. here’s the last part !! although there will still be an epilogue, which will be posted a few days from now (let’s not jinx it lol). but thank you for supporting this three-part fic :’) feedback and reblogs are most appreciated!

part 2 | epilogue

He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not.

Sighing, you stood behind the counter of your floral shop, absentmindedly picking on the rose petals like an infatuated teenager. It was almost ridiculous what you were doing out of boredom. And although the sweet scent of the flowers surrounding you were supposed to feel calming, it did little to lift the terrible weight on your chest.

Two weeks had passed since you had given your virginity to Satoru. Two weeks since you tried to move on from Sukuna.

Others might say you were too irrational with it. Others might say you did the right thing. But honestly, what was so good about having sex with a guy you barely knew when you spent years refusing to do it with your actual boyfriend?

Yes, you were definitely, undeniably irrational with it. You realized it all too late after you had already given your virginity to another guy. You weren’t even sure what compelled you to ask Satoru to do it with you, but at the time, it felt right. It felt reasonable that you were trying to get over an ex-boyfriend, out of spite, for not setting boundaries with other women while you were still together. You thought it would be fair to play a similar part in this tragic tale, that it wouldn’t be too bad not to set boundaries with other men who showed attraction to you, too.

After all, Sukuna had countless women constantly latching onto him, while Satoru was the first guy within your past relationship who developed an interest in you.

Besides, it wasn’t some kind of fairytale scene when you two slept together. Because to Satoru, it was nothing but a casual encounter. He did his best to make sure that you enjoyed it from finish to end, and you appreciated his sincerity in guiding you throughout, yet you couldn’t deny to yourself that all you had been thinking of at the time was Sukuna. You contrasted everything Satoru did with Sukuna—like how Satoru was slow and sensual, while Sukuna was rough and vulgar. Satoru enjoyed cuddling afterward, whereas Sukuna would likely go straight to sleep. Satoru was too clingy and playful, while Sukuna was more reserved and mature.

The worst part was, your heart still preferred one over the other. And it wasn’t the guy with the white hair and blue eyes.

Satoru was a good guy, and he had genuine intentions, but after being intimate with someone you weren’t in love with, you understood that your potential relationship would never be as good as your previous one. You longed for a man like Sukuna, because despite his typical bad boy persona, he was anything but boring. Being with him was a thrill, and no matter how toxic it was, you were addicted to him.

And that’s wrong. Your lips curled into a frown.

You glanced out the window for what felt like the hundredth time that day, your eyes drawn across the street to Sukuna’s tattoo shop. The neon sign that once buzzed with life now hung dark and lifeless. Every now and then, you could see some of his old clients passing by the shop, hoping for a chance that their favorite tattoo artist was back in business. But Sukuna still hadn’t reopened the shop in days, for almost a month now as a matter of fact, and his absence filled you with a gnawing sense of worry and longing.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, while that was certainly true, it also drove you crazy. Why hasn’t he opened his shop? you wondered, biting your lip. Did he move out? Did he forget about me entirely?

You turned back to your flowers, but your hands stilled as your thoughts consumed you. What would Sukuna think if he knew someone else had taken your virginity? The thought made your stomach twist. You could already hear his voice telling you that you had given yourself to someone else out of desperation, but it clearly didn’t work. If anything, it only made you miss him even more.

Your fingers traced the petals of a rose as memories flooded your mind. The way Sukuna used to look at you, his intense eyes softening just for you. The way his laugh would rumble through his chest when you said something funny. You missed him. You missed everything about him, even the way he could infuriate you with his arrogance.

A sigh escaped your lips as you placed the finished bouquet in a vase. The floral shop was quiet today, save for the distant hum of traffic outside. The city would be busy again during rush hour, but for now, you leaned against the counter, your gaze drifting back to the tattoo shop across. He’s probably with his ex, you thought, feeling a lump form in your throat. Yet you couldn’t help but wonder if he still thought about you. Did he miss me too? Or had he moved on completely?

You pressed your hand to your heart. You wanted to be with him. You wanted to tell him how much you missed him, how much you regretted trying to move on so quickly, how much you wished you didn’t break up with him. You had no backbone when it came to Sukuna. But the fear of rejection, the fear that he no longer cared, kept you rooted in place.

Pushing yourself off the counter, you walked to the front door and flipped the sign to “Closed.” It was best to close off early today. You needed a moment to yourself, a moment to clear your head in the safety of your bedroom. But as you locked the door, you couldn’t stop yourself from stealing one last glance at Sukuna’s shop. The light flickered at first, making you wonder whether you had just imagined it, but then your heart skipped a beat when you saw the lights completely turning on inside.

Your pulse quickened, and you found yourself drawn to the sight. If it was him in there, maybe this was your chance to talk and clear the air. Or maybe, it wouldn’t be wrong to simply check on him since he had been away for almost a month. What if something terrible had happened to him during those past weeks? What if he had gotten sick? With hesitant steps, you eventually crossed the street and approached his shop. There, you could see him through the window as you got closer, shirtless and his rib wrapped in a bandage, clearly covering a fresh new tattoo. In seeing your presence, he looked up, but his eyes passed over you as if you weren’t even there.

You knocked lightly on the glass door, and he glanced up again, but his expression remained indifferent, like he was trying to suppress his emotions. He didn’t move to open the door as you expected. In fact, he seemed to be arguing with himself in his head.

“Hey,” you started, your voice trembling slightly. “Can we talk?”

Sukuna didn’t respond right away when he wiped his hands on a rag, still not meeting your eyes. Your heart ached from the heavy silence, but before you could say anything more, the sound of a car engine broke the stillness of that scene.

An expensive McLaren car pulled up to the curb, and you were quick to recognize its owner.

It was Satoru rolling down his window, a bright smile on his face as he looked at you. His beam was almost blinding, distracting you from the presently awkward situation you had placed yourself in.

“Y/N,” he greeted cheerfully, completely oblivious to the tension. “Did you miss me?”

Oh, Jesus.

The words hung in the air like a bomb, and you felt the color drain from your face as you thought of how dangerous this situation would be for you. When you saw Sukuna’s eyes flicker with interest, his posture stiffened as he finally paid attention, and you realized it was too late. Way too late.

“Is that guy bothering you?” Sukuna finally asked, his voice unusually calm as he approached the door. The closer the proximity, the more your heart started to race. It was running at 250 km/h like it was on track.

Satoru’s smile then faltered, now sensing the shift in the atmosphere. It was his first time meeting Sukuna, and based on the stories you had shared with him and Suguru, he was smart enough to recognize that the tattooed man was your ex.

“I got what you asked for.” Satoru ignored Sukuna and looked back at you, holding up a small bag. “Birth control, right?”

Never in your life did you want to disappear like a puff of smoke. The sudden turn of events was so wild and unexpected. You could see that Satoru was enjoying provoking your ex-boyfriend, but the whole exchange was making you feel nauseous. The tension was so overwhelming that you couldn’t speak, or move, or do anything at all. You were simply frozen.

It was also at that time when Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his gaze moving between you and Satoru. The pieces began to click into place, and a dark realization settled over his features. “You slept with him?” he asked, his voice low and accusatory.

“Sukuna, I…” Your breath caught in your throat because you couldn’t find the damn words to respond. Should you deny it? Should you say it wasn’t anything like that? There was no way you could get out of this situation even if you wanted to.

But Satoru stepped out of his car in your defense. “It’s none of your business what she does—”

“Shut up, you douchebag,” Sukuna snapped, his glare turning deadly. He looked at you with sharp eyes, ones filled with a mixture of hurt and fury. With the way he was glaring, you knew he was murdering you in his head. “So this is how you move on?”

Your eyes stung from the incoming tears. You wanted to explain, to tell him that you only did it out of spite, but the words just wouldn’t come. You knew it was still wrong and that it would be a huge slap to his face hearing that you had hooked up with someone else before him. You hadn’t even confirmed anything, yet the intensity of Sukuna’s gaze already made you feel like you were suffocating.

As the two men stood there, locked in a silent standoff, you recognized it as the loudest silence you had experienced in your life. That was, until Satoru broke that silence by reaching for your hand. “Let’s go,” he said gently, guiding you towards his car.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes lingering on Sukuna, but the look of betrayal on his face was too much to bear. It was either you turn away and leave him behind or you stay there and explain to him.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have the courage to do the latter.

— —

The roar of Sukuna’s bike echoed through the night, slicing through the darkness as he raced down the highway like a motorcycle racer on a professional track. His mind was a whirl of thoughts, jealousy and rage fueling his every movement. With every thought of you, his knuckles felt cold.

Look, he wasn’t planning to pursue you after you left with that guy, but his ego just wouldn’t allow it. After piecing the situation together, something inside him just snapped. Like a timebomb. A very dangerous one. He couldn’t control his emotions, and he couldn’t just let you go like that. Damn it. Almost two years of forcing him into celibacy, and you suddenly threw yourself at a guy you just met?

He revved his motorbike, scoffing bitterly behind his helmet. He was riding recklessly, without a care to the other vehicles he almost crashed into. Fuck. He had spent nearly a month sulking over your pathetic breakup, he had tried his hardest to avoid you, when all this time, you were out there offering your virginity to some random trust fund-looking guy. How ridiculous was that? How utterly, goddamn ridiculous was it? Maybe you had just revealed your true colors right there. You had always felt uncertain about Sukuna because he had nothing but a tattoo shop and a decent motorbike. Now, you’ve met the picture-perfect guy your parents always wanted for you, so you found it easy to spread your legs open and allow some other guy’s dick inside.

You were worse than a whore.

The wind whipped against his bare chest, but he paid no mind to the cold. He didn’t care anymore. Even if the police were to chase after him, he didn’t fucking care. His focus was on the red taillights of your new guy’s McLaren car ahead of him. Sukuna pushed the throttle, his bike accelerating with a ferocious growl, causing a scene along the highway.

He mapped the situation in his head. Who was faster in this highway chase; the McLaren or his bike? While the McLaren 720 had a higher top speed, Sukuna’s Yamaha YZF-R1 was highly agile and could be more maneuverable in tight spaces. In a straight-line chase, the McLaren would eventually outpace his bike, but in scenarios involving a lot of maneuvering, he could have an advantage.

Too bad for you and your new guy though, since this highway was Sukuna’s domain. His superbike had already passed through the tightest of spaces in the midst of traffic during rush hour, so he was a clear winner here.

And in saying that, the distance between you closed rapidly, and soon he was right behind the car, the bike’s engine roaring like a beast unleashed. With a piercing screech of tires, Sukuna maneuvered his bike alongside Satoru’s car, forcing him to pull over by kicking the driver’s side door. The car drifted and screeched to a halt on the shoulder of the highway, and Sukuna followed suit, cutting the engine and dismounting in one fluid motion. His precious bike, now discarded on the floor, all for the sake of confronting the woman he thought had loved him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Satoru demanded, stepping out of the car with a confident swing. He tried to look tough by using their height differences against him, but he wasn’t intimidating to Sukuna at all.

“Get out, Y/N,” Sukuna ordered, his voice dangerously low as he ignored Satoru and the countless cars honking behind them. His eyes were locked on the passenger side where you sat, your expression an amalgam of fear and hesitation. “I said get the fuck out!”

“Dude, chill out.” Satoru tried to put a hand on his shoulder, only to have his hand swiftly rebuffed. “I’m not letting her go with a man who’s clearly upset.”

“Stay the fuck outta this,” Sukuna growled, his fists clenched at his sides. The white-haired punk should take that as a warning. He should back out before his fist lands on his precious face. Plastic surgery isn’t cheap nowadays. “Y/N, if you don’t wanna cause a scene, I suggest you get the fuck outta there.”

Your chest rose and fell as you looked between the two men. You knew Sukuna well enough to understand that he wasn’t going to back down. And with a line of angry cars honking at the unnecessary traffic jam you were causing, you had no other choice but to open the door and step out.

Satoru's first instinct was to gesture for you to stay back. “Y/N—”

“Satoru, it’s okay,” you said softly. “I need to talk to him.”

The white-haired man hesitated at first, clearly worried for your safety, but with your insistence, he eventually nodded and stepped back to give you space. Sukuna’s eyes burned with intensity as he watched that interaction between you two.

“‘Kuna, can we at least pull over on the side and not talk in the middle of the highway?” you practically begged, your voice trembling as a few cars managed to squeeze their way between the McLaren and the YZF-R1, throwing harsh curse words towards you and your ex-boyfriend for the road blockage you had caused. Sukuna didn’t even flinch. All you could see was the anger in his eyes, and the pain lurking just beneath his irises.

“I’m perfectly fine talking here,” was Sukuna’s reply, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me why you’re with that douche. I think you owe me a damn good explanation, angel.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. You just wanted to get this conversation over with. “W-We broke up. It shouldn’t matter to you anymore.”

Beep. Beep. “Get off the road, you idiots! You’re holding everyone up!”

Beep. Beep. “Who do you think you are, blocking traffic like this?”

“Is that so?” Sukuna scoffed, taking a step closer as he cornered you. “You moved on pretty quickly, didn’t you?”

You flinched at his tone, but you knew you had to tell him the truth. You knew you would not be able to escape this situation if you didn’t admit it sooner or later. “Something did happen between me and Satoru,” you finally confessed, feeling uneasy from the lingering eyes of the heated drivers. “I didn’t plan it, it was just…”

Beep. Beep. “This is a highway, not a soap opera set!”

Beep. Beep. “Take your drama somewhere else!”

Sukuna’s eyes were clouded in disgust, the color of his lenses becoming red from the fire of his fury. “So you really gave it to him?!” he demanded, his voice rising. He looked like he could punch someone at this rate. “After everything we had, you gave yourself to someone else?!”

Beep. Beep. “Learn to drive and pull over if you want to argue!”

You could feel your entire body shaking, but you tried to hold your ground. “I-I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought it would help me forget about you.”

“Forget about me?” Sukuna’s laugh was harsh, almost maniacal, because he was truly losing his shit. “You think you can forget about me by sleeping with some random guy?” He took another step closer, his presence far more overwhelming than the rest of the vehicle surrounding you. “You’re nothing to me now,” he snarled at your face, the reality of his words cutting through your heart like a knife. “You’re just another girl who threw herself away.”

Tears spilled over as you watched him turn his back on you, preparing to mount his bike again. “And what about you, Sukuna?” you challenged, despite his obvious departure. “Do you think you’re any better? You act as if you wouldn’t have cheated on me if I hadn’t confronted you about it!”

For a moment, Sukuna was silent, his anger and pain warring within him. Then he shook his head, his expression hardening as he pulled down the visor of his helmet. “But I never cheated,” he said that fact coldly, “So, don’t expect me to stick around and pick up the pieces. You’re just somebody’s leftover now.”

He turned away, the finality of his words hanging in the air to wreck you in half. As soon as he sped up the bike, he vanished into the highway, accelerating from 0 to 60 mph in 2 seconds. The roar of his bike was louder than a thunderstorm. He didn’t even care for his own safety. And as you watched him go, you could feel the rain pouring out with your heart breaking all over again, like a vase cracking against the floor, its pieces forever irreparable.

His words hurt more than his actions ever did. And you were never one to handle it as good as you thought you would be.

— —

“I’m not trying to be biased here or anything,” Choso said, lighting his cigarette as he leaned against his Harley Davidson bike. “But even if you weren’t my step-bro, I still think you did the right thing. I wouldn’t be able to stomach hearing my ex-girlfriend be fucked by some dude after years of not giving it to me.”

Sukuna crouched next to his R1, the polished bike gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the garage. He had his shirt lay discarded nearby, leaving his toned torso exposed as he worked on changing oil. Sweat mixed with grease smudged across his chest and arms, emphasizing the taut muscles and the intricate tattoos that covered his skin. If he had women here, they would have fainted already. The sight of him sweaty and shirtless while working on his bike would have been an eye candy for them, but he didn’t need to think of that now. He merely focused on moving his hands deftly, loosening bolts and draining the old oil into a container. The methodical process offered him a momentary distraction from the chaos in his mind.

“It’s simple,” Sukuna spoke, pausing to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand and inadvertently spreading more grease, “The albino guy looks rich. She just proved to me she’s nowhere near being a good girl when a rich guy’s involved.”

The memory of his ex-girlfriend as she was picked up by another man replayed in his head. He couldn’t stop imagining how your first night went on. Did you let him fuck you raw? Did you let him hit you from the back? Did you let him cum inside? Did you go for round two? Did you choke on his cock like a good girl?

He remembered what your naked body looked like. How soft your breasts felt like. How sweet your pussy tasted like. Now, another man had a taste of it, and he couldn’t be any more disgusted. It was sickening to think that another man’s cock got to feel you inside before he did. And that you willingly allowed it.

“Fuck that,” he muttered to himself, tightening the new oil filter. His eyes narrowed in concentration, but his mind drifted back to the breakup. He’d always prided himself on being in control, on not letting himself be caught in temptation. But you had pushed his buttons too far, and even though he still never betrayed you, he was sick in the stomach to see that you were the first one who did.

“Women,” Choso agreed, grinning as he shook his head. “If she wasn’t Yuki’s friend, I would’ve cut her off.”

The wrench slipped from Sukuna's hand, leaving it to clatter to the ground. He cursed under his breath, bending down to retrieve it, his movements were fluid and graceful despite the tension in his body. “You don’t need to cut her off. It’s between me and her. She still treated you like a brother.”

The younger man raked his fingers through his raven hair, checking himself out on the bike’s mirror. “Nah. She was closer to Yuuji than me, anyway.”

Sukuna stood up, wiped his hands on a rag, and poured fresh oil into the engine. The task was almost done, but his thoughts remained tangled. Seeing you with someone else couldn’t stop igniting a fire in him, a possessive rage he couldn’t quite shake. He missed the way you two were before, the way you couldn't get enough of each other when you were together. He missed the connection you shared, because it was something he hadn’t felt with anyone else.

Finishing the oil change, he straightened up, staring at his reflection in the bike’s mirror. The man looking back at him seemed foreign, his usual arrogance tempered by a vulnerability he didn’t care to acknowledge. He then ran a hand through his hair, smearing more grease, and sighed.

“Maybe it’s time to go back to the old times,” Sukuna spoke his thoughts out loud, with his step-brother merely staring at him. “I’m single now.”

With a final glance at the bike, Sukuna grabbed his shirt and slipped it on, the fabric sticking to his damp skin. He needed a ride to clear his head, to feel the rush of the wind against his face. As he swung a leg over the R1, threw his helmet on, and revved the engine, the powerful roar echoed through the space, drowning out his thoughts for a moment.

“Be careful out there!” was Choso’s last reminder.

He sped off, the world blurring around him, but no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t escape the image of your face or the sting of jealousy that burned in his chest. His mind was clouded with thoughts of you, and your face haunted him at every turn.

As he rode, his anger simmered, his frustration building with each passing moment. The pain of betrayal gnawed at him, further fueling his reckless impulses. You’re such a piece of shit. All this time, you were claiming to be this too good of a girl who was as innocent as a bunny. When, as a matter of fact, you and your new boy toy were fucking each other like rabbits. It was funny, really, how you made him wait two years for nothing. He was your boyfriend, and yet you deprived him of sexual pleasure by pretending you were scared of it. What kind of stupid virgin would throw herself to a random guy when she’s scared to lose her virginity to her own boyfriend?

Such bullshit. With a growl of frustration, Sukuna veered off course, his bike skidding to a stop in front of a familiar building. The apartment loomed before him as a dark silhouette against the night sky. It had been several weeks since he had seen her, but tonight, he didn’t care.

His fists clenched at his sides as he marched up the steps to her door. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of anger and desperation swirling inside him. He was going crazy and he wanted to blow off steam. He wanted to let his frustration out, so he banged on the door, the sound of his fist colliding with the wood echoing through the quiet street.

After a moment, the door swung open, and a stunned Yorozu stood before him, bleary-eyed and disheveled. Surprise flickered across her face as she took in his appearance, his eyes burning with intensity.

“Ryo… What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. The last time they spoke, he was very vocal about having a girlfriend and wanting to keep things professional.

Sukuna, this time around, didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I need you.”

Yorozu’s eyes widened in surprise. “But you—”

“Please, Yorozu.” He pressed a hand against the door, cornering her in between. “I really, really need you right now.”

She wasn’t naive. She understood his implication, and he had certainly conveyed that he was no longer with you. And without hesitation, she stepped aside, allowing him to enter without a word. Sukuna felt a rush of adrenaline as soon as he was inside her place, his mind consumed by the need to forget, if only for a moment.

The door closed behind him, and in the darkness of the apartment, Sukuna grabbed Yorozu’s face and kissed her lips, drowning her in the heat of passion. Things were a blur after that, because he wasn’t thinking clearly. Because he wasn’t in his proper mind. He was letting his rage cloud his thoughts, his bitterness driving his every movement. The next thing he knew, they were stumbling into her room, unable to break their intense kiss. He had kissed her like there was no tomorrow, like her mouth was suction that he couldn’t escape.

And soon enough, she was naked in her room, knelt before him as he forced his cock inside her mouth. He couldn’t get a sense of time. He couldn’t even tell if it was already midnight. All he knew was that his next few hours were spent with Yorozu, this time around, with him burying his digits in and out of her soaking pussy.

“Haaah!” She arched her back as an intense wave of pleasure hit her insides. “R-Ryo!”

Fuck. Fuck it. Sukuna, without warning, put his cock inside her cunt. And her fucked her with rage, jostled her body like a sex doll, while her eyes rolled backwards in overwhelming satisfaction. She was grinning in absolute ecstasy, her breasts bouncing wildly as he continued to hit her sensitive spot before he leaned forward to suck her perfectly round breast.

Listen, he blacked out after that. So, if you were to ask him what happened after that session with Yorozu, he wouldn’t be able to answer you because he genuinely passed out from exhaustion. All he remembered was them fucking each other’s daylights out, and the next morning, she took good care of him like she was his girlfriend again.

No, she wasn’t.

In fact, Sukuna was labeled an asshole for ghosting her. He didn’t contact her after that night, nor did he have any further encounter with her. Instead, he went back to his old life way before you. An addict, an alcoholic, a womanizer.

For the next few months, that became his life without you.

He slept with different girls every few nights, especially his clients. It got to a point where he couldn’t even recall their names, and he couldn’t remember having brought them to his apartment the night prior, because he was often too high off his mind. Every girl who came to his tattoo shop for an appointment became his companion during the night. And today, one of those girls was among the many who annoyed him afterward.

“Hey,” the girl spoke in a lascivious manner, running her slender fingers through his hair. He wasn’t sure if her name was Rina or Kiko. “You slept throughout the afternoon. Do you wanna go grab something to eat?”

Sukuna groaned, covering his head with a duvet. “Why are you still here?”

He didn’t need to see her face to know that confusion settled her delicate features. “But I thought we were…”

“Leave,” was his harsh reply. “You’re just a one-night stand to me.”

— —

“So, Y/N,” Suguru began with a playful twinkle in his eye. “Why haven’t you made Satoru yours yet?”

You rolled your eyes at Getou’s antics. He was clearly on it with his best friend, and their goal today seemed to be to tease the heck out of you. “Maybe I like to keep him guessing,” you retorted with a smirk, though your mind was far from the playful banter.

“But there’s nothing to guess!” Satoru, on the other hand, protested. He was even displaying a childish pout. “We’ve seen each other naked, you know—”

Before he could finish his sentence, you swiftly covered his mouth with your hand, earning a cackle from Suguru in return. Thank goodness there weren’t that many people in the cafe today, because you were never safe around those two. They were inseparable, like two peas in a pod, sharing one brain cell. Like yin yang.

“Shut up,” you merely replied.

“Baby, don’t be shy,” Satoru teased again, giggling like an immature child together with Suguru. “You’re an adult who did adult things.”

You sighed, wondering if you would ever get a break from these idiots. “This is exactly why I don’t date you.”

It was a joke, of course. The delivery, however, was a bit dry. But nonetheless, your statement caused Suguru to laugh at his best friend who, in his defense, tried to recover his trampled ego by denying your statement.

“She’s lying,” Satoru denied, as if convincing Suguru was his top priority, “You never told me your cousin’s hard-to-get.”

“Yeah,” agreed Suguru, playfully, “Definitely hard-to-get. The only girl who can make Sukuna pussy-less for two years.”

“Hey!” It was Yuki who intervened, knowing full well that Getou was below the belt on that joke. “Enough of that.”

In truth, you felt it was a touchy subject for you. Anything related to Sukuna, especially that aspect of your past relationship, was something you avoided like a plague. You wanted no mentions of him, and of what he did, and of what you didn’t do. He had simply become that person who can’t be named, like Voldemort.

But the thing was, it was unavoidable sometimes. You weren’t mad at Suguru for bringing him up. You knew that him and Satoru, ever mischievous, were just playfully ribbing at you, but you couldn’t muster up the same enthusiasm to banter back. You were just upset because hearing Sukuna’s name reminded you of the very reason why you hadn’t been in the happiest mood today.

If it wasn’t obvious to them, your mind had been elsewhere since this morning, too fixated on the influx of girls you noticed had been frequently visiting Sukuna’s tattoo shop lately. You knew you didn’t have the right to feel jealous anymore, you knew you should no longer care about what he does with his life, but you couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that something was off.

And Yuki, sensing your distraction, gently pulled you to the side for a private conversation away from the chatter of your friends.

“Hey, Y/N. Everything okay?” Yuki asked, her tone soft and understanding. She wasn’t forcing you to open up, rather, she was allowing you to share only what you wanted to.

You did hesitate for a moment before finding it safe to confide in her. “I just can’t stop thinking about him. And those girls at his shop... I don’t know, it’s just been bothering me."

Yuki listened attentively, her expression empathetic. “Y/N, I know this might be hard to hear, but have you considered that Sukuna might be seeing other people?”

Your heart sank at Yuki’s words. You had entertained the thought before, but hearing it from someone else made it feel more real. “Is… Is he?”

“Well, not exactly,” she admitted reluctantly. “But Choso told me he’s been sleeping around.” Yuki then placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, anticipating your heartbreak from the news she delivered. And she was right. In just a few words, it felt like someone had stabbed you with a knife on the chest. “I'm sorry, Y/N. I agree, you deserve someone who respects and cherishes you. If Sukuna isn’t that person, then maybe it’s time to let go.”

You forced a nod, feeling a mix of sadness and regret wash over you, but you didn’t want to break down in front of Yuki. You definitely didn’t want to cry with Satoru and Suguru around. You knew deep down that Yuki was right, but accepting it was just another matter entirely and you weren’t sure if you were prepared for it.

“Listen, why don’t we go out?” she offered, a smile of encouragement spreading on her peachy lips, “Let’s have a drink or something. Anything just to keep your mind off of him. What do you say?”

— —

It was a mistake.

You fidgeted uncomfortably on the barstool, feeling out of place amidst the pulsating music and the raucous laughter that filled the rooftop bar. Yuki, Getou, and Gojou seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, chatting animatedly over their drinks like it was a scene that they were used to. But for you, this environment was foreign territory. You weren’t accustomed to the loudness, the crowdedness, the palpable energy that thrummed through the air. Heck, you didn’t even drink alcohol. You couldn’t stand the taste nor could you see the benefit of drinking.

But you didn’t want to be a party pooper. Yuki did you a favor here, and it was for you to get your mind off the man who kept torturing your soul over and over. If you were to leave now, it would just beat Yuki’s purpose of tagging you along.

You were supposed to enjoy it. You were supposed to have fun, dancing with them, singing along to the music. They weren’t even the type of music Sukuna listened to.

“Y/N, bottoms up!” You weren’t sure if it was Satoru or Suguru who said that, but they both offered you a small glass of vodka, urging you to drink it in one shot.

As much as you wanted to, you had to refuse, speaking over the loud music. “I’m good, thank you.”

And as you scanned the room, your eyes inadvertently locked onto a figure across the bar.

Amidst the throng of people.

The one person you wanted to avoid.

Sukuna.

He stood out effortlessly in the crowd, exuding an aura of confidence and charisma that drew your gaze like a moth to a flame. You couldn’t believe it. No, you just couldn’t believe it. You could be hallucinating because it would be too much of a coincidence for him to be here.

But as soon as his eyes met yours, you knew he wasn’t just a figure of your imagination. Deep in your heart, you knew it was him. You couldn’t be mistaken when those eyes, those lips, those goddamn tattoos, were all him.

Though, as you two locked gaze, his expression told a different story. They were a jumble of surprise, guilt, and bitterness. He seemed just as startled to see you as you were to see him. But beneath it all, there was an undeniable tension, a silent acknowledgment of unfinished business between you.

No, you can’t walk away from me. Excusing yourself quietly, you slipped away from the table, unnoticed by your friends, and made your way through the crowd of people towards him. He was already walking away at that point, ready to avoid your presence as if seeing you was torture for him. But didn’t he know? You were too stubborn for your own good. You relentlessly followed him, squeezing in between a drunken crowd, realizing that Sukuna was heading down.

In the abandoned part of the building’s parking lot, you finally caught up to him, your heart pounding in your chest as you faced him.

“‘Kuna,” you called out, “Please.”

Sukuna turned to face you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with dark, intense eyes. “Hey,” he replied coolly, his voice a low rumble in the night air as he walked closer to his bike.

“You’re not supposed to ride when you’re drunk,” you began.

To which he sneered at. “Why? You think I’m here to offer you a ride back home, angel?”

Aggravating as ever. He was still that arrogant bastard you knew, and loved. “No, you’re probably doing that to someone else.”

“Why don’t you go back to your filthy rich boyfriend?”

“Are you jealous?” you bit back, now feeling a palpable tension transpiring between you, but you tried not to let it stop you from speaking to him. “Whatever happened to me and Satoru was just one time.”

Sukuna scoffed at your statement. “I didn’t ask, angel.”

Truthfully, he was the most frustrating man in the world right now. And dealing with him was definitely the hardest job ever, but your purpose of running after him wasn’t to bicker. All you wanted was to confirm something that had been bothering you. So you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. “Have you been sleeping around?”

His expression remained stoic, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of defiance. “Are you jealous?” he mocked, returning the same question back to you. “So what if I am?”

You couldn’t tell what overcame you more; was it the pain or the anger? But surely, a hundred percent, your frustration was definitely boiling over. “So you are,” you huffed, “See, that wasn’t so hard to admit, isn’t it? This is what you’ve always wanted to do! To sleep with those girls!”

For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, the tension was crackling in the air like electricity. Then, without warning, Sukuna closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to grab your jaw.

“You don’t get to turn this back around on me,” he spat, swallowing the obvious pain in his voice, “You’re the one who started it all.”

Your breath was caught in your throat as you felt the heat of his body so close to yours, his touch igniting an altogether new fire within you. Despite the anger building inside your heart, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt towards him, the magnetic attraction that seemed to draw you together like two black holes ready to destroy one another.

“I fucking waited for you,” he continued, his voice now deepening in a more sincere tone, “I know I was wrong for not setting boundaries, but I never, not once, cheated on you. I never fucking did! But you couldn’t trust me, right? You couldn’t fuckin’ trust me.” His pupils dilated as he raised his voice. “You’re so caught up in being too goddamn insecure about yourself when all I wanted was to have intimacy with you—”

“All you wanted was sex, just admit that!” you yelled back, jerking his hand away as tears began to fill your eyes. “And maybe I was right for giving my first to someone else, because you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it when you’ve always pressured me into giving it to you.”

Sukuna’s laughter filled the air, a disbelieving chuckle that bordered on frustration. He threw his head back, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. Without hesitation, he snatched his helmet and hurled it across the floor, the sound of impact startling you.

“I never fucking pressured you!” His voice was raw with emotion as he walked back towards you, frustration and hurt evident in every step. “You’re the only girl I genuinely respected. You think I enjoyed being celibate for two fucking years?! No, the fuck, I didn’t! But I waited. I waited because I didn't want you to feel forced! It was all in your fucking head, Y/N. Your doubts, your uncertainties about me. I’m a man too, damn it! Of course, it frustrated me, but that doesn’t mean I would ever leave you or cheat on you.” And just when you thought it was over, he spoke again, his words now silencing into a painful tone, his eyes shining from the tears blanketing his gaze, “Did you think you were the only one who was insecure? Every damn day, Y/N, I was scared you were gonna leave me. That you were gonna find some other guy, someone who could give you everything you want—a big house, a nice car, a successful life. I didn’t have all that. And it kills me every single day knowing that that’s exactly the type of guy you went after the moment we broke up.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, as Sukuna’s words replayed in your mind like a broken record. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, couldn’t find the words to refute his accusations. Because deep down, you knew he had a point. Your doubts, your insecurities—they had clouded your judgment, poisoned your perception of Sukuna. And now, faced with his raw honesty, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

But accepting that truth was a bitter pill to swallow. It meant acknowledging your own flaws, your own role in the breakdown of your relationship. And it meant coming to terms with the fact that maybe, just maybe, you had let your fears drive you to push away the person who had truly cared for you.

As Sukuna stood before you, frustration and hurt etched into every line of his face, you felt a pang of regret twist in your chest. You wanted to reach out, to apologize, to admit that you had your wrongs, too. But no words came out, choked by the weight of your own self-doubt.

“I…” you struggled to respond. It was a battle you weren’t ready to fight, so your only option was to run away. To turn away like a coward, and to flee the agonizing reality of your relationship.

But Sukuna didn’t let you. Instead, he closed the remaining space between you, his lips crashing down on yours in a hungry, desperate kiss.

In that moment, all thoughts of anger and confrontation melted away as you surrendered to the intoxicating allure of Sukuna’s touch. Lost in the heat of the moment, lost in a puddle of strong emotions. You fell deeper into the trap of your undeniable sexual tension, your bodies becoming entwined in a passionate embrace in the empty parking lot.

His lips were soft against yours, his tongue rolling in the opposite motion as you kissed him deeper. More, more. He was hungry for more. And so were you.

So when he kissed your neck, you allowed it.

When he squeezed your breast, you allowed it.

When he raised your skirt, you allowed it.

You released a moan into his mouth as he sat you on top of his motorbike, standing in between your legs as he reattached his lips back to yours. Your mouths enveloped each other perfectly. The bittersweet taste of his tongue, now moving south down your neck.

“Sukuna…”

While his mouth was busy doing its own work, his hands too were occupied in touching areas he had once explored. One hand travelled to your thigh, squeezing your flesh before he reached your crotch. Two fingers touched your underwear, as if he was checking if you were wet, before he pushed them onto the side to set your cunt free.

You ended up wrapping your arms around his neck, a gasp escaping your lips as his fingers played with your entrance. Your clit, your sensitive bud, also wasn’t ignored when he began moving his fingers in a circular motion.

“Mmmh!”

What was going through his head? You knew he was aroused, but why did his gaze look so dark? It was too grim, to the point where it scared you. But you were far too distracted when his other hand went to grab a hold of your tit, squeezing your mound, and kneading the soft skin. He had pulled down your neckline to release your tits in the air, quickly attaching his mouth onto one breast as soon as they were out in the open.

“Haaah!”

You were going crazy, both from the fingers that were entering your cunt, and the mouth that was sucking your tit. You had your back arched into a C, your arms grabbing onto his shoulder as he became more and more aggressive with his touch.

And you weren’t exaggerating when you said he was being more aggressive with it, because when he pulled himself away from you, it only lasted for a few seconds before he grabbed your waist and twisted your body around. In a blink of an eye, he had you position against his motorbike, with your body leaning against the seat and your ass high enough for his crotch.

“S-Sukuna, s-someone might walk in—”

He had pulled your underwear down, letting it stay in between your knees, before rubbing your pussy from behind. His breath was warm when he whispered into your ear, “Don’t act like you hate it.”

He wasn’t wrong with that either. Because while he was touching your entrance, testing if the tip of his cock would smoothly glide in, you became an animal in heat, ready to be devoured by him. You had to cover your mouth, forcing yourself to keep your voice down as he finally buried his cock six inches deep inside of you.

“A-Aah!” your body jerked forward as Sukuna rawdogged you from behind. “S-Sukuna, aah!”

“You’re such a fucking slut,” he cussed under his breath, feeling a painful stretch on your scalp as he pulled your hair, “Did he fuck you this good?”

“Mmh—no!”

The sound of skin-slapping was reverberating across the empty lot.

“Did you let him cum inside?”

“N-No…!”

He was insatiable. He couldn’t get enough of the tightness of your cunt. He, too, was moaning from the feeling of your velvet walls milking his cock like a warm glove. So he continued to thrust inside you, his hands on your hips, keeping you steady as he rammed his cock inside faster, and harder, and deeper.

Your buttocks were becoming too sore, the stretch of skin on your bum vibrating in waves every time he hit you balls deep inside.

And while you were a moaning hot mess below him, a realization suddenly hit you in the face like a truck. Throughout your relationship, this was all he had ever wanted to do with you. He had always talked about doing it slowly, in a romantic set up with candles lit and petals around, in a place where you can lay yourself comfortably. You dreamed of him whispering I love you’s into your mouth as you two made love. You fantasized about him lovingly looking into your eyes as he reached his high. You used to picture him out, intertwining his hands with yours as he tells you you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

Yet now, you were doing it in the basement parking lot. In a dark, dirty place. Bent over against the uncomfortable seat of his bike.

And more importantly, he was treating you like a whore.

Tears welled up your eyes as you felt Sukuna pull out after finishing. For a minute, he gathered himself together, his head pressed against your nape as he sighed.

“It’s not working, Y/N,” he mumbled against your skin, voicing the exact words you were afraid to hear.

“I know…” You sniffed, pulling the strap of your dress back up and adjusting your skirt back down.

He didn’t need to say anything more. When he gave you one last kiss on the forehead and wrapped you in his jacket, you understood the full weight of his words. It wasn’t just about this moment; it was about everything that had led you here.

It didn’t work because you had already shattered your perceptions of each other. Both tarnished the way you saw one another. He would never come to terms with the fact that you gave yourself to another guy, just as you could never accept that he had slept with the same girls you had always warned him about. It would only lead to a constant game of back-and-forths, of pointing fingers, of toxic love.

So you watched him mount his bike, rev the engine, and look at you one last time before speeding away. His figure disappeared into the dark like a shadow, like a dream you only once knew.

That was the last time you ever saw Ryomen Sukuna in your lifetime.

#ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #sukuna angst #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jjk angst #biker sukuna #tattoo artist sukuna #bad boy sukuna #biker au

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nereidprinc3ss · 25 days ago

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do you believe me now? | 9

in which we find out how the morning after went for fem!reader. you finally share with spencer after unanticipated anxieties come up. you're continually shocked by his affection for you.

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this series is 18+ (angst, fluff) warnings/tags: (preface none of the bad stuff is done by spencer) sexual harassment, slut shaming, non consensual voyeurism of sorts, blood + pain from losing virginity, talk of rape (nothing like that actually happens), implied nonspecific age gap (someone says he looks slightly older than you) non sexual nudity, showering together, intimacy, ewww being in love is embarrassing a/n: I honestly was not gonna post this today but I decided to bc it's just Tumblr its not that deep also you can probably tell I am just creating problems bc I don't wanna let go of them...... ik this is supposed to be a smutty series btw and trust good things come to those who wait!!!but anyways idk what I'm doing and I kinda hate this!! lolol!!!

Friday morning

The air is thick when you wake up—the angle of the sun through the window is lower than usual, and the binding weight of your limbs as you struggle to stretch in place all suggest that you’ve slept in.

But you don’t check the time quite yet—for a moment, you simply lie there, studying the pattern on your ceiling, downloading the events of the previous night.

Flashes of skin on skin, lips, breaths, whispers, promises. Phantom sensations.

Was it even real?

Your apartment is deafeningly silent, you realize. And you have that sinking sense, which you can’t quite explain but know to be true—that you are alone. Spencer is gone. You can’t feel him like you’d be able to if he were simply on the couch or in the kitchen. He’s definitely not in bed with you, and the sheets have long gone cold.

The truth of it renders about as slowly as your sluggish consciousness does, and you frown, not quite sure what to do with that information. Should you be angry? Should you cry?

Mostly you’re confused.

As soon as you sit up, sore thighs and abs and a strange ache between your legs confirm that last night was not a dream nor a figment of your imagination. You’ll figure out what to do about your twinging body in a moment—for now you rub your eyes and blindly reach for the bedside table, knocking several things to the ground in your quest for your phone.

It’s not there, you realize, once you actually try to use your eyes. It’s not in bed with you either as you pat the sheets, and it doesn’t materialize as you sit on your knees and shake out the comforter.

From this venture, however, you learn two things. First, Spencer must’ve taken it upon himself to get you dressed last night, which you have no recollection of, but you doubt you sleepwalked your way into underwear and a big t-shirt; and second—you bled.

It wasn’t something you were thinking about in the moment, but now, faced with all the evidence and none of the pleasure of last night’s activities, it’s jarring. A stark, unforgiving archipelago of red on a pristine sea of white.

People say, at its best, sex brings couples closer. Spencer once told you it could facilitate feelings of deeper connection. But here you are, no longer a virgin, and what do you have to show for it? A stronger bond with your boyfriend? He’s not even here.

All you have is this glaring red stain marring perfectly good sheets. It mocks you, like something you’ve dropped and can’t pick back up. You can’t think looking at it, and you need to think, and so in a fit of frustration you’re pulling the comforter onto the floor, leaning over your mattress and yanking the fitted sheet free. You ball it up in your hands, breathing heavily—and realize you bled through to the mattress.

Wonderful.

Spencer’s just at work, you tell yourself, grabbing the first pair of shorts you see and pulling them on before gathering the ruined sheet once more and stomping on aching legs through your apartment to the hallway, not even bothering with shoes. He can’t just play hooky because his clingy girlfriend lost her virginity and needs to be comforted like some previously celibate high school cheerleader.

But you miss him so much it’s making you angry, so much your eyes are stinging and welling with tears of frustration as you shove your bed linens down the trash chute at the end of your floor’s hallway. You’re supposed to be independent. That’s how you’ve always been. Since when does it bother you to wake up alone? It’s just sex. It’s not as big a deal for him as it is for you. Or for anyone. You’re the one overreacting, you’re the one who expects too much. He works for the FBI, for god’s sake. There are people dying, and here you are—

“What’chya got there?”

The gruff voice makes you jump, and you turn around just as the bundle is disappearing down into the hole in the wall. It’s your neighbor, Jerry—the one in the unit right next to you. You’re not happy to see him, especially like this. He’s got a blue 5 o’clock shadow despite the hour, and is clad in ill-fitting gray sweats and a pair of ratty slippers. His distended belly strains at the confines of an oil-stained white shirt, tied with a dingy checkered robe. You barely meet his drooping eyes before looking longingly back at your cracked door down the hall.

“Just… garbage.” You shift your weight, hiding a wince as you try to find a comfortable position to stand in. Jerry notices this, and you wish his eyes wouldn’t linger on your bare legs like that.

“Huh. Looks like someone had a late night.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s just noon and you’re still in your PJ’s.”

Disgusting. And who the fuck is he to judge? At least your pajamas are clean.

You shrug. “Yeah.”

He scratches his bald head.

“So that boy tired you out pretty good, huh?”

Your stomach drops. Your brain freezes.

When you don’t reply, he takes the liberty of continuing on.

“Saw him sneaking out of your apartment in the middle of the night. He looked a little older ’n you. You like ’em older?” His laugh is a cruel bark. “Yeah… He’s a lucky man. You know, it’s natural for a man to like a younger girl. Fresh meat, ’n all.” You try to speak and can only swallow a gag. Jerry adjusts his stance, hands in pockets like he’s telling you a local news story. “Heard some of it. Sounded like you were putting on quite the show. And sure, a young pretty thing like you? Hell, I would if I could. But I’ll tell you right now, you don’t wanna end up like my daughter. She wasn’t as pretty as you, but still—three kids with three men by the time she was 24. She should'a kept her damn legs closed. You know, she loved to cry rape, but you gotta ask yourself, if your legs are open all the damn time, what do you expect? Back in the day we all knew girls like that—” he bats the air dismissively. “Guess you can’t call ’em sluts anymore—they get what they’re asking for one way or another. See, I think everyone still knows it and they’re just too afraid to say it. So my advice: don’t let yourself get used up, you hear me? Not by men who are gonna ride you hard and put you away wet. So to speak. Men can smell a girl like that from a mile away, and they’ll take it as an open invitation. It’s just human nature.”

When he finally stops talking, the hallway fills with a vacuous silence. It makes your ears ring. Several moments pass, but you’re frozen. Your whole body feels intolerably hot but your blood is freezing. How are you supposed to react?

“Hello?” He says, voice loud enough to hurt your ears as it echoes.

Get out of here, your more rational self says to the rest of you, and you mumble something, you don’t even know what, excusing yourself to hurry on stiff legs back down the hall to your door.

Once inside, you do up every lock on your door, and face your apartment, shoulders tensed practically to your ears and fists clenched so tight your arms are trembling. On autopilot you look around for something to do, but there’s nothing. More importantly, nobody.

I’ll call Spencer. He’ll know what to do.

No, you won’t, your higher self reminds you. You lost your phone. And besides, it’s clearly not like he wanted to stick around last night. Maybe he doesn’t even like you anymore.

So you’re stuck here. Stranded. Sharks can smell blood.

Processing that information, you walk back to your bedroom and close the door behind you—before promptly sinking to the ground and burying your face in the duvet with a deep, silent sob.

That goes on for a few minutes until you realize you’re too achy and you can’t breathe and you’re forced onto your side, curling up in your blanket on the floor like it’s a nest and not a burial plot.

You shouldn’t get ahead of yourself. A relationship can’t implode twice in 24 hours. You don’t have your phone. Maybe he’s texted you.

But is that really all you’re worth? A text sent after the fact? He couldn’t sacrifice a few hours to sleep by your side? Couldn’t even wake you up to say goodbye? You think about the sweet things he’d said afterward—the way he held you, fingers dancing down your spine. Promises he made when you were half asleep in his arms, so sure he’d be there when you woke up.

Even fucking Jerry the neighbor—who you think might have just sexually harassed you in the hallway—said Spencer should’ve stuck around.

Fuck.

No, don’t think about that. It doesn’t even matter. They were just words.

Heard some of it. Sounded like you put on quite the show.

Your skin crawls and your stomach turns as you hold yourself tighter. Something that was supposed to be private and special—and some random man not only had a front row seat to your deflowering but felt comfortable talking about it with you. It feels like a violation. Like he crashed a really important party. If you had known you had an audience last night, you never would’ve done it.

The way he looked at you, tracing your legs with his eyes like he was touching you—

You scramble up from the floor and walk heavily on your knees to the dresser, digging up a pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. You should be showering, but you don’t want to deal with your body right now. You just want to hide.

Friday evening—present

After your conversation, Spencer seems eager to make sure the car ride to his apartment is not reminiscent of the car ride to yours last night—he holds your hand, resting in your lap, bringing your knuckles to his lips at a red light. Every few moments he glances over at you, maybe to appreciate the view (though you doubt it’s especially scenic at the moment) or perhaps to gauge your mood. The further away you get from your apartment building the better you feel, and you try to focus on that. Sure—maybe you had a shit day, but Spencer’s here now, and he didn’t leave you after all. In fact, since finding your phone, you’ve seen the series of very sweet and highly concerned messages he sent over the course of a few hours. They almost make your stomach hurt. It would’ve been really nice to have those earlier.

He doesn’t ask you any more of the hard questions, but you sense an inquisition in the works and getting closer with every curious glance he gives you. It’s like he’s unwrapping you, layer by layer, using his impressive cognitive faculties to drill through your skull into your brain and deeper still into your soul.

Back in his apartment you sit awkwardly on the bed. Last time you’d been here, things hadn’t gone so well for you.

The shower starts in the adjoined bathroom, and Spencer comes out a moment later, warm light seeping into the darkened bedroom. Purple and dark blue mixing with yellow, like a bruise.

“Hey. Water’s warm.”

You hum, smoothing the material of his neatly made bed with your palm and watching the way it flattens. That had been your doing. You may have thought he was on the verge of breaking up with you last time you slept here, but you didn’t want to leave his home a mess. Didn’t want to leave any evidence of your having been here.

A moment passes. You thumb at a thread and don’t look up.

Spencer crosses the space without a word and crouches in front of you, hands coming up to cup the back of your legs, running knee to ankle and up again.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Please?” He asks softly. His voice wrings your heart out. Now that you’re in a completely different space, and you’re not so alone anymore, you’re struggling to sort out your feelings. It should be fine. You’re with Spencer. Presumably he still loves you.

And you still feel terrible.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, just as quietly.

Spencer doesn’t say anything else. I know you don’t want to—and yet. Your lips twist to the side. He’s persistent. Even in his kindness. It’s not the kind of care that falters or buckles when you try turning it away.

“My neighbor said he c—”

You’re forced to stop, frowning by how overcome you are. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. Worse things have happened to you.

“He said he could hear us. Last night.”

Spencer’s hands stop on your legs. You can’t meet his eyes. You’re afraid whatever you find there won’t be the right thing.

“He’s in the unit next to you?”

You nod. “We share a wall.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation and your stomach sinks. He doesn’t understand.

“What did he say?”

“Just… dumb shit,” you scoff, fiercely wiping away a stray tear. “He said he listened and it sounded like I was putting on quite the show. And then he—and then he told me not to let you… use me up, whatever that means. He called me fresh meat, and said I shouldn’t let you ride me hard and put me away wet, and bad things happen to sluts who can’t keep their legs closed.”

You finish with a sharp inhale, briefly leaning down and covering your face with your hands when you realize how upset you really are. You want to hide it.

A fraught moment passes. Spencer reaches for your hands, no doubt to try and pull them away from your face. You spare him the trouble, sitting up with a cavalier sniff before he can touch you and brushing your hair behind your ears.

His voice is uncomfortably quiet. You can’t look at him. “Baby…”

“Don’t. It’s fine. I only told you because you asked.”

It’s not his fault, but you’re mad at him anyway, and so you avoid eye-contact like it’s the plague. Maybe it’s just safe to be mad at him. Maybe he knows that.

Regardless, you’re not in the mood for coddling. It’s borderline repulsive—like trying to mix oil and water. Anything good slides right off of you because maybe you’re not designed to be able to absorb good things.

Nothing changes for a minute—and then he’s standing, offering you a moment alone as he goes to crank the shower off.

As soon as he’s gone all the air is vacuumed from your lungs and you crumple, heaving it back in silently as your head spins and your heart races. It’s like your mind is split in two—half is primal, overwhelming panic, and the other a cold observatory eye, full of disdain and scorn for what it deems a severe overreaction to a few nasty comments made hours ago. You’re so tangled up as you curl in on yourself on your side that you can’t even cry. You’re just trying to remember how to breathe, ignoring the crawling feeling up your spine and the tingling heat at the back of your neck. The shower stops on the downbeat of your staggered breath, and then it’s silent. He’ll come back at any minute and see what a mess you’ve become.

You’ve ruined everything. If only you could’ve kept it to yourself.

When Spencer reappears in the doorway, and sees you collapsed and curling like paper burnt at the edges, he’s quick to return to you.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying and failing to brush away hair from your cheek, which is wet—so you were crying—and Spencer shushes you, pushing it away for you as he kneels.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I’m being dramatic, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Of course, at the end of that declaration, a sob wrenches its way from the depths of you, so bright and cleaving you half expect the smell of ozone to follow. You follow it with a blisteringly self-deprecating laugh.

“Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t minimize it.”

His hand is warm where it rests over your cheek, affectionate, but he sounds frustrated. You frown and sniffle.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Tell me his name.”

It’s a quiet request, made as gently as his hand cards through the hair at your temple like it’s woven with fragile threads of gold.

“No, Spencer,” you beg, anxiety pooling in your gut and rising in your throat, “please, I don’t want to make it a thing, I don’t want you to talk to him. You’ll just make it worse, it’s fine.”

You look at him imploringly, eyes wide and still welling, hoping to god the gravity of your plead will sink in. His are a bed of coals—somewhere between furious and sympathetic, and you try to appeal to the sympathy.

“It is not fine. Saying sluts get what’s coming to them is not fine, that is a threat, and I’m not going to talk to him. I’m going to have him fucking arrested.”

You scoff.

“For talking to me? Yeah, good luck with that. Cops are really known for being helpful when it comes to sexual harassment.”

“Baby. Men who are comfortable violating your boundaries like that are exponentially more likely to commit an actual violent crime. That is not a safe person for you to be around.”

“He’s not gonna rape me, Spencer! He’s just a gross old man! This is why I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you’d make it a bigger deal than it is! You did it last night and you’re doing it now—you think everyone is out to get me!”

To his credit, he doesn’t so much as raise his voice.

“Of course it’s a big deal. You’re upset.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my own fault.”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say. Spencer goes silent for a moment.

“It’s your fault?”

“Yes. It’s my fault because… because now everyone knows that I’m…”

His voice goes impossibly soft again. “Knows that you’re what?”

“I mean, what did I expect?” You sniffle. “It’s an apartment. If I didn’t want to deal with the consequences, I shouldn’t’ve done it.”

He says your name like it’s a ring he twists around his finger as he tries to think—to gather the right words.

“The consequences for having sex do not involve punishment or sexual harassment.”

“It’s the result of my actions, so—”

“No, it’s the result of your neighbor being disgusting. I don’t care what he heard, he doesn’t get to talk to you like that.”

“He—”

“If you heard something you weren’t supposed to hear would you bring it up to the person the next day?”

“Stop interrupting me,” you plead. Spencer looks like he has something to say to that, too, but he swallows it. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I… understand that he shouldn’t have said those things to me. But that doesn’t change the fact that he did, and it was really, really uncomfortable and I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna go back now. Maybe that’s dramatic, but…”

You trail off, studying the ceiling as a fresh wash of tears dampen your cheeks. Spencer’s hand slides down your waist as you wipe your face. “I don’t regret the fact that we slept together. I just regret everything that’s happened since, and if I didn’t do it last night, none of this would’ve happened. I feel like he ruined everything.”

The words end on another cry and you put your hand over your eyes like you could stop it all from coming out. You sniffle. Spencer is quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually whispers, his own voice threaded with emotion. “I…”

He sighs. You push your hair back and look at him.

“What?”

He studies you, chewing on his lip like a nervous tick you’ve never seen before. You sit up again, feet balanced on the edge of the bed frame. Spencer’s eyes remain stuck on you. Again, you ask, “What?”

“I didn’t think about it until you brought it up earlier, but—I did see someone. Him, I think, when I went out to my car to get my bag. He was smoking when I came out, and when I got back into the lobby he was waiting for the elevator. We took it up together, he—he said something to me, so I know he saw me going back to you. I don’t know why he made it sound like I left.”

You frown. “What did he say?”

Spencer hesitates.

“He asked if I had a long night. He was obviously commenting on the fact that I was basically half-dressed and getting an overnight bag from my car at one in the morning, so he could probably gather from context what was going on, but… my point is, he knew I came back and it seems like he was almost trying to make you think I didn’t. So for whatever reason, maybe he was lying about being able to hear you, too. Maybe he just wanted to make you uncomfortable.”

“That’s a long shot, Spencer.”

“I know, but… it’s not that long. He obviously gets off on it—and besides, he said you were putting on a show, but you weren’t… you weren’t loud, last night.”

Heats blossoms in your cheeks and you look down at your lap. “Thin walls.”

“Have you ever heard your neighbors before?”

You have to seriously think about it.

“I’ve heard them yelling…”

“Nothing else?”

Again, you consider it. The answer comes as a surprise.

“No.”

“Okay, so… does that maybe help a little bit? I really, really don’t want you to feel like last night was a mistake in any way, or let anyone ruin it for you.”

You breathe deeply. “I know. It… it kinda helps, yeah.”

His hands come to the top of your legs. There’s so much genuine care and concern in his eyes. “Yeah?”

Only when you nod does he relax some. His hands skim your thighs, and you set yours on top of his own. For a few breaths, it’s quiet. And then you laugh.

“What?” Spencer asks, a tentative smile curling his own lips like he doesn’t know if he should be concerned or participate in your mirth.

“I—I don’t know how to say it without being cheesy,” you admit, sniffling the last of your tears away and smiling softly down at him.

“I think you should say it.”

You link your fingers with his on your lap, watching the way they twine like it’s what they were meant to do.

“I was just thinking about how I had, like, the worst day ever. And how much worse it would’ve gotten if you didn’t show up when you did—I would’ve completely spiraled. But you did show up. And how easy it is to kind of compartmentalize, because I have you, and when I’m with you… nothing feels as hard. You make the bad things feel smaller, I guess.”

By the end, it got a lot more real than you’d intended, and your face feels warm, and your stomach is sort of floaty—but you don’t look away from Spencer. You hold his gaze, though it makes you a little nervous, because you want him to know you mean it.

He inhales, like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t—only looks at you, like you’re beautiful and impossible and a defiance of everything he thought he knew, which was almost everything. To him, you’re expansive. A gorgeous anomaly.

And then he stands, holding his hands out for you. Without question you take them, and he pulls you to your feet, absorbing the momentum that threatens to topple you, and he wraps his arms around you tightly. So tight you have to laugh.

“I love you,” he says against your shoulder, one hand coming to cradle the back of your head.

Your humor softens, but doesn’t become inflexible—still tinges your words with the perfect amount of euphoria and relief. “I love you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and your laughter flares again.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I’m grateful. I… I feel lucky.”

Always so earnest, so vulnerable, when you’re least expecting it—which should be always, you’re learning. You pull back to look up at him. You don’t want that concession to go unrewarded.

“Me too,” you say softly. He’s doing that fond thing with his eyes, where they’re all soft and it’s like he’s trying to take in every millimeter of your face. This time when he goes to touch your hair, you have the wherewithal to dodge it.

“You’re really brave for trying to touch my hair right now.”

“Why?” He asks, utterly bewildered, and the softness of the moment falls away easily, but not without leaving everything smudged and fuzzy around the edges. Everything is still okay. It’s still good.

“Because it’s dirty,” you laugh, dodging him again and eventually ducking from the circle of his arms entirely.

“Oh, your hair is dirty? Should we breakup?”

“Hm. I don’t really like when you take on that tone with me.” You’re still half-laughing, dipping and weaving past him toward the bathroom as he tries to get you in his arms again. And then you stop, toes just short of the tile.

“What is it?” He asks after another moment. You blink, looking at the shower head as it drips.

“Um—would it be okay if I had a five minute headstart in the shower?”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. I just… I need a minute.”

His hand skims your waist as he passes by you through the open door. “Okay. Why don’t you grab your stuff and I’ll get the water going again?”

Soon enough, you’re remembering how much better his water pressure is than yours as you stand under the torrent, eyes closed as if in prayer. You definitely could’ve stood to shower earlier in the day. But you had other concerns, earlier, and besides—you were afraid of what you might find.

And you were right to be. The sex was nice. The aftermath isn’t quite as pretty.

When Spencer taps on the bathroom door, you’re nervous.

“You can come in,” you call.

“You sure? If you want it all to yourself, that’s okay too.”

“No, no. It’s fine.”

The door creaks open, and gently clicks into place again, and fabric rustles as he undresses, and soon the shower curtain is sliding aside and he’s stepping in. Unsurprisingly, the space feels smaller with him in it—but not small in a bad way. It feels warmer. Again you’re awash in that safe feeling, which you didn’t realize you’d been missing so much today.

“Hi,” he smiles, a teasing sliver of what you know to be the most brilliant light in the world, and stunning like the rest of him as you watch the water begin to darken his hair.

“Hello.”

His smile flickers briefly wider like you’re his favorite thing and he just can’t contain his joy, and then it’s easing again, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

In this alien context the idea has your heart pounding—you don’t really understand the concept of casual nudity yet, but you know he’ll respect your earlier wishes to keep it chaste and so you nod.

Spencer doesn’t take you immediately in his arms like you’d expected—instead his hands find a rest at your collarbones and carefully push your wet hair back over your shoulders—but his eyes aren’t cast quite low enough to be indecent. They connect dots over your chest and neck, and he thumbs at one just over your pulse point.

“Oh, man,” he laughs, and you think you detect a hint of self-deprecation. “That’s… wow, I didn’t realize I… sorry. They don’t hurt, do they?”

It’s your turn to smile as he’s suddenly over-concerned.

“No, they don’t hurt.”

“Good.” He looks relieved, but it doesn’t last as his eyes trace lower—though you don’t sense any hunger in it. He’s just taking you in. “How about everywhere else?”

“Um… it’s not bad. Kind of, like… I don’t know. Sore. But it’s not bad.”

“Still?” He frowns, clearly unfazed by your evident embarrassment on the subject. You shrug and avert your eyes.

“It’s fine. it was worse earlier, so.”

That does not have the calming effect you’d intended.

“Worse? 1-10, how—”

“Spencer, it’s fine, I promise. It’s only when I—when I move certain ways, I notice. Honestly the… blood… was way more disconcerting to me.”

“Yeah, I saw your bed… sorry for ruining your sheets. I’ll buy you new ones.”

You shrug, watching the water run in rivulets down your arm and branch off into tributaries and waterfalls from your fingers. “You don’t have to do that. It was a collaborative effort.”

Normally this conversation would have you melting into an embarrassed puddle, but something about the tile cocoon of the shower, the humid fog, the proximity, feels safe. The white noise of water on porcelain, the warmth. You go to him at the same time as he comes to you—his arms around your waist, yours slung over his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. Falling asleep standing up has never seemed so plausible until now.

He presses a kiss to your head. You sigh.

“Ugh. I don’t want to deal with washing my hair.”

“I can do it,” Spencer immediately offers. You frown.

“I was—you don’t have to. I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was asking.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It’s a process.”

“I understand.”

“You would have to do it exactly how I say.”

“I am willing to learn. I like taking care of you.”

You’re glad for the hot water, then, and as he washes your hair. You’re not sure if you’re crying at the tenderness of his touch, or the way he loves you like you’re easy to love. You’re too tired to explain it.

He doesn’t push you, because he never pushes you.

He just washes your hair.

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