you glanced at your phone that read 1:47 am. he'd texted you an hour ago, “you good?", and you'd replied with a blurry photo of you and your girls making kissy faces at the camera.

come through

bring your friends.

👀

"soon," you said while grinning. "i told him to bring the guys."

your friends eyebrows shot up. "i thought this was girls night?"

"it was but i miss my man." you shrugged, unashamed. "and i needed an excuse to see him without making y'all feel like third wheels."

"and you still made us the third wheels?" your cousin asked while laughing.

"no, i made them the third wheels. now y'all can focus on jean and them."

"you're so calculating," your friend said but she was already reaching for her compact mirror.

"i'm considerate. there's a difference boo."

a couple minutes later your phone buzzed and you snatched it up so fast your cousin laughed.

outside. coming up.

finally.

you miss me?

maybe.

you drunk?

maybe.

send a pic.

you held up your phone and angled it downward so your body was in the frame and snapped a quick photo— you sitting pretty on the velvet seats, dress hitched up on your thighs, curls wild, and ring catching the light. your smile was drunk and happy as you tried your best to get a steady picture.

hurry up.

damn. on my way.

you tossed your phone on the couch, grabbed the nearest shot glass and downed it.

"he's coming," you announced.

the table erupted.

"finally."

“where's my lip gloss?"

"connie better be with him. im getting us out the trenches tonight."

"you're so weird."

"and you're so single. let me live."

you laughed while watching your girls scramble to reapply gloss, fluff their hair, and fix their dresses. they pretended not to care but you saw the way your sister checked her reflection in a spoon and the way your friend suddenly cared about the arrangement of bottles on the table.

you just sat back, heart racing at the thought of your man coming and you couldn't wait to feel his arms around you.

a hour later, the elevator dinged as the doors slid open and there he was.

ony stepped out first and his eyes found you immediately, his eyes scanning the room before landing on your face. behind him came eren, jean, connie, and some teammates you recognized but couldn't name in your drunken state.

the energy in the room shifted as ony crossed to you in six long strides, ignoring everyone else, and pulling you off the couch into his arms.

"hey, mama," he murmured against your hair.

"you took forever," you mumbled as you melted into his chest.

"had to drag these fools out the studio. eren was locked in."

"eren can wait."

"he said the same thing about you."

you rolled your eyes as you pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. his eyes dragged over your face at your wild curls, your smudged lip gloss, and the drunken slant of your smile.

"you look good," he said.

"i look drunk."

"ain’t no difference."

he kissed you while connie whistled and someone yelled "get a room" and you know that was definitely jean but you didn't care.

you had your man. you had your girls. you had the whole city at your feet and a ring on your finger during a birthday night you'd never forget.

and when ony pulled back, breathless and smiling, he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

"happy birthday, mama," he said softly.

"thank you for coming," you replied.

"ain't nowhere else i'd rather be."

you weren't sure exactly when you'd ended up in ony's lap. one minute you were standing and leaning against the couch while your cousin poured another round. the next, ony had grabbed your waist, pulled you down onto his thighs, and wrapped an arm around your stomach to keep you from sliding off.

"you 'bout to fall," he murmured in your ear, his breath warm against your neck.

"i am not," you slurred, even as your body sagged against his chest.

"mmhm."

his hand splayed across your bare back and you shivered, pressing closer. the vip section spun lazily around you, pink and gold lights blurring at the edges. your girls were scattered across the couches now, deep in conversation with the guys.

and you? you were exactly where you wanted to be.

"another shot!" your friend appeared in front of you, holding out a glass. "for the birthday girl!" you reached for it but your hand wobbled and ony plucked it out of the air before you could grab it.

"nah," he said, tossing it back himself. "she done."

"ony–" you started to protest but he was already setting the glass on the table.

"you can barely sit up straight, mama. you ain't takin' no more shots."

"i'm fine–"

"you're drunk." he kissed your temple, soft and firm. "and you're gonna thank me tomorrow."

you wanted to argue but your body betrayed you as you melted further into his chest. his arms tightened around you and you sighed, your head falling back against his shoulder.

"fine," you mumbled. "but you gotta take the rest of 'em for me."

"already planned on it."

and he did.

every time one of your cousins came over with a shot, ony took it. every time someone shouted "birthday girl!" and raised a glass, ony drank it. he didn't even flinch, just tossed them back one after another, his chest rumbling with low laughter every time you whined about it.

"you're gonna be so drunk," you said, watching him down another.

"someone gotta be." he set the glass down while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "can't have you out here actin' up."

"i don't act up."

"you literally tried to climb on the table ten minutes ago."

"i was dancing."

"you were struggling."

you pouted but he just kissed the pout off your lips and you forgot what you were mad about.

somewhere around 2:30, food appeared.

this was drunk food. wings, loaded fries, and mozzarella sticks that stretched for miles when you bit into them. ony must have ordered it at some point because he was the only one coherent enough to use a phone.

"eat," he said while pressing a fry to your lips.

you took a bite, chewing slowly, your eyes half closed.

"'s good," you mumbled.

"eat another one."

"you eat another one."

he shook his head but he was smiling and he fed you three more fries before you turned your face away.

" 'm full."

"you ate like five fries."

" 'm full."

he sighed, setting the plate aside, and pulled you closer. "you impossible."

"you love it."

"unfortunately."

the night started winding down around 3.

your girls were flagging as your sister was arguing with jean about something neither of them would remember tomorrow and your cousin taking mirror selfies with connie's phone because hers had died.

you were barely awake as your face pressed into ony's neck, your breath warm against his skin.

"i'm ready to go," you whispered.

he turned his head as his lips brushed against your forehead. "yeah?"

"mmhm." you nuzzled closer, your nose grazing his jaw. "carry me?"

he laughed low, his chest vibrating under you. "you want me to carry you out?"

"please." you kissed his neck lazily, your lips dragging against his skin. "and grab my heels, they my favorite."

"which ones are those?"

"the ones i was wearin'. under the table."

he looked down and your bare feet were dangling over his thigh, your gold heels kicked somewhere beneath the velvet couch.

"those?"

"those." you kissed his neck again, slower this time. "please, baby."

he exhaled as he muttered, "you tryna kill me,"

"no." you kissed his jaw. "just tryna go home."

he stood up with you wrapped around him like a koala. your legs hooked around his waist, your arms looped around his neck, and your face buried in the crook of his shoulder. he bent down one handed and scooped your heels off the floor, dangling them from his fingers.

"got 'em," he said.

"you're the best," you mumbled into his neck.

"i know."

your girls called out goodbyes as he carried you toward the elevator and shouting "text me when you get home!" you lifted one hand in a lazy wave, your ring catching the light one last time.

the elevator doors closed, muffling the music, and suddenly it was just the two of you.

"you had fun?" he asked, shifting you higher on his hip.

"the most fun." you kissed his neck again, right below his ear, where his cologne was strongest. "thank you for this."

"didn't do nothin'."

"you rented out a whole club."

"that's just money." the elevator dinged as the doors opened to the parking garage. "you happy. that's what matters."

the cool night air hit you the second he stepped outside. ony’s driver had the blacked out suv waiting at the curb. he opened the door for you as you still held onto him, helping you get in because your legs were a unsteady from all those shots. the second the door shut behind him, the world outside disappeared.

it was just the two of you in the dim glow of the interior lights.

“come here, baby.” his voice had dropped that octave that always made you wet. he pulled you across the seat until you were straddling his lap, your dress bunching up around your thighs. his big hands slid up the backs of your legs, squeezing your ass possessively.

“fuck… you really mine now, huh?” he kissed your neck, then your jaw, then your mouth and he was tasting the candy blue shots still on your tongue. “my fiancée. my wife to be. walking around with that ring on your finger while you twerk to city girls. you know what that does to me?”

you whimpered as one of his hands slipped between your thighs, pushing your lace thong to the side. two thick fingers dragging through your already soaked folds.

“shit, you wet as hell,” he groaned, circling your clit with the pads of his fingers before pushing both digits inside you in one smooth stroke. “this pussy been waiting for me all night?”

your head fell back, a broken moan slipping out as he started pumping his fingers, curling them just right against that spot that made your toes curl. the wet sounds filled the backseat, obscene and loud.

“yes–ony… fuck–”

“that’s right. say my name, baby. my pretty baby.” he sucked on your neck, adding a third finger and stretching you open while his thumb worked your clit. “you’re gonna be my wife. carrying my last name. walking around with my ring and my baby in you one day. and you still out here acting like the baddest in the club. you know how proud that shit makes me?”

your hips rolled down onto his hand, chasing the pleasure as it built fast and hot. the driver was separated by the partition, but you didn’t even care if he could hear you moaning like a slut for your man.

ony pulled his fingers out suddenly, making you whine at the loss. he smirked, bringing them to his mouth to taste you while he used his other hand to free himself from his pants. his dick was hard, thick, and leaking for you.

“turn around for me. hands on the seat.”

you obeyed, facing the front, knees on the leather as he pushed your dress up over your ass. he didn’t even pull your thong all the way off, just yanked it to the side again before lining himself up and sinking into you in one long thrust.

“fuuuck, baby,” he groaned, gripping your hips tight. “so tight and wet. this my pussy, right?”

“yes- yours,” you gasped, pushing back on him.

he started fucking you deep, one hand sliding up your back to grab the gold chain like a leash while the other reached around to rub your clit. the car rocked with every thrust, the windows already fogging up.

“look at you,” he praised, voice strained with pleasure. “my fiancée taking this dick so good in the backseat like a nasty little slut. after all them shots and dancing… still creaming all over me. that’s why i’m marrying you. you perfect for me.”

your orgasm hit you hard as your vision blurred. your thighs shaking and moaning his name loud enough that your throat went raw. ony fucked you through it, then pulled out and flipped you onto your back, spreading your legs wide before sliding back in.

he leaned down, forehead against yours, eyes locked on you as he stroked deep and slow.

“i love you,” he breathed between thrusts. “my beautiful baby. my wife. gonna give you everything. this dick. this ring. my last name. everything.”

you came again with his name on your lips, nails digging into his back. ony followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning as he filled you up, hips stuttering against yours.

he stayed inside you for a long moment, kissing you soft and lazy, thumb stroking the diamond on your finger again.

“best birthday ever?” he asked, smiling against your mouth.

you laughed breathlessly, still pulsing around him. “best birthday ever.”

dizzy. that’s how you felt. your vision blurred with dark spots, the scent of their cologne mingling with the haze of weed.

" you still mad at us baby—hm? " nicholas moaned in between your trembling thighs, arms wrapped right around them to keep you from going anywhere as he flicked his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves while your hips are stuttering, grinding into his mouth.

drew moaned at the sight, your back pressed against his tone stomach as his hand grasped your chin, tilting your face up ward. your wide, tear-filled brown eyes meeting his blue ones. " look so pretty like this babydoll. " he whispered bucking his hips into your backside unintentionally.

"ouu f-fuck waitt daddy-" feeling a rush of desire coursing through your veins, your voice becomes husky with arousal, while your body flushed with heat as the tension builds in the pit of your stomach, the fat of your thighs filled with small red hickeys as drew rubbed his free hand down the right one.

" cmon pretty girl, you can take it. " nicholas mumbled sucking on your clit, releasing it with a loud pop; your eyes meeting his as he fucked his tongue into your gushy hole. the vibaration from his moans rippled through you, nearly pushing you over the edge.

you let out a loud whine, eyes rolling back as you arched your body, desperately trying to pull away from him. the sharp slap on your thigh making you freeze in place. " be a good girl f’ us mama, I know you can. " drew moaned slightly, drawn to the slight pout on your puffy lips and the way his tip leaked pre-cum as it pressed against you, his abs tightening from the sensation.

hips buckling with drew fingers slowly curling deep within your walls, "m'cumming oh—" your voice trembling, mascara running down your face as your eyes roll back in your head, your legs shuddered in nicholas's grasp. as they both continued their assault on you, neither of them letting up; even when u tried to close your quivering legs, only to feel a sharp sting and the coldness from the rings on your clit seconds later.

Toji. 

Midnight black hair styled within a wolf cut, towering frame blocking half the hallway light, tattoos crawling up his neck like shadows. His deep gray eyes pinned you in place—cold, unreadable, pissed. That scar across his lips only made his expression sharper. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just looked at you like he was debating whether to drag you out or leave you here to rot.  

And then, Suguru. 

Long, dark hair tied half-up, eyebrow piercing glinting under the harsh lights. His hazel eyes flickered over you—checking for bruises, probably. His broad chest rose with a heavy sigh, arms crossed over his shirt. Exasperated? Sure. But probably more relieved to see you than the man standing next to him.

“Guess it’s my lucky day, huh?” 

The cop didn’t dignify that with words—just a hardened glare, jaw clenched tight. You blew him a kiss anyway, the brown gloss on your lips glinting under the harsh station lights.  

Then—instinct. You knew better than to approach Toji first.  

You launched yourself at Suguru with a playful squeak, legs wrapping around his waist as he caught you effortlessly—one hand gripping your ass through the tight leather shorts, the other securing the small of your back. His deep chuckle vibrated against your chest as you buried your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of leather and cigarettes.  

“Troublemaker," he murmured, voice thick as he squeezed your thigh—“What are you doin’ here, huh?" 

You pulled back just enough to flash him those wide, doe eyes—all innocence, no guilt.  

”Just had a little fun." 

His hazel gaze darkened, lips hovering so close to yours you could taste the mint on his breath—but then, you felt it.  

That heat. 

Your lashes fluttered toward Toji who hadn’t moved an inch—just stood there like a storm barely contained, veins in his forearms popping with every breath. So you did what you did best.  

Slender eyes rounding, lips parting in that perfect smile—the one that always made him cave.  

“Hi, Daddy.”   

His scar twitched.  

“‘They hurt you?" 

The question was low, lethal—like he was already calculating which of these cops he’d break first. You shook your head fast. 

Toji didn’t wait for another word. Just turned on his heel, the heavy clack of his boots echoing as he stalked toward the exit.  

“Let’s go." 

Of course this is how it always went—Suguru with his soft hands and easy forgiveness, Toji with his ironclad discipline and zero tolerance for your antics. And right now, pressed into the buttery leather backseat of Toji’s sleek black Corvette, you knew exactly where to seek refuge.  

Suguru slid into the passenger seat, long dark hair spilling over the headrest as he tipped his head back, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. The sharp scent of tobacco mixed with his cologne made him effortlessly attractive, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he took another drag, tattoos peeking from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Meanwhile, Toji gripped the steering wheel like he wanted to snap it in half, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he peeled out of the parking lot with a growl of the engine.  

Silence.  

Then—  

“Omae wa itsumo anta ni amaeru kara, sonna koto shiteru no sa." 

You let her be cute with you. That’s why she thinks this shit is funny. 

You didn’t need a translator to know he was talking about you.  

Suguru flicked ash out the window, unfazed.  

“Futari de okotte mo shikata nai darou? Dame na ko da." 

Both of us bein’ mad at her isn’t gonna’ fix anything.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.  

“You know I can’t understand what you’re saying." 

Toji’s grey eyes flashed in the rearview mirror—dark, dangerous.  

“I don’t wanna hear all that whinin’ right now," he snapped, voice dropping to a rough timbre that curled your toes—“I’m close to reachin’ in that backseat and tearin’ your ass up." 

You rolled your eyes dramatically, turning to stare out the window—but not fast enough to miss the way his brow arched in the reflection, that unspoken try me written all over his face.  

Suguru just chuckled, taking another drag.  

The tension in the car was thick enough to choke on, the only sound being the low hum of the engine and Suguru exhaling smoke out the cracked window. You couldn’t take it anymore—your stomach growled loudly, betraying you before you could even open your mouth.  

“I’m hungry." 

Toji’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. 

“‘You thought about that when you were makin’ dumbass decisions?"

Your lips twisted in defiance—“I didn’t even get to say what happened!" 

His jaw clenched, “‘Had to talk a cop outta’ pressin’ charges after you swung on him. You think I’m a fuckin’ idiot?" 

You bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to cave—instead, you leaned forward, pressing yourself against the passenger seat, your chest pressing into Suguru’s shoulder as you peered up at him through your lashes.  

“‘Guru…” Your voice dripped in a needy way, wanting his rescue. 

Suguru released a breath. He tilted his head just enough to meet your gaze, hazel eyes softening despite himself.  

“‘'We get you somethin’, and you tell us what happened—yeah?" 

You nodded quickly, already victorious.  

Toji muttered something under his breath, but the car slowed, pulling into the neon-lit parking lot of a 24-hour diner.  

“Move fast," he cut the engine, “Before I change my goddamn mind."

The second your Pleasers hit the pavement outside the diner, a little giggle escaped you—relief flooding your veins as you tugged on Suguru’s arm while he was only halfway out of the car. You caught the tail end of whatever he muttered to Toji in Japanese, his deep voice laced with something between exasperation and amusement before he shut the door and let you pull him toward the diner’s flickering neon sign.  

Even softened for you, Suguru was intimidating. 

Standing beside him in line, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the eyebrow piercing glinting under the fluorescent lights. His build was pure power—broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his black long sleeve, thick arms corded with muscle, tattoos peeking from beneath his sleeves. His natural scowl had the couple in front of you shifting uncomfortably, but you just leaned into his side, playing with the hem of his shirt.  

Then—  

He leaned down, catching your lips in a rough kiss that stole your breath, his free hand gripping your waist possessively. You giggled against his mouth, squirming when he murmured, “Behave,” against your lips before pulling away.  

Your curls tumbled over your shoulders as you leaned against the counter, your ass poking out deliberately while you ordered in that sweet, innocent voice you reserved for moments like this. The cashier’s eyes flickered down—lingering a second too long on the swell of your heavy tits beneath the tight leather jacket—before Suguru’s hand suddenly hooked into the waistband of your shorts and yanked you back against him.  

You barely had time to pout before he was tossing a wad of cash onto the counter, his gaze locked onto the cashier with a silent sneer that had the man scrambling to hand back his change with shaky hands. 

The greasy paper bag crinkled in your lap as you tore into your burger like a starving little creature, cheeks puffing out adorably with each oversized bite. Suguru watched you, shaking his head slightly as he passed his cigarette to Toji—who sat with one boot propped outside the open car door, smoke curling from his lips as he stared straight ahead, silent as a tomb.   

Usually, Toji’s anger was loud—sharp Japanese curses spat, deep voice raised just enough to make you squirm. But tonight? Nothing. Just the occasional drag of his cigarette, grey eyes cold and distant even as you swallowed your food with a tiny sigh and finally launched into your explanation.  

“Okay—so," you started, wiping a bit of ketchup from the corner of your lip, “It wasn’t even my fault—some drunk bitch kept stepping on my damn shoes, and when I told her to watch it, she tried to swing on me." 

Toji’s eyebrow twitched in the rearview.

You kept going, waving a fry for emphasis. 

“And then her dude tried to jump in—so I grabbed a bottle. That’s when the cop tried to grab me like I started it—so yeah, I might’ve... y’know. Elbowed him.” 

Suguru snorted, rubbing his temples like he was fighting off a headache. 

“Goddamn, baby."

Toji took a slow drag from the cigarette, his grey eyes cutting through the rearview like a blade.  

"Lie again."  

You huffed, tossing your half-eaten burger back into the bag—"Okay, fine—I hit him. But only because he tried to grab me first!"  

“‘You think that was smart?" 

You folded your arms across your chest. 

“It wasn’t my intention to be smart, Fushiguro. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten arrested." 

A muscle in Toji’s temple jumped.  

“Watch your fuckin’ tone.” 

“I wasn’t trying to get in trouble," you then muttered, dropping your gaze.  

Suguru sighed, running a hand through his dark hair—“Why didn’t you call me, huh? Or Fushiguro?" 

You shot him a look.

“‘And have him mad at me because he had to fight someone at the bar?" 

That’s when Toji’s voice snapped like a whip—  

“'You think I wouldn’t protect you?" 

The air in the car went still, his eyes burning into yours through the mirror.  

“I’d kill for you. Don’t fuckin’ play like I wouldn’t." 

You curled your fingers into your palms, suddenly feeling small.  

"...I know." 

Toji’s nostrils flared. Then, without another word, he flicked his cigarette out the window and started the car.  

And just like that—the conversation was over. 

You couldn’t help but imagine Toji standing in that precinct, stone-faced and seething, having to negotiate—apologize—for your reckless hands. He wasn’t the type to bow his head for anything. Not for money, not for pride, and definitely not for some cop who probably pissed him off just by breathing wrong.  

But he did it for you. 

Suguru’s patience was softer, easier—even he wasn’t letting you off the hook. The way his thumb brushed your knuckles wasn’t just comfort—it was a silent, you fucked up. 

The car rolled to a stop outside their sleek, modern condo—all sharp black architecture, floor-to-ceiling windows, and dark furniture accented with deep reds that reminded you of blood and wine. Toji stepped out first, boots heavy against the pavement as he stalked toward the entrance without looking back.  

"I need a shower," he muttered, voice gruff—more to himself than anyone else.  

You scrambled out after him, almost tripping over your own feet in your hurry.  

“Let me come clean you," you offered, half-teasing, half-desperate for the forgiveness you knew wasn’t coming easy.  

“Nah." 

Your lips nearly formed a pout before you caught yourself.  

And just like that, the night's consequences finally settled in.

The shower steam curled around you and Suguru in thick, fragrant clouds—vanilla and sandalwood from his body wash mixing with the citrus of yours. Your giggles were honey sweet, bouncing off the marble tiles as he cupped water in his large hands to rinse the suds from your shoulders. His touch was methodical as he worked the soap into your skin, his fingers tracing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips.  

Your lashes fluttered when you caught his reflection in the fogged up glass—his torso a canvas of ink, muscles flexing as he reached for the shampoo. His dark hair was slicked back, water sluicing down the sharp planes of his face, that eyebrow piercing glinting even in the low light. Handsome. So fucking pretty it made your chest ache.  

You toweled off together, tugging on one of Toji’s oversized black long sleeves—the fabric swallowing you whole but still clinging to the swell of your hips, the shadow of your bare thighs peeking beneath. Your curls were a wild, damp halo around your face, freckles darker against your freshly scrubbed skin.  

Now, kneeling on the massive silk bed—black as midnight, cool against your knees—you watched Suguru lean against the headboard, shirtless, smoke curling from his lips. His hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few damp strands escaping to frame his face. The TV flickered silently, some late-night infomercial playing as he mindlessly flipped channels.  

"You hate me too?" you whispered, voice too small for your own liking.  

Suguru’s eyes didn’t leave the screen.  

“You know goddamn well I don’t hate you," he said, exhaling smoke—“Don’t start all that dramatic shit." 

The words should’ve comforted you. Instead, they made you curl inward, arms wrapping around yourself.  

“Where’s Toji?" 

“Probably in the office or library part of the house," he muttered, his free hand idly tracing circles on your bare thigh where the shirt rode up—“Tryna’ get his mind right." 

You frowned, worrying your lip between your teeth as your fingers fidgeted.

“…He’s never this mad at me," you admitted softly, a little crease forming between your brows.  

Suguru’s thumb paused its lazy pattern on your skin, and you felt the shift in his energy—the way his chest rose with a deeper inhale before he spoke again.

“He should be. Anythin’ could’ve happened to you gettin’ arrested by yourself.”

His voice was low, a rough edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine—“You know he’d fuck up an entire city behind you." 

A little giggle bubbled up in your chest at the image—Toji, massive frame clad in black, storming through the streets like some avenging god—and before you could stop yourself, you were pressing smushing kisses into the column of Suguru’s throat, your lips warm against his tattooed skin.  

He grunted but didn’t push you away—just let you nuzzle there, your curls tickling his jaw as you inhaled the familiar scent of him—cigarettes, expensive cologne, and something inherently Suguru. 

“You smell good," you mumbled against his pulse, your earlier guilt momentarily forgotten in the comfort of his presence.  

“Yeah, yeah," he drawled, but you could hear the affection beneath the gruffness—“Quit’ tryna’ seduce me, woman.”

Your fingertips glide along the intricate ink of the serpent coiled around Suguru’s abdomen, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. You hesitate for just a second before your fingers hook into the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging gently—your voice soft, laced with soft remorse.  

“Just wanna show how sorry I am," you murmur, eyes flickering up to meet Suguru’s dark gaze—“…I know you’re mad at me too."

Then—  

A presence at the doorway.  

You freeze, your gaze snapping toward the shadowed figure leaning against the frame. Toji stands there, massive shoulders filling the entrance, grey eyes locked onto you like a predator tracking prey. Shirtless, tattoos sprawling across every inch of his sculpted torso, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips—he’s a vision of raw, barely contained power.  

Your lip finds its way between your teeth as you slowly crawl toward the edge of the bed, hips swaying just slightly with each shift of your knees.  

"’Missed you,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper.  

“I’m knowin’," he rumbles, deep voice vibrating through the room. Then, after a beat—  

“What’d you say earlier? ‘Bout how you wanted to show how sorry you were?" 

Your eyes search his face for any sign of softening—but Toji’s expression remains steel.  

You reach for him, fingers trembling as they brush the fabric of his sweats—but before you can get any further, his hand snaps up, gripping your chin with bruising force. 

“So go show him how fuckin’ sorry you are," he growls, “I didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout you touchin’ me." 

His grip loosens just enough to shove you back toward Suguru—who watches the exchange with dark eyes, cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. 

The sting of rejection burns hot behind your ribs, your bottom lip trembling before you can stop it—fat, glistening tears welling in your lashes as you drag your gaze back to Suguru.  

He sees it. Of course he does.  

Those hazel eyes of his—sharp, knowing—trace the wobble of your pout, the way your fingers hesitate before curling into the fabric of his sweatpants again. But Suguru’s never been one to bend for tears—not when he knows they’re your weapon of choice, not when he’s spent years learning the difference between your real cries and the ones you wield like a blade.  

“Nuh-uh," he tsks, grasping at your jaw—“You know I don’t do all that poutin’. Swallow my shit like you fuckin’ mean it."  

Your breath hitches—but you don’t argue.  

Instead, your fingers hook into his waistband, tugging impatiently until his cock springs free—thick, already swollen at the tip, a bead of pre-cum glistening against flushed skin.  

You whimper but you don’t hesitate, dragging your tongue over the head, lapping up the bitter salt of him before sinking down, down, down— 

His groan is sharp above you, fingers tangling in your curls as your throat flutters around him, greedy and desperate. It’s a struggle—his size stretching your lips, your jaw aching—but you take it, tears spilling over as you hollow your cheeks, swallowing around him like you’re starving.  

“There you fuckin’ go," he rasps out.

Your mouth works over Suguru’s cock with a needy desperation, lips stretched obscenely around his girth as saliva drips down your chin in messy, glistening strands. His deep pink lips curl into a sneer above you, that silver eyebrow piercing catching the dim light as he watches you through half-lidded eyes—hazel darkening with every filthy, wet sound your mouth makes around him.  

Your whimpers spill out unbidden, high and muffled around the thick weight on your tongue, your hips rocking involuntarily against the air, the fabric of Toji’s stolen shirt riding up to expose the plush, pink folds of your cunt—already slick, already aching.  

Then—  

A stinging spank against your ass sends your entire body jolting forward, a choked mewl leaving you as your hands instinctively fly to grip Suguru’s thighs for balance.  

But Suguru tsks again, fingers tightening in your hair as he yanks you back just enough to glare down at you.  

“Did I say you could use your hands?” His voice is a dark, mocking purr—“Put ‘em back.” 

Before you can even think to obey, Toji’s rough palms are already catching your wrists, wrenching them behind your back with effortless strength. 

“It’s never a fuckin’ option,” he growls—“Never a choice. That’s your problem now, don’t fuckin’ listen.” 

The angle is awkward, your knees weak and head spinning with the lack of air, and you can barely focus on anything but the way your jaw aches—your tongue running frantically over the side of Suguru’s length like an apology. Without the use of your hands, you can't properly steady yourself—Suguru's thick cock fully slips from your lips with an obscene wet sound as you frantically drag your tongue along the veined underside, desperate to keep contact. A bead of pre-cum smears across your cheek as you struggle, drawing a low, arrogant chuckle from Suguru's lips.  

“Mmm, ‘you ain't too fuckin' sorry,"  he rumbles, voice dripping with amusement as his fingers tighten in your hair.  

Behind you, Toji's breath ghosts over the arch of your back—dark, mocking.  

“‘She never was." 

Your head twists toward him, lips parted around a breathy mewl—“I am," you whimper, voice breaking.  

“Why's my cock so fuckin' hard then?" Suguru challenges, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip—“Should've milked me by now."

“…’S too big, baby," you tremble, lashes fluttering—but Suguru sees right through it.  

And that's when Toji growls, "There she goes. All that fuckin' whinin'. ‘Go ‘head, give her a reason to keep that shit up." 

Suguru's grip shifts, his other hand coming down to palm roughly at your clit through the soaked fabric of Toji's shirt still clinging to your hips.  

“‘Come sink down on my shit," he orders, voice dropping to something lethal—“Hurry the fuck up."

Your limbs tremble as you drag yourself onto Suguru’s lap, every movement shaky and uncoordinated—the tears aren’t an act anymore, fat and hot as they spill down your cheeks.  

“‘Want Toji,” you whimper, voice thick with pouty desperation, your fingers clutching at Suguru’s shoulders like you’re torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer, “Suguru...please.”

“Sink down on it,” he growls, voice rough with restraint—“Shut all that shit up.” 

And then—  

His tip drags against your folds, blunt and unrelenting, spreading you open in one brutal glide until you’re forced to take him, your body yielding with a wet, filthy sound as he bottoms out inside you. Your pussy pffts around the stretch, the obscene noise drowned out by your own guttural whimper—half-pain, half-relief—as your walls flutter violently around him, gushing slick that drips down his thighs.  

You already know the drill, unfortunately.  

Your feet plant against the bed, thighs trembling as you bounce yourself on his cock, each desperate little grind forcing another broken noise from your lips. Your pout deepens, your mouth hanging open as your eyes roll back—helpless, overwhelmed, ruined—while Suguru watches you with dark amusement, his hands resting heavy on your hips, letting you do all the work.  

“Look at that,” Toji growls, “All that cryin’, and she’s still fuckin’ drippin’ for it.” 

Suguru grunts in agreement, his thumb swiping through the mess between your legs before bringing it to your lips—“Taste that shit,” he orders, smearing your own slick across your tongue, “That’s how sorry you really are.” 

And you—  

You can’t do anything but take it. 

"She’s creamin’ already," he then growls, voice rough with amusement—"Can’t even fuckin’ handle me." 

Behind you, Toji’s hand cracks down on your ass again—stinging—his fingers tangling in the nape of your neck to keep your head bowed, preventing you from twisting to look at him.  

“Eyes forward," he orders, his voice a rough rumble against your spine—“‘Ain’t no lookin’ back at me." 

Your pussy spurts around Suguru’s cock with every desperate bounce—obscene, wet—and the sensation wrings a broken squeak from your lips—“Fuuuckkkk, ‘m sorry, baby—"

Suguru arches a brow beneath you, hips stilling completely. 

“Who’re you apologizin’ to?"

You whimper, bouncing harder—frantic now—as you sob out, “Y—you!" 

A slow, knowing grin curls Suguru’s lips as he finally—finally—thrusts up, grinding his cock deep inside you in a brutal, deliberate roll.  

“Me, huh?”

You’re trembling, eyes rolling back as another gush of cream spills out around him—his grunt of approval vibrating through your core before you choke out a silent, breathless squeak—  

“…Y—you, baby." 

The sound of your own ass clapping against Suguru’s thighs echoes in your ears—loud, obscene, embarrassing—as you struggle to keep rhythm, thighs burning from exertion. Your pout deepens, lips swollen and parted around pathetic little whimpers, your eyes glazed over with a mix of pleasure and desperation. Suguru watches you with dark amusement, his grip bruising on your hips as he lets you fuck yourself stupid.  

“You doin’ all this for me?" he murmurs, voice dripping with mocking sweetness—“Bouncin’ stupid on my cock ‘cause you’re sorry?” 

You whine, nodding frantically, your words dissolving into a stuttering mess, “Ye—ye-y—yes—" 

Suguru clicks his tongue, tilting his head as he watches you struggle.  

“Nah," he decides, voice dropping lower—“You ain’t worried ‘bout me. You’re puttin’ on a show for him.” 

Behind you, Toji exhales a slow, rough breath—hot against your shoulder as he rasps, “She ain’t gettin’ me. ‘Might as well finish you off." 

Your tears return in an instant—thick, hot, real—spilling down your cheeks as you silently bounce on Suguru’s cock, your movements losing coordination as the weight of your punishment sinks in. His grip shifts suddenly—one hand sliding up to cradle your throat, his thumb brushing gently over your trembling lips—soothing you even as his hips snap up, fucking into you with brutal precision. 

“Love you so much, ‘Guru…”

It slips out, weak and trembling, muffled against his skin—and just like always, Suguru softens.  

His grip on your hips gentles just slightly, his rhythm losing some of its brutality as he curses under his breath and tugs you down into a searing kiss. Your whimpers melt into his mouth, your tongue lapping against his in desperate, sweet little strokes—like you’re trying to apologize with every flick, every needy press of your lips.  

“‘She’s always gettin’ her way with you,” Toji growls—“Come suck me off ‘fore I change my mind.”

Your body trembles—from exhaustion, from overstimulation—but the moment Suguru releases you, you’re scrambling toward Toji, your hands shaking as you reach for him.  

You missed him.  

Missed the sharp cut of his glare, the way his jaw ticks when he’s pissed, the way his dominance settles over you like a heavy blanket—unshakable, inescapable.  

You tug his sweats down with clumsy fingers, your breath catching as his cock springs free—large, long, dangerous—thick and heavy in your palms.  

Toji watches you through hooded eyes, “‘’Better do a good fuckin’ job, too. I’m watchin’.” 

And you try. 

God, you try.  

Where you were needy with Suguru, you’re desperate with Toji—your lips stretching obscenely around his girth, your hands working in tandem to stroke what you can’t take. You’re messy—saliva dripping down your chin, your nose pressing into his pelvis as you choke around him—but you don’t stop. 

“That’s all you got?”  he rasps—“‘Thought you was sorry, huh?” 

His hand cracks against your cheek—stinging—drawing a deep, shuddering whimper from your throat as your eyes water.  

Toji’s gaze flicks over your head to Suguru, his voice dropping to a growl—  

“‘Come eat her. Need her loose enough to sink every fuckin’ inch of me in so I can pound her shit out.” 

Suguru’s broad palms spread your thighs wider from behind, his tongue dragging a slow, torturous stripe over your swollen clit. The pleasure is blinding, your back arching, your moan vibrating around Toji’s cock—and suddenly, your attempts to suck him off grow even messier, your rhythm faltering as Suguru’s mouth works you open with ruthless precision.  

“Focus,” Toji orders, gripping your hair tighter—“‘Ain’t done with you yet.” 

His jaw tightens when you force yourself deeper, taking him down your throat until your nose presses flush against his pelvis, until your vision blurs with tears, until your gag reflex burns—before you drag yourself off with a wet, gasping choke.  

“‘Ass up,” he roughly orders—“‘That’s how you wanna feel me?”  

You nod—pouty, eager—turning away from him, pressing your face into the sheets as you arch your back, presenting yourself to him. Your thighs tremble, your cunt dripping, already clenching around nothing as you hear the soft click of Suguru leaning back against the bedframe, his hand lazily stroking himself as he watches.  

And then—  

Toji enters you.  

The stretch is brutal—splitting you open in a way that borders on too much, his cock carving into your tight heat with punishing precision. Your breath catches, your fingers twisting into the sheets as you mewl—high and broken—arching your back even further as you try to sink down onto him. 

“‘You want the whole thing already, huh?” His voice is a dark rasp—“‘Fuck me.” 

You throw yourself back onto him, but your strength is gone, your thighs shaking too violently to do more than bounce weakly against only the tip of him. Your lip catches between your teeth, a strangled whimper slipping free as you feel it—the stretch, the ache, the way your body struggles to accommodate him.  

Suguru’s voice is low in front of you as his fingers trail up your spine, “‘Needin’ help, baby?” 

Your cheek presses deeper into the sheets as you nod, curls spilling wildly around your face—Suguru’s palm lands heavy between your shoulder blades, fingers splaying possessively before he pushes, forcing you down onto Toji’s cock in one merciless thrust. The stretch punches a low, throaty moan from you, guttural and filthy, as your walls flutter violently around him.  

“Fuhhhhck—!”

The sound rips from you, ragged and broken, as Toji lets out a growl. 

“You feel that?” His voice is a rough purr, thumbs circling the dip of your waist—“I’m in your shit, huh?”

You whimper, nodding desperately, your voice climbing into a squeal—  

“So f—fucking deep, Daddy…”

Toji’s glare turns lethal. 

“Say ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’” 

You don’t hesitate—your voice spills out dumb, loud and stupidly obedient—  

“’M sorrryyy—!”

The moment the word leaves your lips, he moves—snapping his hips up in brutal, unforgiving strokes, driving into you with a rhythm that steals your breath. His voice stays level, controlled—“Sorry for what?”

“Makin’ s—stuff harder for you…!” You hiccup, twisting the sheets in your fists—”D—Don’t be mad at me…!” 

Your entire body shudders beneath Toji’s relentless pace—his cock pistoning into you with such raw, possessive fury that your thighs tremble, your back arching deeper into the sheets as you sob uncontrollably. Suguru watches from the bedframe, his fist working harsh, deliberate strokes over his own length, his dark eyes glinting with something between amusement and hunger.  

“Lil’ problem,” he huffs, voice thick with desire—“Even now.” 

Toji leans over you, his thrusts grow heavier, each snap of his hips punctuated by a deep, guttural grunt. His voice drops to a rough, almost broken rasp—  

“You know what I would’ve done if somethin’ happened to you, huh?” 

You whimper, your cries muffled against the mattress, your fingers clutching uselessly at the sheets.  

He doesn’t wait for an answer.  

“I’d fuckin’ kill for you.” 

Suguru’s chuckle is dark, his grip tightening around his cock as he echoes—  

“We’d fuckin’ kill for you.” 

You’re gone.

A trembling, tearful mess beneath Toji—tears streaming down your cheeks, your pussy clenching around him in desperate, rhythmic pulses as if begging for more—yet your tears say otherwise. 

“Stop cryin’, baby—“ he murmurs, “Just open m’ pussy up for me. Keep feedin’ my dick.” 

Your back arches impossibly further, letting him take everything he wants. Your cries soften into breathless, shuddering moans as you melt around him, your body yielding completely—  

“…M’ g—gonna cum!” 

Toji doesn’t pause.  

With a rough grunt, his hands lock around your waist, tugging you back and forth onto his cock with effortless strength—treating you like nothing more than a toy, something to be used, something that weighs nothing to him.  

"’Better do more than that," he rasps, “Give me a fuckin’ show ‘fore I fuck you ‘til you break." 

Your orgasm hits you like a truck.  

A high pitched squeak tears from your throat as you squirt violently around him—so hard you actually push him out, gushing slick all over his thighs and the sheets beneath you. Your face presses embarrassingly into the mattress, shoulders trembling as Suguru’s fingers dig into your curls possessively, his groan rough with approval.  

“That’s my fuckin’ girl.” 

Suguru’s thumb rubs slow circles into your skin, murmuring—“Good fuckin’ job, baby."

All you can do is whimper—now exhausted, fucked-out, ruined. Exactly how they wanted you.

Toji’s rough fingers grip your chin, tilting your face toward him as he murmurs in low, husky Japanese—  

“Anata ni awa sete kudasai.”

Let me see you.

He studies your face—your freckled cheeks flushed deep, your wide, glossy eyes blinking up at him, lips parted in tired satisfaction. His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, pressing down slightly before he shoves your face away with a gruff grunt. 

“Yeah, she’s fuckin’ sorry.” 

You whimper, collapsing onto your elbows as you watch them both—and god, they’re breathtaking.  

Suguru’s tattooed frame gleams under the dim light as he lazily lights a cigarette between his lips before passing it to Toji. Their skin is still slick with sweat, their powerful bodies marked with ink and scars—yours, in every way that matters.  

You shift onto your knees, your aching thighs trembling as your gaze flicks between them. 

Your voice was soft, “…Did I do good?” 

Suguru exhales a slow stream of smoke, his dark eyes raking over you before he murmurs—  

“Amazin’, baby.” 

Toji clicks his tongue, muttering in Japanese—  

“Mata hajimatta yo, kanojo o chōshi ni nora seru yōna koto o itte.”

There you go again, hypin’ her head up.

You don’t understand the words—but you know his tone. It makes your eyes well up all over again, tears spilling as you sniffle and wipe at them pathetically—  

“‘’M really sorry, Fushiguro…”

Toji watches you—his expression unreadable for a long moment before something softens in his gaze, despite the frustration still lingering there.  

He grunts—  

“C’mere.”

You crawl toward him on shaky limbs, your tear streaked face pressing into the hard plane of his chest as you quickly swipe at your damp cheeks with the back of your hand. Your sniffles quiet, but your breathing is still uneven—little hiccups of emotion trapped in your throat.  

“Stop cryin’.”

“….You’ve never been mad at me like this before,” you whisper, voice trembling, “And I don’t know how to fix it.” 

Suguru’s touch ghosts over your thigh from where he lounges beside you, his fingers rubbing slow, soothing circles into your skin—gentle, reassuring.  

“I love you so goddamn much. You know that?” 

You blink rapidly, fresh tears clinging to your lashes as you nod frantically, your breath hitching.  

But Toji shakes his head, lips twisting into a scowl—  

“Nah, gotta hear you say it.” 

Your lower lip quivers, ”You… you love me…” 

And then—  

He kisses you. 

Not soft. Not sweet.  

But hard, possessive—smushing rough, impatient kisses along your jaw, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth—everywhere but your lips, as if punishing you just a little longer. 

A faint giggle bubbles up from your chest, escaping through your sniffles—  

And that’s when you see it.  

The faintest twitch at the corner of Toji’s lips.  

His rough palms cradle your face as his dark eyes lock onto yours, “Don’t put me in a situation like that again."

His thumbs swipe under your lashes, wiping away lingering tears. 

“I’d lose my goddamn mind if anythin’ happened to you.” 

You knew how much you meant to him, and you couldn’t argue with that.  

“I love you, Toji.” 

And then—  

He kisses you again.  

Really kisses you.   

His lips move over yours like he’s memorizing the shape of them, like he needs to taste your promise. His hands slide into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he deepens the kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration, fear and love into it until your toes curl against the sheets.  

When he pulls back, you giggle once more—soft, breathless, so full of love. 

“So…’can we be a big happy family again?"

Toji doesn’t even look at Suguru, grunting as he flips the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. 

“Shut the fuck up. We’re all goin’ to bed."

You don’t hesitate—curling instantly into Toji’s side, your leg hooking over his hip, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck like you’ve done a thousand times before. His arm locks around your waist, dragging you tighter against him with a possessive grunt.  

The room settles into silence—warm, safe, finally feeling like home. Until Suguru sighs dramatically, flipping onto his side toward you both—  

“No goodnight kiss for me?"

A pause. 

“Goddamn, I’m really the third wheel."

And in perfect unison—muffled, half-asleep, you both mutter—

his gaze dropped to your mouth. and then it was over.

he pulled you in fast—hands gripping your waist, mouth crashing into yours like he needed to say sorry without words. teeth and tongue and breathless, angry kisses. you shoved at his chest, but not to push him away. just to grab at him harder. to feel him.

he muttered your name between kisses like a prayer, like a plea, like he hated how that look on your face made him feel—small. helpless. like the kind of man who didn’t deserve you.

“i‘m sorry,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “fuck, baby, i didn’t mean it. you know i didn’t.”

your fingers twisted in the collar of his shirt, jaw clenched tight, trying not to cry. but he was already lifting you and setting you down on the cold edge of the kitchen counter, like he was trying to restart the moment, reshape it into something that didn’t ache.

“i’m an asshole,” he rasped, nosing along your cheek. “i know that. i fuck up. but i’d never—never wanna hurt you.”

his voice cracked. just barely. but it made your chest pull tight.

“let me make it right,” he whispered.

and then he was kissing down your throat, trailing heat along the places that made you weak, pulling your thighs around his hips like he needed you to keep him there. his hands slid up your shirt—slow, reverent now. like you were breakable and he hated that he ever treated you like anything less.

he kissed between your breasts, soft and slow, like penance. and then lower, until he was tugging your shorts down your legs, murmuring, “you’re everything to me, baby. i don’t say it enough, but you are.”

your breath caught when he kissed the inside of your thigh.

“just wanna take care of you,” he said, dragging his mouth up your skin. “show you how sorry i am.”

and then he was eating you out like it was the only thing that mattered. like worship. like he meant it when he said he was sorry. big hands holding your hips down when they jerked, tongue lapping at you with deep, messy strokes that made your head tip back, made your spine arch, made the anger dissolve into something hotter, wetter, needier.

you came with your hands in his hair, gasping his name like a question and an answer and a prayer all at once.

but he didn’t stop there.

he stood up, eyes dark, voice low. “can i fuck you here?” he asked, like it wasn’t already obvious.

you nodded, dazed. “please.”

and he didn’t wait. just dragged his sweats down, lined himself up, and slid in slow—so slow it made you whimper, eyes fluttering shut. he hissed through his teeth, gripping your thighs.

“tight fuckin’ pussy,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder. “always takes me so good.”

he moved like he was trying to memorize it. every squeeze. every gasp. every time your nails dug into his shoulders. he didn’t talk much after that—just soft curses and kisses, fucking into you like he meant every thrust to say what he couldn’t.

i’m sorry. i love you. i’m not going anywhere.

he buried his face in your neck, breath stuttering every time you clenched around him. every drag of his cock made the countertop creak beneath you, made your heels press tighter into the backs of his thighs. and he was so deep—so deep you swore he was carved to fit inside you, like there wasn’t a single space left untouched. no part of you unloved.

your arms wrapped around him, not because you were pulling him closer—he was already as close as he could be—but because you needed to hold something real. needed to hold him.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice thick. “you feel too good. i missed this—missed you.”

he kissed the underside of your jaw, then your cheek, then your lips, slow and messy and needy. you could taste yourself on his tongue. could feel the way he trembled just slightly, like he was holding something back.

his hand slid between your bodies, fingers brushing your clit in tight, wet little circles that made your back arch off the counter.

“you close again?” he asked, and you nodded, whimpering.

“gimme it,” he murmured. “cum on me again. c’mon, baby. i need it. need to feel it.”

you cried out when it hit—your whole body curling into him, thighs twitching around his hips, and he let out a sound that didn’t sound human. his hand fisted your shirt, like he was anchoring himself to you, like if he let go, he’d fall apart completely.

“shit—fuck—gonna cum—” he rasped, voice breaking. “can i? inside, baby—need to feel you around me, warm and full, please—”

you didn’t even think before whispering yes.

and he groaned. hips jerking forward as he spilled into you with a broken, desperate cry. it sounded like something he’d been holding in for days. for weeks.

he didn’t move right away. just slumped against you, breath hot and shaky against your collarbone, arms locked tight around your waist like he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to.

and maybe he didn’t want to.

“i mean it,” he said softly, after a long moment. “i’m sorry. i was a dick. i shouldn’t have said that shit. you didn’t deserve it.”

you ran your fingers through his hair, still trying to catch your breath. “i know,” you whispered.

he pulled back just enough to look at you. really look at you. eyes softer than they’d been all night.

“i love you,” he said, voice low. raw. “and i’m gonna keep saying it until you believe it. even when i fuck up. even when you’re mad at me. especially when you’re mad at me.”

your throat went tight.

walking past again with drinks on your tray, you slowed near the line. “since you notice everything, what color gloss?”

without looking up, he said, “same one as last week. kinda pink.”

you blinked, surprised he was right. “okay… stalker.”

he just chuckled, sliding patties onto the grill. “chef. get it right.”

the kitchen was loud with orders firing and pans clattering but somehow, in those tiny moments, it felt like it narrowed down to just you two. nothing bold, nothing over the top. just subtle little things, like him glancing at your face when you weren’t looking, or you lingering a second too long when you dropped tickets off.

it was the start of another shift, but already you could feel the rhythm pulling you in.

the rush hit fast. tables filling, servers weaving, the printer spitting out orders nonstop. you were on autopilot, smiling at guests, balancing trays, remembering who asked for no onions and extra ranch.

still, every time you came back to the line, it was like your eyes found connie first.

“four wings, one medium steak, side caesar,” you said, clipping the ticket. you leaned in just slightly. “don’t overcook my steak, chef.”

“when do i ever?” he shot back, one brow lifting.

you gave him a look. “last thursday.”

he laughed under his breath, shaking the pan. “okay, you got me.”

later, you ducked into the back to sip water, and when you returned, there was a small plate pushed to the edge of the line. not an order but your lunch. neat little pile of veggies, chicken cut into strips, and sauce drizzled across the top.

“this for me?” you asked, already knowing.

“who else?” he said, eyes still on the grill.

you smiled, sliding it off the line. “you cut my food like i’m a kid.”

“nah. i just make it easy for you,” he answered, smirk tugging at his mouth.

you carried plates out, checked on tables, kept the flow. but in between, you couldn’t help dropping little comments when you passed him.

“chef, that better be my fries.”

“chef, don’t burn yourself.”

“chef, don’t forget table seven’s sauce.”

each time, he’d answer without missing a beat.

“i got you mami.”

“stop worrying about me.”

“you always checking up on me?”

the other servers noticed. one of them rolled her eyes when you laughed at something he said, another whispered a joke when they saw the heart shaped drizzle on your plate. but no one said much. maybe they could feel it too, that quiet rhythm you and connie had built, tucked in the middle of all the chaos.

he worked the line, you ran the floor, and somehow, even in the loudest part of the shift, it always came back to the same thing: those small and steady moments only the two of you seemed to share.

the rush finally broke. the printer was quiet for once, the kitchen air less heavy with steam. a couple tables lingered out front but nothing wild. you exhaled as you stacked cups at the service station, humming a little under your breath.

from the corner of your eye, you caught connie wiping down his station. he had that focused look still but slower now, like he was finally letting himself breathe.

you carried a few chairs to the side, flipped them up onto the tables. when you turned, he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, just watching.

“what?” you asked, smiling a little.

he shrugged. “bun’s still holding up.”

“it’s called strong edge control,” you teased. “you wouldn’t know nothing about that.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “nah, but i been watching it all night. you ain’t sweat it out once.”

you made a face at him but couldn’t help the laugh that slipped. “you really too observant for your own good.”

“just for you,” he said, quiet but clear.

you busied yourself with stacking more chairs so you didn’t have to answer that directly. but the words lingered.

a couple coworkers passed through, grabbing trays, half listening to the back and forth. one of them shot you a look that half teasing and half knowing but kept it moving.

you went back to wiping down menus at the host stand, pretending like your chest wasn’t warm from such a simple comment.

closing shifts always dragged, but with him there stealing little glances, the drag didn’t feel so bad.

the last table left, lights were dimmed, and the manager finally locked up. everyone spilled out into the cool night air, laughing about tips or complaining about sore feet. you stretched your shoulders, tugging at the knot in your apron, already thinking about sliding into bed.

connie came out a minute later, but not in his chef coat anymore. he’d swapped it for a black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of sneakers he probably kept in his car for after shift. seeing him like that threw you a little. no apron, no hat, no line noise. just… him.

he caught your look and grinned. “what? never seen me outside the kitchen before?”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “nah, it’s just… weird. you look regular.”

“regular’s crazy,” he said, walking past you toward the lot. “this the real me.”

most of your coworkers split off quick, some heading to cars, others walking to the bus stop. soon it was just you and connie, the glow of the parking lot lights stretching across the asphalt.

he leaned against his car, digging in his pocket for keys. “you tryna head straight home?”

“yeah,” you said, then added with a shrug, “unless i get sidetracked.”

his mouth curved. “good. ‘cause i was gonna ask if you wanted to smoke.”

you blinked. “out here?”

“yeah. i got a pack rolled. just chill for a bit before you head out.” he unlocked the car and nodded toward the passenger side. “come on. i’ll even play good music for you.”

you hesitated only a second before walking over, tugging your ribbon tighter like it mattered. sliding into his car felt different, like stepping into his space instead of brushing past him on the line. the seats smelled faintly like cologne and a little weed.

when he climbed in, he glanced at you again, more relaxed than he ever looked behind the grill.

“you good?” he asked with his lighter in hand.

“yeah,” you said while smiling a little. “just… first time seeing you like this.”

he lit up, took a slow drag, and passed it over. “better get used to it.”

you settled into the passenger seat, letting the comment sit in the back of your mind. the car felt warmer than outside, tinted windows cutting out most of the streetlights. the dash glowed faint blue from the stereo.

“what you wanna listen to?” connie asked, scrolling through his phone.

“something chill,” you said as you leaned back. “you pick. i’m curious what a chef listens to when he’s not yelling ‘order up.’”

he snorted. “first of all, i don’t yell. i project.”

the opening chords of some slow r&b track slid through the speakers. it was smooth, bass heavy, and the kind of music you’d usually play getting ready to go out. you raised a brow. “oh, you got taste.”

“of course i do,” he said, sparking the blunt and taking the first drag. smoke curled around his face before he passed it to you.

you inhaled, slow and careful, the familiar burn warming your chest. exhaling, you glanced over at him. out of the chef coat, his tattoos peeked under the sleeve of his t shirt, his chain catching the light when he shifted. he looked… softer. not softer like weak, but softer like less guarded.

“you always this laid back when you’re not on the line?” you asked, handing the blunt back.

“nah. usually more laid back.” he grinned, taking another pull. “you just ain’t seen it yet.”

“hm. so this you without the apron stress?”

“this me regular,” he said, blowing smoke toward the cracked window. “kinda nice, huh?”

you hummed, letting the music fill the quiet. a couple minutes passed, both of you trading the blunt back and forth, the edges of the shift wearing off with every drag.

“you really be paying attention though,” you said finally, head turned toward him.

“to what?”

“my hair. my lip gloss. little stuff. you got a sharp eye.”

he chuckled, tapping ash into the tray. “yeah, well. easy to notice when i’m looking at you all night.”

the words sat between you heavier than the smoke. not bold, not cocky. just honest.

you laughed softly, shaking your head, but your chest felt warm. “you slick.”

“not slick,” he said, voice low, almost casual. “just real.”

the blunt burned down, music still moving slow through the car. you felt yourself sink deeper into the seat, shoulders loose, ribbon still holding your bun tight. you weren’t rushing to leave and he wasn’t either.

connie tapped the ash, eyes cutting over to you. “you high?”

you smiled lazy, “a lil. why?”

he smirked, licking his lips. “’cause you look fine as hell right now.”

you laughed but the sound caught when his hand brushed over your thigh. not slick nor sneaky but just resting there like he was testing how far he could go. you looked at him with smoke still curling in the air.

“you bold,” you murmured.

“nah. just been waiting,” he said with a low voice.

his hand squeezed, warm against your leg under the black work slacks and you didn’t move it away. instead, you leaned closer, breath mixing with smoke when you kissed him. soft at first, then hungrier, lips smearing gloss on his mouth.

he groaned, cupping your face, and next thing you knew you were climbing over the console into his lap. the blunt got stubbed out somewhere and the music still played as you straddled him.

“damn,” he muttered against your mouth as his hands gripped your ass. “you taste sweet as fuck.”

“that’s my gloss,” you teased, rolling your hips slow over his sweats.

“nah. that’s you.”

you felt him hard through the thin fabric, and the weed made everything sharper. the heat between you and the way his chain brushed your chest when he pulled you closer. he helped you tug your pants off, and his fingers slipped under your panties, rubbing slow circles that had your breath hitching.

“fuck… connie—”

“shh,” he whispered, grinning when your thighs shook. “don’t start whining yet. i got you.”

you fumbled with the hem of his t-shirt, dragging it up, wanting his skin on yours. he lifted his arms and let you pull it over his head. tattoos flexed in the dim light, his chest warm against your hands.

when his fingers finally pushed inside you, you gasped, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

“wet as hell already,” he muttered while kissing your neck. “you wanted this bad, huh?”

you didn’t even bother denying it. your body answered for you, clenching around his fingers as he curled them just right.

it didn’t take long before he was tugging his sweats down, freeing himself, thick and heavy against your thigh. your breath hitched.

“you gon fit?” you asked teasingly but serious.

he smirked while guiding you down on him. “guess we find out.”

the stretch had you gasping and your hands braced on his shoulders. he filled you deep, the high making every inch feel overwhelmingly good. you rode him slow at first, trying to catch your breath but he gripped your hips and set the pace, fucking up into you so the car rocked with every thrust.

“shit—connie,” you whined, nails digging into his skin.

“say that again mami,” he groaned, snapping his hips harder. “say my name when you cum on me.”

your moans fogged the windows, mixing with the bass of the music. the world narrowed to just the backseat, just his hands on your body, his voice in your ear. messy, hot, like you’d been waiting forever for it.

and when you finally came, clenching around him, head thrown back, he followed right after, cumming inside, and holding you in place as if he couldn’t let you go.

the car went quiet again except for the music and the sound of both your heavy breathing. your ribbon had come loose, lip gloss smeared, and lashes a little wet but he just grinned as he brushed his thumb over your jaw.

you slid off his lap slow with shaky legs as he tugged his sweats back up, then reached for the pack of napkins stuffed in the console.

“c’mere,” he muttered, gentle now. he wiped you down careful, nothing rushed, making sure you were good before tossing the napkins aside. you leaned back against the seat, catching your breath, and he passed you a cold bottle of water he pulled from the back.

“hydration, chef’s orders,” he teased.

you laughed weakly, taking a long sip. “you really never stop being a chef, huh?”

“gotta take care of my favorite waitress,” he said, grinning.

when he looked at you again, his eyes softened. he reached up, brushing his thumb across your cheek, then stared at the ribbon and edges barely hanging onto your head.

“thought you said strong edge control and ribbon look like it tapped out on me.”

you swatted at him while laughing. “shut up. you the one that made it come loose.”

“yeah… i’ll take the blame for that.”

the music still hummed low in the background, the windows fogged, the world outside feeling far away. he leaned back, arm stretched behind your seat, casual like he hadn’t just wrecked you in the backseat.

“so,” he said after a beat, looking at you with that same lazy grin, “you still think i only look good in the kitchen?”

the next shift felt different before it even started. you tied your apron like always, smoothed your hair into a bun with a fresh ribbon, gloss shining, and lashes fluttering. but the second you stepped onto the floor, you could feel it. last night was still lingering.

connie was already on the line, moving like he always did but when you clipped the first ticket to the rail his eyes flicked up. it was quick, just a look, then back down like nothing. still, it made your stomach flip.

“three chicken sandwiches, one well done burger,” you said, then leaned your elbow on the counter for just a second longer than necessary.

he raised a brow. “you gon’ be standing there all day or you actually working?”

you smirked, whispering low so no one else could catch it. “depends. what’s for dessert?”

his smirk hit quick before he covered it by flipping a pan. “ain’t no dessert on the menu mami,” he said, voice even.

“not on the menu,” you repeated, straight faced, then walked off with your tray.

the other servers were too busy to notice but connie’s head tilted just slightly as he watched you leave, like he was the only one who understood what you really meant.

which he was and it wasn’t loud or obvious. just that quiet promise hanging in the air: later.

you dropped off plates at the line, while brushing loose hairs back from your face, ribbon already threatening to slip loose. connie caught it, eyes flicking there before he went back to chopping, lips twitching like he wanted to say something.

“yo, can i get that pasta up?” one of the other servers called, sliding in between you two.

“relax, it’s comin’,” connie muttered but his eyes were on you as he plated it, drizzling sauce just neat enough. when he slid it over, he didn’t say anything—just tapped the rim twice like it was only for you.

you raised a brow at him. “that for me or the table?”

“you know the answer,” he said quick before turning back to the stove.

later, when you came by with empty plates stacked on your arm, you leaned close enough for your lipgloss to catch the light. “don’t think i didn’t see you showing off with that sauce earlier.”

he gave you one of those side eyes, smirk tugging at the corner. “girl, i don’t gotta show off. you already know what i do.”

the rush picked up, so the flirting shifted quieter to little looks and subtle brushes of your hand when you grabbed trays he was sliding across. once, when you squeezed past him at the sink, his hand barely grazed your hip like it was an accident. it wasn’t.

by the time the rush slowed, both of you were sweaty, tired, and still caught in that undercurrent. you leaned against the counter, wiping sweat from your forehead, bun leaning messy, and ribbon hanging by a thread.

“you really gon let your hair fight for its life like that all shift?” he asked, voice low enough for just you.

“depends. you volunteering to fix it for me?” you shot back.

his smirk deepened, like he’d already filed that one away.

the rest of the staff cleaned up as the energy dropped. someone joked about heading to the bar after and a couple of the servers waved goodbye. soon enough, it was just you and connie again, the hum of the walk in cooler and clink of silverware the only sounds left.

you stacked menus, he scrubbed down the line, and every now and then your eyes met in the dim light, the same thing circling back.

last night. the blunt. the backseat.

you tied your apron up tighter, teasing without even saying anything. he clocked it.

“you still thinkin’ about dessert?” he asked finally, voice casual but weight sitting under it.

you didn’t look up from wiping down the host stand. “depends who’s serving.”

he laughed under his breath, shook his head, and you knew it was only a matter of time before “later” became right now.

closing was basically done. chairs flipped on tables, floors mopped, only the hum of the cooler and the faint drip of the coffee machine left. you untied your apron slow, folding it over your arm, when connie leaned on the counter, wiping his hands on a rag.

“yo,” he called soft. you looked up. “c’mere for a second.”

you raised a brow but walked over, sneakers squeaking on the tile. “what, you need help stacking pans again?”

“nah.” he nodded toward the back. “walk with me.”

the cooler door creaked as he pulled it open, the cold air rushing out against your warm skin. you gave him a look. “really? in here?”

“ain’t nobody around,” he shrugged, stepping inside first. “besides, you said dessert.”

you laughed low, shaking your head, but followed him in. the chill had you rubbing your arms until he pulled you close, big hands warming your waist. the dim light above buzzed faintly, casting everything in a bluish glow.

“so this the kinda service i get for stayin’ late with you?” you teased, lips curving.

he bent down just enough so his words brushed against your glossed mouth. “nah, this the kinda service only you get.”

you were the one to kiss him first this time, lips cold from the air but heat sparking quick between you. his hands slid down, gripping just enough to let you know he wasn’t here to play.

the kiss turned messy fast, your back pressing into the metal shelving. you gasped when something dug into your hip—just a carton of produce but it made him laugh against your mouth.

“gotta make do,” he murmured, tugging at the bow of your ribbon till it slipped loose. “better.” your lipgloss smeared on his mouth, your lashes brushing his cheek when you pulled him deeper. the cold air had your skin goosebumped, but his touch burned, fingers sliding under your shirt slow, tracing along your stomach.

“you always gon sweet talk me with food before you fuck me?” you asked, voice breathless but teasing.

he smirked, kissing down your jaw. “only you.”

his hands slid lower, hooking under your thighs till you were lifted onto the cold metal shelf. the chill shocked through your legs but the heat of him pressed in quick, kissing you like he hadn’t been waiting all damn shift for it.

your skirt rode up easy, ribbon loose, lipgloss smeared across his mouth. his fingers traced the hem of your panties before tugging them aside, the cold air hitting you right before his thumb dragged slow over your slit. you shivered but it wasn’t from the temperature.

“always so fuckin’ wet for me,” he muttered, low and rough against your mouth.

“shut up and fuck me, connie,” you whispered back, voice breaking a little.

he grinned, teeth flashing, and undid his belt quick. you could hear the faint metal clink echo in the cooler, then the sound of him spitting in his palm before stroking himself once.

when he pushed in, the breath left your lungs. cold air around you, but inside it was all stretch and burn and heat. you grabbed onto the edge of the shelf, nails tapping against the steel, his hands tight on your waist as he sank in deeper.

“fuck,” he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “you feel too good.”

the rhythm picked up messy, shelves rattling just enough that you both stifled a laugh between moans. your legs wrapped tight around his waist, sneakers slipping a little against the metal.

he fucked you like he owned every sound spilling out of you, grip bruising your hips, the kind of stroke that had your head falling back, lashes fluttering.

“you always gon tease me with that ribbon and then act surprised when i take it?” he panted, tugging lightly at your loose hair.

you gasped, voice shaky. “was hopin’ you would.”

he cursed low, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, the cold of the cooler making every slap of skin sound louder, dirtier. your gloss was gone by then, smeared all over him, your lipgloss stained laugh cutting through the hum of the fan when he angled just right.

“connie—” his name hit sharp off your tongue when you came, body curling in around him, legs shaking tight.

he gritted his teeth, buried deep, and followed you there, warmth spilling into you even as your breath puffed in cold clouds around his shoulder.

for a second it was just the sound of both your breathing, ragged and heavy, shelf trembling under you. then he pulled back, tucking himself in quick, tugging your skirt down like nothing happened.

but his thumb smoothed over the corner of your mouth, wiping the last of your gloss, and his smirk came back slow.

“dessert hit like it was supposed to.”

the cooler door hissed shut behind you and the blast of warmer kitchen air hit your skin like a blanket. your legs still felt shaky, your ribbon hanging half untied, hair a mess around your shoulders.

connie glanced at you, lips still swollen, then grabbed a water bottle off the counter and cracked it open. he held it out.

“sip. you soundin’ like you left your lungs in there.”

you rolled your eyes but took it, the cold water easing your throat. when you handed it back, his thumb brushed your gloss-stained lip, wiping off a smudge you missed.

“messy,” he teased, voice soft but cutting straight through.

“whose fault is that?” you shot back, adjusting your skirt.

he just laughed under his breath, reaching out to catch the loose ribbon that was slipping further from your bun. with one hand he tried to retie it but the knot was crooked, hanging off to the side.

“you not even tryna help me,” he said, shaking his head.

“you don’t got the skills,” you grinned, tucking the ribbon into your apron pocket instead.

the last bit of the cleanup was silent except for little jokes, your bodies brushing when you passed, his hand grazing your back when he moved past you with a tray. it wasn’t the same silence as before though—now it was heavier, filled with what just happened, what it meant.

by the time you were both locking up, he gave you that same half smirk, keys jangling in his hand.

“so… you gon be askin’ for dessert every shift now?”

you shrugged, lips curving. “depends if the chef’s special is worth it.”

he shook his head, pulling his hoodie over his head. “girl, you gon be the death of me.”