-`quinn´-

looking over his shoulder at the sudden loud noise of revving motorbikes, shuji feels a pang of jealousy at all the people that are staying behind. he should rejoin them, he should turn around and ignore the ache and the sticking of his jeans to the blood on his skin, he should and he so desperately wants to go back to laughing at some poor sod tripping over a purposely stuck out foot or trembling from the booming voices of hotheaded gang members ready to jump him if they so decide. but… he can't bear to turn back now, not when he's getting a little light-headed and breathless just from walking. he's just going to embarrass himself further. laughter echoes in his head, it doesn't stop even when he presses his bruised hands over his ears, still slowly walking, limping, ahead and aimlessly trying to piece together a makeshift map of all the locations where he could catch a fucking break.

in the depth of his mind he knows there is one… but even the thought of it makes him roll his eyes in annoyance. the place he doesn't go to unless things are dire, unless he's so desperate for a fuck or he's so drunk he doesn't know what he's doing, going against better judgement (though he hardly has any judgement at all) because would he fuck want to find himself around you without an ulterior motive. shuji hasn't even cleared this decision with his brain, and yet the drag of his feet keeps moving in the direction of your place, like some kind of fucked up autopilot thriving on self-destruction. and maybe he's a little sick for wanting it, despite the frown between his brows at the very idea.

the dull ache in his thighs keeps his walking slow, but something could be said about him still moving despite the sheer unwillingness to keep going. he has to exhaust every option, though, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. maybe he'll get lucky and you won't be home. he lights another cigarette with the previous one, keeping that one thought in his head. you won't be home. like a mantra he's trying to make true, manifesting his own physical misfortune to pacify his mind.

your apartment building is towering over him ominously. the flickering light over the entrance isn't helping, either. maybe it's an omen, a carved out sign that screams run, you stupid bastard, but he's trying to remind himself that he's not a coward. no matter how much he hates being here or dreads seeing you act like you're none the wiser about how he feels, still keeping up with your caring and gentle touches like last time… he just wants to prove to himself that he can do this. that is, if you're actually at home. which he's still hoping you're not. obviously.

the front door gives way, so at least he doesn't have to go through the whole excruciating ordeal of waiting for you to come and check who it is and maybe even refuse to buzz him in. one lucky thing, he scoffs.

the lights time out twice by the time he's climbed up the stairs to your floor. there's still time, he still has a chance to turn back, but he clears his throat and rubs his hands over his tired and bruised face, readying himself to see the last person he is willing to be vulnerable around.

every second between the knock on the door (too faint for you to hear, so he had to knock again, this time like he means it) and the sound of several locks opening from the inside feels as if a deft hand is playing his nerves like a guitar, plucking strings with a sort of planned carelessness to appear nonchalant while picking out the most bone-vibrating sounds. for a moment, just before the door opens, he's trying to force himself to be fine with it all, maybe going over why he dislikes you so much, trying to once again convince himself that it's not important and that he could get over it.

shuji doesn't account for the feeling of shame to ache more than the split skin just above his eyebrow. his heart beats in his ears, pounding his head into a dizzying disorientation that has him leaning on the top of the door frame for balance. he hangs his head down, swallowing saliva quickly to hear something other than the laughter that followed when you picked draken over him, and then later your giggle when you let emma have him instead like it didn't matter that much in the first place. like even your better choice was replaceable, if anything just because your friend liked him better. and it wouldnt really hurt that much in that moment had it not been fucking draken. that old embarrassment resurfaces every now and then when he's not swatting it away like an annoying fly, the dumb helpless feeling of things slipping away from his fingers. like the keys to his home weren't the only fleeting thing that he could hold in the palm of his hand before he got the harsh reminder that nothing in life is guaranteed and fortune favours his enemies after all.

the door opens and he's unsure if he feels more relieved of pissed off that you're home.

"shuji?" you say, softly like you've just woken up, though he knows it's bullshit and you're putting on this sweet innocent doll thing again. as if you didn't check your peep hole to see who it was, as if you're not relishing in seeing him struggle to stay on his feet when he would rather be lying in a ditch somewhere. or that's what he tells himself.

"you gonna ogle me while i bleed out or let me in?" shuji grumbles, pushing himself off of the door frame and walking inside when you move out of the way.

he hates that he knows the layout of your place. hates that he automatically takes off his jacket and hangs it on the hanger and knows there's just enough space for his shoes beside it. why is this the moment of weakness when his brain decides to remember details he didn't even know he knew? you close the door and walk past him, brushing against his elbow, and he has to stop himself from thinking about how it felt to grab you and pull you closer, to hear you yelp and giggle before you tangled your fingers in his hair.

you're quick on your feet, already rummaging for the box of gauze and other shit you put on him when he inevitably comes over bloody and tired. the cushion on your couch may as well already have his bony ass imprinted on it, and despite his emotional discomfort it feels good to sit down, to let out a deep groan as his body settles down into the familiar softness, and let his head fall back to finally rest. not that he should be resting here anyway. not that he should have even come over, but the more he sits and feels your closeness, the less appealing crashing in the park nearby sounds.

you didn't ask him any questions, he notices. just kept busy with dabbing a wet cloth over his bloodied knuckles, and maybe it's because of something inside him that he's not willing to acknowledge, but he lets you do what you will, maybe feeling ever so slightly grateful for it.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

shuji wakes up desperately needing a smoke. he goes to pat his pockets, discovering that he's not wearing any pants. an almost smirk starts to form on his lips until he realises he's alone, sitting on the familiar couch—though not his own—in the dark with only a little lamp on in the hallway. he's stiff with a dull ache in his limbs, a headache announcing itself in his temples. there's a glass of water on the coffee table, a couple of what he assumes are painkillers beside it, so he leans forward with an audible, if a little shameful, groan to grab them. water feels good on his scratchy throat and he drinks while trying to piece together what has happened—what he did.

he was weak. that much is clear. knocking on your door was akin to admitting defeat, because why else would he let you see him in this state time and time again. his leg still kinda hurts, but it doesn't sting like hell anymore, looking down he sees that you finished the job of bandaging him up even after he passed out asleep. he hopes that he didn't mutter something embarrassing. his shirt and jeans are neatly folded on the other end of the couch, almost in a mocking way showing him that he got a kindness he's sure he didn't deserve from you. with a stifled grunt he gets up, inspecting his clean, though bruised and scratched, knuckles, and a few bruises blooming along his ribs that he can see when he turns towards the hallway. it's incredibly late, he's glad you've gone to sleep and left him alone.

digging around the pockets of his jeans for the remnants of cigarettes left in his there, once more he remembers—by the lack of his house keys—why he's here and not in his own bed. the lighter is cold in his hand and he squeezes it tight, the stinging tug on the freshly scraped skin on his knuckles almost a little satisfying as he tries not to lose his shit.

some crisp air on the balcony is just what he needs as he pushes open the door and stands there in his boxers. shuji shields the flame from the breeze as he lights the cigarette, closing his eyes trying to savour the smoke before he exhales it. this night has been an absolute shit show.

you don't have an ashtray here, but he feels no guilt ashing his cigarette on the edge of a plant pot on the balcony. maybe next time you'll cuss him out and kick his ass instead of letting him get cosy in your apartment, maybe that's what he needs to stop coming here. maybe that's what will let him move past the clenching feeling in his chest that he's telling himself is hatred.

there's one left in the pack, almost intact, only a little crumpled from when he landed on his ass—he's still trying to convince himself he tripped, refusing to believe someone managed to kick him onto the ground. he'll save that one for later, for when he's ambling the streets dragging out the minutes until he gets home and faces the consequences. there's one more stop before he gets dressed and slips out of here, hopefully without you noticing, he flicks the bathroom light on and hisses as the cold white bulb fries his eyes for a moment.

normally he wouldn't flinch at the sight of his face in the mirror. he'd wink at the reflection, maybe flex a little, lean in to fix a strand of his hair so it looks effortless and messy instead of just stupid, but now he's looking into the glass and wondering how he got so serious. the curve of his mouth isn't tugging upwards, his dark undereyes stand out against the pale skin of his face, there's a bruise just under his eye, stretching along his cheek bone and he can feel it pulse under the skin. fuck, he needs a good night's sleep. maybe several nights. maybe he should call kisaki and ask if he could crash at his place tomorrow and ignore the world until he's properly awake instead of running on fumes from fight to fight just trying not to slip out of the heat of the moment. maybe so, but first he needs to piss.

no matter how much things suck, at least there's a few moments when he can just focus on the relief as he stands there with his eyes closed. it's so mundane, so normal, and it finally doesn't feel like he's running for his life.

"feeling okay?"

he startles, cursing as he nearly gets your toilet seat wet.

"the fuck—" his heart bangs in his ears, thundering as he looks over his shoulder to see you leaning on the door frame. of course, he didn't close the bathroom door. of course, this is your place after all. of course, of fucking course, you must have woken up when he walked down the hallway past your bedroom. he can't recall if your door was shut or not, he simply didn't pay attention while feeling along the wall in this familiar space he's hating himself a little for remembering. either way you're here now, tugging on the oversized t-shirt you're using as pyjamas, making it cover at least the tops of your thighs in a feeble attempt to appear somewhat modest. your hair is all over the place, clearly showing you just tumbled out of bed upon hearing him. and your face…

"did you—" you yawn, "see the painkillers i left?"

shuji just nods, shaking his dick off before he pulls it back into his boxers. "what is this, you're spying on me while i'm trying to take a piss to check if i took my meds?"

even as tired as he is, he doesn't miss the roll of your eyes as you push off the door frame to rinse your face with water. why you'd want to be more awake at this ungodly hour is beyond him, but then again, he doesn't want to make sense of your actions or motivations.

"sass me all you want, shuji, i'm not gonna let you suffer just because you can be a dick sometimes." he frowns as you catch his eyes in the reflection above the sink.

"sometimes?"

there's a little quirk of your mouth, too tired to be a smirk, too lazy to be a smile. "most of the time." you concede, wiping your hands away from him as he turns towards you.

"i shouldn't have come here anyway." absentmindedly he scratches across his chest, chasing after some invisible itch that makes him very aware of the fact that he's mostly naked in your bathroom… again.

"you said that before," by the twitches of your head towards him it's clear you're trying not to look at him, whether out of respect for privacy or determination not to start something tonight, "but you know i'll help you when you need me."

"i don't." he all but snarls. like a cornered animal, though he knows he's in no danger here. not from you, not in your apartment. he's just lashing out to stop thinking kindly about you, and on some level he knows it. "i don't need you."

you just nod, but he catches your eyes in the mirror again, for better or worse, and stands a little straighter. you must be doing that on purpose, putting yourself out there like that, making sure he's thinking about you when he doesn't want to. shuji hates that you take it gracefully, handing him a towel to dry his face after he splashed it with cold water. he wants you to be at least half as mad at him as he is with you. at least a little bit, to stop him second-guessing this overwhelming feeling of dread.

"i'm just saying," you begin, folding your arms across your chest, "that if you're hurt and can't go home i'll help. i'll ignore that you hate my guts and i'll never mention it to anyone, just…"

a sigh on your lips betrays the exhaustion and some sort of longing, but he chooses to believe it's not for him, because where was that longing when you danced on two sides of the choice, toying with him before someone 'better' caught your attention and took you from his grasp. not that he wanted to have you in his grasp anyway… it didn't matter… he just felt stupid that he lost to fucking ken ryuguji of all people.

"you touched my stuff again." he interrupts because he can't let you go on about how you're so nice and helpful to him, not if he wants to keep a shred of his sanity around you. "told ya not to touch my fucking stuff."

you raise your eyebrow at him, and he's glad that you don't have a soft sleepy look on your face anymore. he can't bear it, another minute and he might start feeling bad for sticking a cigarette butt into your plant pot.

"you're welcome?" you scoff.

"i don't go 'round just putting my hands on everything in your place, do i?"

as if to argue his point, he reaches out and grabs the first thing he can reach on the hook by the door. it's something soft, and he only looks when your eyes widen at the sight. shit.

"if you could just… leave them…" you murmur, furrowing your brows as he lifts the pair of panties he picked up towards the light.

shuji can't deny that seeing you this flustered makes him feel a certain way, some kind of proof that he's not the only sick bastard in this dance getting hard by the displeasure between you. and he really is getting hard, he feels the strain of his boxers against his growing erection and the weight of your gaze as it meets the bulge.

it's a little freeing, too, knowing he doesn't have to try to make you like him. the hate he feels scratch at his fingertips is enough to keep him aroused, and you're never fucking making it difficult, are you?

he steps forward until you're backed up against the hallway wall, looking up at him as his hand—still holding the pair of panties he swiped—presses flat above you. the heat is rising between you again, stirring something in him whenever you're vulnerable around him.

"why would i do that?" he asks, almost too quiet for you to hear. it's almost unlike him, that low voice, but there's hardly any space between your bodies and every word hangs in the air until you swallow hard. "why the fuck would i do what you want me to?"

you don't answer, but where there was some kind of softness in your eyes before, now it's covered with something closer to what he's lacing his words with, a poison made to enhance this tension until the only emotion is the feeling of his hands on your body, his teeth on your skin, your moans in his ear. his other hand goes to your throat, and you quickly cover it with your palm, but not prying it off… never prying it off.

the defiance in your face has shuji bare his teeth just a little, enough attitude to not make the mistake of thinking this is in any way him being weak, this is him taking what he wants.

shuji slots his knee between your thighs, pressing closer until you've got no other choice but slowly grind against it, because both of you know how this will end. all of his burning rage ends here, when his cock is achingly hard for some sick reason, because the red he sees when looking at you surges into his crotch every time you're close enough to touch. he lowers his head down so it's level with yours, never letting go of your neck as he nudges your ear with his nose. shuji can feel your warm skin shiver, your hips roll against his thigh as you try to get as much friction as you can while he's here and willing.

a hitch in your throat vibrates against his palm, and shuji groans into your ear, nipping the shell of it in a moment of weakness. he will not kiss you like that, not gonna make it feel tender, no matter what. if he's going to give in to the want, he'll take it for all it's worth.

and it's worth the tension in his cock as your soft thigh rubs against it in a desperate effort to get yourself off while he presses you against the wall. his other hand trails down your side, then up again as if he's mapping out your curves, as if he hasn't grabbed them countless times before, until he cups his large palm over your breast, bunching up your oversized t-shirt when he wishes he could just rip it off and touch you like he deserves to. a moan tumbles out of your mouth, kicking him sideways as his thumb rubs over your clothed nipple. he shakes his head slightly, you're such a freak getting off to him touching you like this, making you work for it to show you want it more than him, even though his erection is screaming, the blood pulsing in his ears by the time your hips stutter and you squeeze his leg with your thighs, a feeble attempt to keep riding out through your orgasm.

your eyes rolling back and lip caught between your teeth is a sight, one that has shuji's jaw clench and his cock twitch impatiently. he's lowering his leg, but not letting you away from his crotch which presses against your belly with urgency. one clever hand sneaks under your shirt after releasing your throat for a change of approach, now tugging your soaked panties to the side so he can relish in the evidence of how much you want this.

"tch… pathetic." he groans, thumbing your folds apart slowly, gathering the wetness that's gathered there before he presses against your clit, sinking his index finger inside you. "all that from a little grinding… you been missin' me?" he adds the last part almost like an insult, knowing it has you rolling your eyes at him, and what's his talent if not getting under your skin and stinging you over and over.

"shu—"

"that's it…" he mocks, "tell me to shut up, doll." he groans, lifting your shirt up until he almost gets it off you, only briefly considering leaving it over your head like that. at least then he wouldn't have to cum while seeing your blissed out expression. but he yanks it off completely, tosses it on the floor somewhere, and finally gives you another finger to suck in with your cunt while he lowers his head and sucks on the soft flesh of your breast, biting it to hear you whine.

now all he needs is to get his cock out of these damn boxers, but your hands are already pawing at him, slipping your fingers under the waistband until you're tugging them down low enough to free him from the fabric, springing upwards so eagerly it would be embarrassing if you didn't clench around his fingers at the sight. he keeps pumping them inside you, gently scissoring them until you're squirming, wrapping your arms around his neck quite demanding so he sees no other option but to reach down to grab you by your ass and hoist you up, making you protest as his fingers leave the warmth of your cunt. your slick juices are covering his long fingers so he takes a moment before giving in to place his two wet digits against your lips, waiting for you to open like a good girl and lick them clean.

the tip of his twitching cock pushes at your soaked pussy, nudging your folds apart but not quite sinking into you yet, almost dragging it out like the excruciating moments in between him knocking on your door and you opening it, suspended in a space of possibilities as if he could suddenly get a fucking grip and leave without fucking you… as if he could deprive himself of the satisfaction of betraying his more rational side. so he does that tantalising dance a little more, until you're tangling your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, until you're kicking your foot out and panting hard, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold and onto his cock. it's torturous, but at the same time rewarding, because coiling in his abdomen is becoming more intense so he knows that the moment he gives it what it craves will be all the more satisfying. you've called him out on that before, calling him a masochist, but the word just slid off his skin like water that time, even though you may be a little correct with it. not that he would give you the satisfaction of knowing that. the fuck do you know about him anyway?

shuji never gives you the time to adjust. from the first slide of his cock into you, his hips start thrusting never once waiting for your hand to unclench from his hair. leaning down, he grunts into your neck, catching your sensitive skin with his teeth as he clashes his hips with yours. fucking you is a means to an end, the end being his own volatile nature relishing in an orgasm stolen from your body. every single time he thrusts into you, feels your greedy cunt suck his cock inside it, he imagines it a victory of sorts, because even though you thought you could cast him aside before, you keep opening your legs for him now. there's no sweeter victory than your pussy so slick crying out for him.

even now, as you moan quietly for him, breathless and pressed against the wall, he's looking at you with his lips parted and his eyes glazed over, unsure if he could ever get such a damn kick out of fucking someone else, someone he didn't fucking hate this much. a masochist… maybe. but it doesn't matter what you call it when all that truly matters is how much he loves punishing both of you with harsh, determined snaps of his hips against the flesh of your thighs.

"nah… nah fuck this." shuji mutters, grabbing you tighter and taking you away from the wall. you're clinging to him harder, the beginning of a protest dies in your throat as he takes you to your bedroom, step after step making you bounce against his body.

"what the—" you begin, but a moan ends your sentence right there when he lays you down on the bed and keeps rolling into you like nothing happened. "shuji… f-fuck."

"shut up." he punctures the words with harsher, faster thrusts, stuffing every single inch of his cock inside you. shuji listens for the pulse under your skin so deliciously warm under his lips as he presses them on your neck, sucking a bruise against your throat while he ruts into you like a madman. the squelch of your wet cunt against his balls as they tap against your lips has him grunt harder, louder, while he's biting another bruise into your neck. it's dizzying, maddening, and shuji grabs your legs to direct them behind his back where you lock your ankles together.

his hair tickles your chest as he shakes his head trying to keep it together when you pull him in deeper with your legs, making his pace falter for a moment before he realises he's starting to move a little slower, but the strokes are more precise.

shuji looks down at you, frowning, because you're seemingly under the impression that you're calling the shots here. "hey," he snaps, pushing himself up and grabbing your cheeks with one large hand, "knock it off."

your response is a half-baked whimper, your lashes batting up at him as he squeezes your cheeks together. he might even think you're cute pouting like that if you didn't piss him off so much.

"j-just slow down a lil…" you drag the words out, squeezing through your teeth until he releases your face and props himself up on his palms, creating more space between your bodies.

"why the fuck would i slow down?" shuji all but cackles, looking down at the dark red bruises at the base of your throat. "don't act like you don't wanna be fucked stupid."

he grabs a pillow from the edge of the bed, though, and slides it down to your hips. a smack on the side of your thigh tells you to lift up, and he slots the pillow under your ass, so when you settle back down on it he speeds up again.

"fuck… fuuuuck there it is." he grunts, still holding himself up to watch your tits bounce with every rough snap of his hips. "don't fuckin' tell me how to fuck you again."

the angle change has him rutting into your cunt like it unlocks some primal part of him. the messy, wet slide of his thick cock in and out of your soft walls is loud, slippery, and so damn addictive as your poor little cunt tries to squeeze his cock to keep him inside. pathetic. he pushes himself up and unhooks your legs from behind his back, pressing your knees further against your chest. he's got you opening up for him like a flower. a flower that's taking his relentless thrusts all sopping wet and going dumb on his dick. a flower that's whining as your hands grip the sheets under your back while he fucks you. shuji shakes his head and ignores the tugging sensation on his leg under the bandages, hoping he won't bleed through them while he's trying to fuck the night to an end.

shuji didn't think this would be the view he would have tonight. you, folded over yourself with your pretty cunt swallowing his cock. you, getting red in the face as your head tilts to the side, and you repeatedly moan against the mattress in time with the rough snaps of his cock into your perfect spot. you're so drunk on him it's almost funny, your body is pressed into the mattress and every single push of his fat tip into your spongy walls seems to deepen that hazy state you're in. to think you tried to make him fuck you slowly…

your thighs indent under the press of his fingertips. squishy flesh of your body invites his palm for a smack as he lands it on your ass and then the underside of your thigh. shuji grins as you whimper and tighten on his cock, dripping your arousal around it as he spanks you again and again, slamming harder into you until you're crying out.

"gonna cry?" he teases, a little breathless, "gonna cum on my cock? with me slapping you like this?" landing a lighter little slap against your clit earns him another jolt of your walls closing on him. shuji chuckles, doing it one more time to see you twitch under him.

"fuck— you—" the whine on your lips turns into a long, drawn out groan and you shudder and cum and he feels your defiance rise as your cunt squeezes him tighter.

"mhm… that's right." he groans, leaning forward just a little, changing the angle to feel the pinch on his tip as your cunt pulses with the waves of your orgasm, sending shivers up his spine. this is how he wants to feel it, until he's seconds away from bursting, until the golden light behind his eyelids blinds him and he has to let go. shuji slams harder into you, fucking that messy little cunt with reckless abandon while pressing your legs forward.

and right there is where he loses himself, on the very brink of an orgasm, his balls tightening with the inevitable release, his abdomen feeling like there's a storm inside. he quickly pulls out of your sopping cunt, stroking his cock with swift movements as his hand glides along the length easily with how wet your pussy got it. strings of pearly cum spill from his tip, landing in warm puddles on your belly.

it reaches as far as the underside of your breasts, and you open your eyes only to avoid the burning gaze of his golden irises, instead looking at your skin shimmering with a light layer of sweat and the very prominent splatter of shuji's cum. you're breathing heavily, but so is he, sitting back on his heels still holding his spent, quickly softening cock. his other hand runs through the mess that is his hair, the blond streaks in the front sticking to his forehead.

your legs finally fall onto the bed, still quivering a little, but your breathing is evening out. shuji looks down at the mess he made on your stomach and the corner of his lips lifts a little as he leans in to lick a slow, torturous strip between your sensitive folds. your attempt at pushing him away with your foot for the overstimulation on your poor clit only has him more amused, sucking in the little nub between his lips for a brief moment, just enough to make you curse at him.

"yeah, yeah." he murmurs, letting a glob of spit land just above your belly button, close to a little splatter of cum. "same to you."

he gets up off the bed with a groan, a little dizzy, and awkward standing in your bedroom. he knows his way around well enough, though, so he pulls a few tissues out of the box on the bedside table and puts them in your palm, setting out to go and find his boxers. by the time you're up and wobbly on your feet, leaning against the door frame naked, he's pulling his jeans up and stumbling into the hallway to put his shoes on.

"you're welcome." you mutter, folding your arms across your chest.

shuji looks you up and down, you missed a drop of his release on your hip, but he's not about to tell you that. he grins and grabs his jacket. "ditto. but don't hope for a repeat so soon."

the rolling of your eyes is only the best way he's ending this night. a glance at the clock tells him it's not the best time to go out and roam the city until he can brave his return home, but he'll have to manage. the alternative would be unbearable.

"oh shut up, shuji." you add something else after it, something he can't really hear as he unlocks the front door and slips out, exhausted, but a little better than when he found himself at your door earlier.

"yeah, see you in hell, doll." he responds mockingly, patting his pockets once the door shuts and he's out in the dark stairwell again. and he remembers that he left himself one last cigarette for later, but he can't feel the pack in his pocket… fuck.

⋆˙⟡ burekforsatoru || do not modify, repost, or feed to AI. likes and reblogs appreciated, nice comments make your skin clear.

a roll of tissues must be cursing its existence by now, always being used to clean up sebastian's messes, only this time it's just the energy drink puddle on the desk and whatever he could get out from between the keys. praying to anything that might listen, he unplugs the keyboard and takes the key caps off, already mourning the time he will waste cleaning it up.

the voice of a random girl still faintly comes through the headset he left on the desk when he knocked over that stupid can, still moaning out some stupid phrases that he was trying to get off to before having to be somewhat put together when his project partner comes over. he catches himself mouthing some of the phrases the girl says since he's listened to that same audio too many times to count. it's embarrassing, or at least it would be if he could be bothered to think about how many chances to leave his dorm he turned down in favour of staying in and gaming, inevitably quitting after getting too distracted just to rub one out to end the night, and then another if he had it in him. all to the image of what she would look like on her knees between his legs, giving him under the desk support for his game. stupid.

and now she's gonna come over, but he's too distracted to know where to even begin cleaning his room. there's a half-full trash bag by the door, but he stopped using it after picking up the used tissues and empty cans. there was an attempt at sweeping, the broom still leaning against the wall with a little heap of dust next to it almost like it's mocking him for his lack of focus. the bed is unmade, the dirty clothes still on the floor. at least he managed to open the window earlier, replacing the stale air with the scent of freshness after the rain.

this will have to do, he thinks, looking at the state of his dorm room after about an hour of distracted wobbling across the place carrying dirty socks into a hamper that's barely ever been used — a very optimistic gift from his mother on her first visit.

at the last possible minute, he throws himself into the chair again, feigning casual laziness as he hears a quick knock on the door.

"yeah?" he calls out, barely remembering to close the tab with the damn porn audio and put on something he wouldn't mind being caught listening to.

the door opens and here it is, your smiling face pokes in almost apologetically.

"hi," you enter, closing the door too softly so he has to motion at you to push it harder until there's an audible click of the lock, "am i late?"

sebastian removes the headphones from his ears, leaving them on the empty spot where his keyboard would be once it's done drying in the corner. of course you're late, but he already expected it. as soon as you turned around in your seat to ask him where he wanted to do the project you've been assigned partners on, as soon as he saw your pout say his name so prettily, already batting your lashes at him as if buttering him up to do all the work for you, he knew you'd be late. that's why he suggested his dorm instead of the library, of course it's all under the guise of it being more convenient, not sitting on those hard wooden chairs surrounded by other chattering students. definitely not because he wanted you to sit on his bed. maybe even lie on it if you get dramatic enough, like he's hoping you will, groaning and rolling your eyes at the amount of work that he's going to end up doing for you, all for a little whined out please.

god, he's so pathetic, saving into his mind the image of your form standing next to his desk as you take off your jacket and throw it over the back of his chair, cataloguing how the light of his desk lamp illuminates your skin to make sure he can imagine it correctly when he pictures you sucking his cock under the desk next time. his sick little self-satisfied smile when he saw that you were paired with him on this assignment feels so far away now, but every second of his racing mind feels too little of a preparation when he sees you look around his room, finally there, in the flesh.

he hopes that he hid anything that could make you wrinkle your nose in disgust, especially the evidence of his sleepless, shameless nights from under the covers. you walk around the bed and sit down on the edge of the mattress, almost shy, but he knows you're pretending. he'll play stupid to the fact that you whispered to your friend that you're lucky to be partnered with him because he could do all the work. he'll just take all the chances that he has to look at you, to be close to you, to daydream right in your face about how those lips that smile at him would look moaning out his name.

he doesn't sit next to you yet. still pitching a tent in his jeans, praying it will go away soon, he's covering it with the hem of his hoodie as he turns in his chair, folding his hands in his lap covering up the bulge further, kinda hoping you'd look, kinda hoping you wouldn't.

"okay, so which part of the unit do you wanna do?" he asks, as casually as he can while tilting his head to the side and letting his hair fall into place.

"ugh," you already groan, throwing your head back as you lean onto your palms, "i'm not sure, everything seems so damn complicated for no reason. can you…" and there it is, your voice softens, you look at him through your lashes, and despite knowing your game, he can't help but fall for it, "explain it to me?"

his breath is heavy. you're so good at this, at playing his attraction to you like your favourite game. there's no way that you know for sure that you're his crush, sebastian thinks, that you know what kind of fantasies he has about you at all times. this must be just a wild attempt, or maybe it's worked before. on others… he tries not to frown at the bout of jealousy that starts constricting his lungs, instead, he focuses on your chest that you're slightly pushing out, like a hunter catching their prey with something tempting. he's been caught in your trap before you even knew you'd set it up, so all it takes is a tiny little helpless look on your face for him to fold like an origami frog.

"yeah," he finally manages to squeeze out, "yeah i'll… i can explain it, get the textbook out."

"i didn't bring it with me." of course you didn't. you didn't even bring anything other than a small purse, the size of which can't fit more than your keys and phone. but then again, why would you bring a textbook when you're banking on him doing the work anyway.

"it's okay." he sighs quietly, leaning over to pull it out of the drawer, hoping you don't see his bulge as he rolls over on the chair closer to the bed.

to him, you're temptation personified. with your pretty thighs pressed together as you sit on his bed, patting the space next to you almost like you know he's weak for you. sebastian swallows. hard. weighing his options, he lands on sitting on the bed, but makes some adjustments. he can't sit too close, he has to put the damn book between you at least. so he tries to adjust himself the best he can without you noticing just how much he's holding back from disappearing and jerking off before he can properly face you.

"so…" he starts, his long finger following the unit you're supposed to cover in this assignment.

he can tell you're already not listening. your hums in response to his words are timed all wrong, and he sneaks looks your way a little too often not to be risky, noticing you're not really looking at what he's pointing at. he's eating it all up, though he's no longer as careful with being informative about the unit. he slows down, watching your lashes sweep the tops of your cheeks. you're so damn pretty, and if he wasn't so damn pent up about wanting you in all kinds of ways, he would pull back and be respectful, if he were a bigger man he'd be nice and ask you out properly. that is, if he thought he had a chance at not embarrassing himself.

"you're not listening, are you?" he says, smiling as his hand splays over the page. that snaps you out of your daze and you look up at him with those glistening eyes of yours, the ones that he wants to see rolling back in your head.

"ah, sorry!" you scramble for words, leaning on your side until you lie down on his bed, a dangerous position for his vivid imagination. you're propped up on your elbow, a little too inviting, completely on purpose, just to make him bend to your whims. "your voice is so soothing," you purr, "and you understand this so well, i don't think i'll ever get it like you do."

flattery. that's how you'll get him to do the work for you while you just sit there and look pretty. the worst thing is, he'll do it. he knows he will. because you could say anything to him and he'll want to please you just for a nice smile and, hell, maybe even a kiss on the cheek? well, flattery is definitely getting you there, because where his erection was softening while he was focusing on the page between you, now it's growing again, pressing uncomfortably against his jeans.

"don't say that, you're a smart girl," he smiles a little at that, just from seeing a little bit of blush creep up your cheeks, "but if you want, i can start on your part and you can take over later."

"really?!" that gets a big smile on your face, your body shifts until you're closer to him, your breasts rubbing against the edge of the textbook, which definitely doesn't escape his notice. "that would be so good, i can already see us acing this thing."

sure, us. he almost scoffs, but your hand is suddenly on top of his, your thumb rubbing the top of his palm like you're not even realising what you're doing to him. all of his self-assured tone disappears out the window when you touch him, his head emptying just as fast as his cock fully erects, begging to get your attention the way his hand has it.

"y-yeah." sebastian stutters out, swallowing saliva that's so quickly gathering in his mouth. he's looking down at where you're lying all too comfortable on his bed, and it has to be on purpose, he thinks, because this is what you were after, isn't it? flustering him enough to make sure he'd say yes to anything you asked, even if it meant letting you off the hook with doing fuck all for this class. "yeah, we're gonna ace it." and damn it, it's working.

your sly little giggle almost breaks him, his voice was lower, almost as if he was afraid it would break if he spoke louder.

"i'd just hate it if i messed up our joint work," you interrupt his thoughts, your hand is wrapped around his wrist, cutting off any rational thinking that could've possibly occurred in his head while you're laying this flattery thick, "and you're so smart and you just get it."

sebastian's throat bobs as he swallows, closing his eyes to stop himself focusing on your big irises looking at him… even your tits are so close he feels like they're looking at him, too, there's no way you didn't angle yourself like that on purpose. flattery and that low cut of your t-shirt, the sultry way in which you're buttering him up with your words and the hand that's… oh it's gliding up his forearm now. you hum as you feel the muscles he's flexing in reaction to everything you're doing, your lips shiny as you roll them together. you don't even know how much that muscle aches when you squeeze almost imperceptibly, his body is screaming at him so loudly it's enough to drown out the giggle that leaves your pretty pouty lips.

"sorry!" you say with a smile. "your arms are just really nice… had to feel them." your stupid little smile. you wanted to feel his arm? while he's explaining this entire class to you, no less. if there was any interest in you about the academic side of this project, or if his delusions were that strong, even, they're disappearing right in front of his eyes as you slowly lower your hand down his forearm, not releasing him from your touch.

"it's okay." he manages, lowering his gaze so he's not so shamelessly staring at your tits. it doesn't seem to please you, his ignoring of your arched body on top of his bed. in fact, you start gliding your hand up again, squeezing a little tighter. almost like you're showing off, hey you fucking nerd, look at how i could jerk you off if you were good enough for me. he clears his throat.

"you sure?" you shift on his bed, releasing his arm followed by a sigh from his lips, he can't keep holding his breath in like that, he's gonna bust just from the way you touch his stupid forearm.

"yeah, don't worry. i don't mind." he's not moving his hand from the bed, afraid you'll see it tremble. "so… you can just, dunno, chill here while i make notes for your part, yeah?" he needs to find something to do, something that would move your soft body away from his eyes and his thoughts. something that won't make him think about how you'd feel if he fucked you into that bed.

you're humming in response, already making yourself comfortable on top of his covers and taking your phone out of that tiny purse you brought with you. sebastian needs to get a fucking grip, so he lies on his front, pressing his aching erection into it while trying not to inhale too deeply, instead focusing on the words that have already started to fly off the page in front of him. it's pointless. he's already made peace with doing the entire assignment by himself, with you as eye candy while he's trying not to imagine you spread out in front of him instead of the book. he can't think about it, because his dumbass will actually say something stupid if he doesn't get his shit together. okay. notes.

notes… he grabs the pen that's been tucked into the textbook and starts scribbling on the piece of paper from between the pages, little acronyms of what should go in the first part, the one you so elegantly avoided doing in favour of being on your phone—

sebastian sneaks a look your way only to get startled by your eyes no longer being on your screen, but on him, that same slight smile tugging your lips upwards as you shift a little closer, rolling over on your side giving him a sinister angle that he tries to very quickly take advantage of and just briefly take a look at your body before looking back at your face.

"hmm?" he loses all hope of getting anything worthwhile done while you're here distracting him, but he can't bring himself to tell you to leave. in fact, he still hasn't even told you he's going to take on the whole assignment and let you just breeze past with your name stamped on it alongside his.

"nothing, you're just cute when you're focusing like that." you murmur, devastating his attempts at keeping calm.

even pretty sure — which of course doesn't mean shit at all — that you're just manipulating him to get what you want, he's still losing the fight against his body. his cheeks are reddening, he can feel how hot they're getting, and he's regretting wearing that hoodie he always has on. he wants to get completely naked, get you out of your clothes as well, get you on his lap, have you ride him until you're both too tired to get distracted by each other and you can do that damn project fucked out and in peace. but you're a sneaky temptation in the way you're sliding ever closer to him while he's trying to be good.

"what a catch, hm, seb?" you purr, the rustling of his sheets under you emphasising the heaviness of your breath as you slide closer, almost completely touching him. "so smart that anyone would be lucky to be paired with you, but also very, very cute." your hand startles him a little, trailing up his back and he hopes to everything holy you can't tell how just much he's sweating from this, being so close to you that you're whispering and he can still hear you like a siren in his ear.

"you're just saying that." he stutters out, the only thing he's able to come up with is a stupid line that he's secretly terrified you'll confirm. sebastian is, at the same time, scared you'll back down from your flirting and hoping you'll have some mercy on him.

shaking your head undoes him, because how could he have prepared for your daring mouth leaning in and pressing against his ear, a loud echo of your kiss vibrating his entire nervous system.

"nope," you whisper, making his whole body thrum, "kinda wanna eat you up."

he groans, shivering as you kiss closer to his lips, trailing that pout that flatters him to his cheek. he wonders if he should just tell you that you don't need to do all this, that he'd do the project, that he would agree even if it just meant that he'd get to look at you while he did it, put something away for his spank bank, because though he's been dying to feel you this close all year, when he finally seems within reach of getting his ultimate wish, he's afraid of chickening out, or even worse, busting immediately and making a mess — and a fool — of himself.

but your hand is not leaving him, still touching his back and gliding between his shoulder blades like you're trying to kill him with those gentle fingers. sebastian shouldn't look away from the textbook in front of him, not when he might very well freak out at how close you're getting to his lips, but curiosity — or is it pure need — gets the better of him, and the next time your lips touch him, it's on his own parted, bitten, wanting lips.

once that line is crossed, your body seems to be tumbling down the uncharted territory of his bed. you're pushing his shoulder, rolling him over onto his back before he could even remember where he is, straddling his lap which triggers his hands like a reflex. they land on your hips, called to them as if it's ingrained in his bones that your body requires holding. after all, it's why you're on top of him, leaning down to kiss his lips again pretending like the first time wasn't an accident.

there are so many things that sebastian actually thought would happen today when you said you'd come over to work on the project. having you pressing your crotch against his painful erection wasn't even in the top ten thoughts, at least not when he really forced himself to be rational about it. and yet here you are, kissing him, grinding against his bulge while the only thing he knows he can do is just hold your hips tighter, almost digging into your flesh.

the project lies forgotten on the bed while your little moans vibrate sebastian's mouth, your greedy teeth tug on his bottom lip and he can't help but buck his hips up into you. it's the best move he could've made, because your hands slide under his hoodie and touch his stomach, almost making him cum right then and there. something in the squeeze of your palm against his sides has him think he must be dreaming, because there's no way you'd be this into him, right? no, you must be doing it to just manipulate him, a small part of his mind still functioning says so but soon gets overtaken by the one single brain cell in charge of moving his hands, bringing them around your body to pull you closer.

like in some fantasy he's had about you countless times, he's rocking you against his trapped cock, desperate to feel more but not stupid enough to risk you pulling away if he were to unzip his jeans. this will do for now, it has to, because you're rubbing his chest like you're trying not to scratch, though he's silently begging you to leave a mark, something to make him remember this is not a dream, something he will cherish and remember every time he sees you in class from this moment onward. your breaths taste like bubblegum, landing on the back of his tongue while you kiss him deeper, whimpering every time you press your hips against him harder, chasing some pleasure he knew existed, but not for him. now it's at his fingertips, warm like your skin just above the waist of your jeans, burning with desire barely contained in your body that he finally gets to touch.

sebastian won't take this for granted, he's already close to finishing just from a little rubbing against you, but it's your hands quickly shifting to hold his face that really make him lose it.

his eyes roll back as he groans into your mouth and tightens his hold on you, pressing you closer, like he's actually shoving his cock inside you beyond the layers of clothing between you. the orgasm makes him shake, and your hips roll a few more times, out of rhythm, purely running on the need to get off, and you're biting his lip again, whining as you slow down, shivering under his hands.

for a few moments all you do is breathe. for those same few moments all sebastian can do is try to do the same.

his brain is melting, the only thing keeping his body in one piece is the weight of your body on top of his, hips lazily rubbing against his spent cock as he can feel the warmth of his release trapped between his boxers and his skin. he's no stranger to cleaning up his cum from his body, not even from his boxers, but right now that's not a priority.

remembering he has limbs, he stirs, wrapping his arms around your body like ribbon coming to a pretty bow on your lower back, packing you up into a gift he will never forget. his lips still tingle from your bites while you drag your lips up his neck and press them against his mouth again, bringing him back to life after dropping him into oblivion.

you clear your throat, making him jump and release you from his grasp. sebastian is already mourning the loss of your warmth against him as you lift yourself up and off his lap, like nothing happened, save for the wet patch in his boxers and what he needs to believe is a matching one between your legs. he props himself up on his elbows and almost misses the smile on your lips when you see him like that, like you're not immune to the sight of a completely disorientated and blissed out nerd that usually just quietly sits behind you in class. he watches you grab your phone and fix your clothes in the mirror by the bed, too much in awe to say anything so he just keeps quiet, pocketing this mental image and grasping onto the remnants of you still on his hands.

"i…" you begin, turning to see him and deepening that smile that overshadows any cool you tried to show just now, "i'll see you in class tomorrow, right?"

sebastian blinks slowly, his brain starts catching up with reality. "tomorrow's sunday."

"i'll see you in here tomorrow, then?"

he barely manages to open his mouth and close it again when your hand grabs the door handle. settling for a nod, he watches you open the door and slip away, closing his dorm room behind you and dipping it into silence only broken by the sound of his heartbeat getting louder in his ears when he thinks about repeating this, but possibly making it even better. tomorrow.

⋆˙⟡ burekforsatoru || do not modify, repost, or feed to AI. likes and reblogs appreciated, nice comments make your skin clear.

One second, Mikey’s just standing there, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded like he’s bored. The next, the guy’s slammed chest-first into the bar with a dull thud. Mikey’s got a hand fisted in the back of his shirt, pinning him in place.

“You didn’t hear her the first time,” Mikey says, still in that soft, almost lazy tone, “She said she’s not interested.”

The guy struggles, muttering something about calling security, mistake number two. Mikey releases him, only to shove him back a step so hard his stool tips over. The clatter draws attention from half the bar.

“You wanna know if I can fight?” Mikey tilts his head again, and this time there’s the faintest curl to his mouth, something cold, “I can show you.”

The guy makes the fatal decision to swing first. You barely have time to suck in a breath before Mikey’s ducked the punch, hooked an arm under his, and flipped him onto the floor like it’s second nature. The guy hits the ground hard, groaning.

Mikey crouches, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him up just enough so their faces are inches apart.

“Next time,” Mikey murmurs, “you keep your mouth shut when a woman tells you no.”

He lets him drop, standing and brushing his hands off like the whole thing was nothing. His friends haven’t even needed to move, though you catch Draken watching with that faintly exasperated ‘here we go again expression.

Mikey turns back to you, and it’s like a switch flips, his expression softens, and he offers his hand, “Let’s go,” he says simply.

Keisuke Baji

“I’m not interested. Sorry.”

You give the guy at the bar a tight-lipped smile, hoping to get rid of him. He’s been talking for ten minutes straight and his cologne is starting to make your eyes water from how close he’s hovering.

He just laughs, leaning in closer, "C’mon, don’t be like that. Where is this imaginary boyfriend, anyway?"

"He’s not imaginary. He’s right over there." You subtly nod towards the back of the bar where your boyfriend is sitting with his friends

The guy glances over, a smirk on his face, "Okay, so you got a boyfriend. But can he fight?"

Just as he finishes the sentence, a hand lands on his shoulder. You didn't even need to look to know who it was. The guy tenses and turns around, his cocky smile faltering as he sees your boyfriend standing there, with his friends not far behind.

Baji's grin is pure chaos, “You wanna find out?"

His eyes are glinting with a dangerous excitement. He's already cracking his knuckles, practically vibrating with the promise of a fight.

The guy just laughs again, shaking his head like this is all some kind of joke.

“Relax, man. I’m just talking to her,” he says, turning his back on Baji entirely to face you again, “So, what do you say? Ditch Mr. Attitude over there and-“

He doesn’t get to finish.

There’s a sudden crash of a bar stool hitting the floor, and before you can blink, Baji’s got him by the collar. His grin is feral, teeth bared like he’s been waiting for someone to give him an excuse.

“You were sayin’?” Baji growls, shoving him back hard enough that the guy stumbles into the bar counter. The sound of glass clinking carries over the music, and a few people step aside, sensing the brewing storm.

“What the hell-“ The guy tries to shove him back, but it’s a mistake.

Baji moves fast, one hard jab to the guy’s ribs, another right hook that lands with a sickening crack. The guy grunts, doubling over, but Baji’s already grabbing him again, dragging him down into a knee to the gut.

“Keisuke!” you hiss, grabbing his arm, but he’s locked in.

“You think you can talk to my girl like that and walk away?!” Baji’s voice is loud, furious, but there’s that wild edge that says he’s enjoying this.

The guy swings clumsily, catching Baji’s jaw, but that just earns him another punch, this one straight to the nose. Blood sprays, and the guy crumples to the floor, groaning.

Baji finally lets go, breathing hard, knuckles split and red. He spits on the ground next to the guy and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning at you like he just won a prizefight.

“See? Told you I could fight,” he says, voice still buzzing with adrenaline.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, “You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” he smirks, slinging an arm around your shoulders like nothing happened, “But I’m your insane.”

Takashi Mitsuya

“I’m not interested. Sorry.”

You give the guy at the bar a tight-lipped smile, hoping to get rid of him. He’s been talking for ten minutes straight and his cologne is starting to make your eyes water from how close he’s hovering.

He just laughs, leaning in closer, "C’mon, don’t be like that. Where is this imaginary boyfriend, anyway?"

"He’s not imaginary. He’s right over there." You subtly nod towards the back of the bar where your boyfriend is sitting with his friends.

The guy glances over, a smirk on his face, "Okay, so you got a boyfriend. But can he fight?"

Just as he finishes the sentence, a hand lands on his shoulder. You didn't even need to look to know who it was. The guy tenses and turns around, his cocky smile faltering as he sees your boyfriend standing there, with his friends not far behind.

Mitsuya steps forward calmly, his hands in his pockets.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink," he says, his tone polite but firm. He doesn't need to show off or act tough; his quiet confidence is more intimidating than any physical threat.

The guy glances between Mitsuya and you, then smirks like he’s decided he’s not impressed.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t talking to you, pretty boy,” he says, dismissively turning back toward you, “C’mon, sweetheart. Just one drink. Your boyfriend won’t even have to know.”

You blink at him, disbelief curdling into something hotter, “He’s literally standing right here.”

Mitsuya tilts his head slightly, still calm, still unreadable, “You should walk away. Now.”

The guy laughs, a short, ugly sound, “Or what? You gonna knit me a sweater?”

You feel the shift before you see it. Mitsuya straightens, hands sliding out of his pockets, and there’s a subtle tightening in his jaw. His friends have gone quiet behind him, watching with the stillness of people who know exactly what’s about to happen.

“Last chance,” Mitsuya says softly, and there’s no humor left in his tone.

The guy snorts, “You don’t scare me-“

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Mitsuya moves in one smooth, precise motion. No wasted energy, no showboating. He catches the guy by the front of his shirt, pivots, and drives him back into the bar with a solid thud. Glasses rattle, and the guy’s drink tips over, spilling down the counter.

The guy tries to shove him off, but Mitsuya’s grip is iron, “She said she’s not interested,” Mitsuya says, voice low and even, his eyes locked on the man’s. “That’s where the conversation ends.”

The guy opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to spit another insult, but Mitsuya doesn’t give him the chance. One swift punch, clean and sharp, snaps his head to the side. He stumbles against the bar, clutching his jaw, and Mitsuya lets go.

Someone’s laugh cuts through the hum of the bar from somewhere nearby, but Mitsuya doesn’t acknowledge it. He just steps back, flexing his fingers once, and says, “Get out.”

The guy mutters something under his breath but staggers toward the door, shoulders hunched. Mitsuya watches until he’s gone, then turns to you, his expression softening instantly.

“You okay?”

Your pulse is still racing, but you nod. “Yeah. I just… didn’t think you’d actually-“

He gives a faint smile, brushing a stray hair from your face, “You didn’t think I’d fight for you?”

“I knew you would,” you admit, “I just thought you’d stay polite about it.”

Mitsuya chuckles quietly, leaning closer, “Polite has limits.”

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