you sat on the toilet, knees pulled to your chin waiting for the feelings to subside. it seems that your brain was a different demon right now, so the usual ten-minute kick-up was not there. your thoughts continued running in circles without ever landing on a concrete issue to fix. there wasn't a problem you could solve or a conversation you could prepare for, just a mass-less loud certainty that something was wrong and you were somehow behind on remedying it.

eventually, you forced yourself to get up and distract yourself. if the thoughts won't leave, the least you could do is replace them, right? routine usually helped you regulate, or so you believed it did. washing your face, brushing your teeth. you tied your hair out of your face and marched quietly into the kitchen. by the time you heard ryomen emerge from the bedroom, you had half of the refrigerator on the counter, mid-deep clean.

he stopped in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, hair still disheveled from sleep. it would've looked cute to you if you didn't already have a week's worth of thoughts occupying your brain at the same time. he stared at you standing in front of an open refrigerator with three leftover containers balanced against your chest.

"babe, why are you cleaning the fridge before sunrise?"

"oh y'know, i was looking at it yesterday and realized there's a lot of old stuff and weird stains inside. no biggie, i just thought i'd be productive." he raises an eyebrow at you. was this the same girl who had to run three loads of laundry because she ran out of clothes to wear?

"did it have to be the first thing you do today?"

you shut the refrigerator harder than necessary. "yes, ryomen. it's not like you were going to do it."

his eyebrows rose slightly again, and you instantly wished you could eat the words back. it was a blatant lie and unnecessary dig, your boyfriend wasn't really much of a slob. maybe not a neat freak, but he did his part when needed. you feel the dark goo of emotions rise as the guilt trails you, but you stay quiet and keep working around him.

ryomen watched you as you placed the chilled miscellaneous condiments on the counter with considerably more force than you usually would. "good morning to you too, then."

"yeah. morning."

you pulled open a cabinet and began rearranging mugs that did not need rearranging in the slightest, mostly because him studying you right now was raising your heart rate in a very non-romantic way. ryomen had always been annoyingly observant when he wanted to be, and today you couldn't tolerate it. "can you just make your coffee and go? you're loitering," you snap.

you yank another mug from the cabinet and immediately realize there is nowhere else for it to go. the shelf is already organized, and now you're standing there holding the stupid thing. "well? you're hovering. it's annoying."

the man wordlessly takes the mug out of your hand with a gentle motion, not irritated. that surprised you— you would rather he get annoyed by your dramatics, tell you that you're the one being weird and start an argument you could sink your teeth into. at least anger could give you an outlet for the boiling pressure in your mind. it was toxic, you knew this, and it hurt that that's where your heart went instead of just being normal.

why couldn't you just be normal?

he doesn't say anything at all as he starts the coffee machine.

it hums noisily between the two of you while you busy yourself with the rest of the fridge, fighting the urge to look over your shoulder. you can feel him moving around behind you, hear the quiet clink of his spoon against ceramic. every ordinary sound felt amplified enough to crawl beneath your skin. when you feel him reach around you to grab something from the fridge, you jerk away so abruptly that your hip bumps into the counter edge. okay, ow.

he looks a little concerned, but you play it off as if it didn't hurt like hell. "… jus' grabbing the milk."

you simply give him a short nod, unwilling to open your mouth. you couldn't trust yourself to not be more mean to him for no fault of his own. the minutes stretch painfully as he sips from his mug without a single remark to you or your behavior, which bothered you even more. shouldn't he reprimand you for being so horrible? at least then you could feel some relief from the voice yelling in your own head, and it instead be his.

you spent the first half of the day trying to outrun yourself.

you got laundry into the machine, as you were definitely many loads behind as usual. you couldn't muster the courage to answer the number of emails pending in your inbox so you resorted to vacuuming at seven in the morning, which you were sure your downstairs neighbors did not appreciate. you made breakfast and lost your appetite halfway through, abandoned it, then became upset with yourself because wasting food made you feel guilty. every task seemed like it should have provided some sense of accomplishment, but instead each one became another thing you could somehow do incorrectly.

ryomen mostly stayed out of your way the whole time. ideally, that should have made things easier for you to focus. but since your brain loves to be incompetent, you became painfully aware of his absence. you had snapped at him twice already, declined breakfast when he offered to finish your leftovers, and pulled away harshly when he placed his hand against your lower back while passing behind you. every action made you feel worse than the last.

by noon, the anxiety had somehow transformed into the overwhelming conviction that you were ruining everything. you stood in the laundry room once more, staring at the washing machine because you couldn't remember whether you had added detergent to the load that just finished.

"fuck…"

you opened the machine and stared inside as though the answer might suddenly appear among the wet clothes.

a voice comes close by your right ear. "what are you doing?"

you jumped so violently that your elbow struck the drying rack behind you on your funny bone. avoidable injury number two for the day. yay.

"cheese and fucking crackers, ryo!"

his face tightened, you couldn't tell whether he was mad at you or worried. "i called your name three times, i didn't mean to scare you."

"obviously i couldn't hear you!"

you stand up straight and pressed both hands against the edge of the washing machine, trying to slow your breath without making it dead obvious. despite your icky internal desire to ignore him, you ask.

"… did i put detergent in here?"

a pause.

"yeah, you did."

you looked at him, accusatory. "how do you know?"

" 'cause i watched you do it."

"when?"

"about forty minutes ago."

forty minutes? it felt like this load took two hours. your throat tightened. "oh, right."

ryomen leaned against the doorway, his brows knitted. "come sit down on the couch with me."

"i don't need to do that, i have to finish cleaning."

"you've been cleaning since five in the morning. you should sit."

"i said i'm fine, i got this."

his jaw shifted slightly. "i didn't ask if you weren't capable of doing it."

that irritated you because it frightened you. were you even capable of doing ordinary tasks if this was already too much to manage?

"stop acting like something is wrong with me!"

there it was. the second the sentence left your mouth, you knew you had given yourself away. ryomen's expression changed completely, soft and more caring. you immediately turned from him.

"forget what i said, just leave me alone."

"baby, stop. c'mere."

you stiffen as he gets closer to you. "no."

you pushed past him before he could stop you, walking quickly toward the kitchen because you needed something to keep your hands busy, anything that would keep you from having that conversation. you were on a thin line already, the rope of your restraint fraying with the tension. you grabbed the abandoned breakfast dishes from earlier and turned on the faucet.

behind you, ryomen sighed. "seriously, you don't have to keep doing this."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

"you pretend to get busy every time you start getting overwhelmed, babe."

your hand stopped scrubbing the glass cup beneath the running water. the feelings in your stomach start to sink disgustingly. you slowly turned your head. "what?" he looked like he regretted the phrasing, but there was no taking it back now.

"no, nothing. nevermind."

you walk away from the sink, the slippery soaped-up glass still in your mildly trembling hand. "no, what did you just say?"

"i said you don't have to—"

suddenly, the glass in your hand slipped. it falls on the wooden floor with a loud shatter, pieces scattering and a few small shards nick your feet. your chest seized so abruptly that you stumbled backward until your hip struck the counter. the room felt too bright even though you only had the windows with natural light open. your hands were shaking hard and balled into fists. your fingers refused to open and stop digging your nails into your palms. you could hear a dying animal somewhere, it was god awful really. until you realize that noise was coming from you.

"shit."

ryomen was beside you immediately, walking as carefully as he could to reach you without stepping on a piece himself.

"p-please don't..!" you tried to sob out, although you weren't entirely certain understandable words were coming out. tears were fully streaming down your face as your vision blurred and you were too weak to fight him when he lifts you up in a princess carry to your bedroom. you press your balled hands to your eyes until colors burst behind your eyelids. every muscle in your body felt painfully wound up, and the embarrassment of being carried through your own apartment while sobbing uncontrollably was somewhere in the back of your mind.

"ryo, put me down, please, i can't— i don't know what's happening, i can't—"

"i know, baby. i know." there wasn't an ounce of teasing in his voice, he was unjustly soft and soothing with you. ryomen nudged the bedroom door open with his foot and brought you toward the bed, but instead of immediately setting you beneath the covers and leaving like you expected, he lowered you carefully onto the edge of the mattress. he crouched in front of you afterward, putting himself below your eye level rather than towering over you. "you're right here with me. don't worry about nothin' else."

you couldn't even properly process what he was saying. your entire body felt foreign, like somebody had turned every organ in your body into a tightrope. your heart was pounding hard enough to make your chest ache, your face felt unbearably hot, and every breath you attempted became another loud gasp that convinced you there wasn't enough oxygen in the room.

"i-i can't breathe, it hurts—"

"you're taking shallow breaths, lovely." ryomen's response came steady and calm. "you're going to make yourself dizzy. just follow me." he exaggerated his breathing enough for you to see it, slow and deep with his hands motioning up and down. you tried to match him as best as you could, with a lot of shakiness. the first attempt failed, followed by the second.

"i can't do it!"

"then we'll do it badly."

that broke through the panic for split second, but ryomen continued. "there's no prize for doing this correctly. breathe wrong, shake, cry. i don't care. i'm staying right here with you until this passes." you take a couple more breaths and you finally begin to slow down.

your tear streaked face looks properly hurt by just how sweet your boyfriend was. i don't deserve such an accommodating partner, you thought.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."

"you don't have anything to be sorry for right now."

"what?! i've been so horrible to you all morning!"

"you've been a bit of a priss-fest, but i signed up for that when i started dating you."

a strangled noise escaped you somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

his mouth twitched into a small smile. "there she is."

you covered your face again, unwilling to meet his eyes for what you wanted to say next. your shoulders shake as everything you had been holding back since sometime during the night finally spilled over.

"i know it's stupid," you began, voice wavering with the tears. "i know people have certain problems and it not be some enormous secret, but i didn't want you looking at me differently. i didn't want you thinking you were obligated to deal with this every time i got bad, or feeling like you have to babysit me, and i especially didn't want you see me when i get these episodes."

ryomen stared at you for several seconds. "you think i didn't know?"

your face grows warmer. "what?.."

"you chew the inside of your cheek until it's bitten raw, i can feel it when we make out. when you're really paranoid you have me check if the front door is locked. you reread texts out loud before you send them, then reread them in your head after you send them as if the words would've changed."

your lips slowly part. god, were you this easy to figure out?

"when we go somewhere new, you look up the parking situation before we leave because not knowing where we're supposed to park makes you nervous. when somebody's tone changes around you, you spend all night trying to figure out if they're mad at you." his thumb brushes absentmindedly against your knee.

"and when it gets bad, you stop eating. don't you think i'd guess something was up with my girl who loves to cook and eat good meals?"

"but that's just..." you struggle for something to say that could make his list of observations less mortifying. "people do those things."

"some people do, yeah. and you do them when you're anxious."

you scowl weakly at him, but there wasn't anger behind it to be real. "i hate you."

"you'll recover."

you sniff, dragging the sleeve of your shirt beneath your nose before another realization makes your entire body tense. "wait, i never said anything about having anxiety." for the first time since this conversation began, ryomen hesitates. it lasts maybe half a second but unfortunately, you know his face too well.

your eyes widen. "ryo."

"sweetheart, please don't work yourself up again."

"ryomen. you know about my meds?!"

".. you're already having a shitty day, don't make it worse—"

your humiliation reaches levels you genuinely hadn't known were achievable.

"oh my god. oh my god!"

you cover your face with both hands again, wishing with every part of yourself that the mattress would somehow open and consume you whole. "you've seen it? bu—how? when?!"

"it doesn't matter when." his voice turns slightly stiff. "you left the cabinet open one morning, and i went in there looking for toothpaste and saw an orange bottle shoved behind enough skincare products to supply a fucking sephora."

"hey—you buy those for me!" you retort. "freakin' enabler…" you mutter under your breath.

"what i spend my money on is not the topic at hand."

you drop your hands into your lap again. "i'm sure you read the label, then."

ryomen looks down at your hands, watching the way your fingers continue rapidly knotting themselves together before gently separating them.

"yes, by accident. but i figured you would tell me when you wanted me to know."

you stare at him. "that's it?"

"baby—what else was i supposed to do?"

"i dunno, ask me?"

"and put you on the spot about something you were clearly hiding because you were uncomfortable talking about it?" he scoffs quietly. "yeah, that would've gone fantastic."

your eyes fall to your joint hands. he was right. even now, after being forced into the conversation by circumstances entirely outside your control, you wanted to crawl into a hole. if he'd approached you months ago holding that bottle and asking for an explanation, you would've probably combusted on the spot.

"i thought i was hiding it well."

"i know that."

somehow that makes your eyes burn with tears again. ryomen notices, cooing at you. "heeeyy, hey, why're you cryin' again?"

"because that's embarrassing! i was just making a fool of myself sneaking around!"

"you can't even hide my birthday presents well, s'okay."

you gasp. "you already saw the ninja creami?!" you shove weakly at his shoulder, but he barely moves. you sniffle loudly before you speak again.

"i've been hiding my meds in my own bathroom and trying to act normal around you this entire time, and you've just been watching me do it like an idiot."

"i wasn't watchin' you hide pills, you psycho. you're not a drug addict."

"you know what i mean!"

the corner of his mouth twitches, but it fades when he sees another tear spill down your cheek. his hand reaches up, thumb catching it before it can trail farther.

"you're not gettin' what i'm tryin' to tell you. sweetheart, none of this is news to me." your expression falters.

"today was new," he clarifies. "i haven't seen it hit you this hard before, and i didn't know exactly what was going on in your head because you never mentioned it. but none of this suddenly turns you into some cursed version of my girlfriend."

you stare down at your lap. "but it feels different now that you've seen it."

"to you, sure it does."

you swallow and nod. "yeah."

"but not to me."

that pulls your eyes back toward him. ryomen shifts from his crouched position and sits beside you on the mattress instead, close enough that your knees brush. he pulls you onto his lap, noticing the cuts on your feet from the glass. the adrenaline from your anxiety attack is probably keeping you from feeling the pain, so he doesn't pipe up about it yet.

"i didn't want you to think i was..." you trail off.

"was what?"

you hesitate, ashamed of the word even before you say it. "difficult."

his face scrunches immediately. "you are difficult."

you gape at him. ryomen continues before you can summon the strength to strangle him. "you're stubborn, mouthy, and somehow lose every phone charger we own. you start arguments when you're hungry and make me guess what you want to eat as if i can read your damn mind. you're extremely fucking difficult."

"this is possibly the worst comfort speech i've ever heard, babe."

"can you be fuckin' patient? i'm getting there."

despite everything, a tiny smile pulls at your mouth. his expression relaxes when he sees.

"you're difficult sometimes because you're a human. so am i! if you wanted to break up every time i was difficult with you, we woulda been done for a long time ago. and if you honestly think i only want the parts of you that are convenient for me, then i've done a pretty shitty job being your boyfriend."

"that's not what i think."

"you just told me you've been hiding your anxiety because you thought i'd feel obligated to babysit you." you wince at him mention the word again. "you basically decided it for me that this would be too much."

"…i didn't mean it like thaaaat."

"but that's what you've been doing."

you don't have anything to say to that. ryomen leans forward slightly, trying to catch your eyes when you look away. "baby, i'm not saying you have to tell me everything. if there are things you want private, they're yours. i'm not entitled to every thought in your head just because we're together." his hand brushes a stray hair out of your face before cupping your cheek.

"but i want you to be able to tell me when you're having a bad day." you lean into his hand, brows upturned. "what would i even say?"

"you could always start with 'i'm having a bad day.'"

"but what are you supposed to do with that?"

"hmm, whatever you need."

"that's the problem, ryo. i don't know what i need when i get like this." you finally slip your hand into his, clasping it firmly. his fingers curl around yours immediately.

"you don't have to show up with fucking instructions. you can tell me, 'i feel awful and i don't know what i need,' and we'll figure it out."

your lips tremble again. "and what if nothing helps?"

"then nothing helps. you have a shitty day." he shrugs one shoulder, thumb moving slowly across your knuckles. "maybe i can't fix it. maybe you can't fix it. that doesn't mean you failed."

you blink. the elementary idea felt almost offensive after the entire morning you'd spent desperately trying to outrun the feeling. you'd cleaned, moved, organized, distracted, scolded yourself and practically begged your own brain to cooperate, because surely anxiety was something you were supposed to defeat before you were allowed to continue with your day.

"i don't like feeling like a chud."

"hah, i know."

"i want it to go away."

"i know that too."

"so how am i supposed to just accept that i might feel bad all day?"

"you don't have to like it." ryomen squeezes your hand. "just quit punishing yourself because you couldn't make it disappear on command." your eyes lower again, pouting.

"and quit punishing me while you're at it. god damn."

you wail. "i said i was sorry!"

"and i'm allowed to give you shit for telling me i was loitering in my own kitchen. you know i had to hold back my sassy comments all day? that's real hell if you ask me," he scoffs with an eyeroll.

a real belly laugh finally breaks through, and you drop your forehead against his. "i really am sorry, though."

"it's okay. i survived even though you were being a little shit."

"that extra comment wasn't needed."

"i don't lie to my baby."

you pinch his side without lifting your head. "ow! fuck, haven't i suffered enough for one day?"

"clearly not."

"violent little thing."

his arms finally pull you closer, loosely enough that you have freedom to pull away if you wanted to. ryomen tilts his head the smallest fraction, nose brushing yours as if to ask permission. you lean in without a doubt.

the kiss starts tender and loving, the way he does when you ask him for it slow. your lips part against his with a soft, wet sound, and the second his tongue slips past your teeth the resolve in both of you uncoils.

you make a needy noise into his mouth and fist your hands in the loose fabric of his sweatpants at his hips. ryomen answers with a low rumble that vibrates through your chest, one rough hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck while the other grips on your waist, thumb stroking the plushy skin just under the hem of your shirt.

the heat of your kisses builds up fast. his mouth turns more hungry as his tongue links yours deeper, tasting the salt still clinging to your lips. you shift in his lap without thinking, straddling one of his thick thighs so you can feel him more. the movement drags the tops of your feet across the mattress—and straight over one of the shallow cuts left by the broken glass.

a sharp sting flares white-hot and you break the kiss with a startled hiss, body jerking. he stops groping your body instantly. his eyes open, pupils blown and heavy-lidded, but the fog of lust clears the second he sees the wince on your face.

“fuck, i forgot.” his voice is raspy and still thick from the kiss, but his concern cuts through it.

he lifts you off his lap like a feather and sets you carefully on the edge of the bed again, already sliding to his knees in front of you. “don’t try to get the glass out with your hands, wait here.”

he disappears into the bathroom and you hear drawers opening. the rattle of the first-aid kit, water running. when he comes back he’s carrying the kit, a clean towel, and a shallow bowl of warm water.

he kneels again, settling your injured feet gently in his lap. tiny shards still glitter in a couple of the nicks. he curses under his breath and starts picking them out with tweezers, his movements precise as he could be. you flinch, but he steadies your ankles with a firm hand.

“easy, babe… just a couple little pieces. nothin' deep.” his tone is clinical, but the way his thumb keeps stroking the uninjured skin along your ankle is pure, raw affection. once the glass is gone he cleans the cuts with the damp cloth, then dabs on antiseptic that stings and makes you suck in a breath. band-aids follow with two on the right foot, one on the left and pressed carefully over the tops of your feet with surprising tenderness for such large hands.

when he’s finished he presses a soft kiss to the top of each foot, right above the bandages, then looks up at you with a sly little smirk that doesn’t hide the playfulness still lingering in his eyes at all. "there, you're all patched up.”

he rises from the floor, crowding back into your space until you’re forced to tip your head to meet his gaze. one hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip that's still kiss-swollen.

“we’re finishing what we started,” he murmurs, voice dropping into that tone that always makes your stomach flip, “but only after i'm sure you aren't gonna faint or hurt yourself. lemme get you some water and somethin' to eat, and then—” his mouth curves against your ear, “—i’m gonna pick up right where we left off. deal?”

finally a little hurt WITH comfort ehe

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© sozila 2026, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posts on ao3 under same alias.

The rooftop lounge was buzzing with noise and filled with lights reflecting off the glass walls. Yet, your eyes went straight to the man sitting at the end of the bar. 

He was an absolute beacon for a high-end mark — tailored leather jacket, a heavy silver watch, and a wallet visibly bulging from his back pocket. But as you watched him adjust his cuffs, long fingers resting on the silver links, you took in the full picture: the impressive breadth of his shoulders, the clean cut of a stubble-dusted jawline, and sharp, hazel eyes that held a dangerously handsome edge. 

Steal his watch and disappear into the crowd? No… a simple hit-and-run wouldn’t be half as much fun. A man with a presence like that deserved your full, undivided attention. You wanted the thrill of the chase. You wanted to get close enough to feel the heat off him, test that restraint, and watch his face when he finally realized he’d been lured right into a trap. 

Closing the distance, you slid onto the adjacent stool, leaning your elbows onto the slick granite counter. Your off-the-shoulder top shifted with the movement, exposing the clean curve of your collarbones catching the bar’s gold light. You waited, letting the silence linger just long enough for his eyes to naturally track the movement before you met his gaze, slowly tracing the cut of his jaw. 

"Is the seat taken, or am I just lucky?" you asked, tilting your head with a lazy and slow smile.

The man blinked, his eyes momentarily lingering on the bare curve of your shoulders before his posture shifted into an easy, practice-honed smirk. He sat up a little straighter, running a hand through his hair as he took the bait. 

"Definitely lucky. I'm Jean."

"Nice to meet you, Jean," you purred, angling your hips toward his and effectively closing off the rest of the room. You leaned in close, pretending to struggle against the noise of the crowd, deliberately bringing him right into your space, and close enough to catch the subtle scent of your perfume. "I have to admit, I don't usually make the first move. But a man like you stands out in a room like this.”

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, his charm kicking effortlessly into overdrive. Flattered, Jean leaned down toward you, resting his heavy forearm on the bar dangerously close to your hand, completely unaware he was stepping straight into the snare. 

"Do I now?" he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. "I guess I just have that effect. Can I buy you a drink?" 

"Only if you let me pick it," you replied, flashing a warm, lingering look that held him completely captive. 

Jean’s grin widened as he signaled the bartender with a flick of his wrist. "Deal. Pick your poison."

"Two old fashioneds," you told the bartender, before turning back to Jean. You rested your chin in your hand, angling your body so your shoulder lightly brushed his chest. "So, Jean... what brings a guy with an iron-clad posture and a fitted leather jacket to a crowded rooftop on a Thursday? Looking for trouble, or did it just find you?"

Jean let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his eyes dropping to your mouth before snapping back to yours. "I usually try to avoid it. But tonight? I think trouble slid onto the stool right next to me."

"Is that what I am?" You laughed softly, leaning in just half an inch closer as if the bass was drowning out his voice.

While Jean was entirely captivated by the eye contact, and his own rapidly expanding ego, your fingers finally went to work. Under the cover of the dim lighting and your close proximity, your left hand drifted down beneath the edge of the bar. You slipped two fingers into his back pocket, hooked the heavy leather fold, and slid it free without a single hitch, tucking it seamlessly into your jacket lining.

You felt the weight of it settle against your ribs. A perfect, silent pull.

"Tell you what," you said, stepping back just enough to break the spell and giving his shoulder a soft pat. "Hold that thought. I'm going to hit the restroom, and when I get back, you can tell me all about how dangerous you are."

Jean chuckled, completely oblivious, resting his elbow on the bar. "Don't keep me waiting."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you cooed, turning on your heel and melting effortlessly into the crowd, leaving Jean at the bar and setting the trap.

Two minutes turned into five, and Jean was already practicing the smooth, offhand line he was going to drop the second you walked back over. He waved the bartender down, drumming his fingers against the counter

"Hey, bartender," Jean called out, flashing his best easygoing smile as he motioned toward the two crystal glasses sitting between your empty stools. "Throw those two Old Fashioneds on my tab, will you?" 

The bartender tapped the screen. "That’ll be thirty-eight." 

Jean reached back with confidence to slide his wallet out of his pocket, but his fingers brushed empty denim. 

He froze. The casual smirk on his face faltered for a microsecond before he smoothed it back out, assuming he’d just missed the pocket. He patted his right side again. Nothing. He tried his left pocket. Empty. A subtle coil of cold panic tightened in his gut, but he forced a short, self-deprecating laugh.

"Hold on a second," he muttered, checking the front pockets of his jeans, then frantically digging through the inner pockets of his leather jacket. Keys. Phone. Breath mints.

No wallet.

The bartender crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow with zero patience. "Everything okay, man?"

Jean’s heart did a sudden, violent drop straight into his stomach. The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water: the prolonged eye contact, the way you’d leaned in just close enough to make his head spin, the gentle, distracting pat on his shoulder right before stepping away...

“Don’t keep me waiting.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

"She got me," Jean whispered under his breath, his eyes wide as he stared at the empty bar stool beside him. "She actually freaking played me."

His cheeks burned bright red — half out of sheer humiliation, half out of disbelief that his ego had blinded him so completely. He’d been so busy thinking he was the smooth one, so thoroughly convinced he had you hooked, that he hadn't felt a single thing when your fingers slid his wallet right out from under him.

"Look, man," Jean stammered to the bartender, pulling his phone out with trembling hands while glancing frantically toward the lounge exit. "I – my wallet was just stolen. I can Apple Pay you, just... give me a second."

He authorized the payment, grabbed his phone, and bolted toward the glass doors, scanning the dimly lit rooftop. But you were already long gone, faded into the city night with his cash, his cards, and every ounce of his pride.

Jean ran a hand through his hair, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh before a reluctant, bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Damn it," he muttered, staring down at the street lights below. "She was good."

The humiliation stayed with Jean all the way back to his apartment, but by midnight, embarrassment had hardened into pure, stubborn determination.

He pulled out his phone and tapped into his contacts, scrolling straight to Sasha. Sasha ran in the kind of circles where everyone knew everyone's business — especially when it came to the local nightlife and the people who made a habit of picking pockets in high-end lounges.  

"Sasha," Jean said the second she picked up. "I need a favor. A person at The Coordinate tonight. Fast, clever, pulled a light-fingered routine on me before I even knew what happened." He gave her a quick description of your face, your height, and the easy, disarming smile.

There was a short pause on the line, followed by the crunch of a chip.

"Oh, yeah," Sasha said casually. "Sounds like your usual crowd. If they're moving fast tonight, they probably dropped by Connie's place to offload."

Jean's eyes narrowed as he stepped out onto his balcony. "Connie's basement? At The Underground?"

"Yep. Down the alley off 4th," Sasha replied easily, sounding completely untroubled by his situation. "Connie mentioned someone matching that description swung by about twenty minutes ago. If you're heading down there, Jean, just keep an eye on your watch."

Twenty minutes later, Jean’s jaw was set tight enough to crack a tooth as he pushed through the back alley exit of The Underground. Sasha’s tip had been dead-on, and pure, white-hot humiliation was burning through him.

He found you standing right where you knew he’d look — leaning casually in the shadow of a brick doorway, idly counting a stack of twenties under the flickering glow of a streetlamp. The soft knit of your off-the-shoulder top hung low, exposing the smooth expanse of your neck and the fine, exposed line of your shoulders against the rough dark mortar behind you. You shifted your weight, heels echoing softly off the wet pavement as you sorted the cash into a neat stack. 

Before you could bother to feign shock, Jean closed the distance in three long strides. He grabbed your shoulders, firmly, but careful not to hurt you, and shoved you back, pinning you flat against the cold brick wall. He slammed his right palm against the wall beside your ear with a dull thud, looming over you with his tall frame. His chest heaved against his leather jacket, and his hazel eyes burned with genuine anger, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack. 

"Where is it?" Jean growled, his voice a low, dangerous husk. "Where's my wallet?"

Your gaze drifted lazily up the front of his shirt, taking a slow, shameless tour of his body — tracing the broad line of his chest, lingering on the tight column of his throat, and finally settling on his flushed, furious, and handsome face. A slow and wicked smirk stretched across your lips as your chest rose with a slow, deliberate breath. 

With painful unhurriedness, you tilted your chin, your dark lashes half-lidded as you ran your eyes over the hard curve of his jaw, the stubble dusting across his chin, and the messy spill of his hair. You let your gaze drop pointedly to his mouth before dragging it back up to meet his wild eyes, letting him feel every second of how thoroughly you were enjoying the view — and how little his intimidation tactics were working. 

"Well, hello to you too, Jean," you purred softly, tilting your head up fully. "You're a lot louder when you're not trying to buy me a drink."

"I am not in the mood for your games," Jean snapped, leaning in closer to intimidate you. But as he stared down at you, at the absolute lack of fear in your posture, the deliberate, mocking confidence radiating off you, an unwelcome jolt of admiration hit him right in the gut. You’d known he was coming. You’d practically left a breadcrumb trail. He hated how impressive it was.

"Hand it over," he demanded, forcing the anger back into his tone. "Now."

"Alright, alright, keep your jacket on," you sighed playfully. You reached into your pocket, pulled out his leather wallet, and pressed it flat against his chest.

As Jean snatched it from your grip, flipping it open to check the cash, you took your chance. 

You leaned in, your mouth brushing just beneath his ear, sending a slow spike of heat down his neck. “Besides… you chased me all the way across town. I think I deserve a proper greeting before you go storming off.”

Jean froze, his thumb caught in his wallet, a ragged breath escaping his throat as your proximity completely shattered his focus. 

Your palm pressed flat over the center of his chest before your fingertips trailed lazily down the front of his shirt before shifting outward to drag up the heavy, structured leather sleeve of his jacket. Your movement was smooth, completely natural, the soft graze of your thumbs tracing the sensitive skin of his inner wrist as you worked. You caught your painted lower lip between your teeth, holding his gaze with an intoxicating focus that left no doubt you were entirely in control. 

"Unbelievable," Jean muttered under his breath, finding every single bill intact. He snapped the wallet shut and shoved it deep into his front jeans pocket. The hot flush of anger on his neck was slowly giving way to a grudging, highly reluctant respect, his tense shoulders finally dropping. “You really think you’re cute, don’t you?”

"I don't think," you cooed, tilting your head up to give him a slow, tantalizing wink. "I know. And by the looks of it, you agree." 

Before walking away, Jean hesitated, his eyes dropping down to your throat and staying there a beat before dragging slowly back up to meet the challenge in your eyes. He let out a low, disbelieving breath, shaking his head with a crooked tilt of his jaw — half-captivated, half-infuriated by the sight of you standing so unfazed against the dark brick — before he finally turned on his heel, taking a long step toward the alley mouth to salvage whatever thread of his pride he had left intact.

"Going so soon, darling?" you called after him, your voice dripping with honey. "You didn't even say thank you."

Jean stopped, letting out an annoyed, disbelief-filled chuckle as he turned around. "Thank you? For giving me back the money you stole–"

He froze.

You were leaning casually back against the wall again, one shoulder exposed, biting your lip with a slow, deliberate drop of your eyes that mapped every inch of his reaction. Your right hand was raised casually to shoulder height, and dangling from your manicured fingers, glinting brightly under the streetlamp, was his heavy, silver chronograph watch.

Jean’s eyes snapped down to his bare left wrist, then darted right back to the watch hanging from your fingers. His mind scrambled to trace the last fifteen seconds — your palm on his chest, the slow drag of your fingernails up his leather sleeve, the warm drag of your thumbs against his inner wrist while your eyes held his. He hadn't felt a single click. Not a single pull. 

A heavy silence stretched through the alley. Jean’s mouth opened, closed, and then a slow, incredulous smile broke through his frustration, completely shattering his angry facade.

"No way," Jean breathed, running a hand over his face as a sharp, genuine laugh escaped him. He stepped back toward you, his eyes burning into yours with a newfound, intense spark. "You did not just take my watch while giving me my wallet back."

"I told you," you murmured, curling your fingers around the silver band and stepping off the wall toward him, the light catching along your jaw. "I'm very good at what I do. Now... are you going to take me back inside and buy me that drink, or do I need to steal your belt next?"

Jean stared down at the watch in your grip, his jaw working as he tried, and utterly failed, to hold onto his anger. The sheer audacity of it, paired with the impossibly smooth execution, had his pulse racing in a way that had very little to do with adrenaline and everything to do with the way you were looking at him. 

A slow, crooked grin pulled at his lips, completely replacing his frustrated scowl.

"My belt?" Jean repeated, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling chuckle as he closed the last inch between you. He didn't corner you against the brick this time. Instead, he reached out, his long fingers gently encircling your wrist, just tight enough to stop you from slipping away, but soft enough to send a warm flutter straight down your spine.

"Don't look so flustered, darling," you purred, tilting your chin up, your eyes glittering. Your free hand began to wander, fingers splaying flat over the center of his chest before sliding slowly up to rest over the tense line of his shoulder. "I promise I'll be gentle."

Jean huffed out a laugh at the nickname, his chest rising heavily beneath your palm as a faint, telltale flush crept up the back of his neck despite his best efforts. "Darling? Really? You rob me twice and now you're calling me darling?" 

"It suits you," you murmured. Your palm glided down the front of his shirt, your manicured nails lightly catching on the leather edge of his jacket before dragging slowly over his hip, your index finger idly hooking around his belt loop. "Besides, you look a lot prettier when you're not scowling."  

Jean’s breath hitched, his eyes snapping down to your hand, still hooked in his belt loop. Heat flared behind his eyes as he carefully unclasped the watch from your fingers.  

"You're unbelievable," Jean muttered, sliding the watch deep into his inner jacket pocket. His gaze dragged back up to your face, caught on your mouth, then locked onto your eyes. "Genuinely unbelievable."

Instead of pulling away, he reached down with his free hand and caught your wrist, the one currently hooked around his belt loop, gently lifting your hand away from his waist and weaving his fingers tightly through yours.

"Consider yourself under active surveillance," Jean added, a low, teasing rumble in his chest as he pulled you an inch closer. "If I let you loose back out in this alley, I'll be walking home without my jacket by midnight. You're coming back inside— where I can keep a hand on you."

He turned, keeping a firm, unyielding hold on your hand as he led you back toward the heavy oak door of The Underground. Pushing it open, the dim lighting and thick bass of the speakeasy swallowed you both.

Jean navigated through the crowded room until he spotted a secluded, high-backed leather booth tucked in the rear corner.

He slid into the leather booth first, his hand still locked tightly around yours. Before you could even think about taking the seat across from him, Jean gave a sudden tug on your wrist, pulling you down right beside him. You dropped into the plush bench with a soft gasp, ending up so close you were practically in his lap — your thigh pressed flush and warm against his denim-clad leg from hip to knee.

Jean wrapped his arm along the back of the booth behind your shoulders, effectively trapping you in his space while keeping his other hand planted conspicuously over his inside jacket pocket.

"There," he murmured, a smug, satisfied smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he leaned in close enough for his stubble to brush your temple. "Now you're right where I can watch you."

"Two Old Fashioneds," Jean called out to a server passing by, his eyes never leaving your face. "And bring the check straight to me when we're done… assuming I still have a wallet by then."

You leaned your head back against the dark leather, a low, melodic laugh escaping your lips as the lighting caught the clean line of your jaw.

"Smart move, darling," you said, turning your head until your painted lips were just inches from his jaw. "Learning from your mistakes already."

"I'm quick like that," Jean said, his thumb casually brushing over the soft fabric of your off-the-shoulder top. His thigh stayed pinned against yours, the heat of him seeping straight through your clothes. "So, let me guess... calling me 'darling' is just another play to keep me off balance?" 

"Maybe," you murmured, your gaze dropping shamelessly to his mouth before dragging back up through your dark, half-lidded lashes. You let your hand drift casually across the leather seat, your fingers trailing up his knee to rest over his thigh, right where your legs met. "Or maybe I just like how red your ears get when I say it."

Jean froze for a half-second, his breath catching in his throat as your fingers pressed into his leg. He swallowed hard, catching himself before a low, disarmed laugh tumbled out of him.

"Alright, that's it," Jean murmured, his voice dropping into a husky, dangerous register as he leaned in until his breath was hot against your ear. "You're playing a very dangerous game, sweetheart. Let's see if that charming little mouth of yours keeps running once you run out of distractions." 

The server set down two heavy crystal glasses, the ice clinking loudly on the low wooden table, but Jean barely registered the drinks. He was far too preoccupied with the heat of your thigh pressed flush against his, and the way your eyes caught the ambient light as you looked up at him. 

Your left hand reached across the table to trace the back of his knuckles, while your right hand rested comfortably on his upper thigh. Your fingers flexed slightly against the denim, feeling the tense muscle beneath as you slowly slid your hand an inch higher. Jean’s breath hitched, every muscle in his frame tensing up under your deliberate touch. 

"Careful," you purred, leaning in. You held his gaze, catching your lower lip between your teeth before letting it go with a teasing smile. "You look so tense. I thought you said you were going to keep me under surveillance… not freeze up the second I touch you." 

Jean’s gaze dropped straight to your mouth, tracing the subtle shine of your lip gloss before snapping back up to meet your eyes. He swallowed hard, forcing a dark, quiet chuckle as he slowly closed his fingers on the table over your left hand — holding it in place where he could keep an eye on it, even as your right hand stayed anchored to his thigh. 

"I can't relax," Jean admitted, his voice dropping into a low, husky murmur. He leaned his head closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intense mix of sheer fascination and deep suspicion. "Every time you move a finger, my brain goes on high alert. You're entrancing, sure, but you're also a hazard to my personal belongings." 

Your right hand on his thigh gave a slow, deliberate squeeze, your fingers digging in just enough to send a jolt of heat straight up his spine. You tilted your head, letting the dim light trace along your jaw as you pushed out a soft, fake little pout, your eyes wide with mock offense.

"You don't trust me, darling?" you asked softly, drawing his gaze helplessly right back down to your plush lips.

"Not for a single second, sweetheart," Jean said, though the flush creeping up the back of his neck and the rapid beat of his pulse betrayed just how thoroughly your closeness was wrecking his composure. He reached for his glass with his free hand, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact. "In fact, when this night is over, I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to conduct a full body search before I let you walk out that door, just to make sure you didn't walk off with my jacket or my phone." 

You let out a soft, melodic laugh, your fingers on his thigh smoothing over the denim as your thumb on the table lightly dragged across the back of his hand. "A full body search? Is that your idea of a second date?" 

"It's practical safety," Jean countered, a crooked and disarmed grin breaking through his guarded exterior. "And considering you've already stolen my cash, my watch, and my pride in less than two hours, I'd say I'm completely justified."

He shifted in the booth, subtly pressing his leg more against yours while his thumb gently caressed the soft, bare skin of your exposed shoulder.

"So go ahead," Jean purred, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart. See what else you can steal before the night is out."

A low, knowing hum vibrated in your chest. You tilted your head back against his arm, your lips mere millimeters from his jaw as your fingers on his thigh slid another fraction of an inch higher, feeling the sudden, rigid hitch in his breathing.

"Careful what you offer, Jean," you whispered, your voice a silky, dangerous thread against his skin. "Give me enough time, and I won't just walk out with your watch. I'll have you offering me the keys to your apartment just to keep me around for round two."

Jean’s eyes darkened, his hand on your shoulder tightening just enough to anchor you flush against his chest. "Is that a promise, or another one of your diversions?"

Matching your rhythm, his hand slid slowly down the bare slope of your arm, his long fingers trailing over your elbow before settling on the outer curve of your thigh. He squeezed gently, a slow, deliberate grip that sent a spike of heat straight through your chest, and slid his hand inward until his palm rested flush against your lap, mirroring the exact position of your hand on his hip. 

"You like playing with fire, don't you?" Jean whispered, his eyes dropping down to your lips as your breath went short. He dragged his thumb in a slow circle against your leg, his gaze heavy and intense. "You act like you're completely in control, but your heart is beating pretty fast for someone who isn't nervous."

"I'm not nervous," you responded, leaning into his touch, your nails lightly dragging through the denim at his hip until you caught the edge of his belt loop once more. You looked up at him, chin tucked, feigning innocence. "I'm just impatient."

Jean’s jaw clenched as he took in the sheer confidence radiating off you. He leaned in, his lips hovering barely a millimeter from yours, so close you could taste the faint trace of bourbon on his breath. For a long second, the entire noisy room vanished. 

"Impatience I can handle," Jean murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly husk.

As you leaned deeper into his space, your hand hooked snugly in his belt loop, your chest rising with every deliberate breath, and his eyes flicked downward. Pinned so close beside you in the booth, the off-the-shoulder top draped low against your skin. His gaze caught at your collarbone before sliding helplessly down to the soft, shadow-draped curve of your exposed chest. 

Jean went still, his jaw tightening as he took a slow, heavy breath. He swallowed hard, forcing his eyes back up to meet your half-lidded gaze, but the color rising along his jaw proved he’d been completely caught off guard.

"You're doing that on purpose," Jean growled softly, his hand on your lap squeezing just enough to send another pulse of heat straight through you.

"Doing what?" you asked innocently, tilting your chin up and letting your eyes drop shamelessly to his mouth.

"Making it impossible for me to pay attention to anything else in this room," Jean admitted, his voice thick. He reached out with his free hand, grasping his heavy crystal glass and draining the last of his Old Fashioned in one smooth, decisive swallow. He set the glass down hard against the wood, his eyes darting back down to your chest before locking onto your eyes. "In fact, finish your drink. We're getting out of here."

You smiled against his jaw, your fingers giving his belt loop one last teasing tug before you reached across with your left hand. You picked up your own glass, taking a slow, deliberate sip while holding his intense, burning gaze right over the rim.

Jean watched every movement of your throat as you swallowed, his chest rising heavily as he waited for you to set the empty glass down. The second the crystal touched the table, his hand slid up from your lap to your waist, his grip firm and possessive.

"Alright, sweetheart," Jean growled softly against your ear, his thumb digging into your hip as he guided you out of the booth. "Let me get us out of here before you decide to take the rest of my clothes off right in front of the bartender."

Before you could step fully clear of the table, Jean reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulled out his wallet, and threw a fifty onto the dark wood. He didn't even bother waiting for the server, his eyes locked onto yours as he tossed the money down with a quick, decisive flick of his wrist.

"Keep the change," Jean muttered toward the bar, sliding the wallet safely back into his pocket before his grip tightened around your waist once more. 

You let out a low, delighted laugh, sliding your hand up his back under the warm leather of his jacket as he guided you through the crowded room toward the rear exit, his tall frame cutting through the patrons with single-minded focus.

The cool night air hit your bare shoulders the second Jean pushed open the heavy exit door of The Underground.

The damp pavement glinted under the sparse streetlamps, reflecting the glow of the city lights behind you. Jean’s hand stayed firmly anchored at your waist as you stepped out into the night, his thumb tracing a slow, steady circle against your hip. 

"Cold?" Jean asked, his voice low in the quiet alley. He didn't wait for your answer. With a soft sigh that was half-amused and half-resigned, he unzipped his heavy leather jacket, slid it off his shoulders, and draped it over your bare upper back, keeping one hand securely on your arm so you couldn't dart away. The inside lining was hot against your skin, smelling richly of cedar, leather, and the crisp bite of his cologne. 

"Trying to keep me warm, or just making sure I don't slip away into the dark?" you purred, pulling the lapels tight around your chest as you looked up at him.

Jean let out a low, rough chuckle, his hand sliding right back around your waist to pull you against his side as you turned down a shadowed side street. "Both. Though mostly the second one. I’m not letting you out of arm's reach until we're behind a locked door." 

Halfway down the quiet block, right beneath the deep shadow of an archway, you made your move.

Without warning, you hooked your fingers into the front of his shirt, using your leverage to yank him sideways and slam him back against the cold brick wall. Jean’s breath left him in a sharp, startled exhale, his eyes blowing wide with surprise, right before you stepped into his space, pressing your body flush against his. 

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers digging hard into his shirt. You tilted your chin, catching his lower lip in a slow, intoxicating kiss that tasted of sweet bourbon and pure challenge.

A low, rough groan vibrated deep in Jean's chest as pure instinct took over. His right hand dropped from your waist, his large palm sliding low to grip the soft curve of your ass, hauling your hips flush against his. He held you right where he needed you, his knuckles tightening as every muscle in his frame coiled with heat, barely keeping a grip on his fraying control.

You didn't hide the sly grin against his mouth as you pulled back just a fraction of an inch, your thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek as you held his heated gaze. 

"You talk too much, darling," you murmured, your thumb tracing the hard curve of his jaw while your grin widened against his skin.

His pulse thundered beneath your palms, his breath coming hot and uneven against your cheek. The sheer restraint radiating off him was palpable, his jaw locked as his fingers dug into you, fighting the sudden, intense urge to flip your positions right there against the brick.

He let out a low, gravelly groan, resting his forehead against yours for a beat as he forced himself to hold back.

"You're testing me," Jean growled softly, a dark, airy laugh breaking through his restraint.

His palm reluctantly released its tight grip on your ass, his fingers dragging slowly up the curve of your hip until his hand resettled firmly around your waist once more. He pushed off the wall, using his height to gently steer you back toward the sidewalk without breaking physical contact.

"You are severely testing me, sweetheart," he continued, his voice thick as his arm anchored around you. "And if we stay out here for another thirty seconds, I'm not going to be responsible for what happens next."

Keeping his arm tight around your waist, he picked up the pace, his grip firm and possessive as he guided you the remaining block down the quiet street.

You came to a halt in front of his building, its grand iron gates and heavy wooden doors leading into a high-ceilinged lobby. Jean stepped in close behind you, his chest pressing against your back as he reached past your shoulder to unlock the heavy entryway. His front was hot against your spine, his breath brushing the shell of your ear while the lock clicked open with a satisfying thud. 

Jean’s eyes darkened, his grip on your hip tightening, pulling you somehow even closer, as he guided you through the threshold into the lobby, letting the heavy front door click shut behind you both. The sudden silence of the building wrapped around you, thick and expectant. 

He didn't break the charged, heavy focus between you as he guided you across the lobby toward the vintage elevator. Pressing the call button without taking his eyes off you, Jean kept his arm securely around your waist. The heavy iron gate rattled open, swallowing you both into the dim, mirrored interior.

The moment the gate slid shut, you took control again. You spun into his space, driving your heels back until his spine hit the metal wall of the elevator. Your hands slid up the front of his shirt, your manicured nails lightly scratching over the taut muscle of his chest while you tilted your chin, your dark, half-lidded eyes holding his burning gaze as the elevator began its smooth, humming ascent.

"Still waiting for that full body search, darling," you purred softly, your fingertips trailing down to the waistband of his jeans, giving his belt loop a slow, deliberate tug that brought your hips flush against his.

Jean swallowed hard, a dark, ragged exhale escaping his throat as his breath hitched. He fought like hell to keep his composure, his hands clamping onto your waist with a steady, grounding pressure — holding you pinned to him while desperately trying not to let his palms wander any lower.

"You're going to be the death of me, sweetheart," Jean growled softly, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that buzzed against your skin as he tried to hold his ground against your relentless teasing.

"Only if you're lucky," you whispered against his jaw, your lips grazing his warm skin just as the elevator chimed to a halt at the top floor.

The iron gate rattled open. Jean let out a low, airy laugh, his long fingers weaving tightly through yours as he led you down the quiet, carpeted hall.

You came to a stop outside his door — a heavy, dark wood entry at the end of the corridor. Jean reached into his pocket for his keys, but as he stepped up to the lock, he hesitated. Before you could even register the pause, his free arm reached around your waist and tugged you backward with a sudden, deliberate pull, bringing your back flush against his chest.

His body radiated heat right through his thin shirt. He locked his arm over your lower belly, his hand pressing firm and possessive, pulling your hips tightly back into his so there was absolutely no mistaking the hard, demanding line of his frame or just how thoroughly you had wrecked his composure. His other hand reached up, his fingers gently cupping your jaw and tilting your chin back.

"Last chance to give back anything else you might have stolen," Jean whispered against your ear, his deep voice thick with restraint. Before you could answer, his teeth caught the soft shell of your earlobe in a sharp, teasing nip, sending a sudden flutter straight down your spine as his breath brushed hot against the sensitive skin of your neck.

You tilted your head back against his shoulder, letting your gaze drag lazily up to meet his as a slow, teasing smirk played on your lips. "I haven't stolen anything else... yet." 

Jean let out a low, gravelly groan against your neck, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep a grip on his fraying control. He gave your jaw one last, lingering squeeze before finally releasing you, reaching past your shoulder to slip his key into the lock. The heavy deadbolt gave way with a final, heavy click.

Pushing the door open, Jean caught your hand once more, his grip tight as he pulled you across the threshold, leading you straight into the shadowed expanse of his loft.

The space was expansive and industrial, illuminated only by the soft glow of the city lights pouring through floor-to-ceiling iron-frame windows. Exposed brick walls stretched up toward timber-beamed ceilings, and the faint, rich scent of aged leather and sandalwood hung heavy in the air.

The moment the heavy front door swung shut, the automatic lock snapped into place with a loud, echoing thud, sealing out the rest of the world.

Spinning you around in the dim light, Jean caught you by the waist, his hands spanning your hips as he lifted you off your feet and set you down onto the edge of a heavy wooden entry table against the wall. You let out a soft gasp that was instantly swallowed as his mouth came down on yours.

Jean stepped directly between your knees, his thigh pressing hot against yours as his hands slid up from your waist to frame your face, his fingers tangling in your hair. The kiss was deep and dark, all the restraint he’d been desperately holding onto all night completely dissolving. His tongue glided against yours, tasting of sweet bourbon and a raw, demanding hunger, his thumb stroking your cheekbone as he drank you in.

Your arms wound tightly around his neck, your fingers knotting into the thick spill of his hair as you pulled him flush against you, kissing him back with a fierce, reckless desperation that matched his own. The slow-burning game of cat-and-mouse was gone, replaced by the sheer, electric heat of finally having him right where you wanted him.

When Jean finally pulled back a fraction of an inch, his forehead rested against yours, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with dark hazel eyes.

"Still think you're in complete control, sweetheart?" Jean murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble against your lips as his hand slid down your throat to rest over your rapidly beating pulse, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath your skin.

You let out a low laugh against his mouth, holding his gaze.

Before Jean could even register the smirk playing on your mouth, your hands slid down from his hair, gliding over his shoulders and smoothing down the front of his shirt. Your fingers dropped straight to his waistline, your manicured nails hooking decisively into the leather of his belt.

Jean’s breath hitched violently in his throat, his entire body going rigid. His hands tightened on your waist as he felt the distinct, deliberate pull at his buckle. 

"You really don't know how to stop, do you?" Jean growled, his voice dropping into a thick, husky register.

He reached down to capture your wrists, but you met him halfway, leaning up to crash your mouth against his in a kiss so hard, sudden, and demanding that your teeth clashed together. A gasp broke between you, immediately swallowed as the kiss deepened, slick and desperate, completely stealing the air from his lungs.

Taking advantage of his shattered focus, you twisted your wrists in his grip and slipped your fingers free. With swift, practiced ease, you popped the notch loose, pulled the leather strap clear through the buckle, and whipped the belt entirely out of his loops in one fluid motion. The leather clattered loudly onto the hardwood floor.

Jean let out a dark, disarmed groan against your mouth. Before you could drop your hands any lower, his palms clamped around your thighs, digging greedily into your skin. With a sudden surge of strength, he hauled you right to the very edge of the heavy table, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. 

"Alright, sweetheart," Jean murmured against your jaw, his teeth nipping sharply at the sensitive skin of your neck, making your breath catch in your throat. "You want to play for control? Let's see how long you can keep those hands steady." 

He captured your lips again — hard, bruising, and demanding. Teeth scraped against teeth in the frantic rush; every drop of hesitation burned away as your tongues tangled together. His hands gripped your hips, hauling you flush against him until your head spun, your fingers digging wildly into his shoulders just to stay anchored. 

A soft sound escaped your throat against his lips. Jean caught it, drinking the noise straight out of you with a low, victorious rumble in his chest.

His right hand slid up from your thigh, skimming over the curve of your hip and diving under the hem of your off-the-shoulder top. His palm was calloused and searingly hot against the bare skin of your waist, his thumb tracing a slow, burning line up your ribs. At the same time, his other hand threaded deep into the back of your hair, tilting your head back to expose the long, delicate column of your neck.

Jean broke the kiss, dragging his mouth down the line of your jaw to press his lips against the hot pulse point at your throat. He bit down — a sharp, bruising pressure that sent an intoxicating shiver straight down your spine — before soothing the mark with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue.

"Still feeling clever, sweetheart?" Jean whispered against your skin, his hot breath fanning over your throat as his hand on your waist squeezed possessively, pinning your hips so tightly to his that you could feel every frantic beat of his heart against your chest.

His hands slid up from your waist, casually sweeping his heavy leather jacket off your shoulders so it pooled onto the table behind you. Without missing a beat, his palms braced under your thighs, supporting your weight as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms.

Your legs remained locked around his waist as he turned, carrying you across the dark expanse of the loft. Your fingers glided straight to the buttons of his shirt, manicured nails working in a fluid, practiced rhythm. You popped the top buttons open one by one in the dim light, exposing the warm, hard plane of his chest.

Jean’s breath hitched, a low, gravelly growl vibrating in his throat as your knuckles grazed his bare skin with every step.

"You really can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?" Jean murmured, his voice thick as he reached the edge of the bed.

"Not a chance, darling," you muttered against his jaw.

He leaned forward, letting you fall back onto the plush mattress with a thump, never breaking the lock of your legs around his waist as he followed you straight down.

He hovered over you between your thighs, bracing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head. His shirt hung loose where you'd unbuttoned the top, his heaving chest just inches from yours. He caught your hands, pinning your wrists to the mattress beside your head, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of your inner wrist.

"Now," Jean growled softly, his eyes burning down into yours. "Let's see who runs out of patience first."

He leaned down, burying his face in the curve of your neck. His lips dragged along your collarbone, his teeth catching the soft skin just enough to send a bright, intoxicating heat straight through you, making your hips arch up against his. A dark rumble vibrated in his chest as he felt your reaction.

With your wrists pinned beside your head, you twisted your hands beneath his palms, lacing your fingers tightly through his. Using your grip to pull his forearms inward, you tugged his weight down until his chest pressed flush against yours, bringing his face back up mere millimeters from your lips. Your dark, half-lidded lashes fluttered as you held his burning gaze, a wicked smirk returning to your lips despite the frantic beat of your heart.

"Prove it, Jean," you whispered against his mouth.

Jean’s jaw tightened, a dark and dangerous spark igniting in his eyes at your challenge. He pushed up just enough to create space between your chests, unlacing his fingers from yours so he could reach down. His hands moved down the remaining buttons of his shirt with deliberate focus, sliding the cotton off his shoulders and tossing it aside to expose the cut planes of his chest and abdomen in the dim, golden city light.

The second he was free of it, you reached up, your manicured nails lightly dragging over the warm, defined ridge of his abs before spreading your palm flat against his chest. You bit your lower lip, your eyes trailing down his torso before rising back up to meet his intense gaze.

"Look at you," you cooed, a teasing smirk playing on your lips as your fingers traced the toned line of his abs. "All that talk about me stealing things, and you've been hiding this under your jacket all night?"

Jean’s breath hitched, his abdomen flexing tight under your touch as a low, disarmed chuckle vibrated in his chest. "You're unpredictable," he said, voice rough, his hands sliding possessively down your sides to hook under the hem of your top, gathering the fabric and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion.

His gaze darkened completely as it swept over the dark, lace strapless bra beneath, tracing the line of your collarbones down to the soft swell of your chest. His thumb dragged a slow, burning line across the exposed skin of your waist.

"Gorgeous," Jean murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against your ear as he leaned down, pressing a hot, lingering kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

His hands slid down to the top of your skirt, his fingers hooking into the waistband as he pressed his hips hard against yours, letting you feel every ounce of the restraint he was fighting to keep.

"Still think you're running the show?" Jean whispered against your throat, his teeth lightly catching your skin before his tongue soothed the mark.

You gasped softly, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as you pulled his face back up to yours. "Keep going, Jean... and maybe I'll let you think you are."

His long fingers worked at the button of your skirt while your hands dropped to his waist, fumbling impatiently with the button of his jeans. With both of you bucking your hips together — his weight heavy and demanding, your body arching up to meet him — it became a frantic struggle against denim and friction.

"Hold still, sweetheart," Jean growled against your lips, his deep voice thick with frustration as he tried to manage your zipper while your hands persistently shoved his jeans down over his hips.

"You hold still," you countered, a laugh escaping your throat as you finally popped his top button loose.

In one urgent, coordinated motion, your skirt and panties were shoved down past your knees, leaving your skin completely exposed to the cool air of the room while his jeans were kicked down his thighs. The second the fabric cleared, Jean’s hands clamped onto the backs of your bare thighs. He parted your legs wider, his mouth sliding down the center of your stomach, past your belly button, and trailing hot, stinging bites along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

You gasped, your fingers knotting into the sheets as his teeth grazed higher, his hot breath fanning against your core. He paused there for an agonizing second, letting the anticipation build until you were practically writhing beneath him. 

But before he could lay a single kiss where you wanted it most, you used his momentum against him.

Bracing your hands against his broad shoulders, you leveraged a sudden, surprising burst of strength, twisting your hips and rolling him flat onto his back. He let out a sharp, startled grunt as he hit the mattress, his hazel eyes widening in sheer shock as you ended up straddling his waist face-to-face.

You didn't give him a second to recover. Holding his heated gaze through heavy, dark lashes, you braced your hands on the mattress on either side of his head and leaned down over his chest. You lowered your torso, pressing your bare core and hips flush against his, pinning him beneath your weight while remaining mere inches from his face.

Jean’s eyes blew wide, his breath catching violently as his hands instinctively flew up to clamp around the backs of your thighs to steady you and hold you tight against him.

You leaned down slightly further, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across your lips as you held his gaze from inches away. "I told you," you said, your voice a low, wicked vibration against his skin. "Maybe I'll let you think you're running things."

Without waiting for his answer, you shifted your weight, reached upward, and locked your fingers firmly around the dark wooden headboard above his head. Dragging your body slowly up his torso, you pulled yourself higher until you were straddling his face, hovering your bare core just millimeters above his lips.

Jean’s breath hitched, hot and uneven against your sensitive skin as he stared up at you with dark, blown-out pupils. You held yourself right on the precipice, a teasing, intoxicating torture that left him completely breathless.

"You like to take your time, don't you, darling?" you whispered down at him, your hips swaying just out of reach.

A low, dark growl vibrated in Jean's chest. Abandoning any remaining shred of patience, his hands flew up to clamp tightly around your hips.

"Not anymore, sweetheart," Jean muttered against your skin.

With a firm, uncompromising pull, he forced you down flush against his mouth, his thumb digging into the curve of your hip to hold you pinned right where he wanted you. You gasped, breath catching and your knuckles turning white against the headboard as his tongue swiped up— hot, heavy, and deliberate, taking long, devastating strokes that completely wiped the smirk right off your face and had your knees trembling against the mattress.

He didn't rush. With a torturously slow, practiced rhythm, Jean used his lips and tongue to drive you completely out of your head, drawing low, helpless whimpers from your throat with every deep, swirling flick. The sheer heat of him beneath you, his chest heaving, his jaw working mercilessly against your sensitive skin, completely shattered whatever clever remarks you had left.

"Jean–" you gasped out, hips rolling helplessly into his mouth. 

He didn't break his rhythm for a single second. Instead, a dark, victorious hum vibrated against your core, his hands squeezing your thighs tighter as he drank in your reaction, proving that even with you on top, he still knew exactly how to make you melt.

Just as the tension coiled tight enough to snap, Jean’s hands tightened on your thighs like iron bands.

Before you could reach the edge, he moved. In one explosive, sudden surge of strength, Jean braced his foot on the mattress, twisted his hips, and flipped you completely back onto your spine.

You let out a startled sound, half protest, your hands grasping blindly at his bare shoulders as the sudden loss of friction hit you like a wave of cold water. "Jean, wait–"

Jean drove his weight back down between your parted legs, using his hands to pin your wrists flush against the pillows on either side of your head. He hovered over you, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a dark, triumphant fire that made your throat go completely dry. The sudden, agonizing denial had your body humming with frustration, leaving you a desperate mess beneath him, arching up into his space without an ounce of your previous pride left.

"My turn now, sweetheart," Jean growled low in his throat.

He slammed his mouth down onto yours, taking your lips in a kiss so deep and heavy it stole the air from your lungs. The intoxicating taste of your own slick heat coated his tongue, sliding hot against yours as he drank in every breathless, whimpering sound you made against his mouth.

While keeping you thoroughly pinned beneath the heavy heat of his torso, Jean released one of your wrists. His hand reached down to his waist, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his briefs and shoving them down his thighs in one rough, impatient motion, kicking them free.

The seared press of his bare skin against your inner thigh made your breath hitch violently. You twisted your fingers through his, completely surrendering your lead as Jean took absolute control of the bed.

His hand slid up from your waist, his fingers tangling tight into the hair at the back of your head to hold you right where he wanted you. The dark heat of his mouth stayed locked onto yours, his tongue sweeping deep, tasting yourself on him over and over while his hips began to drive forward, grinding the full, searing length of his shaft hard and heavy against your slick core.

You let out a sharp, helpless gasp right into his mouth, your resistance completely dissolving into shallow, desperate gasps as the rolling, friction-heavy pressure sent waves of intense heat straight through your lower belly.

His other hand moved down between your bodies, his palm hooking under the crook of your knee to pull your leg up and over his hip. The shift brought his bare, heavy weight flush against you, his shaft sliding thick and hot through your wetness with every dark, deliberate roll of his hips.

You whimper into the kiss, your hips arching up instinctively, begging to bridge the last fraction of an inch between you.

Jean caught your hips in a punishing grip, holding you still for one agonizing second as he pulled back just far enough to look down at you. His eyes burned in the dim light, dark and heavy with raw desire, his chest heaving against yours.

"Still trying to run the show, sweetheart?" Jean growled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against your flushed skin.

"Jean, please," you gasped out, all your clever teasing entirely gone, your knuckles white as you gripped his broad shoulders.

A dark, satisfied smirk touched his lips right before he lined himself up and pushed slowly inside you.

Your head fell back into the pillows, a cry tearing from your throat as he filled you completely in one smooth, unrelenting stroke. Jean let out a low, ragged groan against your neck, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as his hands tightened on your hips, letting you adjust to the sheer size and heat of him before he began a slow and devastating rhythm that claimed every last bit of you.

Jean took his time to drive you completely out of your mind until you were nothing more than a trembling, pliable mess beneath him. Every deep, deliberate thrust shattered whatever remaining pride you had left, his chest heavy against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he claimed every inch of you.

Just as you caught the rhythm, Jean gripped your waist tightly and pulled himself back, slipping free of your heat for just a brief, agonizing second. He flipped you onto your stomach before you could even register the loss.

Before you could draw a full breath, he was back over you, sinking his weight back down between your parted legs. He hooked his hands firmly under your hips, lifting you up so your spine arched into the mattress, and guided himself straight back inside. The sudden depth of the angle tore a broken cry straight from your throat.

One of his arms wrapped securely across your waist, pinning your lower body flush against his heavy, searing heat as he drove deep into you from behind. His other hand reached forward, his long fingers cupping your jaw to tilt your head up and back, exposing the delicate column of your neck to his mouth.

Jean growled low in your ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right beneath your earlobe as he set a hard, punishing pace. "Thought you were so slick tonight, didn't you?" he rasped, his voice a thick, dark rumble against your skin as his hips snapped forward into yours. "Teasing me in the alley, sliding your little fingers into my coat..."

He thrust into you again, deep and unrelenting, his grip on your waist tightening until you felt completely pinned to his frame.

"...taking my wallet," Jean muttered, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath scalding against your skin. "And then my watch right off my wrist while I had you pinned against the brick."

He pulled back just to drive home again, making the headboard rattle against the wall as a desperate whimper escaped your lips.

"So tell me, sweetheart," Jean whispered, his thumb pressing hard against your jawline as his rhythm picked up, hard and possessive. "What else are you planning on stealing from me tonight?"

You tried to summon whatever witty, sarcastic remark you had left, but the moment you opened your mouth, Jean's hand slid down from your waist, his long fingers finding your slick, swollen core and rubbing a firm, relentless circle over your clit.

Every clever comeback evaporated into a sharp, breathless gasp. The double sensation of his heavy thrusts from behind and the precision of his thumb shattered what little composure you had remaining. Your back arched violently, your thighs trembling as a sudden, overwhelming orgasm crashed through you, wringing a loud, undone cry from your throat.

He rode you straight through the peak of it, letting out a low, dark growl of satisfaction against your ear as he felt your body clamping tight around him.

While you were still shuddering and gasping for air, Jean pressed his palm flat between your shoulder blades, pushing your chest and face down into the soft depth of the mattress and pillows. Your hips remained high, pinned flush against him as he picked up the pace, pounding into you with hard, deep, relentless thrusts that made the headboard slam against the wall.

"That's it," Jean rasped, his voice thick and completely undone as his fingers dug into your hip, holding you steady for his brutal, punishing rhythm. "Take it."

The intense friction against your sensitive, post-orgasmic core had you whimpering into the sheets, completely at his mercy. With a final, deep, violent drive that buried him as far inside you as he could go, Jean let out a low, ragged groan. He pulled clear out of you at the absolute last second, his body rigid above yours as he released hot and heavy across the smooth curve of your lower back.

He collapsed forward over you, his heavy, muscular frame crushing you into the mattress as his chest heaved, his hot breath fanning across your neck in the quiet darkness of the loft.

For a few heavy, silent moments, the only sound in the dark loft was the ragged sound of Jean's breathing and the frantic beat of your own heart against the mattress. His heavy frame stayed collapsed over your back, his forehead buried in the crook of your neck, his weight warm and crushing against you.

You caught your breath, waiting just long enough for your voice to stop shaking before you turned your face sideways against the pillow.

"You know..." you rasped out, a sly grin tugging at the corner of your lips despite how completely wrecked you were. "For a guy who spent the whole night talking about his iron restraint..."

Jean let out a low, muffled rumble of a laugh against your skin, his shoulder shifting as he slowly lifted his head to look down at you in the dark.

"...you were embarrassingly easy," you purred, looking up at him through heavy eyes. "This was the plan the second I saw you."

Jean stared down at you, his eyes dark with amused disbelief before a slow, crooked grin spread across his face. He reached out, his fingers cupping your chin and giving your jaw a lazy squeeze.

"Is that right, sweetheart?" Jean said, his voice thick and deep with residual exhaustion. "You know, this exact same thing could have happened three hours ago if you'd just let me buy you a drink at the bar, instead of picking my pocket and leading me on a wild chase halfway across the city."

You tilted your chin, your grin widening as you looked him dead in the eye. "And where's the fun in that, darling?"

Jean let out a low laugh, shaking his head as he leaned down to press one last, slow kiss to the corner of your mouth. "You're trouble."

He pushed himself up with a heavy sigh, his bare torso gleaming in the dim loft light as he stood by the side of the bed. Without a word, he padded over to the adjoining bathroom and returned a moment later holding a warm, damp towel.

Sitting back down on the edge of the mattress, Jean gently gathered your hips, pulling you toward him. His calloused hands, the same ones that had been pinning you to the bed minutes ago, were surprisingly tender as he carefully cleaned the warm mess off your lower back and thighs.

You let out a quiet, contented hum, your head resting against your arms on the pillow as you watched him through half-lidded eyes.

"Look at this," Jean murmured, a faint, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes flicked up to meet yours. "You steal my wallet, rob me of my watch, completely wreck my bedroom... and I'm the one giving you a spa treatment."

You let out a soft laugh against the pillow. "It's called customer service, Jean."

"You weren't a customer, you were a mugger," he chuckled darkly, tossing the towel toward a chair.

He slid back under the covers, gathering your warm, exhausted body flush against his chest and pulling the heavy duvet over both of you. You tucked your head right into the crook of his neck, your arm slinging over his ribs.

Jean’s chest rumbled against your cheek as he let out one last, low chuckle, his arm tightening around your waist to pull you impossibly closer into his heat.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and heavy in the dark room.

"By the way, sweetheart..." Jean whispered, a wicked, amused rasp in his voice. "...don't get any bright ideas about sneaking out in the middle of the night or taking anything else from my pockets."

You shifted slightly against his chest, peering up at him through heavy, sleep-dusted lashes. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow, lazy circle over your hip. "I hid your panties. So if you plan on robbing me again before sunrise, you're going to have to walk all the way back to your place in that short skirt with absolutely nothing underneath."

A soft laugh escaped your lips, your cheek pressing back down against the solid warm plane of his chest. "You're terrible, Jean."

"Go to sleep," he grunted softly, pressing a lingering, tender kiss into your hair as he finally let his eyes close, holding you fast against him until you both drifted off into the dark.

┆𝖯𝖱𝖮 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮 － 𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖲𝖴𝖱𝖤 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮：𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖲𝖤𝖱 𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖣

“a girlfriend who’s in her twenties and a boyfriend who’s in his late thirties.. a little scandalous wouldn’t you say, eraserhead?” oh you were done for.

"scandalous?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper. he took two long strides toward you, closing the distance until his shadow completely enveloped your frame. he loomed over you, his height forcing you to tilt your head back just a bit to maintain eye contact. “you have no idea how scandalous this is, princess.” he played along, the pet name slipped out before he could stop it.. rough, crude, and dripping with intent. he reached out, his calloused hands framing your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with surprising tenderness despite the intensity in his gaze.

“yeah, i know. and look at you, i feel like you get handsomer the older you get. it’s good that i like rough, mature older men.” you spoke, teasing him with that playful smile about your age gap with him, wrapping your arms around his neck. shouta felt a surge of something fluttering beneath his ribs. you were calling it out, acknowledging it with a grin that made him want to ruin that composure of yours.

shouta’s entire body stiffened when he felt you wrapping those arms around his neck. the contact was electric, he could feel the last thread of his self restraint faltering. the part of him that was the logical, disciplined and composed, simply disintegrated at that moment. a low him rumbled deep in his chest, "yeah? you really don't know when to quit, do you?" his hands slid down from your face, one gripping your waist with bruising force to pull you flush against him. “you want mature?" he rasped against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "you want rough?" without warning, he hooked his arm under your thighs and hoisted you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist to keep from falling. he backed you toward the bed, his movements urgent, the clumsiness of his own desire the way his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped animal made him feel more alive than he had in years. “then i’ll give you what you want.” he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, avoiding your lips for a moment to give you and himself space to breathe. his thumb traced the line of your jaw with agonizing slowness.

shouta saw the way your lip caught between your teeth, the way your breath stuttered when his hands found your breasts. he wasn't gentle, but he wasn’t too harsh either. his palms were rough, the callouses scraping lightly against your skin as he kneaded your tits, thumbs rolling over your nipples until they peaked hard against his touch. “so responsive.” he rasped, his voice thick with arousal. shouta leaned down, his face inches from yours, watching the way your pupils dilated. “does it excite you?" shifting his weight, your boyfriend pressed the hardness of his cock through his trousers against the sensitive heat between your thighs. he could feel your dampness even through the fabric, a silent confirmation of how badly you wanted him. “knowing I've seen more of the world's ugliness than you ever will? knowing I could break you if I wasn't careful?" his hands slid down from your chest, tracing the lines of your body before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants. “does that really excite you, sweet girl?”

┆𝖫𝖤𝖠𝖦𝖴𝖤 𝖮𝖥 𝖵𝖨𝖫𝖫𝖠𝖨𝖭𝖲 － 𝖵𝖨𝖫𝖫𝖠𝖨𝖭 ：𝖣𝖠𝖡𝖨

the apartment had fallen into a comfortable, heavy silence, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant murmur of the city outside. the earlier storm of your little tantrum against him had passed, leaving behind a fragile, exhausted peace. dabi sat against the cushions of the couch, his entire focus was anchored on the figure curled against him. he was relieved you were calmer now, less annoyed than he was earlier. dabi found it amusing whenever you had your moments, complaining to him about things that served no purpose.. it was funny, really. but y’know what would be more amusing? if he shut you up with his dick.

“hey. you wanna go on your knees on the floor and do this or are you fine.. on your knees like you are right now on the couch?” you shook your head as a means to say you were fine the way you were.. you really did still act all naive and childish. he looked down at you, feeling almost disoriented by the domesticity of it all. a week ago, he had been standing on a rusted fire escape, calculating how to keep you at arm's length and keep you well-behaved. let’s just say now, he finally knew how to shut you up whenever you got too mouthy with him. he was wrapped in fur blankets, with you sucking his cock dry beside him.

his right hand was partially buried beneath the pile of blankets holding your hand, he noted how perfectly intertwined his hand was against yours, your hands warm against his own scarred, rough skin. he squeezed your fingers gently, a silent reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere. but his left remained free, his fingers interlaced with your hair. “you’re like a needy doll when you get like this," he murmured, his voice low and devoid of its usual venom. "clinging to me like I'm some kind of heating pad.” despite the teasing lilt in his words, there was no mockery in his eyes. he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. the blue light from the television cast shifting shadows across his patchwork skin, but his gaze remained fixed on you and how well you were sucking him off.

“you calm now, doll?” he asked quietly. "or am I still the biggest jerk in japan like you said i was earlier?"

you gazed up at him, your mouth wrapped around his cock as you mumble against him.. earning a soft grunt from him. you pull away for a split second, “i’ve been calm all this time.” your boyfriend let out a genuine chuckle, a rare sound that rumbled deep in his chest like distant thunder. "sure you were, princess. whatever you say. now c’mon, get to work. you need to be a big girl and learn how to take dick in your mouth, especially mine.” he paused, his lips curling into a smirk as he grabbed a handful of your hair. “and only mine, right pretty?” the way you nodded and immediately retreated back into his space, wrapping your mouth against his length as if seeking more made something in his stomach tighten. dabi settled back into the cushions, adjusting the blankets to make sure you were properly cocooned but also keeping eye on how good you were taking him in your mouth. his other hand that was holding yours let go, suddenly tracing idle, absentminded patterns across your lower back.

“good girl.” he murmured, his voice dropping to that gravelly, intimate register reserved only for you. "you better keep at it because I'm not in the mood to deal with any more of your dramatic tantrums tonight, you got that?”

┆𝖯𝖱𝖮 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮 － 𝖶𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮 ：𝖧𝖠𝖶𝖪𝖲

keigo let out a sound that was half groan, half choke as you pressed yourself against him. his back hit the wall with a soft thud, but he barely registered it. all he could feel was the softness of your body crushing against his firm chest, the way your hands felt against his shirt, and the overwhelming heat of your mouth claiming his again. his hands flew to your waist, gripping your hips hard enough to leave faint marks through the fabric, anchoring you to him. he tilted his head to deepen the angle, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that was clumsy but desperate. he tasted you, his breath coming in ragged gasps that stuttered against your lips. “in my office where anyone can walk in anytime is a little evil, birdie.” his cock was already straining painfully against the fabric of his trousers, throbbing with every kiss you pressed into him. he felt like he was losing control, his usual composure crumbling like ash. he wanted to push your dress up, to feel your bare skin against his palms, to lose himself in you completely.

“yeah.. but isn’t it exciting to be doing this with your girlfriend who’s a few years younger than you?”

your boyfriend let out a rough, breathless chuckle. the proximity was maddening, he could feel the soft swell of your breasts against his chest with every breath you took, and the way your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck made his entire body shudder. the age gap didn't feel like a gap at all, to him it merely felt like a spark between two people who had been circling each other for far too long. “younger, huh?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky register. he leaned down, dragging his lips along the sensitive column of your throat, inhaling the scent of your skin. he nipped lightly at the junction where your neck met her shoulder, a habit he couldn't quite suppress. “is that what this is about? i don’t think that’s much of a problem.. at least to me, don’tcha think?” keigo’s teeth grazed your skin just enough to make you gasp before he soothed the spot with his tongue. his hands slid from your waist, wandering upward to trace the curve of your spine, he was trying so hard to be the smooth, experienced keigo you might expect from a former number two hero, but the way his hips involuntarily bucked against yours betrayed how badly he was struggling to keep it together.

“a few years means nothing when you're looking at me like that," he panted against your skin, his lips moving to find yours again. His touch became more insistent, his palms sliding down to the swell of your ass, gripping you firmly as he pulled your pelvis flush against his own hard cock. the friction made him whimper low in his throat, his control fraying at the edges. “besides," he whispered against your mouth, his golden eyes dark with a raw, desperate hunger, “i think I'm the one who's about to lose control here. so don’t stop, baby bird.” wink. keigo shifted his stance, pressing his thigh between your legs to emphasize the hard ridge straining against his zipper. his hands moved higher up your thighs, bunching the fabric of your dress upward. “since you're being so chatty... why don't we stop talking about numbers and start focusing on what we're actually here to do, little birdie?”

┆𝖯𝖱𝖮 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮 － 𝖡𝖬𝖨 𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖮 ：𝖥𝖠𝖳 𝖦𝖴𝖬

“babe can you start with something else? y’know.. so I can atleast prepare and get used to the feeling first?” you gazed up at him nervously, hoping he guessed your hint of wanting to try some sort of fingering or oral first before the major stuff.

taishiro let out a chuckle that seemed to soothe you, his yellow gaze softened with affection, but there was still that unmistakable hungry glint in them the kind that told you he wasn't going to be gentle for long. he loved seeing you like this.. flustered, vulnerable, and completely undone by him. “smart girl. always thinking ahead, huh?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a gravelly register that made your toes curl. he reached out, one massive hand cupping your cheek while the other slid down to rest on your inner thigh, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. the heat from his palm was intense. “don’t you worry none, cupcake. i’m not gonna rush anything.” without breaking eye contact, he shifted his weight, crawling forward until he was hovering directly over you. his movements were deliberate and careful, mindful not to crush your frame. he moved down your body, his nose brushing against your stomach as he planted slow, wet kisses along your abdomen, savoring the way your muscles tensed beneath his touch.

it wasn’t long before he settled between your pressed thighs. the heat radiating from his body was overwhelming. he didn't go straight for the prize.. instead, he used his large hands to slowly pry your legs apart, creating space for himself. his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he lowered his head, his breath hot against your folds. “y—you seem to be enjoying this.. you still got it, it seems.” you tried to subconsciously tease him about his age, covering your mouth with your hand to stifle a moan when he pressed his tongue against you in one long, deliberate stroke.

taishiro didn't pull away when you spoke, picking up on your little tease against him. he let out a deep, vibrating sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan against your sensitive flesh. his tongue swiped upward again, more insistent this time, tasting you with shameless enthusiasm while his fingers began to explore the slick heat between your legs. “damn right I'm enjoyin' it sugar,” he rumbled, his voice muffled slightly by your thighs as he lifted his head just enough to flash you a cocky, lopsided grin. his eyes were blown wide with arousal, tracking the way your hips instinctively bucked toward him. “and you know damn well age don't mean shit when you taste this good.“ his fingers slid deeper into you, finding your entrance and testing how receptive you were, stretching you with careful but firm pressure.

“still.. you're the one who keeps beggin' for it anyway, ain't ya?” his crude honesty would have been mortifying if his actions weren't so intoxicating. reaching up, he grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them gently but securely beside your head. he wanted you still, wanting you to feel every single sensation without any way to escape the onslaught of his attention. his free hand slid down to cradle your ass, lifting your hips slightly to give him better access. “now hush with that smart mouth, sweet cheeks,” he teased, though his tone was thick with genuine emotion. “.. before I decide to fuck it senseless.” he leaned back down, his tongue finding your clit with devastating accuracy, lapping at you in rapid, swirling motions while two of his thick fingers began to work their way inside you, stretching you open to prepare for what was coming.

© DEARYISA . work by alyssa ! do not copy, claim as yours, translate, or feed my work to ai . be respectful !

toji's pace is relentless. aiming the same spot in your guts over and over and over again. it's not a relaxing experience, everything in your body feels tense and clenched, like the last threads of a copper wire about to snap. it's no wonder that toji keeps gritting through his teeth "so fucking tight."

"daddy..." you manage to hiss out into his mattress. toji has you on your stomach, legs flayed out like a frog's as he grips your sides down. a pillow has your hips propped up.

"just keep saying it," he chuckles. always so self-satisfied. not cocky, smug. evil bastard.

you shake your head back and forth, but toji just keeps pistoning his hips. one of his hands moves from your side to truly push you down farther. "stop your squirmin'," he mumbles. it's clear he's chasing his own release and you're just along for the ride.

"daddy-" the word cuts off as you choke on your own spit, drool dripping down your bottom lip. "daddy..." you try again. "too much-"

"i decide what's too much," toji cuts you off. "we've been over this."

"no..." you can't even be bothered to whine. to brat the way you usually do. "it- it-"

"it- it..." toji mocks you. he grabs your chin and pushes your neck back into a twisted uncomfortable position. "fucked so dumb you can't even speak huh?" you manage to shake your head "no."

"it feels like i'm gonna piss-" you whimper out. god are those tears forming in your eyes? toji lets go of your chin, allowing you to fall back onto your chest. he uses that same hand to pull the pillow out from under you before pinning you down harder again. your bladder feels like it's going to explode.

"so piss then," you can picture toji's nonchalant shrug even if you can't see it. "go on then, piss."

no, no, no... you shake your head back and forth as fast as you can, the words not able to come out of your mouth. too embarrassing. too humiliating. god the stains it'll leave on the sheets.

"nuh uh," toji pushes down even harder. "you said you wanted to piss, so piss." is that really how you phrased it? it can't have been...

you clench down even harder, some sort of test of your resolve. you can't let go everywhere. you can't dare. "too embarrassing..." you manage to voice your thought from earlier.

"you letting me fuck you like a whore is already embarrassing enough," toji chuckles. "not gonna listen to your daddy, huh? thought i smacked that attitude out of you earlier."

and suddenly, like sunlight breaking through clouds, toji decides to pull out of you. everything is relaxed, save for the twisting of your bladder. but of course it wouldn't be for long - toji decides to flip you over onto your back so he can see you, maneuvering one of your legs to reach over his shoulder.

but most startling of all, both of his hands push down flat over your belly button as he starts to fuck into you again.

"please don't-"

"but it's gonna feel so much better when you just let go..." toji mutters. "ain't it?"

he's right, isn't he? everything'll be back to normal. it'll just be another fuck from daddy. you won't feel the impending doom of having to pee anymore, it'll be all nice and over. daddy's saying you can piss. you won't be punished.

"it'll feel so good, won't it princess?" toji grins. there's still some fear in your eyes, like a spooked horse. toji pushes down even harder and he sees it flair some more. "c'mon... what happened to my good girl?"

"...m'right here-" since when was your voice so small?

"then let go sweetheart," toji coos down at you. "let go all over daddy, i can take it."

it just keeps building inside you like a geyser, especially with how repeatedly toji's cock is rubbing over that one little spot in your cunt again and again. this dam is gonna break at some point, you may as well give up all control.

"mmhm-" you manage to whimper out, your other leg hooking around toji's ass to bring him in closer. "sh.... shit- it's almost like i'm gonna come too-"

"squirting's just piss, sweet cheeks," toji is feral. he maintains his relentless pace. "c'mon, give it up for me. you wanna piss?"

"i..." you can't say that. you won't say that.

"say it," toji towers over you, like a pair of glowing eyes staring at you in the dark. "say it and daddy'll put a load in you."

"y-you always d-"

"that's right," toji nods. "daddy always fucks his come into you. you wan' it?"

you can't stop yourself from nodding.

"then say 'i want to piss, daddy.' say it for me." the only sounds you can hear for a moment are the wet squelches of toji fucking into your soaked pussy and the steady hum of the old rickety humidifier in his room.

"say it," he repeats. "say it," his words are gritted. "don't wanna waste my babies all over your stomach."

"i..." the first word forms on your lips, eyes rolling further when toji eagerly increases his pace at the sound. "i wanna..."

"i want to piss, daddy," toji repeats for you.

"i wanna..."

"be my brave girl," he says. "you're almost there and i'm so close to breeding that cute pussy."

it's so embarrassing. you're crying in earnest now. "i want to piss, daddy," you finally bring yourself to whimper.

"atta girl," toji smirks. "now, let go."

it's not even because he told you to. it's more the fact that you gave in. that you verbally gave your body permission to release everywhere. you squirt everywhere, your body thrashing under toji's hands as you release and come and release. toji follows suit shortly after, the aftershocks of your pussy clenching around his cock pulling him like a vice.

he pulls out of you slowly, watching as his load drips down onto absolutely soaked sheets. toji uses his index finger to fuck his come right back into you, ignoring the way you whine at the over sensitivity to stare at the way your pussy flutters around him.

the bathroom lights are turned off when you step inside, the small space adorned by some light up candles sukuna bought from the dollar store. stripping off your grimy, sticky clothes, you slowly descend into the bath. warm water (the perfect temperature, of course) sloshes around your body, muscles instinctively relaxing as you finally settle in.

you stayed in the bath until your fingers grew pruny and the water went cold, coming out to find sukuna had already set out your most comfortable pair of pajamas on the bed and a plate of food on the table. padding over to the kitchen sink where he’s washing up for the day, you lean forward and press a small kiss on his cheek. “thank you.”

he doesn’t acknowledge it—doesn’t really find a reason you should be grateful anyways. all he says is: “go eat.” the first bite of the food feels delectable on your tongue after missing out on eating lunch earlier (you left your lunch bag on the bus), broccoli and chicken melting into a sweet-salty mixture that had you quickly digging for more. sukuna plops down at the table across from you, not necessarily needing to fill the silence with meaningless conversation about how your day had been (he knows how it went).

you finish your plate in ten minutes, kicking your feet up on the chair next to you. sukuna slides your plates from the table, moving over to clean up the last of them. “you need help relaxing further?” he only breaks the silence once he’s done, drying his hands on a rag. you only nod in response, letting him carry you over to the bedroom.

you’re unsure how many orgasms he’s pulled out of you since he first suggested the idea, mouth latched to your throbbing clit and two fingers pumping in and out of your dripping cunt. his lips are glossed over with your slick, pink strands of hair flailing messily by his sides with how hard your fingers dig into his scalp.

your legs tremble as he pushes you closer and closer to yet another one, thighs clamping shut around his head. “one more and i’ll give you what you want, soak my face again, c’mon.” crimson eyes snapped up to meet yours, watching for any reaction. your face scrunched up in pleasure, eyes fluttered shut and mouth parted in an ‘o.’

his fingers curled justtt right, hitting your g-spot with each thrust of his fingers while his tongue circled around your clit. “o-oh fuck, ‘kuna, don’t stop,” you moan out, hips bucking up to meet his fingers. your nails dig further into his scalp, a low groan leaving his lips at the pain while you grew closer and closer, the coil in your lower stomach tightening by the second.

sukuna sits up, sliding his sweats down with swiftness. his cock slaps against his stomach, hard and precum dripping down his shaft just from eating you out. though before he manages to slip inside, you press your palm against his stomach and whisper, “wait.”

he expects you to tell him you’re too tired, maybe that your body would end up feeling sore by the time morning comes. what he doesn’t expect however is for you to ask: “do you mind putting a condom on?” sukuna zeroes in on your very pregnant belly before looking back up at you. a concern you should’ve had maybe… seven months ago.

“….you serious?” he finds himself questioning anyways, searching for any indication that you’re joking. he doesn’t find any. you look serious as ever, lips pursed together and gaze unwavering as you stared up at him. normally, you’d be biting your lip trying not to laugh in his face.

you merely raise a brow, “pregnancy is a very serious commitment so yes, i’m being completely serious.”

“it’s not like i can get you pregnant twice, woman,” he grumbles, but he already resigned to knowing he can’t win against you. he tried and lost when it came to what kind of crib you should buy just a week ago.

sukuna gets up from his spot, dick flopping from side to side as he pads over to his nightstand. how to take care of a newborn 101… a half empty pack of cigarettes he hasn’t bothered to touch since you came around with the news… a broken tv remote… and ah, a box of 36 ultra thin trojan condoms stuffed at the bottom he’s had for a year now.

he tears open the packaging, nimble fingers rolling the latex over his cock until the rim sits nice and snug around the base. your fingers scramble to grip onto his biceps as he slowly pushes in, his lips by your ear as he whispers, “fine. let’s see how many times you come by the time we’re finished with the box.”

idea came to me after a condom ad came on, thank you to @suguruss1ut and @sextier for entertaining it 😭