marciespeaks

Truthfully, the two of you might be too like-minded to argue. Nothing is ever morally confusing between you, all of your ideas about the universe make perfect sense to the other. Your few objections were over the best Christopher Nolan film and the best band from childhood, but nothing intense, nothing ridiculous that made you want to rip your hair out of your head. Things were right and well, and if they weren't, it was nothing a few deep breaths couldn't fix.

And perhaps you're both just too busy to disagree with each other. You were an English teacher, constantly grading and revising papers, tutoring after school, hosting office hours before school, receiving emails at godforsaken hours of the night, and responding to them, because you're awake, too, putting in scores and notes until the sun comes up. And of course, Higuruma can't help but pick up the hardest cases known to man, for his own peace of mind. He puts his entire soul into his work, slaving away over files, pictures, anecdotes, and charges, hoping to save as many people as he can. His head is always buried in some textbook, as if he'd need to fact-check anything—things like fairness and honor come to him with ease, like it flows through his veins.

You're a Hiro, you'll sometimes joke with him, at night when nothing's actually as fun as it would be otherwise. And he says that you are too, and you believe it, sometimes, in your own roundabout sort of way. A defense lawyer and an AP literature teacher, saving the day, one crumbled-up paper at a time.

And given that you've been together for almost a year now, there really hasn't been any time to argue immensely.

Until the other day.

You'd both made lots of time.

Often, when things as rare as this happen, people are quick to say they don't know how it got to that point exactly. Not you though. You can picture it very quickly in your mind, just last Sunday, the slow start of something terrible, brewing.

You'd both had something stuck up your asses all week, notable in every call and text, stressed and stretched out beyond comprehension, and you both were handling it, individually, in your own sense of the word and as best you could. You'd meant to have dinner Friday, like you usually did, but you'd had so many meetings about essay revisions and had to get them done before the weekend started, lest you put them off too long. So, you postponed to Saturday, you got all prettied-up early that morning, the eagerness seeping over from the night before. Dinner was exactly what you needed after such a horrifyingly long week, and then all of sudden, Higuruma's asking to reschedule, too, caught up researching this new case he'd just planned to pick up, an emergency of sorts. That phone call had ended very quickly, the man rushing off while he was still in his office, and you, on the other line, in his favorite dress, with your hair done up and mascara smudging at your waterline. But it wasn't anything to cry about. You'd rescheduled too, and you were busy people, it was a busy week for you both. Your tears were only so readily exposed because, usually, when a week had been especially hard, Higuruma had a way of making it all better.

But no matter, Sunday might've been good for you both.

Until it wasn't—Higuruma had yet to call since Saturday, yet to respond to your texts, and Sunday went by painfully slow, just as the rest of the weekend did. Still, there was no time to pout about it, you had classes to teach, kids to tend too, and you were sure once he explained the case the next time you both saw each other, there'd be thousands of details to pour over. That would hold you over until Monday. Until he finally texted back, you were starting to itch at the thought of him never texting back, though that had never quite been an issue before. You're rushing back home after work, caving before he can.

you: I know you're busy with the new case, but I would really like to revisit our date plans soon! Hope work is going well!

It's simple, you think, and true, give or take a few words that would make it sound just as urgent as the situation did in your head. The days were starting to blur together, and your desire for his company was growing stronger by the second.

hiro <3 : So sorry I've been MIA! Still busy with case, can't wait to tell you all about it

You're quick to snatch your phone up, quick like a school girl when you hear that ping. You smile at his name on the screen, shoveling sad leftovers into your mouth. You'd just gotten off of your period, and the after effects were still tumbling over—you could eat a horse, amongst other things.

hiro <3 : Will definitely revisit date soon. Will call later.

You sigh at the message, scrolling through the rest of your texts with him to fill the slowly growing hole in your heart. You think you might be going insane, hanging out with a bunch of high schoolers during your lunch breaks. You miss him in ways that are potentially unspeakable, and it irritates you the way hunger does. You remind yourself that you're a grown woman, seeing a grown man. You both have responsibilities, hobbies, things that you have to do with your time other than see each other. You take this thought with you to bed and hope it soothes you the way his hands do under the covers when it gets cold.

Your date plans are finally revisited on Wednesday. The dinner has been rescheduled to Sunday—his place, he cooks the main course, you both help with dessert, and you're in bed at a reasonable hour to get ready together for work the next morning. It's your dream night, really, and you would be absolutely jumping for joy if it weren't going to take so fucking long.

But you're patient, and people need you, and all you have to do is wait a few more days before you can fall into the arms of the love of your life, and weep, if necessary, into his collarbone. Just a few more days of 'hope your day has been good' and 'can't wait to see you,' it's a little grotesque how quick the back-and-forths are, but you suppose you'll manage. Classes will still go as planned, and you're on the brink of having a panic attack from the way this month has basically kicked your ass while you're already down, but never mind that! Sunday is around the corner, creeping closer tauntingly, and the dress you'd worn last Saturday is laid out so particularly by your vanity, it's almost provocative. The waiting is almost unbearable.

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Sunday is here.

You've taken your own car like you always do, blasting all sorts of 2000s dad rock to keep you awake and hype you up even a little for the nerves that are speedily coursing through your veins every five seconds. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, steering into his driveway by memory alone. This is the very moment where things start to blur for you. Higuruma lets you in, leads you to the dining table. He usually looks you over like you're a piece of meat, but tonight, your eyes both bore into each other, tired, restless, and not thinking about a whole lot else other than sleep. His kiss to your temple is tender but quick as he seats you both, pours your glasses of wine, and the conversation is simple, unimpressive as you both try not to nod off and roll your eyes as you recount the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad week you've both seemingly had.

You're quite sure you started the argument. Maybe those adults should've called you at least something a little closer to a bitch in childhood, would've knocked that stubborn tone out of your mouth—but here you are, and the stubborn tone is here, potentially unappeasable. You make an off-handed comment about his refusal to see the world around him outside of his work. It was meant to be quick, witty, and instead came out as some snide remark that you'd been biting back for a week and a half now. Higuruma makes a rebuttal about his work being important, as if you wouldn't understand what important work really means. More words—no longer mumbles, you would say—about differing schedules, the intensity of work, and suddenly, you don't know what it means to be busy, or what it means to have such intense, soul-sucking responsibilities.

Suddenly, you start to remember all the guys you'd dated before Higuruma, and that feeling of deja vu makes you kind of sick. They're always the same, they always say the same thing.

Those who can, do. Those who can't...

Teach.

Now, Higuruma doesn't say it outwardly (he would never, lest he see that terrible pout your lips make when someone tells you the education system is in ruins), but as he's washing the dishes and you're drying them, putting them away, he says something about your high school days, how you'd once mentioned wanting to be a pediatrician when you were sixteen before landing on the teaching route. He notes that you said you wanted to be a professor once, too, and the sharpness in his voice says that either of those paths would've been even slightly more respectable than what you're doing now.

It is so hurtful, the concept of being silently demeaned by someone with a quote-unquote "more sophisticated" profession than you.

So, after a not-so-thoughtful pause, you say: "At least teachers are able to understand people. Lawyers, on the other hand...Maybe if you understood people better, you'd actually be able to defend them."

God, the fucking horror.

As soon as you say it, you regret it—Higuruma is a wonderful defense attorney, the best you'd ever seen, and all he ever did was save people, and save people, and save people, in the most passionate way possible.

This is when the yelling match begins. You remember it, crystal clearly, but this is also the part you'd been trying to block out.

"You think you understand the world around you more than me—you're surrounded by the dumbest adolescents in the entire country, every fucking weekday—"

"And your clients are all guilty—you just love to defend the absolute worst human beings on the planet, solely on the basis of playing devil's advocate, it's useless work!"

"Really? You wanna talk about useless work?"

"Don't."

"No, no, we don't even have to talk about the pay—which should be a tell-tale sign that whatever the education system is doing is not really people's top priority right now—"

"I make enough."

"Yeah, enough to hold you over until they finally come to the life-altering conclusion that maybe, just maybe, we don't actually need the teachers who went through their secondary education major with a ring by spring and a shotgun wedding—"

"I have an English degree just like you do, Higuruma, don't you ever pretend that I'm some sort of fucking bird-brained idiot—"

"And maybe you should've had your little shotgun wedding, because when they do fire all the teachers, you'll need someone with a job to pay those bills of yours—a fallback marriage for your fallback job!"

"And for you, sir, a loveless marriage given your profession of choice."

Ah, you've won here. It's not satisfying like it usually is, but you've won. And you're about to really give the final blow:

"To marry you...with a temper like that...and words like yours...while you hide behind your work of justice, and integrity, and grit. My profession can absolutely be fuckall useless. So long as you admit that you and yours are soulless."

Absolutely brutal, you two.

He's got this shot-dog look on his face as he stares at you from the other side of the kitchen. He's in the same predicament you were in just before, remembering all the exes, all the dates, and the horrifying feuds that left him sitting alone at his dining table. Wondering if maybe his job really had kept him from all the "important" things in life. You'd never made him feel that way, not in the entire time you'd known him. And the thought of you leaving him at that dining table alone again was making him feel like he was going to puke.

"You don't mean that," he whispered, hand running through his hair as a nervous tick.

You stand firm, pretending you're not secretly faltering. "You do."

"No—"

"You're not obligated to like my job, Higuruma, but it is my job." You grab your purse and your coat, heels clacking against his frigidly cold floor. "Which I have to go to tomorrow, so...I'll see you later this week."

Higuruma lunges forward before his words do, grabbing your wrist before you can pass him completely. "No, it's way too late—or- dark, it's pitch black out, and we've both had enough wine to be inebriated." His thumb rolls along your wrist bone, tugging you away from the entry, taking your coat from your arm despite your protest. "Let's just...let's just go to bed like normal, and we can..."

You stare at each other for a moment before he takes your purse too, leaving briefly to set your things on the kitchen island. You let out a heavy sigh through your nose, looking between the hall and the door. You could just leave, you're not that drunk. And you think maybe a car crash might actually be better than sleeping in this house with Higuruma, with all the aggravation that's stuffing up the place. If you told your girlfriends about any of this, they'd probably throw real life tomatoes at you for staying, but...

Higuruma steps back into the hallway, hands on his hips. "Please..." he sighs, motioning to the other side of his house where his room awaits you both.

You slip your shoes off at the door, shuffling past him to the bedroom. You stay.

The night is so dully unimportant, it's not even worth talking about. You both shower, separately, given the still festering tension. He gives you some pajamas of yours that you'd left sometime before, during some other, much better sleepover (the shirt is his, and he apologizes for it very quickly before his face contorts as if he doesn't really know why he'd apologize for you wearing his clothes, especially when he liked it so much, every single time you did it). There are very few words exchanged as you both get into bed, and when he turns his bedside lamp off, you can feel him staring at your back, your back which faces him and will face him the entire night to save you from showing off the tears brimming your eyes (God, you really had been waiting to cry all week and this was kind of the perfect moment for it). You hear him sigh from behind you as he lifts the covers, adjusts them over you just slightly. His fingers brush down your spine before they fall to his side again. And he turns too.

Neither of you gets much sleep that night, and for all the wrong reasons.

You wake up inexplicably early, at least two hours before you and Higuruma usually do. His arm is draped across your mid-section, finding itself in its rightful place sometime during the four or five hours of sleep you both had actually gotten. You watch him for a moment next to you. He is so peaceful like this, calmer than usual, if it were at all possible. His eyes are able to rest, and he allows his brows to drop and relax. The muscles of his back aren't so tense as they are in his dress shirt and coat. He breathes through his perfect nose, face half-stuffed in his pillow. You lean over to kiss his temple out of habit, freezing when you think it might've woken him. He stays sleeping, still snoring lightly. You carefully slide out of his hold, fingers grazing his own against the sheets. Despite the words you'd both thoughtlessly shared with each other just hours ago, you're still...very much in love with him.

You gather your things and leave silently, texting a quick goodbye. Better to get ready at your own place, you think to yourself. Tensions might still be high, and you hate greeting your students with the attitude of the night before.

On the drive home and while you get ready for work, you check your phone maybe a dozen times, just in case he wakes up and wants to speak. The reality is, there's really no time to speak about the night before. If anything, a conversation might be had this Friday or next Sunday, when you're able to see each other again, and by then, you would hope this had all blown over. You really did pray it would all blow over. You hadn't meant a word of what you said to him last night. And maybe he had, but...well, that tight feeling in your chest lingered, made you seasick, and you kind of wished you'd never gone to dinner in the first place.

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"Miss L/N, do we really have to read this chapter, or can I look it up on SparkNotes for the test?"

"Miss L/N, I can't read what's on the board, can you write it bigger?"

"Miss L/N, I finally turned my homework in—yes, it's two weeks late, but I told you, my dog lowkenuinely ate that shit—THING, he ate that thing!"

"Can I go to the bathroom, Miss L/N? No, my boyfriend's not in the hall, I literally swear on my dead grandma, I swear."

"Miss L/N can I show you a TikTok edit? Do you know Zuko from Avatar? No, not the one with the blue people."

"I literally love you, Miss L/N—how is that inappropriate? I genuinely love you bro—Miss, I meant Miss, I literally said Miss."

The day had been dragging on for what seemed like centuries, and despite having felt like you'd lived a hundred lives since you'd gotten to work, it was only midday, just after lunch, kids filing in and already asking questions before the bell had even rung. You were rewriting the agenda on the board (a little large this time, so it could be clearer for people in the back), and two of your students, girls who were always in your office during lunch, were sitting at your desk, messing with your little photos and trinkets, asking if you'd ever wanna hang out socially. A few other boys tried joking with them on the other side of the desk, asking them about plans for this weekend and having conversations that you'd have to shut down in about .3 seconds.

"Girls, please go to your seats, and take your friends with you," you say, shooing them off as you readjust your belongings. You shake your head at the boy walking up to your desk now that it's free. "No, Yuji, you can not grab snacks from my office again."

"But- but- but, Miss L/N!" The pink-haired boy has got a big pout on his lips, hands clasped together to beg. "I won't even take a lot, I promise!"

"Last time you said that, you brought six other friends from other classes—students I don't even have." There are a couple of students in the back of class asking you to repeat the number you just said, and you wave them off, shooing Yuji away too. "Maybe some other time, kid."

"If you do, I can get you a date with my uncle, Miss L/N, he's super cool!"

"Miss L/N doesn't need a date. I hear he's got a pretty boyfriend."

Your brow cocks as you look to the rest of the class, many of them gossiping and giggling about your personal and romantic affairs. The kids are staring fondly, waiting eagerly, whispering in each other's ears about what they think your pretty boyfriend looks like and if he might be better than Yuji's uncle. "I do not," you deny hesitantly, printing out some extra papers and handouts for the class. You’re really not supposed to talk about your personal affairs with your students, and while you’d love to shout about your love for Hiromi from the rooftops, but there’s a certain level of workplace privacy you have to uphold. “And you guys shouldn't be talking about it if I did have one either."

"Then who's the guy that brings you lunch on the first Wednesday of the month?"

"The one who usually drops you off on Mondays."

"And picks you up on Fridays every now and then."

"And he calls during your lunch break sometimes—we can tell because you smile at your phone really big and blush a little."

You scoff, hands on your hips as you properly assess the class. All eyes are on you and your shocked expression now, waiting for your prompt answer that they know you're not allowed to give. "You guys are ridiculous—I do not blush, first of all, and that...man is—"

"Is he the guy that's standing at the door right now?"

You all but freeze in your spot, blank-faced as you turn to the open classroom door. Higuruma is stood, perhaps just as frozen, if not more, in the doorway, taking up an unnecessary amount of space with his height and stature. Holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and two little lunch bags—one, which he carries every single day without fail, and the other, which he bought for you to keep at his place, since you were always forgetting yours at home. His eyes were wide (as much as they could be, those droopy, Eeyore eyes he always wore, that stared lasers into your fast-beating heart). His eyes dart between you and your students, nodding carefully to greet a silent hello.

"Hiro," you breathe, setting your markers down carefully. You clear your throat, fingers tapping against your pants, thinking of literally any words, but they're just not coming to you. You turn on your heel quickly to face the class, putting on a bright, happy face. "Class," you clasp your hands together as you take small steps towards the man. "This! Is my good friend, Mr. Higuruma—let's all say hi to Mr. Higuruma, yeah?" You glance at him briefly, his eyes only meeting yours for a second as he greets the buzzing class and their bright hellos. You place your hand on his coated chest, patting softly to soothe. "Um, Mr. Higuruma is here...because..."

He brings his voice down to a whisper, shaking his head apologetically. "I thought you had lunch—I totally fucked up the times—"

"You can't say 'fucked up' in my classroom—" You turn back to the class, speaking at your normal volume again, “Mr. Higuruma is just here to bring me a little late lunch—"

"Are you a math teacher, Mr. Higuruma?"

He looks at you with furrowed brows before turning back to the students, stuttering a little as you take the flowers from him, your body trying to shuffle further in the entry. "Uh, no. No, I'm not, I'm—I was actually an English major, in college, like your teacher...here, that's how...Miss L/N and I met." You remember it clearly, the two of you in undergrad, the only English majors in your friend group, never really that close until after graduation, when your group had met up and the secretly charming Higuruma had gotten even more charming. He thanked you for essentially helping him pass Modern Philosophy and asked if he could repay you sometime. Over dinner. The rest is a blur, the rest of your lives up until this moment. The students whisper amongst each other some more, nodding and debating what questions to ask next. You hope maybe they'll be bored by his overall drab tone of voice, but even you were watching him with sparkly eyes.

To be fair, you were always watching him like that.

"But, um...Miss L/N was always much better at reading and writing than me—she's still revising my papers for work, it's a gift I think." He peeks over at you for a second, straightening his posture to instill a bit more confidence in both of you. "She's... your teacher is a real gem at that kind of stuff—you guys are really lucky. To have her." Oh, your heart practically flutters at his words, and now you're shifting in your stance, trying to stay calm and collected. But of course, it's near impossible for the both of you. He clears his throat after a few more too-personal questions. "What are you guys learning about?" You look at him with wide eyes, and he shrugs, unsure of what to say otherwise.

"We're reading All-American Boys."

"And writing papers about social injustices—Miss L/N says one of her, like, best friends is a lawyer, so we're working on, like, injustice, and our rights and stuff."

Higuruma looks at you for a long while, rendered speechless. There's a soft silence between you two as you wait for him to frown, or smile, or nod, or blink—literally anything other than this staring contest you both are having in front of your impatient and keen class.

"Miss L/N says it's been her favorite unit so far."

You smile softly, shyly—and would you look at that, Higuruma does the same, nodding at the students and their words! His hand drifts to your shoulder, gently rubbing the bone of it with his thumb.

"Don't you have to go get those papers you printed, Miss?"

You turn back to the class, slightly unsettled by their mischievous, plotting faces. They were giggling again, staring at the increasingly intimate scene before them. Somehow, you and Higuruma had drawn even closer to one another, his hand on your back, your hand on his shoulder, and you could probably hear his breath next to you if you were quiet enough. And surely, your face was glowing with some sickly sweet sort of joy, because that's how you always looked when Higuruma was around, you couldn't see to help making a fool of yourself.

And now, your students were giving you a way out.

You glance at the man next to you briefly before turning your sweet gaze back to the class. "Yes! Yes, actually, I...I do—and I want to catch up with Mr. Higuruma here, in my office, so. So...alright—I shouldn't be long, guys, I'll have the agenda—"

"Yes, Miss L/N, we follow the agenda on the board until you get back."

"And we'll save our questions that we have until you get back."

"And I'll make sure everyone behaves until you get back."

Oh, God bless the higher powers that gave you this absolutely angelic group of kids.

You try your best to hide your smile as your students band together, getting into groups, arguing about who gets to use their computer, setting up spaces for the peer-reviews that need to be done, and you’re slowly pulling yourself and Higuruma out of the room before this wonderful dream is cut short by a question about the agenda or someone asking to use the bathroom. You’re both smiling giddily like the school children you teach, sneaking him into his office. You both take a long, deep breath, standing before each other. Alone now. That giddy feeling wears off a little and the sickly taste in your mouth that you’d been having since you woke up this morning resumed, inflaming every good thought you’d just procured in your mind.

This is the man that you are in love with. This is also the man who said your job, which he is standing in, was useless work. This is the man whom you practically berated for half an hour in his own kitchen. This is the man who brought you flowers the next day to make up for it. This is the man that you really want to apologize to, if you could release that stubborn personality of yours.

"I'm sorry."

You both stare blankly at each other, surprised at the sound of your voices in unison. You're both opening and closing your mouths like fish, waiting for someone to make the first dominating move. You look around your office for help with conversation, your eyes landing on the things he brought. Your brows furrow, and all of a sudden, your apologies have to wait for just a second.

“Higuruma, why are you at my job?”

He stills, clammy hands wiping themselves along his suit. He stares between you and the lunch boxes you’ve now set on your office desk. “Lunch,” he says simply.

“Right.” You nod, leaning against the desk, arms crossed in hopes that he’ll continue to explain himself further, but he doesn’t. For the first time in Higuruma’s whole life, he seemingly can’t plead his case. You smile at the thought, looking down at the floor to focus on something other than that lost, puppy look on his face. “Usually you text…when you’re coming by, no?”

“On a whim.”

“You packed me a lunch on a whim?”

“I have been thinking about you every second since I woke up this morning, and you weren’t next to me." Higuruma has now flipped dynamics, or at the very least shared his with you. You straighten up a bit, lips in a flat, nervous line. You hadn't expected him to say that. “I…couldn't pay attention, I couldn't get ready—I managed to put on the same exact suit I wore Friday, and just my luck, someone in the office actually noticed—”

“Shimizu?”

“Yes, Shimizu—“

“She’s a really sweet girl, she probably didn't mean anything by it.”

“I could not function, baby, are you hearing me?” He steps forward, kneeling down before you—actually kneeling like some sort of rabid man, like an actual dog. His hands reach up to rub at your clothed legs, his voice faltering beneath you. “I couldn’t think about my case for even a millisecond without thinking about you, I have been beyond stressed out thinking about you, and us not going to work together, and so I left work—!”

“You did what?” A rarity for Higuruma, he is never eager to leave an ongoing case in the middle of the day, not even for holidays, not even for bereavement, even you know that.

“I just fucking walked right out.”

“Keep your voice down,” you fuss, quickly parting from him to rush and lock the door. Still kneeling, he pulls you back over to him, holding onto your calves with a firm grip. The sight might be considered pathetic if you weren't so disgustingly enamored with him. Still, your eyes travel quickly across his face, searching for corruption. “Are you sick?” You lean down with him, the back of your hand on his forehead and cheeks, watching him lean into your soft touch. “Do you have a fever or something—"

"Did you really mean it when you said you'd never marry someone like me?"

You hold onto his arms with both hands, guiding him back into a standing position with you. Your eyes dart again, squinting aggressively.

You were absolutely positive you hadn't said that.

"I've been thinking about it all fucking day—in fact, I think, I maybe even dreamt about you saying it, over, and over, and over again, it's been stuck in my head like some really horrible song on the radio—"

"Higuruma!" You shake your head at his frantic state, holding his face in your hands to calm him down. "I never said that—I can say with absolute certainty that I never said that." He relaxes in your touch just slightly, leaning into the warmth of your palms as his mind recalls your tormenting argument. You tilt your head at him, face scrunching. "Is that all you've been thinking about? You're not...angry?"

"Of course I'm fucking angry," he scoffs, hands sliding to your hips to pull you a little closer despite his words. "I'd been waiting to see you for days, and then the moment I do, we get into some petty argument about the exact thing that's been keeping us apart—I'm absolutely livid, sweetheart, I've been fuming ever since you left this morning. Without a word, I might add, so I can assume you're angry, too, no?"

"I'm angry about the same thing you're angry about—I don't know why I even mentioned your workload during dinner, it ruined the whole thing!" You laugh into the sudden kiss that he gives you, trying to swat him away as his lips move across your cheek, and jaw, and temple. "It's my godforsaken attitude, I ruined a perfectly good dinner."

He shakes his head quickly, speaking in between kisses. "No. I ruined it. You tried to make a joke, and I'm...really unfunny, that's on me. It got out of hand from there—you know how much I support the education system, I'm such an idiot for pretending I don't, because you know how many cases I take for teachers, too. And for saying your kids were dumb, obviously they're goddamn prodigies if you're teaching them—"

"And I don't actually think your clients are guilty, sometimes I think more of your clients are innocent than you do."

"And that was rude of me, the assumption about education majors, and the whole stereotypical bullshit—I sounded like such a guy, I really can't believe myself." His hands are all over you now, still leaving open-mouth kisses across the bare skin that he has access to, gripping at your hips to keep him from wanting more.

"Anyone would be lucky to marry you, Hiro."

He stops, tilting his head back to look at you fully again. He stares as your lips curve into a soft smile.

"I'm so sorry for making you think otherwise," you admit, sighing slowly. "I was being a brat. Because I had a bad week. And I missed you, and I took it out on you and your job. But really, I think your job is what allows you to express how passionate you are. You know, because you understand people so well, what they're going through. And I think how passionate you are is...maybe one of my favorite things about you." You lean up to give a quick peck on his warm, slightly swollen lips. "Definitely husband material, would hate to lose something like that."

Higuruma steps back to lean against your desk, slowly pulling you closer between his legs. He makes an almost-pout with his lips, hands caressing your forearms, your wrists. "Remember when I was the worst person ever and...basically disparaged your job, all for your students to tell me that I'm your best friend?" You nod carefully, biting back a smile as he groans, head tilted back in agony. You place a soft kiss where his veins sort of protrude at the jugular, and his shifts almost imperceptibly. Almost. "I've never felt so horrible in my life—Miss L/N says it's been her favorite unit so far—I think I died, right then, just died and disintegrated."

"Karma is so sweet when you don't have to do it yourself," you shrug, massaging at his tense shoulders, feeling his hands grip at your hips and waist. “And I got some pretty nice apology flowers out of it. You sure do know how to woo a girl.” He lifts his head to look at you again, watching as your eyes try to avoid his piercing, languid gaze. "Speaking of my students...I kind of have to get back to work, I've been gone way too long." He sighs again, rolls his eyes like a teenager just to hear you laugh. "And you shouldn't have left the office either, not in the middle of a case. You're gonna be really upset with yourself later."

You kiss him one last time before parting from the warmth of his body, backstepping towards the door. Higuruma reluctantly follows, sluggishly standing and grabbing his lunch bag, heavy feet making slow motions towards the doorway. He stops you before you open it completely.

"I think you forgot something at my place," he whispers, kissing your temple. "Maybe you could...come over tonight, I could give it back to you?"

Your eyes shoot him a blank, warning look. Your Teacher Face, he calls it.

"I'll take that as a yes. Miss L/N."

｡𖦹°‧

You're standing at Higuruma's door, foot tapping nervously at the pavement, fixing small pieces of your clothing to keep your mind occupied with other things. Still, all you can think about is how you might possibly fuck up this dinner just as you did the last one. There's really nothing to be completely afraid of. You'd both taken back what you'd said, cleared up what you hadn't, and there's a very real possibility that this is you guys going back to normal, just as you'd hoped. And yet, you're reluctant to knock your knuckle against the door, shivering in your coat and gripping your workbag like it might fly away, and you with it. One could dream.

Higuruma opens the door violently, steps his disheveled figure back as soon as he sees your polite smile, welcoming you in. His hair is even messier than before, his button-up is untucked and rolled up at his forearms, and he's loosening his tie as you walk in, trying to breath properly despite the choking at his neck.

You slowly walk through the house, setting your things down on the kitchen island like you usually do, already placing stray things back where they belong as he follow in, stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"You don't have to do that," he smiles, hesitantly creeping up next to you to stop your movements. "I went home after I came by your school, and..." He scratches at the back of his neck, looking about the kitchen. "I meant to clean after my lunch, and...after I started working...in the kitchen, but—"

"It's okay, Hiro."

He lets out a deep breath, nodding assuredly. His eyes gloss over you carefully and you're nervous all over again from the way he's examining you. His fists tighten in his pants pockets, shifting from one foot to the other, and soon enough, you're doing the same, filling in the silence with just your breathing and the occasional apology when you both accidentally bump into each other with your swaying. You are both too petrified to ask about work. But given that most of your life is your work, if the conversation is to progress any further, someone has to ask. One of you has to jump the hurdle. You're almost too anxious to do so—you and Higuruma have never argued like that, you couldn't bring yourself to potentially cause it again—but you're both adults, proper adults too, and someone has to make the next move.

"How's the case moving along?" you try breathily, leaning against the kitchen counter to broaden your space amongst each other, maybe make room for less tense discussion.

He laughs a little under his breath, one hand leaving his pocket to touch the fabric of your shirt, relaxing him enough to speak too. "Uh, yeah, it's...it's going. Maybe too early to know but...I have a feeling about this guy—I know I say that every time, but...I mean, he's young, and he's been so patient with us so far, and...things aren't adding up the way they usually do for the other side, so. So, I think we're gonna be able to help him."

You can't help but smile at the way he describes his work, even if it makes him nervous, makes him blush. It's cute, you think, the way he'll get so serious about it, the way he'll mull it over in his mind right in front of you, as if you're part of the case too. He'll use terms you don't quite recognize, and names you've never heard of, but he always ends with how well he thinks it'll go. And you're always so happy to hear when he thinks he might be able to be a hero again.

"I know you'll be able to help him," you assure with a sleepy nod, smiling a little further when his hand moves up, cups one side of your face.

He tilts his head to pout at you, thumb stroking over your cheek bone. "You know...the more I think about it...you were right to make that comment at dinner." He continues before you can argue, shaking his head softly. "I think I'd been babbling on about my new case the whole night, and...I left no time to talk about your week." His thumb moves to rub over your eyebags, growing just slightly, though you hadn't really had to the time to notice. "You were right. I don't pay attention to the world around me. My tired girl."

"No, I’d actually rather not talk about my shitty week. And last night doesn't count," you refute. "You're very attentive, you know that. And I'm not usually so cranky."

He hums as he lets both hands rest against your shoulders, rubbing softly. "Still cranky?" He nods as you relax your shoulders in his touch, turning you around to lead you to his couch, still massaging as he sits you down together. He places light, feathery kisses against your back, calloused hands squeezing. "Those kids, always overworking my woman. Sending her home exhausted, poor baby." His teases rumble against the nape of your neck and you're forced to roll your eyes playfully, swatting your hand at him. "You should just quit. Quit that stupid job. And I'll take care of you—you'd never have to work a day in your life with me."

You turn quickly, shoving at his chest with a grin on your face. "Stupid job? Seriously?" You push until he's lying on his back on the couch, watching as he pulls you by your forearms, up and over his lap to straddle him. Your hands sit firm against his chest, your eyes squinting over him. He's smiling at you, eyes dark and low, hands wrapped around your wrists for control. "You really think quitting is an option after yesterday?"

"No, I actually think we have to stay on these career paths for the rest of our lives," he smirks, eyes still searching yours. "To prove each other wrong."

You nod in bubbly agreement, watching him lick his lips beneath you, his fingers sliding away to tug at his tie again. You lean up against his lap, watching him slowly slip off the thin fabric, dropping it on the floor.

"Was getting uncomfortable," he gave an excuse, hands wrapping around your thighs.

"Your shirt too?"

Higuruma smiles as you start to unbutton his loose and wrinkly dress shirt, slipping it away from his chest to expose his milky soft skin. You kiss his collarbone gently, delicately, and you hear him shiver a little, his breath shaky as it leaves his parted lips. When you sit up again, you watch his muscles flex as your fingers patter against his torso, his hips twitching just slightly. You take your time in admiring him, despite knowing how self-conscious he gets under your careful, probing stare. Still, Higuruma is one of the most beautiful people you've ever been blessed to see, to touch. He doesn’t look so muscular from the outside, when you’re both having dinner or grabbing a quick breakfast, when you’d taken him home to meet family and friends. His clothes cover him very well, that sickening, gorgeous physique he selfishly hides. A part of you wishes people knew about how lovely he looked, but you suppose it is better that everything underneath his work attire is meant for you and your eyes only.

"Same outfit, huh?" you ask, recalling the frenzied account of his morning that he gave in your office. "You've done that before, haven't you? You've really gotta start taking care of yourself better, sir." You smile when he mumbles what sounds like a 'yes ma'am', though it's only a shaky whisper as you continue to tenderly rake your nails down his chest and abs, tracing the definition, the grooves. You love when he calls you ma’am, and you hope to every higher power that he can’t feel how wet you are through your layers. "I think we're both a little too accustomed to putting our needs and feelings aside for our work. At least...well, for me, I have a pretty long lunch period to cry during. You, on the other hand...all that pent-up anger and irritation. It's going to get to you one day."

He shakes his head, pressing your hips into his own, grip tight through the fabric of your pants as his own creates a bulge up under you. "Not if you're here to help me...release some of the tension."

"Oh, is that what I'm here for, Mr. Higuruma? Your human stress toy?"

He blinks up at you, and it's almost erotic the way it makes every particle in your body flutter. "Is that what you wanna be?"

Your breath hitches but you recover quickly, pretending to think. "What kind of perks does it come with?"

"For you, Miss L/N? Thousands—all sorts of insurance and benefits, deductibles.” His hands travel up to push your own dress shirt sleeves up your forearms, fingertips grazing the goosebumps against your skin. He takes a moment to revere the smoothness of your arms, the plushness of your thighs. “And I know a pretty good lawyer friend, in case you get screwed over."

"Ah, but I thought your friend only did criminal defense?"

"He makes exceptions, I think." Higuruma's thumb pulls at your bottom lip, tugging you down closer to him. "When the crimes are against someone so goddamn extraordinary."

"And this is where I come in?"

"Yes, honey, that’s where you come in."

"You think I'm extraordinary?"

He looks at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he’s told you a million times before, and he has, a million times and more. His fingers find their way to the back of your head, slipping into your hair, and he finally slots lips with yours, leaning up just slightly to deepen the kiss. He groans into your mouth, simply nodding at your question, not very interested in complete reassurance now that he can taste you—he hasn’t tasted you in a millennia, that’s what it feels like. “You’re a gem, sweetheart,” he mumbles into you, licking at your bottom lip for more, more, and more. “My little gem—my little English prodigy.” He smiles against your lips, kissing down your jaw and neck to tease and tamper. “You’re my smart girl, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

You whisper out what might be a yes, hands against his chest as he kisses down your shirt, unbuttoning slowly and then slower.

“Don’t ever let me forget it, yeah? You have no idea…how horrible it was. Going into work without seeing your pretty face, my pretty woman’s face. I feel like we should make it up to each other, it’s only fair.” His fingers hook along the opening of your top, sliding it off of your shoulders in a glacial pace, a painful sort of motion for you both. But he’s loving the way you’re squirming above him, right down on his crotch that he’s trying so desperately not to push back up into you. “What do you want from me?” he asks sweetly, his pointer fingers tucking themselves into the waistband on your work pants, tugging you back and forth, and back and forth along his growing erection, watching your polite, civil face start to falter on top of him. He smiles at the simple scrunch of your brows, the almost-pout in your bottom lip as he all but glorifies you. “What do you want me to do to you, baby?”

You continue to grind yourself against him, feeling his own hips shift underneath you to meet you halfway. He nods at the motion of your answer, hands flush against your hips and fingers digging into fabric as he guides you with him at the same rhythm, still following your lead. You can see an erratic nature creep up in his facial expression, his knuckles going white with how he’s pulling at your waistband, never quite ripping the pants off, but holding on just in case he has to. His bulge rubs up against your clothes cunt, the soak seeping through your underwear—he’s eyeing the space between you so carefully, imagining what that damp spot looks like on your panties, what it would taste like on his tongue. He humps up into your pussy a little quicker now, watching as you bounce up and down, shirt slipping further off, and tits threatening to pour out of your bra. He unclips the garment, tosses it off to the floor somewhere to free those beauties, immediately leaning up to suck on one as his hand makes its way to the other. He moans around your hardened nipple, still looking up at your whiny face. He sucks relentlessly and licks in swirls around both mounds before leaning back, hands returning to your hips. He watches your tits carefully as you move, feeling the tightness of his pants become almost unbearable. His brows furrow at the sight of you, letting pleasure take over as he stares, admires, nearly folds under the pressure.

“Can’t- fuck- can’t cum like this. I would, definitely could but. Too soon, don’t wanna cum too soon,” he notes, watching you slow to a stop while he’s still jerking up into you.

You laugh at the state of him, pressing your hands against his hips to offer aid, and even then he’s involuntarily trying to press closer, chase his high. You’ve stopped, but he can’t, not while you’re looking at him like that. “I’m not edging you, Mr. Higuruma. Take me how you want me.” You feel his warm knuckles glide along the skin of your waist, still pulling lightly at the fabric. Either he’s teasing or resisting, and neither will do. “You know, unless you’d like to get back to your work, I know how much you value it.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is!” he laughs, and it startles you a little, lights a fire up through your now exposed spine. He lifts you up then, flings you right over his shoulder like a bag of hay, like you weigh absolutely nothing, hoisting you both down the hall to his bedroom. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble, Miss L/N, I can’t believe you.”

“What, defense attorneys do arrests now?”

He places you on the large bed, hovering over your body to cage you in while he nods. “You’re a delinquent,” he mumbles, lips dragging down your abdomen, careful to place soft, wet kisses along every inch of shivering skin. His hands find purchase on the back of your knees, lifting to fold you just slightly. He has this look about him, something not quite brooding, bordering on the line of lustful, and it's so intimate it almost scares you. It is adoration, it is ardor. “Hanging out with those teenagers too much. They’re corrupting you.”

You laugh, shoving at his head a little, breath faltering when you feel his chuckle against your pants that he’s practically ripping off. “Oh, yeah? What are your clients doing to you then?”

“Corrupting me.”

Higuruma hums as he lifts your legs with one hand, tugging your pants off with the other. He tosses them to the floor (the crime scene is scattered everywhere), immediately kneeling to reach for your lace panties that he’s been thinking about all night, all week, every day since he last saw you. “This is where you want me?” he smiles, finger grazing over the wet fabric, pushing it to side to slide one finger against the slick. “She’s all ready for me, too, so well-behaved. Been staring at papers all week, almost forgot how easy she is for me—“

“Fuck you,” you groan, encasing your bottom lip in your teeth as his finger runs dangerously close to your entrance.

“Oh, I want you to, truly. Thought it be nice to be a gentleman, though—ladies first, right? Lift your hips for me.” You oblige, propping yourself up on your forearms to see him clearly as he tugs the lace down and off your legs. He holds them up to his nose while he watches you squirm, takes a deep inhale that almost makes him rolls his eyes all the way to the back of his head. He hadn’t gotten to smell you like this is days, it might’ve been considered cruel and unusual punishment. His free hand parts the lips of your cunt so he can examine, and he moans, letting your panties hang in his mouth by his teeth. "Fuck, it's been too long. A week is way too fucking long to be missing this.”

You’re whining, "Hiro, please,” as he insists on teasing you, stuffing your panties into his mouth as his own personal gag, a little treat while he takes care of the real thing. Your hips press up into his hand and he laughs around the fabric on his tongue, sucks at the slick with a near pornographic groan.

His two fingers slide in easily, palming himself through his dress pants with his other hand at the mere sight. He nods with you as his thick fingers push forward, the gummy walls of your pussy tensely squeezing him around him. He shushes at the pretty noises you’re making, curling his finger further. Higuruma is absolutely filthy like this, not so poised as he usually is when he’s near cumming in his pants just from watching you moan into the open air of his room, the noise filling his ears like sweet infestation. But he simply can’t help himself.

Can’t help himself from talking dirty either. “Missed this pretty pussy,” he mumbles, ripping the fabric out of his mouth to breathe properly. He licks another long stripe on the panties in his hands, trying not to grope himself with it. "Had to- fuck, look at you- needed you so bad last week when you rescheduled. Had to handle it myself with the last pair you left me, can you believe it?" His knee spreads your legs that are threatening to close, nodding at the familiar clench of your pussy around his fingers, the growing squelch of wet surrounding the point of connection. His voice grows husky as he watches you arch your back. "Imagined you just like this, letting go for me. Can you believe it, love? How desperate I was, and now I get to see you like this?" He smiles as he picks up the pace of his pistoning fingers, watching your eyes glaze over as you practically convulse. "You're so good to me, making my dreams come true."

And suddenly, it's all you can think about. Higuruma, in the shower, jerking his long and throbbing boner in the shower with one of your lacey panties you always seemed to forget at his place. His head tilted back against the shower tile, picturing you and only you while his rough hands tug and tug. Finally falling off the edge when he pictures your sweet orgasm, when he can practically taste it in his mouth. And his thick white cum is shooting against the shower wall, your name falling from his lips in breathy whines, over and over like aching prayers.

Your moans are as lewd as ever as you release around his fingers, sitting up to watch with him, the way everything spills out around his calloused hands. He never once lets your mess drip onto the sheets, what a waste that would be. You slump back into the bed, hands over your face as you try to catch your breath. He's speaking to you, asking you something so gently, but you can barely hear him, much too buzzed and deluded to come up with coherent thoughts and sentences. His hands glides up the warm flesh of your stomach and you feel his freed dick gliding against your thigh, a slightly cold contrast to the way your body is burning all over. His leaking tip trails along your skin as he hovers over you, letting his erection slide through your folds once, twice.

"You still want me inside of you?" he asks, lips against your ribcage. "Or did your hard work tire you out before I could get to you?"

His mocking tone vibrates against your skin, but you're pushing yourself up in spite of it. He laughs lowly, just under his breath, at your delirious, cock-drunk state before sinking into you, moaning when he feels you clamp around him. He works slowly and carefully to bottom out, making use of the already slick and slippery state of your pussy before he's kissing your cervix with his tip. He folds one of your legs over to give himself more space, allow for a better angle, and then he's letting you suck him in, reeling his hips back and forth to hear the way you moan, hear the way you haul him back in.

He moves your hands from tired face, watching the furrow of your brows, nodding with a cooed "I knooow, love, I know" as he watches you, picks up his pace.

His dick pulsates inside of you as he kisses up your chest, sharing that same fucked out look that you had. “Remember when I said you’d always be my smart girl?" he begins, grip on your hips growing tighter just slightly. "I’m starting to think I like fucking you stupid.”

But his words are a little unfair, a little hypocritical when you think about it. Because Higuruma, perhaps the smartest and most driven man you know, is babbling like a lovesick imbecile every time he's this deep inside you. When he's not huffing with every drag of his thick cock, he's a muttering mess, voice against your neck and in your ear, saying things that would usually make you both blush. But he's drunk off the way you're garnering him in, how messy it is, and whatever comes out of his mouth is essentially your fault, he thoughtfully concludes. It's all your doing, the reason he acts this way, and looks this way, and fucks you just right this way. Maybe if you weren't so perfect for him, neither of you would be in this predicament. You can feel the pressure all throughout your body like military explosives, leaning into the wet and sloppy kisses he leaves, just where your neck and shoulder join. His fingers digs into your sides and hips, and he gasps in between smooches and moans, losing himself in the way he's whispering to you like a frenzied idiot.

'You take me so well, my good girl.'

'Let me fill you up, just this once.'

'That's why you were so mean on Sunday, huh baby? Saying all that stuff about- oh fuck yeah baby, i've got you. Saying that stuff about my job. You just wanted me to fuck you like this, wanted my attention.'

'You're gonna take every last drop of me, aren't you?'

'Can't get enough of you—I've never loved anyone like I love you, I swear.'

The last one catches you off guard just slightly, not the content of his praise, but the way his own breath hitches when he admits it like all the times he's told you before simply weren't enough. You wrap your legs around him to keep your brain steady, but his pace is already faltering, and you're growing closer to your own orgasm again, quicker than the last time. And louder too. The slap of wet skin echoes throughout the room like music to your ears, and you're begging him to cum inside you before you can even really think about it. Your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer, and you press your lips against his cheek when you ask, voice soft and smooth like honey in his ears. His voice is strangled as he nods against the crook of your neck, kissing the skin quickly and fervently as his thrusts turn sloppy, veins still dragging against your walls and tip still pressing up against that sweet spot of your cervix as he moans into you, holds onto you for balance.

He chases his own high, gasping for air when he finally spills into you. The feeling alone has you following close behind, your nails clawing into his shoulder as you continue to milk him dry for everything he has. His hips keep a slow routine, stuffing the hot ropes of cum further into you, really letting it stick. He huffs above you, holding himself up by his forearms as he kisses around your face, moaning into the kiss on your lips like the soft feeling might make him cum all over again. His lazily peppered kisses slow to a halt and he leans his forehead against yours, eye searching your own.

"Wanna marry you...Miss L/N," he whispers suddenly, kissing you before you can even looked shocked. "You know I do. You know how much I love you, how much I mean it." He watches you nod slowly beneath him, trying to keep your eyes from widening so much. "Gonna marry you. Would quit my job to marry you—"

"Hiro—"

"If it got in the way of us even once...I'd find a way to make it work."

You shake your head and he almost freezes at the sight. "Our work means way too much to us, Hiromi. So there'll be no quitting." You thumbs glide against his cheeks gently and he leans into your touch. "Because we're not quitters. We're problem solvers, yeah? So...we'll just have to be ready to solve some problems. Come what may."

Higuruma smiles, sitting up and dragging you with him, right into his lap. He stares at you carefully, holding you close to him, chest to chest. "And you'd wanna do that? Work, and...problem solve?" No one had ever been willing to do that for him, with him. Not until you.

You nod like it's the most obvious thing in the world, the most sure idea you've had since you decided your calling was to teach. "I'm your smart girl, remember?" you tease, kissing his temple as he relaxes. "We're always gonna figure it out."

And this is enough to reassure him. He absentmindedly takes your hands in his town, thumb rolling over your left hand's ring finger.

He'd been uses to losing cases, it came with the trade. But losing you was not an option, not in the slightest.

Because he means it when he says he wants you in his life forever.

He laughs to himself, rolling his eyes playfully. “I was so sad we didn’t watch Real Housewives last night…”

You scoff at the confession. Your little Sunday night routine that he claimed to hate (too dramatic, those women). And here he was, missing it. Missing you.

“Hiro…you are so fucking weird.”

guess who's back! and feeling much better than i did last week.

i am a higuruma truther, he fills my nanami-filled heart, i can't even lie. so, hope you guys enjoy this and my future jjk stuff that's coming up (#can't stop thinking about season 3). let me know what else you guys would like to read and PLEASE give recs for jjk stuff bc i'm in a bit of a drought.

love, your pretty princess!

Still, and perhaps luckily, no one likes to ask Toph what she’s smiling about, as it could be anything.

Perhaps she feels the beating of someone’s heart change when breakfast is brought to the table. Perhaps she hears an unsavory conversation from three rooms down, something no one else is meant to hear.

And maybe, just maybe, she can sense the Fire Lord's burning gaze across the table, the heat of his eyes landing on one person in particular who just refuses to sit less than two seats away from him.

Even if none of the other gossip was buzzing about in the fire nation, the contents of you and Zuko’s arrangement could be caught and deciphered simply by that piercing gaze he shoots you, the one you try to ignore with the help of Katara’s beaming conversation.

Your friend is talking about water springs she wants to take the girls too, and spa days the Fire Nation’s ladies-in-waiting have planned, and the way her lover sent her flowers the other day—Aang just loves to find fire lilies and leave them in their guest chamber on Katara’s bedside table. But unfortunately for your friend, her voice wades in and out of your brain, your mind only able to retain bits and pieces. Though, it’s not really your fault.

How can anyone pay attention when the Fire Lord is looking at you like that?

Like he wants to stand up from his seat, grab you by the wrist, and lead you to some far part of the palace where absolutely no one would disturb you.

Well, it’s raunchy, is what it is—his look is deep, and dark, and perverted, and what’s terrible, what’s absolutely devastating, is that he can see the way you shift in your seat under his gaze, and you think this only entices him more. You're in the exact predicament he is in, just as disrupting and just as filthy. Still, you both have had yet to be alone since your last little excursion.

And while Zuko is patient as ever in your gentle hands…he is a lord. And he was a prince. And he is seldom ever prevented from getting what he wants.

Which is why it doesn’t at all surprise you when, at the very end of that endless week, you get a knock on your chamber door, just after dinner and just after you’ve walked Toph to her room and convinced her that you’ve been feeling fine (lying to your sister is not easy, but you sometimes deem it necessary). You open it with a carefulness, relief washing over you when it’s just a boy, a teenager, one of the cooks or manservants, perhaps checking if you need fresh bed linens or bringing you something you dropped or left in the drawing room or dining hall. However, this relief is cut short when the boy stands nervously at the door, clearing his throat to give a hushed announcement.

“The Fire Lord Zuko has requested your presence.”

Your eyebrow quirks as you look the boy up and down. You squint, looking past him down the empty hall, shaking your head. “In the dining hall?”

The boy shakes his head. He seems to be biting back a laugh, a smirk of some sort. The rumors and gossip have travelled far, you suppose, but you can’t let it be known how little the stories are actually rumors, genuine gossip.

“In his chamber, ma’am.”

You laugh a little, nodding carefully. Well, of course, that's where your presence would be requested. “It was urgent?”

“Seemed so, miss.” The boy paused, looking about the hall too. “He…called me in quickly. Said to drop whatever else I was doing and make sure I had no one stop me until I’d gotten to you. He seemed…”

“More bossy than usual?”

Well, the boy couldn’t possibly answer that, so he just looks at his shoes, lets you sit in silence a little more.

“If it was so urgent, why’d he send you to fetch me? Rather than make his way here?”

The boy finally looks up, shrugging. But he has his suspicions, you can tell. You give a look down the hall, nodding gently, coaxing an answer for your curious heart. You suppose it’s also fun to stall this eager lord, makes it all the more fun.

“I overheard…” The boy cleared his throat again, whispering lightly. “The Fire Lord likes to mumble to himself. In his chamber. I overheard him saying he was annoyed.”

“Annoyed?”

“With your behavior, miss.”

“My behavior?”

“He seems to know you’re ignoring him. His words, miss. He says that simply won’t do. Perhaps…he thinks…you’re less likely to ignore him in his chambers. Rather than yours.”

You hum, finally stepping out of your room and closing the door behind you. “I’m guessing he didn’t ask you to return with me? Only to make sure I go?”

The boy wiped his face to cover a growing smile. “You and the Fire Lord seem to know each other well.”

“You’ll promise not to tell anyone that he requested me?” You watch the boy nod reluctantly. You pout a little, sucking your teeth at his disappointed face. To be fair to him…if you were anyone else, you’d be alerting the town square as soon as possible. “You promise to only tell one person?”

This, he smiles at, nodding quickly. You shoo him off and he dashes to the nearest friend of his, biting his tongue in excitement as he turns a corner. And you are left to make the trek to the Fire Lord’s chambers.

The walk feels horribly long, or maybe it’s just these uncomfortable shoes you’ve been forced to wear all night. You nod to the maidservants still working through the halls, already whispering amongst each other and smiling at you cheekily—everyone knows, you keep thinking to yourself, absolutely everyone knows that you and Zuko are imagining ripping at each other’s clothes every single second of the day. You make an effort to ignore their falteringly polite stares, trying not to smile when you see the large door that does an increasingly poor job at keeping you away from the Fire Lord and his bed.

You knock gently, almost imperceptibly, and the door swings open with a certain kind of fire. You stare with wide eyes at one of the lord’s advisors, the man’s equally shocked and almost frazzled face as he scurries out the lord’s chamber, mumbling under his breath. You try to listen to his words carefully, the vibrations that they make against his swiftly beating heart. Words like 'insatiable' and 'inconsolable' are the most readily heard, but you think maybe Zuko is always described like that. More mumbles about the lord's 'refusal to listen' and his 'increasingly distracted demeanor'. You could blame yourself, but it might be more fun to tease him instead.

Zuko paces around the rooms, fumbling through papers, pajama pants hanging low on his waist as he practically floats about in frenzied motion. You'd slipped in through the door and closed it behind you several minutes ago, watching carefully at the strange nature of him. Your heels clack against the wood floor as you step further into the chamber, and only then does he look up, finally meet your eyes.

You stand sheepishly before him, your hands innocently behind your back. You bat your pretty lashes, a mischievously clueless pout on your lips. "I hear I'm in a bit of trouble."

His eyes are warm and dark as they rake over your dressed-up figure. "You have absolutely no idea." You nod carefully, slipping out of your heavy shoes as he stares, and stares, and stares. His smirk betrays him, and he's completely stopped fussing around his room, just taking his time to watch you place your shoes near the door, watching you sit carefully on his bed, hands on your covered knees. "Making yourself at home, my love?"

You tap your ear with your pointer before tilting your head slightly. "I'm listening." There's a guard or two whispering in the corridor. Their gossip with another one of Zuko's advisors is titillating, and their suppressed laughter pushes up against the atmosphere of the hall. "Apparently, my lordship, you've postponed three different proposals today alone. Important things, too, like dinners with other nations, meetings with suitors---"

"I don't have suitors, I'm---"

"Well, of course not, you've declined all of their invitations!" You laugh, and the noise makes his heart beat so fast, it's impossible to ignore it. "You should try to be funnier. If you like to hear me laugh so much."

Zuko knows it's just a tease from your ever-unserious lips, but he nods reverently anyway, finally letting him walk towards you. "Who's saying all of these...incredibly untrue things?"

"Your advisor, a few paces from the door. They're coming to argue with you some more, try to get you to change your mind." Your eyes make a quick glance to the room's entrance, and you sigh a little. When you look back, Zuko's right in front of you, his hands drifting to your shoulders, fingers warm and coarse as they drift across the exposed skin. "But...if your reason for requesting me is very distressing, my lord, I can...make them go away."

Zuko nods, humming some sort of approval, dark eyes laying waste upon your silhouette. "You've been wearing such pretty dresses this week. To torture me, I think." He dips his head and his lips brush against the shell of your ear, breath almost faltering. "I'd really like to take it off of you now."

You wave your hand, and all there is to show for it is the sounds of the muffled bumping of bodies against each other, struggles of men trying to resist some kind of gravitational pull, and running, lots of running in the complete opposite direction to avoid whatever frozen fate these bones are in. It's a nice trick, you think. And certainly necessary for right now. Zuko smiles as he parts your legs with his own, squatting down to nudge himself between your thighs. He drags the hem of your dress up until it's bunching at your goosebump-covered hips, his nose sniffing up the scent of you.

"Wanna taste."

You laugh at the bluntness of his voice, his eager hands. You let your fingers rake through his hair, pulling him up to look at you again. "First...won't you tell me why you've been such a pain for all of your colleagues?"

He scoffs lazily, nosing at your clothed arousal, teeth nipping at the lace once or twice. "Don't you know?" He looks up through his long lashes as you shake your head, trying not to squeeze your thighs together. "You've been mean. Couldn't focus on anything these annoying people were talking about in the meantime." His teeth graze against the skin of your thigh, switching between bites and kisses that leave you shivering just slightly. "Why have you been mean to me all week, huh? I thought I made it all better."

Your hands fall to the bedsheets, gripping the fabric in your fingers. "I haven't been mean, Zuko. I've---"

"You don't have to explain." Zuko takes the edge of your panties, helping you lift your hips between tugging them down your legs with a slick kind of ease. "I'll make it better again, I swear. Just let me make you feel good, yeah?" He tosses the panties up on the bed, looking at you softly again, lips pressed up against your already wet cunt. "I can make you feel good. Okay?"

Now, who can say no to that face?

After an assuring nod from you, he dives tongue-first into the lips of your sweet pussy. He licks up the already forming juices that are slowly dripping onto his bedsheets, thumb languidly rolling over your clit in a smooth and simple circular motion. Your breath starts to quicken as you watch between him and the door, not sure if you remembered to lock it or not. He smiles against you, chin already starting to get sticky.

"They won't bother us, my love, it's alright," he assures, kissing your bud before thumbing it again, mouth closing over your leaking hole. You gasp into your hands, feeling his own palms hold your legs apart to keep from strangling him. "Be loud," he mumbles into you, sucking gently as his warm, soft tongue slips carefully in and out of you. Your hips twitch beneath him, and he grips firmly, thumbs gliding against the plush skin of your legs. He parts from you briefly, lips glistening with your slick as he speaks. "Come on, baby, you've been mute all week. Be a little loud for me here."

Your head dips back as you let your hands fall again, the soft moans drifting past your lips like a song in Zuko's ears, the tune encouraging him to work just a little harder. He sucks more vigorously, moving to your clit and replacing his tongue with his fingers, smiling up at you as they slip in and out of your pussy, digits curling in against the spongy walls. Your legs start to shake as that bubbly feeling grows inside of you, your hands flying down to grip his shoulders so you can catch yourself.

"Fuck- Zuko."

"Yes, baby, let it out for me." He lifts his head up to see you more clearly, holding one hand as the other works through you, patiently, expertly, slow and steady, his lips leaving hot, open-mouth kisses against your chest and up to your neck. "Come on my hands. Let me help you, my love. Come for me, right here."

You bite back your final scream of a moan, pressing your lips against his to muffle even a little bit. You're left a whining mess as you finally release, lips pouting against his as he continues to move his fingers through you, his free hand rubbing down your hair to soothe.

"So good f'me, my love," he coos before finally slipping his hands out of your tightening pussy, licking at his fingers between you both before feeding you some of your juices, nodding as you suck tenderly on his middle and ring. "That's all you wanted, wasn't it? Wanted me to make you feel so good---I make you feel so good, don't I?"

"Yes, Zuko, fuck-, yes, you make me feel so good. Every time." Your hands go back to gripping his shoulders, eyes glazed over in ecstasy. You press his forehead against his. "Was that for me to feel better, or you?"

Zuko clicks his tongue, kissing at your cheeks softly. "I guess I've been a bit of a brat lately to my counsel." His lips hover over your own as he breathes you in again, fingers digging into the skin of your hips to keep you from leaving. "I shouldn't punish them for my own preoccupation." His grin widens a little against you, seemingly moving closer. "But if they'd seen you like this, surely they'd understand---"

"You can't be getting distracted by people like this."

He does this boyish roll of his eyes, one that makes you laugh without trying. "I was only distracted when you stopped standing next to me in group settings."

You think back to the week of his stares from across the palace, his pauses in conversation when you walk into a room, his stuttered words when you walk past him towards the girls, and his fingers gently brush against your arm, not to stop you, just to feel your skin against his in even the simplest of ways. And he doesn't know it, but your heart races when he touches you like that, when you have to walk by without saying a word. But despite your previous conversation, in that godforsaken corridor that Toph had forced you both into, you couldn't make conversation with Zuko. You couldn't, because when you did, it came out too intimately, too affectionate for it to be friendly. And while Zuko had assured the nation meant nothing compared to you, the nation did matter, and his leadership even more so. You couldn't be a distraction; it wouldn't sit well with you knowing that you were. But now, perhaps in avoiding what you thought was the inevitable, you had willed it into existence. His absentminded, inattentive, daydreaming blur of a week, all because you'd only shared a few 'hellos', 'how are yous', and 'the weather's nice today'.

Still, you can't help but feel eternally guilty. "You're rarely listening to people talking to you if I'm even in the same room."

"So, I'm bad at multi-tasking, is that a crime?"

"When you're the lord of an entire Nation? Yes, it absolutely should be a crime."

"My crime, not yours." He kisses along your jaw, carefully to be sweet and not leave marks, but wanting to, wanting to so very badly. "Your crime is...being so utterly perfect and not letting me have my hands on you every five seconds---not letting me talk to you every waking moment. I can handle my responsibilities, I don't need you...removing one for my sake."

"I can't be your responsibility, Zuko, not when you have so many others."

"That's not something you get to decide."

"It's actually the only thing I get to decide!"

He pauses, moving his head to look at you sternly. "If I pull the lord card just this once...will you hate me forever?"

"Zuko..."

"I don't care about my duties if you're not speaking to me. None of those duties matter if you're not by my side. I won't take that for an answer from you anymore---as an order, if it means more to you than just my word. So, if you have any other reasons for avoiding me, besides my responsibilities and duties as a lord, then I suggest you voice them now."

You smile, holding his head in your hands. "You make me nervous, my lord."

"You have no idea how mutual the feeling is. And I think if you ignore me any longer, the entire nation might fall from how fearful I am that you don't want me as much as I want you." He kisses at your palms and wrists, sighing contently. "Do you? Want me?"

You nod. "Disgustingly, I think. I almost feel bad for hiding it so well."

Zuko laughs, hands gliding up and down your legs. "Well...what do you say to maybe...making it up to me?" His lips press against your collarbone, pulling himself up from the floor as he kisses against your neck. "With our clothes off, preferably?"

You pretend to think about it for just a moment longer, feeling him climb into the bed fully, pulling you on top of him with a rigid sort of ease. "We could work something out." You wave a threatening finger in his face, smiling down at him as his hands guide you onto his lap, your still wet cunt already dripping onto his loungewear. "If...you can promise to listen to your advisors from now on."

He nods, lifting you up onto your knees before he starts to slip out of his pants and underwear, still staring up at you. "Mmm, any other stipulations?"

"Yes. You have to make an effort to actually pay attention to other conversations other than mine."

He kicks his clothes off, slowly stroking at his now-free length, pumping once, twice, three times as he smiles up at you. "What else, my love?"

"You can't stare every five seconds if we're talking to other people."

"Hmm, getting a little hard there, my love," he objects, reaching up to grip your hip again. "Your demands, I mean."

"And you have to accept at least one invitation."

He positions his tip directly at your entrance, swirling tauntingly before sinking you down at a slow, tender pace. He gasps with you at the familiar and missed feeling, watching you gradually lower yourself to chase the sensation, inching closer and closer to bottoming out. He shakes his head at your last requests, hands on your hips and he helps you adjust to the feeling.

"I thought...you were a- fuck- a social guy, Zuko," you joke, hands sliding up his abs and to his chest, his own hands following suit against your skin, lifting at the fabric of your dress. "A couple dinners with a few colonies won't hurt. Wouldn't you say?"

"Take this off," he says firmly, squeezing the bottom hem. "Please, I wanna see you." He lets out a slow breath through his nose when you oblige, watching you slip it off carefully over your head, tossing it onto his floor to be scrambled up later. That's if you managed to sneak out like a one-night stand again, though it was unlikely Zuko was going to let that happen. His hands gripped your waist, pressing you further into him, if it were at all possible to be any closer. He watched you settle against him again, adjusting your angle as your hands ran against his muscled arms. "I like that red you've been wearing."

You rolled your eyes, unable to give him any sort of satisfaction. "More of an auburn, I think."

"You look good in the fire nation's colors, Y/N."

You pause at the sound of your name against his lips, fixing your posture with a shy smile. You lean down and hear his breath hitch, your lips resting against his temple. "I could wear it more often...at those dinners with the colonies that you're going to accept."

"You could wear them if you were part of the fire nation."

The words make you clench around him without thinking, and his hips stutter, pressing up into you in a way that makes you fall forward completely, gripping his forearms for support. You're unable to even process his words as his hips start to roll up into you, encouraging you to match his pace with your own. You push yourself up, bouncing and rolling at this angle as his hands guide you by the waist, feeling him twitch from the inside just at the sight of you here on top of him. You whine, throwing your head back as his grip tightens, the two of you meeting your motions in the middle as his dick stretches you out perfectly, as your walls wrap and fit around him just perfectly. He watches as you use him, watching your tits bounce with the rest of you as you move and chase the last high that had finally died down. His hands moved restlessly around your body, working to feel every inch of skin that he possibly could before the moment was over.

"What if you were?"

You can barely clear your head enough to hear his question, your mind struggling to find an answer. "What?" is all you can seem to come up with, legs already growing tired as Zuko starts to put in more than half of the work, and happily, too, as he thrusts up, invigorated by the steady slap of his hips against your ass in his swift and rhythmic motions.

"Part of- holy shit- if you were part of...the fire nation. Fuck- please baby, keep going, keep going, you've got it." He nods with you as you help meet his pacing, nails digging into his shoulders and chest to prop you. "Yes, baby, you've got it. You're doing so good, huh? S'good. Making it up to me perfectly. Such a good girl---"

"What do you mean- nngh- be a part of the fire nation?"

He laughs at your struggling words and breath, holding your hips down against him as he jerks himself up, watching your mouth fall open to moan against your arm. "You can...be with me. By my side, here. None of my advisors would complain if you were making all the decisions with me."

You laugh too, briefly, before you feel his pace quicken, your pussy tightening around him firmly as if to squeeze whatever he had built up this week out of him. "Me? A royal advisor?" You roll your eyes, leaning forward into him as he wraps his arms around you. "You- fuck- you're fucking- ffffuck- insane."

"I know, I know---just let it go, baby, let it go on me." He held you a little closer, kissing across your face as his hips faltered, still hammering into you from below. "Come with me again. Just- shit- one more, let it go for me."

You nod against his chest, grinding against him a little more before you release, clenching around him again as you lift yourself to ride it out. Your hands grip his legs behind you as his hips stutter some more, slowly spilling out ropes and ropes of cum inside of you, the pressure overfilling with your own liquids, the two pooling under you and around his dick. He's frantic in swiping it up with his thumb, sucking on your juices once again, like a man and his last meal before death. Just as you're about to lift yourself off, he holds your hips down, shushing at your silent squirming at the slight overstimulation. He thrusts just slightly into you, hips rolling lazily up against yours as he speaks.

"Not just an advisor. The advisor," he corrects breathlessly, caressing your legs to pacify your shaking thighs. "My...you could live here. With me. In the throne next to mine. The Fire Lady of the nation. My Fire Lady."

You shift above him, staring with wide eyes at his words. Still, he mindlessly grinds against you, leaving you tender and hot all over. "Can we have this conversation while you're not inside of me?"

"I thought those were the best circumstances."

"Mhm, I'm sure you did." You lift yourself off of him carefully, pouting briefly at the feeling before he lays you down beside him, turning the two of you over to face the other. He rests his hand in your hair, thumb running across your cheek and jaw while you're both still trying to catch your breath a little. You can see it in his eyes, he wants to go again, but there's a much more pressing matter than his dick that's still touching your thighs. "My lord. You...do know that I'm an earthbender...right?"

He nods carefully, thoughtfully as he draws himself closer. "We could use someone like you. Someone strong. Serious. Good head on your shoulders. Someone who knows how to focus...unlike me, clearly. Someone who lead."

"What makes you think I can lead a nation? I'm not even leading the Earth Kingdom."

"You and your sister can literally move mountains," he protests. "I think you can be anything." He kisses you softly, lips traveling across the rest of your face as some consolation for the hard-hitting question he's shot you with. "I think...we work well. When we're working together---when we let ourselves be together. And I know you'd never let me leave the nation to be in the Earth Kingdom with you, so...I though maybe...you could come to me. And live here all year, not just in the summer. And help me decline dinner invitations, and make decisions for our education system, and make deals with colonies. All the boring responsibilities, but...it would be with you, that's all I want. You, absolutely you."

You turn to lie on your back, staring up at the ceiling in thought.

You? A lady? Of the Fire Nation?

His lips press against your neck gingerly, humming against your skin. "You have all summer to think about it. And every summer after that. I've never minded waiting." He kisses up your jaw and to your lips, pulling you closer. "Not when it's you. My lady."

guys. my hiatus has a good excuse i SWEAR. i'm only a humble college student, but this is what i have. will DEFINITELY make a part four within the next week after i get over this cold :/

as always, let me know if u guys want more of this, and always feel free to leave suggestions for more stuff!

love, your pretty princess!

Today, as you sit against the headboard and stare at him, your habitually empty face gazes upon him with an odd sort of disgust. He breathes, slow and deep, dreaming.

Do you know what 'Kenjaku' means?

For the Buddhist, it is a lasso which ropes stray spirits. The catching and binding of souls. To save them.

Sometimes, when the room goes eerily quiet, and when the wind whistles silently through like it's begging to be noticed, and when his heartbeats slows into relaxation...you can see something erratic in nature trying to escape. His bones appear to move beneath flesh. And his heart rate spikes up again, bumping and bumping about by his lungs. And he shifts, struggling against his slimy, pale skin. And his lips quiver, as if trying to mumble.

Suguru Geto tries very, very hard to mumble. And when you look so horribly upon the man before you, Suguru looks back somehow, you know he can, underneath all that flesh, and heart, and skin, and lips, and he tries very, very hard to escape.

A soul.

Caught.

Waiting to be freed—

"You stare relentlessly."

You continue to blink your eyes at him. The movement beneath his skin has been subdued. You are alone with its shadow.

"I wish you would die."

Kenjaku huffs out a laugh, opening his eyes to see you, the polite frown of distaste on your mouth as the words leave your tongue. He blinks too, testing. He pats the bed softly, encouraging you to lie and sleep with the beast. He looks very much like Suguru when he does that, their expressions so very close in nature.

Still. Not quite close enough.

You let out a slow breath, hand resting over his before it squeeeezes, just shy from being too tight of a grip. "I wish I could take your brain...and feed it to the immortal birds that have watched you sin…time and time again." You tap his hand, sliding it upon his face and reaching for the stitch marks across your old lovers forehead. Your voice lowers to some sweet whisper, something breathy that doesn't exactly reach that dead skin of his. "Would you let me?"

"You know, I could eat you whole—"

"I've been asking you to. Haven’t I?”

He makes a perverted face, one that is tender in impossible sorts of ways. He takes your wrist without a need for strength, kissing along it gently. His lips are cold and dry, but they look like Suguru's in the winter time, when you'd begged him to wear chapstick or lick your Burts Bees off of your lips. You wonder if the body next to you remembers that too, like he seems to remember everything other virtue and vice from before. You wonder if he thinks about that pomegranate smell, or the sticky feeling of your lipgloss remnants. The memory is somewhere very deep in the back of his mind, and very close in the forefront of yours. The memory, like everything else of fate, has kept you both miles apart from each other.

"Do you imagine him when you ask me?" His tongue glides along the warm and lively vein of your forearm—he is jealous, you think, of this warmth, and these veins, and the fact that you breathe differently than he does. His breathing is rehearsed. It is fake, a lie. Yours is necessary, almost dangerously so. Yours is very easily taken away, especially when he bites down softly upon the skin of your bicep. "Do you imagine his head between your thighs—"

"I hate you."

"The bites against your neck—"

"Kill yourself."

"The way he ate your home cooked meals all those days he couldn't bring his weak body to stand from his bed—"

Your hands are quick to wrap around the man's neck, straddling him and staying firm, precise fingers curling into the soft and fragile skin that sits there, waiting so impatiently to dissipate and deteriorate from existence. Your face is blank again, it has been for years now, and you wait for the smallest sign of life that you know will never come. You use every bit of strength you have, imagining your fingers sucking into meat and muscle, tickling bone marrow and the thick liquid of blood. It makes your heart race like something terrible, like something very evil. And you had never been evil, you’d thought. But Suguru had never been evil either. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps he had been confused, hurt. Perhaps he had been overwhelmed with the suddenly volume of pointlessness that the world had to offer.

But never evil.

Kenjaku smiles.

He smiles so fucking lovingly.

His hands reach up to squeeze yours hips, rubbing softly upon your bare skin, nodding delicately. He looks like someone you know just then. Someone you loved very dearly, maybe too much. Suguru's face is looking up at you, you're staring at it and hoping that the life fades from his eyes despite the slow shattering of your heart in its cage. And Kenjaku knows that, he always knows who's loved and who isn't. The ones who are loved are much more fun, he'd once admitted, the ones who are loved fight more. But there is hardly any fight left in this dead man's soul, hardly anything left of his at all. Still, that expression, something about it freezes you up. Your fingers loosen without meaning to.

Somehow, even with your body atop of his, and your hands at the arteries of demise, he seems to have the upper hand.

Well, how do you kill a body that's already dead anyway?

There really is no point in crying, and yet, it's almost impossible not to. He raises himself into a seated position, pulling you into his cold arms, and shushing. This particular movement frightens you, it always does, because your nights always seem to end like this. He coos against your temple, rubbing your back and trapping you into his embrace, humming softly to calm you. The tune he hums is familiar, a song that he probably shouldn't know, but does anyway. And rocks you from side to side, one hand slipping beneath your shirt for some sort of skin-to-skin, and the other pressing your head into the crook of your neck to stop you from crying any longer.

And it's working, you think you're more upset that it actually works on you.

The world is ending because of the man beneath you, and here, he's holding you like a baby, and you're letting him, because what else can you do?

Kill him?

No.

Not only because you can't.

But because his eyes are someone else's.

"Why won't you just die?" you manage to sputter into his chest, squeezing at your now wet shirt. "Please, just let him die. You’re ruining his body. You’re dirtying him up. Please. That's all that I'm asking—I'd do anything, anything you want if you just let him go." You lift your head up quickly, wiping your face like a toddler so that your eyes aren't blurry, so that you can look at him clearly. "You can have my body. You can have my brain instead—you said you liked being able to make children! You said—God, your fucking womb envy—you said the boy you created, how spectacular it was, how extraordinary! You could use me! You could use me all you want—hell, I'll kill myself now and let you do it right here!"

"Stupid child—"

"I'm not stupid!" You shove at his chest despite his firm and steady grip on your arms, trying to free yourself like some rabid animal. "I'm not stupid, you're a thief! You took him from us, from me! Take me! Me, please, me, take me and release him! You don't need him anymore, I know you don't need him. I'm just as good as him—I can be perfect for you! I would do anything you ask, without fighting, without resistance. I could be perfect."

Kenjaku shakes his head and it shuts you up almost entirely. "Dead people are perfect. No resistance at all."

"Suguru resists—I've seen him resist—"

"And you see it less and less everyday, don't you?" He tilts his head at you, brows in question. His hands slide up to reach your face, holding your head in his palms gracefully and then with that same firm and serious caress. "Do you know what I really need from you, little dove?" He holds your shaking head, forcing it to nod. "I need you...to stay right here. And to stay for a long time."

His fingers tap against your cheeks as he stares across your face, examining the figure before him. You have always fascinated him, he always says that and means it. You wouldn't know why, he'd always seem to leave that part out, but he'd kept you around when you had no real plans of leaving. And he frequently sat before you, just to watch, just to explore and inspect.

"I have...ideas," he grins. "Plans. For this new world. We're not so sure what it'll look like, with all the useless monkeys gone, and humanity at its absolute highest potential. But I think we will need more experimentation."

He lifts one finger to press against your heart, his nail creating a faint line upon your skin. It burns, just slightly, before he reels it back, sighing. "This...intrigues me. Yours specifically. I would like to know more about it. Without...ripping it out of your body and seeing for myself."

He smiles again. "Yet."

The room is silent again. Cold, and gross, and void of life in every way possible. You suppose to only actually living thing is you, and even that part seems to dwindle. Kenjaku tries very hard to keep you going, keep you in tact, but he never really has the same affect as Suguru used to. His trying is often in vain.

And yet. You're still here.

Living with some ghost.

"You'll sleep." He nodded demandingly, lifting you up and placing you beside him, burying you both beneath the covers. He places his palm against your chest, where your heart still beats fiercely, lying down comfortably beside you. "You'll give me one more day."

He always says that. Your nights always ends like this.

How many days had it been?

He drifts off into slumber at the sound of your steady breathing.

You wait patiently for Suguru to poke out from beneath him. To replace the figure next to you.

But it's just a ghost.

well hello friends :)

more of my jjk stuff because the third season hurt me terribly.

there will be more parts because I really like this sort of plot line, but they will most likely be the same length and may alternate between the reader's past relationship with suguru and her current "relationship" with kenjaku. let me know if you guys are liking this idea!

tags: @maavro @iloveme46 @leonotlara @mikaiswolfsbane

A ridiculous notion, you'd shooed it from your brain as quickly as the idea had sprung up. Ignoring that hitch in his breath when you'd undone his updo, running your fingers through those raven locks whilst he rested beside you for bed.

You continued your book that you had once been immersed in, but not with as much fervor as before, now slightly distracted as you listened for a change in your lover's breathing. You'd noticed a shift in his posture, how he'd stopped lazily reading along with you, now just sitting against the headboard beside your figure, eyes traveling up and down and up and down.

You smiled and he caught this quickly, leaning into the touch of your hand a little more.

"Your day was well, my lord?" Your voice broke through the previously warm silence, never taking your eyes off of the pages.

But you could still feel the way Zuko's eyes burned against your skin, his hand slowly making its way under the covers and onto your thigh, moving your nightgown up and up and up. He hadn't answered with more than a hum, and you huffed out a laugh, flipping to the next line.

"Not much to report then?"

Again, a small hum, something disgruntled as you brushed your fingers through his soft strands, nails scratching against the very back of his head, just above his neck and shoulders. He was growing warmer in the face, close to his ears, and you could feel it. Your husband, a nervous wreck? Well, that just couldn't be. Zuko had never been much for shyness, and while that temper had subsided with age, a blush was rarely worn, and not with such vulnerability.

"Is it sleep that keeps your from conversation?" You finally turn your head to face him, and a smooth sigh falls from his lips, like he'd been itching for you to look in his direction just once, just for a second, and that would've been enough. "I can leave you to sleep, if you'd like."

"I'd burn cities if you left me," he mutters, leaning his head back into your fingers some more, hoping for friction. "I am comfortable."

So, you nod and continue your reading, leaning closer so that he might join again too, rather than stare so feverishly.

The hand that lies in his messy hair has come to a slow halt as your eyes move along the page, now distracted by the story and more or less forgetting about the man that sits beside you. Failing to notice that hurt, needy look on his face when you stop moving your hands. He rubs his head against your palm again, to no avail, letting out a childish huff.

He whispers your name gently, and you hum back, copying his previous silent attitude. You mumble something about almost being done, but this brings him no sort of satisfaction. Almost done could've meant hours before you'd closed that book, and that simply wouldn't do. He needed his head scratched now, he burned with the feeling.

Zuko tried to sit still for a moment, he really did. He wasn't always so dramatic about these sorts of things, but now, he couldn't help himself.

It's not long before he's taking the book, marking where you'd left off, and throwing it sliding it along the floor. His lips make a tight, curt line as he moves and lays right on top of you, head on your chest and placing your hands right where they belonged.

"Zuko—"

"Much better," he sighed dreamily, nuzzling his head just below your breast bone, against your ribs and crushing into your lungs with his weight ever-so-slightly. His voice rumbles against your chest, sending vibrations through your whole body. "Morning time is better for reading anyway."

You closed your gaping mouth, accepting your fate as you ran your fingers through his hair again, braiding and then unbraiding, humming some quiet little song to lull him. You twirled the hair in your fingers and felt his breath coming to a slow, calm rhythm.

And he had almost fallen straight to sleep, if not for the accidental tug you gave at the very top of his head.

You mumbled out a quick and babbled apology, rubbing his hair down again to remedy the offense, but something in the atmosphere had changed, almost drastically. You felt a heat start to fall into you from his body, and when your hands grazed against his back, he was hot to the touch, stiffening at the feeling of your finger pads against his shoulder blades.

"Zuko?"

"Hmm?" He went to lift his head before quickly deciding against it, resting back down atop of you.

His hands rest upon your thighs reassuringly, rubbing them softly in a cadence that you followed, back into his hair like nothing had happened. But his body was still stiff. And you know he felt warmer, you were certain of it.

Well, it's not like you knew for sure why he'd reacted that way.

So, of course, the only logical plan of action was to...test it out.

You continued your previous rhythm for a moment, a couple scratches here and there, a few twirls and twists. And then a tug, just one, just to see what might happen. And who could blame you for being so curious?

Certainly not Zuko, who had let a low groan slip from him, hips shifting slightly above the covers.

You hadn't expected that.

So you tug again, a little harder while still being careful with him, and that's what elicits what you swear is a moan if you had been listening close enough. Your eyes go wide with surprise and before Zuko can try to explain himself, you pull again, completely lifting his head off of your chest, holding him in the air by a fistful of black as if his head hadn't had a body at all. Oh, but it did, because you felt that body above you, growing warm and then warmer, hips pressing down against you like instinct.

"Wait-, fuck—"

You laugh at him, you really can't help it, and this only earns a sort of pout threatening to form, his brows knitting together at the very center as he looks up at you through those gorgeous lashes.

"You like when I pull your hair, my lord?"

You pull again, a little higher so he's eye-level with you, and his hips move with him, right against your leg, once, twice, and a third like it's uncontrollable. And perhaps it is, because Zuko lets himself whine in your grasp, hands holding himself up against the mattress and gripping the sheets like he's forcing himself not to rut against your leg like a dog in heat. You extend your arm and lunge it forward, pulling him back so that his head tilts towards the ceiling, watching the slow movement of his Adam's apple when he gulps. He's breathing heavily, one arm steadying himself and the other gripping your thigh, fingers digging into your plush skin.

"Please-, more, please—"

You smile sort of evilly and that sad, hopeful look on his face just contorts further, repositioning himself so that you might have a better angle to pull from. He struggles against your hand, resting his nose in the crook of your neck, kissing softly and then frantically when he notices you haven't moved at all, arm still frozen and locked in the same spot it was minutes before. But he needed you to pull again, and he needed it badly.

"Need it," he nods against your skin, feeling you pet his head briefly before holding a handful of his hair, rubbing it through your fingers as he spoke. "Love when you- hngh- pull my hair, my love, s'good."

You couldn't imagine that, the way he said it so peacefully, so eagerly. You'd had your fair share of bad hair days, combs getting caught and stuck, hair getting tangled in bed or within your clothes when you tried to remove them. And yet, Zuko was begging for it, some newfound idea bouncing around in his head and spreading like wildfire.

"Feels like this-" You felt a sudden rush of heat against your lower stomach, just above your measly excuse for undergarments, and Zuko's hands pressed against your skin, sending that warmth straight through. You clamped your thighs shut instinctively and he nodded again, lips pulling into a smile against your temple. "S'good, right? Feels good? Please, my love, just a little. Only need a little, please."

And who were you to reject that low and whiny tone in his voice?

You pulled his head back again with a harsh yank and he groaned, hands gripping into your stomach, thumbs brushing downward. He sat back and pulled you into his lap, holding you against the tent growing in his own undergarments, sighing happily when you'd settled your weight on him so that he could feel that familiar wetness just between your legs as you straddled. You wouldn't admit that you liked this just as much as he did, mostly because you couldn't. No one was having more fun than Zuko was, that was so embarrassingly obvious.

Still, with every tug of his hair, he found himself bucking up into you uncontrollably, the friction of your clothing between the two you just enough to meet that feeling in his head right now. He moved one hand from your waist to dip down and into your underwear, sighing again at the slick feeling.

"S-shit, Zuko—"

He shook his head quickly, taking one of your hands and using it to palm against his clothed length, already hard and bulging, already weeping with precum under your touch. "No need to be shy, my love. It seems I'm in the same predicament."

One hand continues to slide along your folds while the other encourages you to feel the way his body searches for you, his hips jerking up and up to feel your hand glide against him. You don't protest when he takes your hand and slips it into his pants, watching his gasp and throw his head back when you finally touch him, curling your fingers around the very base of his pulsing veins. You had seldom seen your lord struggle to keep his composure like this, but he was completely undone now, wrapped around your finger and biting at his lip at the feeling on both of your hands, both tugging.

His grunts fill the otherwise quiet room, staring deep into your eyes and you keep pulling his head away every time he tries to kiss you. He'll lean in close, breath mixing with yours and then tug, like it's funny, like you're having a grand old time making him look like this, all disgustingly needy, a little whimpering mess. And you are, you can feel it in your heat beneath you, the way he slips one, then two digits deep inside, and you're riding them heartily, like it's second nature.

"S'good, my love," he nods, twitching against your palm, lips finally meeting your nose before he's pulled away again. "S's-oft. You're so- shit- ah you're so good. S'good, feels s'good."

He's a babbling, blubbering mess, feeling you pause with one hand to pull with the other, forcing himself closer to you with each separate movement, trying to make you quicken the pace against his cock or strengthen the tug against his hair. And all the while, his fingers dig painstakingly slow against your clit, in small circles and then along the slick that keeps building between the two of you, the sounds of wet desire pulsating throughout the room in a steady sort of hum. The two of you, in perfect synchronization, as you do most things.

"She's so ready f'me," he says lowly, smiling boyishly down at your cunt, dipping fingers back in, making you pick up your own pace in response. "Just from making me feel good. So fucking wet f'me already." He's grinding his hips up into your fist, trying to move past them so that his greedy tip might get just a taste of what's so eagerly waiting for him. "You like touching me like this?"

And you can't help but nod, because you do, and his fingers are so deep, and you're riding them messily, tugging his head back so you can kiss that the sensitive part of his neck, just below his ear.

"No need to try and take the attention off yourself, pretty." He looks down between the two of you again, in some sort of awe. "I know- ah- what she wants. Can- fuck- feel her sucking me in." And if Zuko could, if he really wanted to, his jerking hips would've pushed past your fists a long time ago, his dick searching for that smooth feeling deep inside of you that his fingers were seemingly preparing you for. For now, you hand was enough, more than enough as his entire body seemed to stutter with every pull and caress of your thumb, every long glide against his shaft and that slitted tip. His dick is practically drooling, awaiting its sweet release that he's just inching closer and closer and closer to.

You feel yourself let out your own strangled whines as you grind against him a little faster, quickening the pace of your hands so that he might do the same.

And he reacts perfectly, driving his fingers almost all the way out and then hard and fast back in, deeper each time.

The hand that's on your waist falls against the sheets and the gripping of fabric is natural until it...isn't. There’s a windy sound beside you both, his head falling forward as your look up, sensing something off.

"Zuko?" You halt your movements just slightly, sniffing at the air.

Burning.

Fire.

Zuko was much to busy to notice, fucking up into your first repeatedly, rushing to meet where his fingers were plunging into you, throbbing along the crevices of your hand and shifting closer, and closer, and closer.

But the sheets were burning. He was actually burning the sheets below him, without even fully realizing. That had to be fixed soon, discussed even sooner, if you ever made it out of this room alive. You looked into your husband's dark eyes, all filled with lust and pride, and you knew how unlikely it might've been.

Still, you'd eventually forgotten to mind as well, free hand flying to his shoulder as he continue to jolt, the fingers within your dripping hole feeling warmer too, not so hot as to burn, but enough to feel it all within you, to bring you so so close to eternal damnation. You felt yourself start to break and before you could even say anything, even register that you were close, Zuko nodded, locking his lips with yours and practically eating your moans as you came down, still riding your high out along his fingers, feeling his own ruts only falter slightly before you'd both stilled.

All of a sudden, and with a filthy suck of his fingers, he'd placed you along the bed, holding both of your hands in the air to wait. You stared curiously through hazy and glossed-over eyes, to which he grinned, one hot hand spreading your legs apart, and the other holding his dick steady at your entrance, ready to slide in with an impeccable sort of ease.

"You pull," he commanded gently, bowing his head to you so that you might make great use of your new handle bars. "I'll do the rest."

zuko smut, zuko smut, zuko smut, zuko smut, zuko sm---

I haven't written actual smut in maybe three years so bare with me guys pls

And when your dad, Satoru Gojo, said that he'd invited one of his very best friends over for the day—to check out the newly renovated pool in the backyard and crack open the grill that was only used on special occasions—well, you couldn't help but let a little blush grow on your cheeks. You did your icy white hair real nice, put on your waterproof mascara, and wore Nice Bikini, the one that your dad would scold you for at fourteen, saying you'd need a refund because they left out some of the fabric.

But you weren't fourteen anymore.

You were an adult now, maybe in the more technical sense of the word (your brain can't have been that developed with these childish tendencies), but still, it made all the difference. You could actually fill out Nice Bikini, knew how to tie it properly so it fit justtttt right.

And because your dad's best friend hadn't seen you since you were just about to hop out of high school, you thought maybe it'd be nice to show him how much you'd grown. Simply for comparison purposes, of course.

It was not because his best friend was Suguru Geto.

Not because Suguru Geto had this faux mystery about him, this secrecy and vagueness about his face that was quickly stripped when your dad made him laugh.

Not because he was dark and brooding in features before it repelled off of his body—like he had been possessed for only a moment, like it was easy to inhabit the enigma that he was.

Not because this enigma was so compelling that you wanted to remove his clothes just to see what paradox was hiding underneath.

And definitely not because Suguru Geto was the first man his age you'd ever considered "hot" when you met him at the ripe age of seventeen—why hadn't your dad ever introduced you to his old college roommate until then? Even worse, why had he introduced you then, when you still had three solid months of being underage and hadn't quite figured out how to walk with an air of confidence that put people at a standstill.

You knew now. God, if he had met you now.

But that's not why you were wearing Nice Bikini. You knew better than that.

You were a—

"Sweet girl."

Emerging from the pool, you smoothed your wet hair out of your face, eyes gleaming in the sun as you looked up at him.

Suguru, as perfect as ever.

He'd worn some loose, black, Green-Day cutoff (you remember him driving you for ice cream that last time he visited, showing off their songs whilst you pretended not to know them), and some swim trunks he'd borrowed from your dad. He hadn't actually planned on swimming, but Gojo insisted, practically begged, as he threw some burgers on the grill, made some light drinks for the three of you.

And Suguru was standing next to him, pointing out which seasonings to use as they caught up and gossiped like teenage girls.

His deep, purple-tinted eyes squinted at you, soft smile playing on his lips. "Your dad here was just telling me about your tutoring you've been doing," he clarified with a clearing of his throat. "Seems you're just as sweet as you used to be."

"But she's getting so old now!" your dad whined, throwing his head back dramatically, pouting like a child about to throw a tantrum. "The new tutoring gig, and she's been doing so good at school, I feel like she rarely has time to call since she's always in class." Satoru pretended to wipe his eyes, winking at you. "And beautiful, just like her daddy. Such a good kid, guess I got real lucky."

You rolled your eyes playfully at the remark, lifting yourself up on the pools edge, exposing the top half of your body over water. You leaned forward when your dad had turned his back to you, water dripping obscenely from your neck, past your cleavage, staring straight back into Suguru's daring eyes. You were searching for something, anything that told you he thought you were just as beautiful as you thought he was. Beautiful just like your daddy. But, of course, Suguru had never been one to budge with you, not in his expression anyway.

He nodded at Satoru's comment, breathing deeply. "Mhm. Good kid."

It would've felt like a shot in the heart if he hadn't said it so smoothly.

No matter.

You had other methods of proving womanhood. Not because Suguru had to know you were a woman, not that you expected him to do anything with that bountiful information. But it was the principle. You could show him you were a woman now because you were one. And because being called a "kid" by your beekeeping-age crush didn't feel good at all.

Seemed reasonable enough.

Ah, but you had to remember who your father was. And the only person he doted on more than himself was you, his "sweet little angel".

Satoru had spent the entire dinner rambling on and on about every single accomplishment you'd ever completed, every accolade, every win—well, in his eyes, there was no one better than you ("with the sole exception of your old man, of course"). And in an increasingly drunken haze, he'd gushed about how strong you'd become, how kind, how driven. And he wanted to take the credit for it, seeing as you'd dyed your hair to match his and kept yourself attached to his hip almost all your life, but he knew most of what made you absolutely extraordinary was probably just...you.

Satoru had taken you in just after university, found you alone and cold, with nothing going for yourself being that young, and he was all you had ever known since. But you were spectacular even without him, that's all he ever told his friends and colleagues in his calls, his telegrams, his letters.

I raised this perfect little girl and I barely had to do anything.

And usually, all that sappy spiel was endearing (you'd heard it voiced so many times at every dinner party for his job, every parent/teacher conference), but today it was the very last thing you wanted to hear.

Because across the table, Suguru is looking at you like you're his kid, like he raised you too—like you were his baby in the totally wrong sense of the word, not at all in the way you wanted to be. So you pouted like a baby, folded your arms like a brat when your dad told you all that he said was true and he was just so proud! So much admiration from your dad and not enough infatuation from his hot friend.

"I feel sick thinking about you having your own family without me," Satoru muttered, head leaning against Suguru's literal cold shoulder. "When she gets a boyfriend who wants her all to himself, I don't know what I'll do!”

Suguru scoffed, the look in his eyes changing, making you shift in your seat and squeeze your thighs stiff together. Something warm and fiery, something sinister. "No boyfriend?"

You shook your head and shrugged innocently, pupils sparkling like a doe's. "Dating pool is tragic these days," you admitted, moving your hair back to expose your collarbone—you'd worn Nice Tube-Top to show off your fresh tan from Nice Bikini. And you assume Suguru liked it because his eyes shift down briefly to your chest and then back up again like he hadn't meant to slip. You smile. "Guys my age are cruel."

Suguru hummed, arm across Satoru's shoulder to keep him from falling face first into the dining table. "Well. Guys that aren't your age aren't much better."

You tilt your head at the admission, face unsure. "No?"

This, he smiled to, really smirked like he thought you were funny. Oh, you sure did hope he thought you were funny, how lovely that would've been. You thought maybe you'd try to make him laugh again later, thought it'd make you heart skip a few beats once again.

"No, 'fraid not."

"She doesn't need a boyfriend," your dad slurred, sitting up straight to point a loving finger at you. "Tell her, Suguru! Make sure she doesn't get a boyfriend and put me in a nursing home."

Well, you could thank the stars because it was finally bed-time for the man, perhaps well overdue.

"Alright, bud, think it's time you tapped out." Suguru easily hauled Satoru into his arms, dragging him up and out of his seat. He glanced at you with that same smirk, brows raising for just a second to mock the white-haired man beside him before he stopped just next your chair at the head of the table.

"No boyfriends," Suguru repeated, placing a hand on top your head and patting.

Patting!

Satoru halted to kiss your cheek goodnight, face flushed and a little disheveled from the heat and the two, three, four drinks he'd poured for himself. In all fairness, it was a special occasion. Who knew when Suguru would be around again?

Who knew when he'd be able to pat your head like a dog again?

"Be a lesbian," Satoru mumbled, lightly tugging at your earlobe before Suguru was dragging him off again, up the stairs to his room where he couldn't embarrass anyone anymore. "Too good for men! Isn't she, Suguru?"

You drowned out their shared mumbling and took to cleaning the dishes while you waited for Suguru to descend. There was nothing patient about this dishwashing. You thought you'd itch yourself to death the way you scrubbed in an antsy sort of way, wiped your hands vigorously, paced around the kitchen back and forth like an animal. You and Suguru alone, finally, but your dad was still upstairs, and it still wasn't very clear if Suguru thought you were pretty or not, if you looked any older than the last time he'd seen you. It made your head hurt, all the useless thinking. You had so many other things you could've been doing with your time. Like reading smut on Tumblr, or asking your friends to go out this weekend.

Not trying to wave down the attention of some—

"Freak,” Suguru shook his head playfully, thumb jutting up to where Satoru must’ve been sleeping soundly. “He's a real piece of work, isn't he?"

Suguru practically sauntered into the kitchen, nearing you like a predator does its prey. If he was actually as sinister as he looked, why did your cheeks still heat up when he drew closer? Why were you afraid to look him in the eye for too long? Why were your panties bunching up inside of your little linen shorts?

You lean against the kitchen island, forcing yourself to look away from him. You couldn't be caught just yet, not if you wanted to avoid deep and crippling embarrassment. "Yeah, but...he's not so bad."

"A little strict though." His thumb presses against your chin, then your jaw, firmly turning your head to face him. You held your breath as he stared down at you, now closer than ever, looming a few inches away like some shadow. He quirked an eyebrow, tilting your head up. "I'm thinking you've got a secret boyfriend back at school."

He tugged on your earlobe—just like your dad had—before stepping back a foot or two. Too far away, you'd thought, but maybe it was best to keep some distance for now. It would made closing the distance taste so much better. He looked you up and down like dog food, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek as he thought. You were begging every higher power to have him thinking about you, about hauling you to your room.

Eat me, you wanted to say. Eat me whole.

Instead: "No secret boyfriend," you repeated, rolling your eyes at him. You heard that cocky little scoff again, like he either still didn't believe you or like he wanted you to lie. You wondered what that scoff would feel against your own mouth, mixing with your own breath. "I told you. Had no luck with my generation."

"I'd argue it's not really your generation—I mean, your dad and I are, what, twelve, thirteen years older?"

Ten, you wanted to correct, Satoru had been 22 when he'd found you, a little 12-year-old girl searching for scraps—but that was besides the point. The amount of years didn't matter here, in this dimly-lit kitchen, with your panties practically soaking from the way he was looking at you.

"You like to argue a lot?"

Suguru paused at this, jaw ticking. You liked that. Liked to test him. He looked sexier that way, a teasing glint in his eyes like he wanted you to stop talking. He could always make you stop talking. You gripped the island behind you to steady yourself, to hold that laughter back inside your throat.

"How old are you, kid?"

Oh, the godforsaken question.

"In college."

Suguru shook his head, taking a step closer. His breath was mixing with yours now, something warm and pungent from his drink and his cigarette from before dinner. His eyes travelled up and down your figure, landing on that growing curve at the corner of your lips. He swiped at the edge of your smile with the pad of his thumb, sucking his teeth in some kind of quiet frustration. "'In college' is not an age—"

"It's an age range."

"You're a brat."

"Are you into that?" You don't think you'd meant to say that aloud. Your eyes went a little wider than they had been, feeling your body shrink under his questioning gaze. Too soon, you'd been too forward even though you promised yourself you wouldn't, not until you were absolutely sure. Your eyes danced across his expression, trying to figure him out as quickly as possible so you could gain control of the situation again. But your mouth was moving quicker than your brain was, and words were slipping out without even crossing your mind first, and his hands were very close to you, heat radiating off of his body into yours. "You're kinda pretty."

Suguru stops, hand hovering over your cheek. "Pretty?"

Well, fuck. You hadn't really meant to say that either. You suppose you should just stick with it. You nod, hands carefully reaching up, finger twirling around a strand of his long, jet black hair before tugging very gently. He winced, or at least you think it was a wince, the way he breathed in hard and his hands fell on either side of you. Oh, you had him now. You were sure of it.

"Mr. Geto?" You watched his eyes grow dark and low, eyes that were nowhere near making contact with your own. They're on your lips, you know they are. You lean a little closer and watch him flinch back just slightly, though still not enough to separate you two completely. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

He huffs a laugh, hands gripping the marble island. "Pretty like your daddy?"

You frown and he pulls at your bottom lip that's threatening to jut out. He pouts too, mocking like a bully, and only then do you notice the hole straight through his lip, a ghost of a piercing. You think you might just cum there, the way he licks over the obvious opening, one that's no doubt missing some pretty piece of jewelry that would feel oh-so-great against your tongue. If only he'd lean in closer.

But he's stubborn, unwilling to be cooperative, and so he takes your hair in his hands too, runs his finger through it.

"You do look like him."

You nod lightly, resisting just lunging forward and getting the job done yourself. Those hands weren't being put to good use, his bejeweled fingers were just resting peacefully rather than doing their rightful duty.

"You're young." You looked off, frustrated, away from him before he's turning your head back again, your cheeks smushed between his thick and calloused fingers. They’re cold, surprisingly, and they’re rough, rough enough to make you think maybe he doesn’t just not like you, but he hates you. His voice drops as he brings his lips close, dragging them across the shell of your ear, your jawline, your neck in ways that make you shiver. "And you've been teasing. All...fucking...day."

Shit. See, you knew you'd been obvious, but you thought maybe, if Suguru was kind, he would've let it slide and just gotten straight to business. You think you might've liked that more, rather than his frustrated gaze, his demeaning sort of tone.

His lips are right against this very sensitive part of your skin, and it's keeping you from thinking straight. If he wanted you to apologize, it wasn’t going to happen today. "Not so sweet, I'd think. I thought your daddy said you were sweet."

You nod like a child in trouble and your words almost come out as a desperate whine. "I am. Swear." Now, you've got to keep your composure, you can't let yourself look pathetic just yet. But he is so close to you, so close that it's almost unbearable, so close that you're squeezing your thought together and sucking in what could've been a very shaky and shallow breath.

With a long, deep sigh, he shakes his head, gripping that handful of hair he's been caressing just once before stepping back fully. He stares at you for what feels like a lifetime, eyes glossed and drifting about your figure that you're trying so hard to keep up right. Why had he moved, that wasn't fair at all.

He looks down at the your feet. "Go to your room, kid."

You cannot possibly control the face you make then, standing up completely straight, eyes darting for cameras because this has gotta be some sick prank. You wait for him to tell you he's joking, wait for him to apologize and change his mind, to take you on this goddamn kitchen counter behind you, but he doesn't. He keeps his eyes glued to the floor and motions down the hall, waving you off lazily.

Suguru Geto, your crush of all crushes, has just grounded you.

You scoff a humorless sort of laugh, pushing yourself off the island, hoping he can feel a pit in his stomach just like you do. "Asshole." You shove past him, despite very much not being in the way, and all but stomp off to your room.

"Young lady—"

"Oh, fuck off!"

You slam the door behind you before he can hit you with anything else belittling. First, you're pacing around your old bedroom, hands in your hair like you've gone absolutely mad, like you've been dreaming for the past two hours. Then you're gripping your old stuffed animals, shaking them like they're the ones that made you delusional, like they're the ones who whispered all these crazy ideas into your head—all those seductive glances you thought he was giving, now clearly a made up notion. You slump into your pillow, breathing heavily, cursing yourself over and over again in your head and under your breath.

Somehow, you are seventeen again, ready to ruin everyone's night.

But there is still this serious ache in your core, a heavy feeling of slick in your lacy underwear that you'd worn just in case. You're still burning up at the thought of his hands all over you, unsatisfied, frustrated, and hungry, so fucking hungry, which is the only reason you let yourself tear those itty-bitty shorts off and slip your fingers in to get the job done yourself.

Of course, it's not the same, and you may be too annoyed for it to actually do any good, but you and your imagination have rarely failed in this department, so it can't hurt to try.

You're breathing carefully through your nose, one hand palming the sheets while the other slides diligently along the bud of your clit, trying not to think about how rude, how rude, how rude he was being. Your eyes are just about to flutter shut to block out his insufferable smirk, that sluggish wave of his hand, when you see the door swing open without warning.

“Listen, I know you’re upset, but we should talk about—”

Suguru stands torpid in the door way. The look in his eye makes you swoon.

You continue. It's his fault anyway.

Kind of.

Well, you could argue it.

He slips into the room fully and closes the door behind him before standing at the very foot of the bed, arms crossed as he watches you, delicately, fixedly, eyes never pulling away. You smile girlishly, wickedly as you slip one, two needy fingers through your entrance, your other hand balling into a tight fist to keep at least some civility. You bite your lip to moan, eyes still on his, watching his unmoving expression. You wish those brows would scrunch, wish those lips would quiver, wish that jaw would tick again, just once.

He nods down to you, his hand rubbing at his chin and jaw. "Off," he mouths as to not disturb your own sounds, moving forward and sitting in front of you on the bed.

You're suddenly realizing how ridiculous your room looks now, adolescent and warm, shrinking you in—or maybe it was Suguru's size that was doing that. He hooks his hand into the waistband of your underwear in a way that makes you hopeful, simply snapping the fabric back against your skin. You roll your eyes and pause your movements to wiggle out of your panties, about to toss them before Suguru takes the fabric, slips it into the pocket of his shorts. He sits still again, nodding for you to continue, now at a much closer, exposed distance. He watches your fingers glide against yourself, occasionally meeting your gaze before he has to rub at his neck again, seemingly growing more and more disgruntled himself. And you can't help but stare at him as you work, mouth hanging open with every heavy breath, watching him watch you so keenly, his own breath faltering every time you let out a particularly high-pitched moan that you have to cover.

He reaches for your thighs which are threatening to close, prying them open with one calloused hand, and smoothing the skin of your calves, tilting his head to watch more appreciatively.

He looks up at you and you gasp, almost unraveling completely at the small shift. "Tired?" His hands glide to your wrist, pulling your hand away from the wet slick practically puddling on your sheets between your legs. He lets his own two fingers slip in to replace the previous feeling, but it's so different, so big, so perfect. You groan, head tilting back as he pushes them further, thumb rolling over the nub in a steady sort of swirl. He lets his lips curve into the spirit of a smile, watching his fingers disappear in and out of you, stretching you just a little further than before. It's filthy, that's what his expression is, it's filthy and lewd, and—

"So wet f'me, sweet girl," he hushes, giving a fake and taunting frown as he watches your face contort in pleasure. His ringed knuckles drag against your walls in a way that has you blinking away stars, his other hand in your hair to soothe, to settle you as he works you through the feeling. "If you had told me you were so needy...I would've been a little nicer."

If he hadn't been repeatedly hitting and curling into your g-spot, you would've screamed at him, you're sure of it. Instead, you're left to just roll your eyes, think of something clever that might piss him off even a little.

"You old people are so fucking nauseating."

And he laughs a little, fingers still twisting as you clench around him. "Nauseating, huh?" It's that sleek tone that sends you over the edge, almost jolting forward as you pour around his hand, his fingers still driving through your high, still feeling the pulse of yourself around them. He hums something approving, leaning down to kiss at your clit and suck at his dripping fingers. "I’ll take old. But you think I'm nauseating?"

"Yeah, that's- fuck- what I—"

"Not talking to you, kid."

Your hips still as he continues to kiss between them, licking up your juices before they soak into the sheets. You feel a cold sensation against your folds. A tongue piercing? He had a fucking tongue piercing?

He nods against you, hands gripping your thighs so he can more readily slurp at what's still seemingly spilling out. His huff of a laugh into your cunt sends electricity all throughout you. "She doesn't seem to think I'm nauseating. She loves my fingers, doesn't she? S'why she's so sweet f'me now."

You shove at his head and he laughs, finally looking back up at you. The look on his face is almost sleepy looking, lethargic as your cum drips from his lips and against his chin. Soon enough he's licking that up too, staring as he sucks the last of it off of his fingers.

"You're disgusting," you try to say confidently, but your voice betrays you and it comes out as a breathy sort of begging, something just as "disgusting," as you say.

"Aw, you don't mean that," he smiles, kissing at your hot cheeks, feeling up your shirt with his large palms, greedily grasping at the smooth skin. "Don't be mad at me, sweetheart." He kisses along your ear, and across your jaw, and down your neck, mumbling empty apologies against you. "Don't be mad, sweet girl, you can't be mad at me."

Like hell you couldn't.

You lean your head away from him but he follows, kissing deeper against your collarbone, straightening your legs out and shifting you over so he can join you on the bed more fully.

"Be a good girl for me, yeah?" he teases, licking at the slow-growing bruises he's creating below the top of Nice Tube Top, hand gripping your breasts through the fabric. "Be a good girl and wipe that fucking frown off your face."

"You kiss your mother with that dirty mouth?"

He nips at your neck playfully, leaning back to look at you. "Baby, I heard the way you were moaning five seconds ago. You kiss your daddy with that mouth?"

Your eyes squint at him, trying to control your scrunched up scowl. Your hands drift down to the bulge pressing against his pants, and it looks tight, maybe even a little uncomfortable. You smile, hand smoothing over it just once before it returns to your side, but it's enough to make him visibly twitch.

"You're talking about my dad...while getting hard...just by touching his daughter." You shrug innocently, pouting playfully, as your thumb rubs against his cheek. And he leans into your touch like a cat before freezing. "We're not gonna argue about who's more indecent here. Baby."

And you know you should've seen his next move coming, the way his jaw clenches as soon as the words leave your mouth. He grabs you under your arms, picks you up and places you at the very edge of the bed, shoving you back down into a horizontal position in record time. You quickly prop yourself up by your elbows to watch as he struggles with his shorts and boxers, stripping himself bare—large dick slapping up against him before he pumps it slowly. Then he's nodding at you, silent again if you're not counting those heavy, heaving breaths he's emitting. Perhaps you're too slow to process—too busy staring at the length hanging from him—because he leans forward and rips Nice Tube Top off you himself with a frustrated grunt.

"Yo—!"

"I'll buy you a new one—don't fucking 'yo' me, what are you, twelve?"

He doesn't give you time answer or admire any longer as he parts your thighs again, kissing up your quivering torso, in between the valley of your breasts, up your neck that already has his name all over it. Your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer and giggling when you watch him wince over and over. That irritated and grouchy look on his face is slutty and makes you feel hot all over again.

"Gonna fuck that shit right out of you," he murmurs against your jaw, adjusting himself for just a second before he's already bullying himself in, leaning back just so he can watch your mouth fall open and slack. His thumb drags along your bottom lip, inching a little further in. "Keep watching. Watch how she- fuck- watch how this pussy takes me."

You really wanted to continue this evil little shit attitude you had going on, but you just can't, not with the way he's talking to you and easing in slowly, slowly, until he's bottomed out, falling forward into you with a heavy groan that comes from the very back of his throat. Your legs wrap around his hips to pull him even closer, your lips making a path of kisses along his temple. You lick at his ear, tongue slipping into the gauge, and you smile, fingers digging into the skin of his back as he just stays still, basking in the raw feeling of your walls squeezing around him, adjusting to the size of him. You try to roll your hips up against him one the stretch stops burning so intensely, but he grips at your thighs, holding them down for his own peace of mind. You think maybe if you continued he would've lost it, but didn't he know that's exactly what you wanted?

"Mr. Geto?" you whisper against the shell of his ear, feeling the goosebumps rise against his arms as he twitches inside of you. "Fucking move. Please."

He laughs into the crook of your neck, lifting his head to look you in your eyes again. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

"Maybe when you finally keep your word—"

He reels his hips back and thrusts up into you, hard and fast, sending your mind to a completely separate dimension. He smiles as he fucks you, dragging you back down every time you try to push back and move away. It's greedy, his ruts up into your still-slick walls, his tip seemingly remembering the sensation of your g-spot that his fingers were feeling just minutes before. But it's attentive too. He's watching you with gentle eyes, nodding at the whiny moans you're letting out into the palm of his hand, shushing you as he keeps a steady motion. He takes your chin and tilts it down so you can look at the space between you and the bulge that his dick is making as he hits every sweet spot your could possibly ask for.

"Look, sweet girl." He presses his hand down to feel at your tummy, fucking slower so he can savor the sight. He watches you throw you head back, tutting briefly. "No, pretty, you've gotta look. Look at how I'm filling you up here, it's almost too big for you. Feels ok still? Fuck- tell me, sweetheart, use your words. You and your daddy are so talkative all the time, why don't you go ahead and let him hear you? Let him hear how good it feels for me to- fucking shit, so tight- for me to... ah- fuck up into you like this. So fucking good for me. Such a good girl for me, I knew you could do it. Knew you could- shit- be a good girl for me."

"Geto—"

"Mmm, no, I think I liked 'baby'," he nods, moving your hips to meet his thrusts, stalking the feeling that was oh-so-close between the two of your. "Go ahead, use your words, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Don't fucking stop, baby, please," you beg, holding onto his arms for stability, trying to focus on speaking even just a little. "Please don't stop fucking me, I need you so bad- needed you all fucking day."

"I know you did," he teases, leaning down to kiss your lips quickly. "That's why you were being so bad earlier, huh? You just wanted me to fuck you like this? Didn't know how to ask nicely?"

You shake your head because it's all you can do, back arching as you start to feeling your second high of the night, just around the corner.

"It's okay, I'm here to make it all better, yeah?" He kisses down your chest again, hips stuttering against you just a little. "I can feel you- fuck- can feel you squeezing. You wanna cum, that's what you want? Go ahead and cum f'me, you'll feel so much better. Let me have it, just one more. Look at me- go ahead and let me have it."

He coaxes you into you next orgasm, even better than the last one, leaving you lightheaded as you fall against the bed. But Suguru hasn't stopped, hips faltering and his momentum unsteady as he spills into you seconds later, mouth closing over yours to cover his moan. His hips continue to rut as both releases spill around his shaft, not quite wanting to let the feeling go.

He leans up to pet your hair back, kissing your forehead gently, then your nose, then your lips. "That was so good, baby. You're so perfect, I'm so proud of you. So so good—you feel good?" You nod tiredly and he smiles, slipping himself out and quickly rushing off to your bathroom to grab a warm towel. When he returns, you're halfway to curling up and falling asleep, letting him wipe you down with breathy kisses all across your body. "You're gonna sleep so good, baby. Just needed me to get rid of that little attitude, yeah? It's okay."

You shove at his shoulder with a limp arm and he laughs again, lifting you up and setting you on your side of the bed, covering you gently. You watch him get dressed through fluttering lashes, trying to stay awake for just a little longer. After that, you couldn't possibly just—

"Go to sleep, sweet girl." He kisses your temple softly, murmuring over your ear. "And maybe when you wake up...we can talk to your dad about this 'no boyfriend rule'."

guys. I have a type #getosupremacy

I know u guys liked my zuko stuff, but I don't wanna let my jjk ideas go to waste, so hopefully this is enjoyable! And don't judge the smut, I'm still kind of a rookie :/

love, your pretty princess