You’re In Great Hands

you can smell him in the air, that unique, signature scent of him: smoke, spice—something musky. his palms glide with an indescribable possessiveness along your waist and down your hips as he nudges you to sit. his breath hot along your cheek as he leaves little room between you both. makes himself comfortable in the dips and arches of you; meshes his skin to yours.

your head begins to spin.

and he notices this. of course, he does.

plug!geto’s grin is all teeth now. wolfish. amused as he leans closer, forces your thighs to squeeze together. your shoulders to curl.

“you nervous, doll?”

“no.” you lie. but it comes out too quickly. lands flat.

“mm.” suguru hums, unconvinced, and a heavy hand smooths over your shoulder. drags down your arm. “you sure? you’re practically shakin’.”

your breath catches. you hadn’t event realised…

he laughs at that. and it comes low. rumbles. his free arm reaches forward for something, and it’s then you notice the pre-rolled joint on the coffee table. just how deep in your head are you?

“let’s take the edge off yeah? help you forget that busy life of yours.”

suguru brings the joint to his lips, fishes a lighter from his trouser pocket, and you watch as the tiny flame licks at the tip. makes the paper crackle and shrivel as it burns, glowing a fiery red as he takes a slow, deliberate pull.

“b-but there’s only one.” you squeak.

a deep exhale, and suguru’s eyes are on you. his grin never faltering. “what? you gotta problem with sharin’?”

he offers it to you.

“c’mon, doll. you’ll be less uptight.”

you hesitate, and suguru’s grin stretches. miles long, you think, if even that.

“c’mon, doll,” he coaxes again, tapping the joint against your lips, the lingering heat of it a near ghostly kiss. “don’t tell me you came all this way just to get shy on me.”

the worst part? he’s right. you did come a long way. tried to steel your nerves for almost an hour, paced outside his building as you debated whether you should go home or not.

(you should’ve. you really should’ve.)

it shouldn’t all be for nothing. you shouldn’t waste both your time, right…?

before you can think, your mouth parts, eases open just for him. the filter presses against your lips, tasting of ash and something unmistakably suguru, and you inhale, slow and tentative, the burn blooming in your lungs before settling deep within your bones.

it feels good—too good. makes you feel nothing yet everything in some….indescribable sort of way.

“atta girl,” suguru murmurs, watching you through heavy lids. his voice drips with something rich, thick and syrupy. he plucks the joint from your fingers to take another long drag before he blows the smoke right into your face.

you barely register the sharp pull of his hand on your jaw until your head tilts back, your body pliant under his touch. his fingers press, firm and possessive, as he exhales into your mouth. the smoke curls past your lips, seeps into your lungs. hot. overwhelming.

your mind fogs.

he watches as you swallow it down, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “there you go,” he soothes, thumb stroking the hollow of your throat. “you always take what i give you so well, don’t you?”

the room tilts. or maybe it’s just you.

you blink, slow and heavy, warmth pooling in your limbs as a lazy kind of heat starts to spread through you. it’s the weed, but it’s also him—the way he looms, the way his touch lingers, the way his words slither beneath your skin like a secondhand high.

“feelin’ good, doll?”

you nod, dazed. “y-yeah.”

suguru chuckles. “that’s what i like to hear.”

his hand begins to drift lower. off your arm now, skimming your thigh, fingers teasing the hem of your skirt. testing.

and you—hazy, pliant, needy—don’t stop him.

he notices. of course, he does.

and he gets ready to take his payment.

“come up here, doll. it’ll make it easier to sure the weed.”

the weed….sure.

but when he tugs you forward, you go without question.

suguru guides you onto his lap with ease, like he’s done it before—like you slot against him like some missing puzzle piece, fitting perfectly wrapped around him.

his hands find your hips as if on instinct. thumbs stroking slow, soothing circles—but there’s nothing soothing about the way his grip tightens. keeps you right where he wants you.

“good girl,” he murmurs, low and approving. “knew you’d listen.”

your thighs spread to straddle him, knees pressing into the sofa, and the position is… compromising. intimate . his body heat sinks into yours, the thick scent of weed and something musky filling your lungs.

your head spins.

he holds the joint between his fingers, tapping the ashes into the tray beside him, before bringing it back to his lips for another deep inhale. his gaze stays on you the whole time—watching, assessing, waiting.

you swallow. thickly.

his free hand slides up your spine, slow and deliberate, stopping just beneath the nape of your neck. he tilts his head, eyes brimming with want, lips curved into something that’s not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

“open.”

you hesitate for just a second too long.

his grip tightens.

“c’mon, doll,” he coos, a stone-like hardness to his tone that has you straightening atop him. “you were so eager before. don’t go gettin’ shy on me now.”

heat prickles across your skin, shame curling low in your stomach, because he’s right. you shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t crave it, but you do—you really fucking do.

so you part your lips, obedient—good—and his smirk widens.

“there’s a good girl.”

he exhales slow, measured, a thick cloud of smoke curling from his lips and past yours. it’s hot, intoxicating, thick enough to make your lashes flutter and a soft groan to escape you. his fingers flex against your nape as he watches you swallow it down, approval humming deep in his chest.

“see?” he murmurs, thumb stroking lazily along your throat. “ain’t so bad, huh?”

you nod, dazed, the warmth pooling low in your belly now sinking deeper.

his other hand—still heavy on your hip—skims beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers toying with the band of your panties. testing. asking (but not really).

and you don’t stop him.

“fuck,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “knew you’d be easy for me. feelin’ good, doll?”

his fingers dip lower, teasing against your damp heat, running along your folds—and you shudder. the weed has settled deep, makes every touch feel heightened—like sparks licking across your skin. needles pricking.

“i feel—” you let out a whimper. “fine.”

suguru grins. all slow satisfaction, like he’s won something. like he’s known all along how this would go.

“that’s what I like to hear.”

and then his fingers push past the fabric, finding you soaked.

a deep, pleased groan rumbles in his throat as he presses in, spreading you open, testing just how ready you are. how needy you are.

“shit, doll,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the slick. “you this fuckin’ wet just from smokin’ with me?”

your face burns, and he chuckles.

“hey, don’t get shy now,” he purrs. “not when you’re so fuckin’ eager to let me take what’s mine.”

suguru’s fingers tease at your entrance, just barely pressing in before retreating, dragging slick warmth over your folds. he’s toying with you. that much is clear. drawing out every little tremble, every tiny catch of breath, watching you unravel bit by bit.

“fuuuuck, doll,” he groans. “you’re practically drippin’. makin’ a mess all in my lap.”

shame pools low in your stomach. and you lift your hips to move, but suguru is gripping your hips and pulling you back down.

“don’t.” his grin widens as his fingers leave you, moving to grip your other hip instead.

“c’mere.”

you barely have time to register it before he’s shifting beneath you, pressing you down against the thick hardness straining against his sweatpants. a choked sound catches in your throat as the pressure sparks through you, heat curling sharp and insistent between your thighs.

suguru groans, low and drawn out, fingers tightening as he pulls you even closer. “fuck,” he mutters. “you feel that, doll?”

you do. god, you do.

your breath stutters as he rolls his hips up, slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him through the thin fabric separating. it’s too much, yet somehow not enough.

and he knows it.

“that’s it,” he coaxes, his voice smooth and syrupy, thick with approval. “go on, baby. give me what i need.”

it’s humiliating how easily you give in. how naturally your body moves with his, grinding down, chasing the friction that makes your head spin. every slow drag of his cock against your clothed cunt sends another shiver rolling through you, pleasure licking up your spine, twisting tight in your gut.

suguru watches, heavy-lidded and satisfied, drinking in the way you melt against him. “fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters, mostly to himself, dragging his hands up your back. “knew you’d be like this for me.”

“w-what does that mean?”

“delicious.” he coos, thrusting his pelvis up to meet yours.

your hands find his shoulders, gripping tight, needing something to ground you as he keeps moving, keeps working you over the thick length of him, rolling his hips just right, just enough to make your thighs tremble. your cunt weep.

“you like that, doll?” his voice is teasing now, a purr in your ear. “ridin’ me like you’ve been thinkin’ about it since last time?”

a whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it.

suguru grins, pleased. “yeah? you gonna cum just like this? just from dry humpin’ me like a needy little thing?”

the worst part is that you might.

and he knows this. knows you.

he can feel it—the way your body tenses, the way your breath catches, the way your hips stutter like you’re on the edge of something devastating.

you lose your strength and fall into his chest, panting and moaning in his ear as your hips rock back and forth into him.

“c’mon, doll,” he murmurs, voice smooth, coaxing. “be good for me. let me feel you.”

and just like that, you break.

pleasure crashes over you in slow, shuddering waves, a choked moan spilling from your lips as your body clenches, thighs trembling around him. the friction, the heat, the intoxicating push and pull—it all swallows you whole.

suguru groans, grinding up against you one last time, dragging out your pleasure as his hands stroke slow, soothing patterns down your back.

“f-fuck,” he mutters, breathless, lips brushing your temple. “knew you’d be perfect for me.”

you can’t even respond. can’t do anything but collapse against him, skin fever-hot, body weak. the high lingers thick in your veins, pleasure still buzzing beneath your skin. high and blissed out.